Dolor and Shadow (38 page)

* * *

Holding her breath, Kallan dunked her head beneath the water’s surface and rose again, sleeking her hair down her bare back. It was easy to forget her troubles in the middle of a vast Nordic lake surrounded by tall pines and clean water in the silence.

The light of the waning moon danced on the black water. The storm clouds had passed, taking with it the fog and leaving behind the vibrant, green waves of Odinn’s lights that painted the clear, open sky.

The sharp pain that stabbed at her chest every time she thought of Rune smiling at Emma had dissipated to a dull nuisance she cursed beneath her breath. Free of the fierce panic that no longer provoked her worries, Kallan’s thoughts wandered back to Daggon, Gudrun, Aaric, Eyolf, and the children left behind in the warrens.

She stared at the lights for a long while then dipped her head beneath the icy waters, purging the worries from her consciousness and forcing herself to forget. She forgot Rune’s face when he sliced through the neck of the soldier seated on top of Emma.

Kallan wiped the water from her face, gasped, and dunked beneath the surface again. She forgot the wretched morning that began with Rune splayed over her and his words, his kiss, and the burn of his hand as he struck her. Raging ripples broke the water’s surface and Kallan dove again with a gasp. She abandoned all thoughts of the Dvergar, and the pungent taste of their drug that robbed her of her senses, sanity, and her Seidr.

Kallan surfaced for air and plunged again into the lake, silencing the countless nightmares of Daggon’s screams as she watched him consumed by Seidr flame. She recalled Rind’s wide, clear eyes and the curl of Latha’s bottom lip as Kallan waited for her body to adjust to the cold. Pain pinched her chest and she battled to breathe as she recalled a certain promise.

“I’ll be down first thing in the morning.”

The children had been expecting her. The children were waiting.

Kallan surfaced, releasing a gasp, and cleared her mind until all that remained was a single hunter deep in the forest of Alfheim, holding the tips of her fingers. Her insides warmed as they twisted with discomfort. Engulfed in memory, she swam to the bank of the lake, holding her eyes on the lights, the lights where shadow couldn’t go, the lights that were free of Dvergar.

Kallan walked to the patch of brush where she had left her clothes well over an hour ago. She shivered against the damp, cold cloth as she pulled the woolen tunic over her head. Her attempt at scrubbing the filth from her clothes left them stiff and cold against her skin. The hem stopped mid-thigh.

One leg after the other, Kallan pulled on her trousers, reminding herself of the shredded chemise Rune had stripped from her only days ago. Another wave of warmth rolled through her, and she cursed her stupidity as she fastened the twine at her waist.

“It’s too easy to forget everything here in Midgard, miles away from Lorlenalin and Gunir,” Rune said.

Startled, Kallan jumped, hugging her front protectively.

There, leaning too comfortably against a birch in the shadows, Rune stood, arms crossed and wearing only his trousers, his boots, and a grin.

Heat burned every inch of her body as she felt her face flush red. Shaking, Kallan tied the twine at her waist.

“None of us should wander off alone,” Rune said as Kallan sat down on the ground, where she wrapped her feet and crammed them back into her boots.

“How long have you been there?” she said, releasing her second foot.

Rune grinned, matching the mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“Long enough to know you haven’t traveled north to see the lights like this before.”

Another wave of heat and blood rushed to Kallan’s face then poured down her neck and Kallan reached for her sword before remembering she had left it back by the fire.

“You—”

“They shine differently here in Throendalog,” Rune said, raising his eyes to the sky.

Stunned by his impassiveness, Kallan stared, forgetting her anger almost immediately.

“We should visit Lofot and Vargfot up north in the winter sometime, although I recommend going by boat,” he said. “The cliffs and mountains are merciless in the winter.”

The ribbons rippled.

“They are beautiful,” he whispered. “Some nights I would lie awake wondering why the spectacle isn’t accompanied by a battle cry. I would spend hours, walking all night beneath them, straining to hear their horses’ hooves beat the skies and Heimdallr’s horn leading them on. But they are silent.” Rune shook his head, still staring at the sky. “They shouldn’t be silent.”

Trembling, Kallan closed her eyes, ignoring every word, save one.

“
We
?”

Rune dropped his attention from the lights as she peered through the dark, hating him.

“Why would I ever…travel anywhere…with you ever again?” Kallan seethed.

Rune gave a look that feigned hurt.

“You act as if we’re enemies. You know, if things had been different between our people, our families would have married us off to each other ages ago. You would be my wife right now, broken into obedience.”

Flames consumed Kallan’s hand, and Rune only grinned.

“You killed my father!” she screamed.

Her words echoed over the lake as all joviality fell from Rune’s face.

Kallan forced each breath, panting as she shook with rage while the silence returned and she extinguished her flames.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

Rune arched a brow.

