Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (8 page)

Hallad exchanged a
puzzled look with Erik. Ase Jorrun poked Hallad in the ribs with her walking
staff and he jumped nervously at her assault. Gisla giggled in the corner,
covering her mouth with her hands. For the first time Swan smiled—a full, tooth-showing
grin.

"Now, I’ve prepared
for you Astrid." Ase nodded toward Swan.

Hallad knotted his brow
at the unfamiliar name.

"I see there is
more to tell you than I thought." She tapped her stick to the ground.
"Come. Sit in a circle and we will start."

Ase reclined in the
wooden chair as she continued, "Sit. Sit." She waved her hand toward
Gisla, her pine-colored robe fluttering, the cat-skin cuffs shining in the
fire’s glow. "Gisla, take your place."

The girl scampered
across the room, smiling coyly toward Rolf along the way and situated herself
by Ase’s left side.

"As for your
friends Hallad, you should make the introductions."

Hallad wondered how she
knew his name. His tongue felt thick and words escaped him.

"I see we’ll have
to work on your manners as well."

A lump formed in
Hallad’s throat, but the woman’s eyes sparkled, causing him to relax. He bowed,
finding his voice.

"I am Hallad, son
of Avarr, Godhi of Steadsby." Hallad straightened, gesturing toward his
companions. "This is my blood sworn Erik Sigtrigson and his half-brother
Rolf."

Rolf grandly swept
downward. Erik tipped his head in scant acknowledgement. The woman calculated
them, smirking at Erik’s defiance. Swan towered straight as a sword; Hallad
didn’t know how to present her.

"She is . . . Swan."

"She is Astrid,
daughter of Isla, daughter of the Night, our Savior, and," the old woman’s
voice rumbled with weightiness, "your twin sister."

The statement startled
Hallad, but made sense. The feelings he had of her—of knowing her, of
communicating on a level the others never understood. But twins? His stomach
turned.

"Twins made of evil
sire, bear to the winds or take to the fire," Rolf chanted. He caught his
mindless statement and quieted, addressing Hallad. "You would have been
exposed. Not even the godhi could have saved you."

Rolf swiveled his head
toward Swan, studying her, identifying his companions’ similarities. Hallad
recognized the resemblance too—their height, their sculpted features—the
likeness uncanny, though she was white as winter and he as golden as summer.

"Nonsense!"
Erik said. "You are not going to listen to this twaddle, are you?"

Hallad couldn’t speak. A
jolt buzzed through him. Swan smiled directly at him for the first time—a wide,
soft smile that defied her iron-edge. He knew. Something inside him churned. In
the same moment that their connection felt right, Hallad felt betrayed.

"Twins are sacred,"
cut in the priestess. "They are revered as blessed by our goddess Freyja. For
epochs, the seed of the Shadow has sought to sully the holiness of twins as he
knew the Savior would come in two. His weak minded minions spread this vile lie
to fool the ignorant."

Erik snorted. Rolf’s jaw
flung open harboring silence for the first time. Ase fixated on Hallad.

"A crucial future
lays ahead of you, young man."

The priestess clapped. Gisla
fumbled with a leather scabbard in response, handing the sheath to her
mistress. A swoosh resonated as Ase drew a heavy blade from the encasement,
bending over to lay the sword before Hallad.

"From your mother,
Isla. A powerful and wise priestess."

The sword matched
Swan’s—or Astrid’s—except an elegant bird graced the hilt. His twin leaned
over, laying her blade parallel to Hallad’s. The hilts entwined as if forged
together, forming a towering tree digging its roots in the earth with the swan
nestled in the ash’s protection.

"You and Astrid, or
perhaps Swan is more appropriate." She stood with the help of her elm
branch and continued, "You must come with me to IronWood." She tapped
her walking stick on the ground. "We must prepare. Nei time to waste. You
and Swan are to be bonded as sal drengrs."

"Sal drengrs?"
asked Hallad.

"Soul Warriors. Those
destined to fight side by side for life," said the priestess.

"Fight who?"
Hallad’s gut twisted at the thought of the drunk’s words from Merchants’ Row, and
the unknown foe who sought his twin.

Erik erupted, "IronWood?
Soul Warriors? You don’t believe her do you? You’re not twins with this . . .
this . . . "

Erik threw up his hands
in frustration.

"There is truth in
what she says," Hallad replied. "I can’t explain it blood brother, I
can feel our connection—"

"What about Emma?"
Erik screamed.

"Who is Emma?"
Ase asked.

Erik turned on the priestess,
overflowing with desperation.

"Emma is my . . . "
He reached underneath his tunic, grabbing at something beneath his shirt.

"My sister,"
Hallad interrupted. "She disappeared into the Shadow when we . . . "
Sorrow edged in as he sensed Swan’s pull on him—sorrow, guilt, disgust with
himself for all his failures and all who he had failed.

"I see."

Ase settled back down,
opening the front of her robe to expose a cat-skinned pouch about her waist. She
reached inside and drew out a black bag. With a flick of her thin wrist she
shook the contents and held the pouch out to Erik.

"Draw a stone."

Erik hesitated—his
distrust of Ase at odds with his curiosity. Slowly, he reached into the bag and
pulled his hand back in a fist. He unfolded his fingers, holding the stone out
for the priestess. The rock in Erik’s thick palm bore no markings what-so-ever.

Gisla gasped, covering
her mouth. Ase clicked her tongue.

"The rune of the
unknown."

"What is that
supposed to mean?" asked Erik.

"Either it is not
for us to know yet, or Emma has already passed to the Hall of the Gods,"
the priestess replied.

Erik shot up from his
sitting position and pounded his fist into the nearest table with a loud
thwack. He whirled on Ase.

