Authors: Angela Chrysler
Kallan watched and waited, but the sea worms no longer swam to the shores of Men. All at once, she took a long, deep breath as if surrendering her defiance.
“The Dvergar seek the pouch I carry,” Kallan said. “They made no mention of its contents.”
Rune turned around. His eyes were wide from the thoughts that had drifted as Kallan examined the charm in silence. His carefree nature was gone, replaced with the composure of the cold, methodical king he was. Free of her inhibitions, the information Rune desired now poured from Kallan.
“Why would they want a Seidkona’s pouch?” he asked.
“I would imagine…” Kallan sighed, staring out to sea still looking, still hoping for the sea worms to come. “…because it was Odinn’s.”
Rune blinked stupidly.
“Odinn,” he said, with a drawl of doubt.
But she didn’t smile. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move.
“
The
Odinn,” he said.
“Yes,” Kallan said, tearing her eyes from the sea. “That Odinn.”
Rune battled incredulity as Kallan went on, not bothering to wait for his senses to catch up with what she was about to say.
“The pouch was crafted by Freyja as a gift to Odinn while he journeyed Yggdrasill for the wisdom he sought.” She paused, giving Rune a chance to speak. When he said nothing, she continued. “Freyja infused the pouch with an enchantment, making it forever replenish the single apple Idunn bestowed as a gift, and Odinn was free to wander Yggdrasill with an eternal supply of Idunn’s apples.”
Rune lost his breath, unable to think while he tried to sort out five single words.
“Eternal supply of Idunn’s apples.” He spoke the words slowly.
Kallan nodded and waited.
“Those apples then,” Rune said, remembering every time she ate one, each time she passed one to Astrid, the glow of her skin and how quickly she had healed.
“Are Idunn’s apples,” Rune finished.
“They are,” she said.
“The apples of Asgard that give eternal youth to any who eat of them.” Rune’s voice was straining with tension.
Kallan nodded.
“And your pouch provides an eternal supply of them?”
“It does,” Kallan said.
Desperate to understand, Rune shook his head.
“But Idunn’s apples provide youth to the gods,” he said, “and I’ve seen you heal with them.”
Kallan sighed.
“Gudrun isn’t just a Seidkona. She’s a healer and studied extensively on this matter, leading her to discover the healing properties of the body. When a person is born, the body restores itself. As a person gets older, the body’s ability to heal and restore itself slows down until it stops, as if the body is too tired to heal or just…forgets.”
“Old age,” Rune said of Olga and Halvard in the Mead Hall, laughing, living, and dying. In the longhouse, with Ori’s overcoat, Kallan possessed the ability to save them.
Kallan nodded.
“Exactly. It’s why children heal so much faster than an elder and why some elders never heal at all. It’s why an elder can die from a break or a fall.”
“Because their bodies have stopped,” Rune thought aloud.
“With an adjustment to an enhanced healing spell, Gudrun was able to use the apples to rejuvenate the healing process. She uses the body’s memory.” Rune nodded, saying nothing as she spoke. “She’s reminding the body of what it once knew as a child then re-teaching or reminding it to heal itself. She refined it so well that Gudrun can renew life in the dead.” Kallan amended, “To an extent.”
“The youth it gives to the gods…” Rune assessed.
“—and the healing properties it gives the Alfar—”
“…would make men immortal.”
Kallan nodded.
“For as long as they eat of the fruit.”
Awe blanketed Rune’s face as his head raced for something to grasp that he could understand. After a moment, Kallan returned to the sea and her silent ponderings.
“And what of…this?”
Kallan looked back at him and studied the subtle shifts in his composure and unnatural stillness. She admired the cool control in his words. “This thing inside of me,” Rune said. “How does that fit into your Seidr?”
Kallan shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“How…” he asked. “How did you get Odinn’s pouch?”
The moonlight formed a clear, perfect crescent on the water’s surface.
“It was a gift from Gudrun,” she said.
Rune shook his head.
“But where did she get it?”
Kallan flushed red, knowing she had said too much. Regardless, she spouted forth the answers.
“Odinn gave it to her in exchange for a favor,” she answered.
Rune crinkled his brow. “What could Gudrun possibly have that Odinn would want from an old hag?”
Gudrun would kill her. Kallan decided this. She had said too much, but somehow, she trusted him and she was no fool. After all they had been through, after all he had done for her, she owed him these answers.
“A prophecy,” Kallan said and watched Rune’s eyes widened and she knew: he understood. Kallan gazed up at the moon.
“She—she—” he stuttered. “She—”
“Yes. Gudrun is a Seer,” Kallan said. “You’ve heard of the Volva’s Prophecy.”
Rune’s eyes widened further, his mouth fell open and Kallan turned her gaze to the sea.
She continued without his answer.
“After he placed his eye into Mimir’s Well and drank of the water, Odinn learned he needed to speak to a Volva. The Volva Odinn sought for eternal wisdom—”
“Was Gudrun,” Rune finished for her.
“Yes.”
With mouth agape, he waved a finger at Kallan.
“You know what she said,” he breathed.
Kallan shook her head with an admirable grin. “Not a chance. I’ve spent years trying to extract that knowledge from Gudrun.”
Rune looked to the sea, watching the waves rush to the shore.
“Olaf seeks Idunn’s apples to regenerate the strength and power of his troops,” Rune said.
“I assume so.”
“Halvard said Olaf had spoken to a Seidkona,” he mused. “Could she have known about the apples?”
Kallan dropped her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“And the Dvergar for that matter,” Rune asked, but Kallan shook her head.
“I still don’t know.”
Rune sighed and pushed his hand through his hair as Kallan bit the corner of her bottom lip. Almost immediately, his eyes widened and he straightened his back.