“The Dvergar took you and dragged you across Midgard—”

“No! Here! The lake! Now!”

A single strand of wet hair caught in Kallan’s breath.

“Where’s Emma?” Kallan said, desperate to change the subject.

“She’s fast asleep,” Rune said. “I had to be sure her bed was warm before dragging myself away to find you.”

His answer punched her stomach like dagger dipped in dragon bile. Nausea churned her insides and Kallan clenched her fists for want of her sword.

“I can take care of myself,” Kallan said through clenched teeth.

“You always act so tough,” Rune said, not bothering to hold back the amusement that dripped in his voice. “Like you’re something I should fear.”

“Bold words for someone whose neck was lingering beneath my executioner’s axe a moon ago.”

“You always have to be so spiteful.” Rune pushed off the tree then widened his eyes with a sudden ingenuity. “This is because you’re weak.”

“What is it with you?” Kallan shrieked. “Constantly pushing me, saying whatever pops into your head, knowing it will drive me to kill you! Do you want me to kill you?”

“You must be exhausted brooding as much as you do all the time,” Rune replied. “I am curious. Did the Dvergar find you to be this much trouble?”

Hurt flashed in her eyes and Kallan spun on her heel eager to return to her bedroll and sword, but Rune was on her from behind, wrapping his arms around her so tight, he might have crushed her.

“It’s still there.” The heat of his breath grazed her ear. “Every bone they broke, every beating, every day you spent chained to the floor like a dog, lingering beneath the surface of that wall you have up.”

The memories flooded in and Kallan thrashed, trying to break Rune’s grip.

“Release me!”

Rune tightened his hold.

“You will remember their filth,” he said, “every bruise, every break, every sound that stifled your senses.”

All at once, the Dvergar stench flooded back: Nordri’s voice, his smile, the bitter-tang and the darkness. She wouldn’t remember and falter. Not where
he
could see, not he who was to blame for her capture in the first place.

Kallan released a shrill cry and Rune pulled her around to face him, pinning her arms to his chest before she could regain the sense enough to run.

“Tell me,” he said, “are you elated for what they did to you, eager to thank them, or do you deny what they did to you completely?”

“Where’s my sword? Where’s my sword?” Kallan searched the ground, desperate for the blade she left behind.

“Your hands aren’t good enough for the likes of me?” Rune said, riling her further. “You have to resort to cold steel?”

“I want to feel you writhing on the end of my sword as I run you through!” Her voice carried across the lake, filling the night beneath the lights.

Rune smiled through his retort. “I could say the same to you.”

Like a Bean Si, Kallan screamed and flailed about. Rune flexed his arms to keep her in place, squeezing as her anger flowed like magma.

“You’re a spoiled Ljosalfar prince,” Kallan cried. “Thinking you can bend a woman if you ruffle her skirts the moment she swoons!”

Rune held his grin. “And that’s only half the offenses I’ve shown you. Perhaps I should have been kinder. Broken your nose…”

Kallan growled, refusing to remember, not here, not now, not with him.

“…beaten your sides until your bones broke under my fists…”

Kallan swung her foot, but Rune crushed the fight out of her before she could land a kick.

“…kicked you in the face,” he said.

Kallan turned her claws to his chest and he took her claws. He let her draw his blood and held his feet planted firmly into the ground, balancing their weight as she thrashed about.

“…crushed your hand into powder,” he hollered against the strips of blood she dug out of him. “But, no,” Rune purred. “I really showed you, didn’t I?” He added a laugh and tightened his grip. “I
beguiled
you!”

Kallan’s scream permeated the valley, leaving behind the echoes as she sunk her teeth into his chest. Rune roared and took the bite, tightening his hold as Kallan bit harder, until she tasted blood.

Nordri’s sick smile beamed through the dark and Kallan battled back the memory as his laughter pierced the shadows
.
The sick stench came back to her with that laugh.

Forget…Forget…

And still Rune held her, unbending beneath her tantrum until her strength waned and she released him.

“You barely allow grief let alone the pain you harbor,” Rune spoke hurriedly into her ear. “If you won’t thrash and scream at them, then come at me.” Rune shook her. “Come at me!” He shook her again, but Kallan had fallen limp. “Or should I kiss you? Maybe then you’ll feel
something
!”

Kallan lay flaccid in his arms, saying nothing as she panted for breath.

Forget.

“You are weak, unable to confront even the slightest reality,” he said. “Or did you enjoy the company of the Dvergar? Should I hand you back to them now?”

Kallan didn’t move as she shook with unrelenting venom reserved just for Rune, for the Dvergar, for the clothes on her back that came from the caves…all because of the King of Gunir.

“What they did to you,” Rune whispered. “That doesn’t get to you even a little?”

