Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (7 page)

Hallad slowed their pace
once he realized no one followed.

Rolf lagged behind,
fingering wooden sculptures displayed at a merchant’s cart.

"Look brother. My
carvings are as fine as these."

Rolf gained the skills
of handiwork from his father, and though his father used the talent for
shoemaking, Rolf applied the ability to endless hours of whittling, turning
sticks into figures.

"Brother,"
Erik pulled Rolf forward, crumpling the edge of his crimson mantle, "we
move."

"Nei, Erik," Hallad
interrupted. "We need to stock our supplies."

Hallad reached for two
bedrolls amongst metal pots, knives and cutlery.

"We don’t have coin
or trade," Erik replied.

"Nei need. I hold
enough coin for us all."

Hallad flashed his blood
sworn a smile, but his grin met with Erik’s refusal. Erik had shadowed his
little sister since childhood and the young men had spent years lounging on the
Green, attending Ostara, the Plow-Blessing and Frey’s Festival with one another,
in an attempt to hide Erik’s interest in Emma from Thyre. They took the oaths
of blood sworn after Erik had rescued Hallad from two wolves hunting the Great
Wood. The bond they had shared had been as close to brotherhood as Hallad had
ever known. But since the night they’d lost Emma, everything had changed
between them. Every annoyance incited Erik; he no longer looked toward Hallad
with camaraderie. Instead, his gaze was filled with distrust and heartbreak.

"Nei, Hallad. I
will not receive your charity." The angles in Erik’s face deepened, his
jaw fluttering as he ground his teeth. "We will manage without."

Erik turned his back,
stiffening his shoulders to Hallad as he combed Merchants’ Row for Rolf. Hallad
returned the bedrolls; he gathered stocks of dried meats, cheeses and breads in
their stead and paid the merchant.

"Which way to
Freya’s Temple?" Hallad asked the merchant as he slung the bundle across
his back.

The merchant’s face
stiffened at the mention of the Temple and he turned away, busying himself with
another customer. Hallad inquired of another passerby, who eyed Swan’s attire
then moved along without an answer. Even after gathering their horses from the
stables, no one offered up the Temple’s whereabouts.

The group turned nordr,
weaving through the streets and pulling their leads behind them, ignoring
hostile looks from pedestrians.

Abruptly, Hallad leaned
down and whispered into Erik’s ear, "We’re being followed."

"By who?"

"Someone in a blue
cloak."

Erik stopped, pretending
to adjust the cinch of his black mare’s saddle. A figure, swathed in a blue
cowl from head to toe, trailed in the distance; it hid behind groups of people
as they stopped.

"You’re right."

"You stay here with
Swan and Rolf."

Erik nodded.

Hallad slipped around
their horses and into a side street. He jogged until he found an adjoining
path, then made his way back around until he spotted the figure. Slowing to a
walk, he stepped behind the blue-cloaked figure, drew his knife and poked it
into the figure’s backside. He restrained the follower’s movement with a steady
hand on the stalker’s shoulder.

Hallad leaned in to the
side of the cowl.

"Why are you
following us?"

The figure turned,
allowing Hallad control, and then flipped back the hood. Doe colored eyes
peered up at him, guarded with heavy black lashes. Round cheeks stretched into
a frightened grimace.

"My apologies. I
didn’t realize you were," Hallad fumbled with the knife, sheathing the
blade within his belt loop, "a girl."

Swan’s earlier heroics
caused Hallad to overcompensate and, instead of feeling triumphant, the
familiar choke of defeat stifled his throat. Within seconds, Erik emerged.

Abruptly, Swan appeared
behind the girl, causing both Erik and the stranger to flinch.

"Do you have to
sneak up on people all the time?" Erik snorted.

Swan ignored Erik’s
comment, standing behind the girl, awaiting Hallad’s movement.

The girl batted her
thick lashes at them.

"I am Gisla."

She immediately turned
and reached up to Swan’s face. The girl caressed the iron woman with her hand,
as if overcome by her features.

"I never dreamed I
would ever meet the Savior."

She blinked again, as if
fixing the moment in her memory, before snatching her fingers back. Swan
remained still as an oak.

The two young women stared
at one another for several uncomfortable moments before Gisla announced to all
three, "I am to be your guide."

Guide to where?
thought Hallad, though his mouth failed to speak.

When no one answered
her, Gisla planted her hands on her hips in frustration.

"Ase Jorrun, Second
Priestess of the Way and Daughter of the Temple, awaits your arrival."

Cart wheels creaked as
they passed, horses nickered and dust swirled about the earthen roads. Hallad
remained stupefied at the girl who appeared from nowhere to lead them to their
destination.

Gisla studied her silent
guests.

"Well?" She
waved for them to follow as she turned and strode down the street, her indigo
cloak fluttering in the breeze. She yelled back over her shoulder, "We
must hasten our steps. Mid-day fades and night follows fast in this part of the
city."

Erik plucked at Hallad’s
linen sleeve.

"Where’s Rolf?"

Both young men turned,
inspecting the merchants’ wagons and stands squeezed within the narrow street,
neither catching view of Rolf. Hallad moaned between his teeth. Gisla strode
far ahead of them, her barley-brown hair bobbing in and out through the crowd
of strangers.

"We have to go,"
Hallad said.

"Not without Rolf,"
Erik insisted.

Gisla called back over
her shoulder, "Come."

"We’re missing one
of our party!" Hallad hollered back.

Gisla stomped back to
meet them, planting her hands firmly on her hips again—her youth apparent in
her bright eyes and supple skin, as she attempted to muster the authority to
command them. Hallad figured someday she would make a good wife for an
unsuspecting lad.

"We haven’t time
for nonsense, my Lord. I beg you. My Mistress waits."