“Someone was helping them,” he said.
Kallan pulled back her shoulders as if ready to attack.
“A human king is looking for you, killing every Seidkona along the way,” Rune said. “The Dvergar traveled as far south as Alfheim after pinning the pouch’s location to you. Without help, they never would have been able to track the pouch to you.”
Rune paused as if gathering his thoughts as Kallan stared wide-eyed at him.
“Who else knows about the pouch?” Rune asked. “Really knows?”
“Gudrun, my father, Eilif, Daggon, and Aaric.”
“Any others?” he asked. “Any at all?”
Kallan shook her head as she reviewed the list again. “No. It’s just a pouch. All Seidkona have them.”
“No. Not all Seidkona have a pouch that produces Idunn’s apples. Gudrun,” Rune said. “She’s the Seer.”
“My elder mother,” Kallan clarified, nodding.
“Elder mother,” Rune repeated.
“It is she who gave me the pouch,” Kallan said. “She who taught me.”
Rune nodded. “Your father is dead, which rules him out.”
A distasteful sick stirred Kallan’s gut as Rune passed over the statement with indifference.
“What about Eilif, Daggon, and Aaric?” he asked.
“Eilif is my scribe,” Kallan said with a renewed twinge of malcontent. “We’ve been friends since we were children. Together we rounded up the orphans in the warrens.”
“And he’s just a scribe?”
Kallan shrugged.
“My bard,” she specified. “He maintains our libraries, our records, and our history. He can read and write and recite centuries worth of dissertations.”
“And Daggon?”
“Daggon is my captain, my keeper. My sentinel,” she said. “My father left me in his care before the Dokkalfar even came to Alfheim.”
“And Aaric?” Rune asked, concluding her list.
“My high marshal?” Kallan tightened her mouth.
Rune nodded. Kallan’s face was stern as Rune waited for her to begin.
“Aaric was dearest friend to my father long before we came to Alfheim. Father stationed him in Lorlenalin to build alliances with the Ljosalfar.”
Rune arched a brow, riling her further.
“Build alliances?” Rune asked.
Kallan nodded.
“And yet we are at war,” he said, with a tone that suggested she reconsider.
“Well, you didn’t exactly welcome us when we got here.”
Rune didn’t answer.
“Father trusted no other to that station,” Kallan snipped. “Aaric oversaw my education and still works to bring peace to Alfheim.”
Rune said nothing encouraging her anger.
“Aaric even argued in your favor,” she said, unable to hold back the rising bout of rage, “speaking highly of you while I ordered your execution. At one point, Father was going to appoint him captain.”
Rune ended his brooding.
“What happened?” he asked.
Kallan shrugged.
“Daggon was chosen instead.”
“Why?” Rune asked.
Kallan blinked, uncertain of the answer herself.
“And he holds no resentment?” Rune asked.
“Aaric has lived among the Dokkalfar for centuries,” Kallan said as if this cleared Aaric’s name and finalized her argument.
“You mean he wasn’t always one of you?” Rune asked.
“He was not born Dokkalfar, no,” she said cautiously. “But he is one of us.”
“You sent him to build friendships with my people and yet we are at war,” Rune said.
On the balls of her feet, Kallan turned with a huff. Her arms held stiff at her side, ended in balls of fists.
“Aaric has proven his loyalty beyond question,” she said.
“You have demons sleeping in the bowels of your city,” Rune said, his voice rising in urgency. “Someone is looking to usurp you, and until you find out who it is, everyone is suspect.”
With a scoff, Kallan gathered her skirts and stomped from the beach, forcing her head down as she made her way back to the Mead Hall.
“There are no ships, Kallan.”
The words slammed into her like a wave, taking her senses and draining her head of blood flow. Suddenly dizzy, she stopped and looked back to Rune and the sea. He waited until she made her way back to the beach where she had left him.
“Olaf took everything the Throendir had,” he said. “What he did leave them was a couple of
feraeringr
for fishing and the few ships out on route.”
Kallan swayed on her feet.
“How will we get home?” she breathed.
Her eyes stared frozen to the distance as if hearing nothing at all.
“We have to move east,” he said. “There’s a river, which will lead us south as far as Viken. From there we can make passage around the mountains, through Midgard, and take the road to Guni—Oh…”
Rune clamped his mouth shut too late as Kallan’s temper rebounded.
“I’ll not go to Gunir,” she said before Rune could cringe. “I promised the children. They need me. Gudrun and Eilif are alone. And Aaric—”
“You can argue the details once we’re in Alfheim!” Rune’s voice boomed over hers, forcing her to swallow her tongue as he spoke.
“I want to go home!”
The waves washed upon the shore as Kallan huffed, near tears. Rearing up for the battle, Rune raised his voice to match the sea.
“We have a raging king on our tails with an eye for your head. The Dvergar are adamant to have you and avenge their kin. We’re a fortnight away from home and the only company you have to look forward to until then…” Rune exhaled. “…is me!”
“What do you propose?” Kallan asked, glaring at her new comrade.
“Peace talks! Right now!”
Kallan scoffed, ignoring the rage that flared in Rune’s eyes. “All that matters is that we get to Alfheim at all. Once we are there, we can haggle, bicker, and bitch all you want over which city to go to, but for now, the only chance of survival we have is to stick together. Now you can come along quietly…” Rune huffed. “Or I can fashion up some rope before we leave.”
Kallan glanced to the orange light over the distant houses where the Mead Hall’s lights glowed. The muted laughter carried over the village, filling everyone with a merriment that matched their warmth.
“I’ll go with you,” she said at last, gazing back to Rune. “I’ll travel and hunt and follow the river to Viken.”