“What they did to me,” she whispered, hating the Ljosalfr holding her. “What they did…”

But the words wouldn’t form without tearing down the wall that had secured her sanity.

“Yes, Kallan,” Rune said. “What they did to you. What they took from you…”

“What they…”

Exhausted, Kallan slumped down into his arms and dropped her brow to his chest.

Forget…or you’ll break. Not here. Not with him.

“They’re not here, Kallan,” Rune said. “They’re miles away. Say it.”

But in silence she slumped, her forehead resting against his chest, defeated, as she breathed in his scent of spiced earth and wished her death would come swiftly.

The green lights rippled across the sky in silence as Rune wondered, once more, why he couldn’t hear the hooves of the horses and their battle cries. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her waiting for the moment in which Kallan would break beneath her grief, when she would acknowledge the abuse she had endured from the Dvergar, her father’s death…anything.

Rune listened to her huff.

“Will you never break, princess?” he whispered and touched his lips to her brow, unaware of the steady streams of hot tears that flowed down her face.

CHAPTER 49

Kallan slogged back to camp as Rune lingered behind her. With a cold shoulder, she crawled beneath the blankets, welcoming the cold over Ori’s overcoat as she settled herself beside the fire. Within moments, fitful, dream-filled sleep eased Kallan’s rage, leaving Rune to spend the night alone on guard.

It felt like minutes later, when he shook her and Emma awake. The sun’s light barely spilled through the mountains. All evidence of the storm from the night before had vanished, leaving behind blue skies untainted by the blemish of cloud coverage and a comfortable nip in the air that encouraged movement.

They ate, said little, and broke camp half an hour later.

Sleep did Emma well and left her in a spry mood that bounced her every step. Oblivious to the silence suspended between Rune and Kallan, she plodded about through the open valley with an unnatural gaiety.

The lush pines thickened, and before the sun found the sky, they were buried in the depths of Throendalog’s forest speckled with yellowing orange trees that had just started to turn from summer’s green.

Whenever the impulse struck him, and it was often, Rune shifted an anxious glance to Kallan, who kept her head down, her mouth shut, and her eyes forward. Passing tufts of shrubs and lichen, their motley crew trudged along through Throendalog: the Dokkalfr, Ljosalfr, an Englian, and a horse.

By mid-day, when they stopped to finish the last of the lake trout, Rune tried again to provoke Kallan.

He sat. She scowled. He shifted. She sneered. Rune sighed and Kallan glared.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” he said with a soft grin.

Kallan stared into the north beyond the trees, the forests, and mountains. Her chest tightened as she thought of the open, endless horizons of Alfheim. A hollow void settled itself within, filling her with an ache that pulled her home.

Rune settled himself down beside her, pulling Kallan from her daydreams. Calmly, she met his gaze then turned back to the mountains before speaking.

“The mountains here remind me of home,” she said.

“You worry often,” Rune said, drawing an alarmed look from Kallan. “About Lorlenalin, I mean,” he clarified and she returned her eyes to the horizon and mountain peaks.

“Surely you have your captain and high marshal to maintain order in your absence,” Rune said, forcing Kallan’s critical eye. She studied him as he spoke. “What impending problem demands the constant vigilance of Lorlenalin’s queen?” Rune asked. “What is so fragile that you neglected to secure someone to oversee the issue in your absence?”

Taking in a breath and releasing it through her nose, Kallan gazed out among the mountains. Their white tips reached to the sky. There were places where she couldn’t tell cloud from snow tipped peaks.

“The children,” she answered.

Rune raised his brow when a series of sudden, sharp snaps averted his attention to Emma. Gripping a stick too tightly, Emma whacked away at the trunk of a defenseless, lone birch, forced to take her beatings.

Staring blankly at the skies, Kallan paid the human little mind. Her thoughts filled instead with white stone halls and cloudberry jams served with warm breads from Lorlenalin’s kitchens.

Rune picked himself up from the ground.

“Here,” he said, pulling the Dvergar sword from his waist.

Curious, Emma lowered her stick and blushed at the attention drawn from the Alfr king, who offered her the hilt of his blade.

“Like this,” Rune said, coming to stand behind her.

The weight of the sword pulled Emma’s body forward and her arm dropped to the ground with the blade. Long strands of golden hair fell like a shimmering curtain, catching the sun as the sword pulled her off balance.

Rune relinquished a huff that drew Kallan’s eyes just as he stepped in closer behind Emma to help her lift the sword with both hands. Kallan’s nostrils flared at the sudden awareness of how petite and pretty the peasant was.

“It’s meant for two hands,” Rune said, guiding her delicate left hand to the hilt. She dropped the sword again, forcing him to hold the unsupported weight with her. “Raise it up and draw it down, against the edge on an angle.”