Rolf finally
materialized, bending over to accommodate Erik’s grip on his ear, as Erik dragged
him down the street. Hallad couldn't help but laugh at the odd spectacle.

"What did I do?"
asked Rolf.

Erik exhaled, air
escaping through flared nostrils with a snort. "Let's go."

Hallad nodded back,
concealing a smirk.

Rolf dislodged himself
from Erik’s grip, brushed off his red cape, straightened his tunic and primped
his hair.

"Go where?"

When no one answered Rolf,
he continued, "You are not going to believe who I saw at the docks!"

"Probably the King
of Birka," replied Hallad.

"Nei," added
Erik. "It was the queen and her fine young daughters."

Rolf persisted. "It’s
not a joke. I swear it on Odin’s tree! You’ll never guess who I saw!"

"Rolf, we haven’t
time for your jabber." Hallad waved toward Gisla. "We are expected at
the Temple."

"But . . ."

As Rolf caught sight of
the girl his lips split into a white-toothed grin. He swept into a bow, bending
to one knee. With his long fingers he grasped Gisla's hand, pressing his lips
to them.

"My lady," his
tenor voice rang as if he sang a fine tune, "it is an honor. I am Rolf
Sigtrigson."

Gisla giggled with a
flurry of batted eyelashes.

Hallad moaned. Erik
rolled his eyes. Swan surveyed them with a slight up-turned crack of her lips.

"I am Gisla,
apprentice to the Temple of Freya," she returned, allowing Rolf to hold
her hand. "Now, we must hurry, as the priestess does not like to be kept
waiting and I’ve nei intention of scrubbing extra pots on your account."

She attempted to sound
stern, but her young voice broke as she gushed back at Rolf.

They hustled through the
bustling streets. Rolf pranced like a stallion at Gisla's side, reciting bits
and pieces of lays and flattering her with absurd compliments. Hallad couldn’t
fathom any woman succumbing to such obvious overtures, but Gisla seemed taken
with him.

The throng of people
lessened as they passed through the center of the city. Towers rose skyward,
waving the flags of the King of Birka high on the apex of each spire. Crimson
and gold adorned the gateways that led into the castle grounds. The massive
doors depicted the great All-Seer, Odin, god of all nobles.

Rolf's pace lagged as
they passed, studying the elaborate paintings—the first time he managed to peel
away from Gisla since they’d met. He reached out and touched the design, awe
striking him until a guard hollered for him to move along.

The group wound their
way through the city until another gate released them from Birka. They traveled
a well-trodden road upward. Oak trees, bared from winter, dotted the valley's
landscape. As they approached the peak of the hill, incense permeated the air. They
crested the top of the mound and the land spread to accommodate a birch temple
larger than his father's longhouse in the village of Steadsby. In the center of
the path lay a wide-open pit, emitting alder smoke from its depths. The path
split in two around the pit and joined again as a landing for a massive door,
carved and painted with the figure of Freyja, donning an ornate necklace and
driving a carriage pulled by a fierce black cat. The cat's jewel-green eyes
glinted in the firelight, reminding Hallad of Erik.

Gisla hurried around the
fire and excused herself, disappearing behind the painted doors, hefting them
with surprising strength. The smoke wrapped around them, entrapping them like
prisoners.

The silence must have
worn on the young would-be scald, because he interrupted it.

"Now guess who I
saw? Hallad, you’ll be particularly interested."

Hallad shooed him with
flick of his hand.

Erik replied, "Hush,
Rolf."

Gisla reemerged,
announcing, "Ase Jorrun, Mistress of the Temple of Freyja, will receive
you."

Swan led the group
through the temple doors. The men followed in her wake like water in a pond
rippling behind a majestic bird. The chamber opened to reveal a hall adorned
with paintings of women, cats, boars and moons, favoring the colors crimson,
emerald, silver and onyx. The licks of flame at the center pit jumped,
producing wild shadows that tricked the eye into believing the depictions on
the walls danced. Gray smoke swirled around them, pungent with amber and alder.
At the end of the hall, an immense statue of the goddess Freyja had been erected
and bedecked with silver and scarlet pigment. A huge black cat carved in wood
accompanied the Goddess, with her hand resting upon his head.

In front of the statue sat
a woman in a carved chair. She stared down at them with a smirk, fine lines
etched around her eyes and lips. A shock of silver-gray hair entwined with
light brown was pulled tightly into a knot situated on the crown of her head. She
pounded a gnarled walking stick on the ground twice, the flaps of her pine
green robe rustling with the movement. The woman rose from her seat.

Visions of a seidr-wife
filled Hallad’s head. Only once did such a woman visit Steadsby. Avarr had
prohibited anyone who possessed any level of seidr-craft—be it prophecy, spell
casting or the ability to view into the land of the gods—in his village even
when the villagers had begged for one of the Goddess’ seidr practitioners to
rescue their crops from failure after three long years of starvation. Many died
in those seasons, but his father still refused the aid of seidr-craft.

Rumors remained of the
one-time visit from a seidr-wife. They said his father and the Goddess’
enchantress fought behind closed doors until the woman burst through the longhouse,
flung herself on her horse and yelled back to Avarr that he would rue his
foolishness. The godhi had cursed the woman as she galloped away and the
villagers feared the seidr-wife’s retribution for years to come. But it never
came and no one, save the godhi, knew what the argument was about.

Now Hallad stood face to
face with such a woman. A seidr-wife. One who called the power of Freyja. One
who could see through the veils of truth, predict the future and see into other
lands by her talent in seidr. The priestess held out a silver horn to him, in
the customary welcome of Scandians. He reached for the horn and gulped,
studying her over the edge of the cup.

"It’s about time
you got here." A mischievous twinkle caught in her eyes. "I’ve been
waiting for years!"