"You are wrong! You
know nothing!" He spun around to Hallad, his eyes brimming. "You are
not going to believe her? You are not going to follow this mad old goat, are
you?"

Hallad stood to face his
friend, but was unable to answer. In his gut, he knew where his path must lead.
As his father had told him,
she will guide you.
He intended to honor his
father’s command but words of explanation refused to form on his lips.

Erik spat at the ground
in front of him.

"I curse you Hallad
Avarson! Your sister, your
real
sister, renounces you as do I!"

Erik yanked a knife from
his belt. Swan glided to Hallad’s side, but Hallad stayed her with his hand on
her forearm.

Erik waved the knife at
the two of them then turned the blade on himself, cutting deep into the flesh
of his palm. Blood rolled off his hand, dripping down to the dirt floor below.

"You’re not my blood
sworn anymore!"

His hand shook as he
made a fist, squeezing the crimson blood between his fingers. Tears broke free
and streamed down his face.

Erik turned from them,
storming through the doors, swinging them hard so they pounded against the
outer wall. Rolf, glaring at Hallad with disgust, followed his brother. Hallad
shook as he watched the two leave, listening as they mounted and road off down
the trail, their hoof beats pounding in time with the throbbing of his
shattered heart.

Night pressed down upon
their camp. They had traveled for five moons, stopping briefly on the craggy
outskirts of Egil’s Heights to buy supplies and seagull eggs, gathered by the
villagers by scaling the steep cliffs. Gisla insisted on the eggs, poaching
them with herbs she collected on their travels, a pleasant change from Rolf’s
burnt rabbit. Hallad watched the industrious girl at her work as he sat by the
fire, sharpening his swan sword. She would make a man a fine wife someday—not
that he would ever have the freedom from his responsibilities to take a wife. Even
as a child, he always knew he’d be alone—until Swan arrived.

Hallad scraped at his
blade with a stone. The rhythm of metal against rock matched with the beat of
his heart as he reflected on all those souls he loved and had failed. Emma. Erik.
His father. His sworn duty to Swan incited unanswerable questions and
unfathomable repercussions.

Without a sound, Swan
appeared in front of him. Hallad sensed her before seeing her. He avoided her
gaze and concentrated on the sword. Since the rift with Erik, Swan had been
attentive—always by his side, smiling, brushing against his arm as if to say
she understood.
She cannot know my distress,
but as soon as the
statement formed, he knew the sentiment to be wrong. He knew because he could
feel how she felt, her emotions flooding him like a tidal wave ready to take
him under. Even now, concern swelled from her and into him, suffocating him.

When he didn’t
acknowledge her, she sat next to him, so close the sleeve of her tunic pressed
against his side. He had many questions for her: how she grew up, where she had
been, what their mother was like, why she and their mother had left him, who
wanted her, and why?

The song from the Great
Wood tinkled inside his head.

The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the nordr tonight.
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings.

"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
"Sleep, little one, sleep."

Hallad turned to look at his twin, her eyes closed in
concentration.

"Is that you singing?"
he asked.

Swan started, turning to
Hallad in surprise. Her brows crumpled in confusion. Then she nodded
confirmation.

"Why
don’t you speak?" Hallad pressed on. Swan shook her head back at him, her
features stiff with hurt.

"You
spoke. In Steadsby, you spoke in my head."

She
nodded, unsure.

"And
since then, nothing. I know you know how I feel, yet you let me blunder in
ignorance, not speaking. Not letting me know what it is I fight for."
She
can speak to me. She only chooses not to.

Even as
the thought entered his mind, he knew more hid behind the simple fact. He
waited, but no words came.

She reached out to touch
his face. Hallad caught her wrist and pushed her arm away.

"Leave me be,"
he said, springing from his seat, strutting away.

An avalanche of her hurt
crushed him as he broke into a jog. He needed to get away from her—where he
couldn’t feel her presence, couldn’t read her emotions.

As he barreled through
the scrub brush, confusion muddled his head. He couldn’t tell the difference
between her emotions and his as he dashed onward. Trying to escape. Clear his
head. Be alone.

Alone.
The idea almost choked him. Wasn’t loneliness
the void he had longed to fill?

A crack resounded in the
bushes. "Swan? Is that you?" No one answered, yet the undergrowth
snapped again. Had it been Swan, he would have known. He would have sensed her.

"Priestess?"
he called, to no reply. "Gisla?"

Hallad gripped his swan
sword tighter. The light faded over the Skaggs as an orange-purple hue washed
over the land.

Another crack played in
the distance, then footsteps. Hallad quickened, tearing through the brush,
running after the sound until he stopped short, heaving for breath. Crickets
chirped. An owl hooted.

"Who’s there?"
he called out again. Still, no one replied.

Hallad searched the
ground. Broken branches left a trail.

"Show yourself."

In a hopeful tone he
asked, "Erik?"—though in his gut he realized his ex-blood sworn would
not return. The thought of Erik reignited the ache in his heart.

Hallad followed the
trail until he could no longer tell where the stalker had vanished. Reluctantly,
he returned to camp.

Both Gisla and Swan were
bedded down. The apprentice slept heavily, but even though Swan’s eyes squeezed
shut Hallad could tell her mind spun with thoughts. The priestess sat by the
fire scribbling runes in the dirt with her walking stick. She sketched the rune
for isa, then hagalaz. She harrumphed at the drawing, kicking the symbols with
her boot, dispersing them.

Ase ambled to the fire. With
a rag, she removed a metal cup from near the coals and brought it to Hallad.

"Gisla made it for
you."

Hallad snugged the cup
in his fist and drank, the pungent herbs strong in his throat. With a satisfied
smirk, Ase crossed the distance and shimmied into her bedroll.

"Who are our
friends?" she inquired.