He followed through with a set of strokes, left then right then left, before leaving her to her own. Almost at once, Emma lost her balance again and fell forward, digging the fine point of the blade into the earth.

Kallan cringed.

Unable to watch any more, the Dokkalfr emitted a grunt and jumped to her feet. “Oh, here,” Kallan said, making her way to Emma.

The girl blushed again, uncertain of the concealed rage of the Dokkalfar queen swaddled in woolen rags two sizes too big for her frame.

With a rigid flick of her wrist, Kallan yanked her dagger from her waist and tossed it to Rune, forcing him to catch the blade mid-air before it struck him in the face.

“I want it back,” she said, extending a finger to Rune and relieving Emma of the sword.

Its jewels and black blade caught the sunlight and encouraged Kallan to twist her wrist around, gaining a solid feel for the sword as the Englian skipped out of the way, clearing the area for Kallan.

The sword’s balance was perfect, too perfect. It was dead on. A twinge of jealousy pricked her chest. Intricate gem work featuring black opals, black hematite, and silver filigree adorned the elding hilt. The pommel itself flashed in the sun with the reds, black, blues, and greens of a black fire opal. But the runes, the elegant, lavish runes, caught her eye and Kallan read aloud.

“
Gramm
.”

Her palms grew moist as she recalled the stories Daggon told from an age nearly forgotten. She raised a widened gaze to Rune.

“This is
Gramm
.”

Grinning proudly, as if he himself had forged it, Rune extended a hand for the blade.

“Give it back,” he said, still smiling.

With another turn of her wrist, Kallan spun the blade, poised at the ready for battle.

“Take it back,” she dared, with the slightest hint of a grin.

Rune glanced at the eighteen-inch blade in his hand and then to the thirty-five inch blade pointed at him as if inadequacy suddenly weighed heavily on his consciousness.

“You could at least loan me one of the man-made swords,” Rune said.

Kallan shook her head.

“They’re iron,” she said. “An elding blade would break them.” Kallan raised
Gramm
at the ready.

“How convenient.” He thrust the blade to test its balance. “No Seidr.”

Kallan grinned, adding a malicious ambience to the air.

“No…whatever it is you have in you.”

Flicking
Blod Tonn
at the ready, Rune waited and Kallan lunged. The sword collided with the dagger and Rune pushed back, parting their blades. Again, Kallan channeled her energy, bringing the sword into Rune. He swung the dagger around, catching Kallan on the upswing, recovered, and swung again, forcing the Dokkalfr to dodge.

Mirroring Kallan’s footwork, Rune parried and provoked, guiding her next offense to his liking. He shifted opposite Kallan, brushing alongside her as he guided her dagger into each block, but Kallan was somewhere else, lost to the swordplay.

Spellbound in musings, she relived the sparring she once rehearsed with her father. Up again, Kallan spun, pacing her breath and balancing her footwork as her father talked her through the motions.

And again
, she heard her father say as she swept the blade, bringing it down onto
Blod Tonn
.

First and foremost, hold your balance. You’ll never win a fight with poor balance.
But she was unbalanced and losing her footing there with Rune. Too quickly, Kallan felt herself slipping. She spun, bringing
Gramm
back around as she had done with her own sword so many times before.

Use your weight to anchor the swing. Let the sword do the work for you,
her father had coached.

Guiding
Gramm’s
blade up, Kallan swung the sword to her shoulder, following through with her father’s advice, but she was reaching and falling.

Reach with the blade, not with your arms. Never overextend. Remember, the blade is an extension of you.

The sun had caught the pride in Eyolf’s gentle eyes as he had looked down at his daughter. Desperate to hear his praise once more, Kallan lunged, forgetting it was Rune standing in front of her.
Gramm
slammed down into
Blod Tonn
, sending waves through her. Her voice faded, his smile vanished, and her father was gone all over again.

“Kallan?”

The sunlight flashed and the leaves whispered in the wind. Astrid snorted nearby, nuzzling the grass beside Emma.

Beads of sweat poured down Kallan’s face as her minute gasps of breath hit the air. A memory flashed of black blood covering her hands and she flinched, her hatred rebounding. From between the blades, Rune watched with a concerned look that baffled Kallan. She recalled Rune riding in the distance from the Dokkalfar keep, leaving his men to do his bidding. A dark desire to pull back the blade and summon her Seidr surged through her, but she would be lost without him, here in Midgard.

“I don’t know the way,” Kallan whispered between their locked hilts.

Forced to ignore the hate that stirred her rage, Kallan lowered
Gramm
and passed the sword to Rune. She accepted
Blod Tonn
without a word. Alone, Kallan returned to her place on the stones beside the trees where she resumed her silent brood.