Fire and Lies (18 page)

“Your questions build a road…One I’ve buried, blocked, and burned.”

Rune pushed a knot down his dry throat.

“If you persist…if you pursue …”

The air was thick.

“I will kill you…and your kin.”

There was a long moment before Rune found his voice again.

“Who is Borg?”

Gudrun furrowed her brow, perplexed as she searched her sight.

“Borg,” she whispered. After some time, she shook her head.

“My eyes are blind,” she breathed. “My mind falls black,

That name, no face…nothing, but fear—”

Gudrun shook her head as if trying to clear the air.

“My Seidr is fading. I can not see.”

Gudrun bit her bottom lip and tried again.

“Darkness falls on shadowed dreams…like dewdrops shades are shunned from thee,

Where the water falls like rain…when the— Oh.”

As if in pain, Gudrun clutched her head.

“I would know more,” said Rune, dropping down beside the Volva. “Who killed Kallan’s father? Who killed Eyolf?”

Gudrun abandoned the blur of faded images and studied Rune’s hardened face.

“I see beyond this world, like dreams,

Where once I looked upon the sea,

There, the dark invades my sight.”

She gasped and spoke faster as if trying to race the shadows.

“Cold dreams…cloud sight.

The void, it…devours night.”

Gudrun shoved her brittle fingers through her silver hair, desperate for the answers that wouldn’t obey her summons.

“I can not see,” she said.

“What should I do?” Rune asked, plowing ahead while there was still time.

Gudrun shook her head with an air of sadness.

Rune jumped to the next question, sweat beading upon his brow. “Will Kallan join us?”

The light returned and Gudrun could read the runes again suspended in the distance, hanging on the threads of Seidr.

“Kallan bends with the boughs of the Ash,

The babbling brook that bows the land,

Kira breathes through Kallan’s whim,

Riding, whispering, on the wind.

I hear my voice on Kallan’s breath,

Vivid and fervent…boisterous.”

Gudrun studied the silver of Rune’s blue eyes and suppressed a smile.

“Kallan goes where Kallan wills,

Wherever you lead…” She nodded. “Kallan will.”

Rune’s lips cracked against the dryness. Sweat pooled in his cold hands and he forced the words from his throat.

“Who was the Dokkalfr who killed my sister—?” He lost his voice and gulped. “Who killed Swann?”

Once more, a blackened cloud appeared and blocked all images from Gudrun. She heard the distant scream then silence as a girl took her last breath, and nothing more. Worry crumpled Gudrun’s face and she shook her head, failing to clear the fog.

“I can not see, what seeds are sown,” she susurrated and Rune’s shoulders fell.

“I would know no more.”

Slowly, he found his feet and turned to the door.

“It is you,” Gudrun said. Rune paused, his hand already on the handle. “You who sent the soldier to ask about Kallan’s children.”

Rune shuffled around and gazed upon the old woman.

“Why?” Gudrun asked.

There was a long while before Rune answered as he pondered the Volva’s reliance.

“I have only…ever…wanted to end this war,” Rune said, “and I can’t do that without Kallan.”

He had barely moved again for the door, when she spoke again.

“There is the matter of my payment,” Gudrun said.

A new shadow filled her eyes as if pleading with him to hear.

“Ask it,” Rune said.

“Don’t let Kallan go back.” Her voice wavered with a weakness Rune had thought incapable of her. “Not while Aaric is there.” Gudrun shook her head. “Not alone.”

With a slight nod, Rune slipped from the cell. Before the door closed behind him, the lights recollected themselves and returned to the ball of Seidr that hovered before Gudrun.

K
allan watched the sun set beyond the river from the outermost ends of Gunir in the farthest backstreets of the warrens. There, looking down from a low hanging rooftop, she found what she had been looking for. Streets of abandoned buildings and dilapidated shacks left to the hungry and homeless.

From a distance, Kallan watched as the starved and lost children tucked themselves into whatever crevices they could find, with whatever garbage they could muster for blankets. Most had settled down for the night. Only a handful of them still cried. The chill in the air bit cold and Kallan hugged herself tighter.

I will wait until the crying stops.

Daylight drained from the earth and another two hours slipped by. Rune’s warriors ended their search. The spell would wear off soon and, any minute now, Astrid would re-appear in his stall.

The cries of the children faded in exchange for night’s silence and Kallan forced herself to her feet.

I can always come back
, she decided.
I have to come back.

With a long sigh, she brushed the filth from her clothes. Carefully, she climbed down from the roof, securing her grip with her Seidr.

With a breath of relief, Kallan’s feet touched the ground and she scanned the warrens. After selecting the quietest road through the thatch and mortar homes, Kallan twisted her way through the village, past the occasional Ljosalfr, up the wide steps to the battlement, and across the courtyard to the keep.

Cold laughter filled the Great Hall, where nearly one hundred of Rune’s warriors dined at the tables. The fire pit roared, and they laughed, exchanging drinks for stories as Kallan slipped by them unseen. After making note of Rune’s absence among his men, she made her way up the steps to the second floor and sprinted down the hall to her bower. The distant buzz of the rabble below vanished as Kallan pushed the door closed behind her. Falling back against the door, she gasped.

Her chambers glowed with the warmth of lit candles and the roaring hearth. In the bedroom, a warm bath had been drawn and scented with oils of heather, rose, and lavender. A clean set of finely embroidered night garments covered the foot of the bed and trays laden with fresh meats, sugared fruits, and black currant mead buried the tables. A breeze blew in from the solar, taking with it the sweet scent of sage.

Digging the heel of her hand into her eyes, Kallan recovered her senses and immediately began unlacing her bodice and stripping off her clothes. She soaked for as long as it took to absorb the oils into her skin and scrub the filth from her feet.

Afterwards, still damp with oils and bath water, Kallan slipped into the chemise that fell to the floor, and pulled the matching dressing gown on over her shoulders. Leaving her hair free to hang in the breeze, Kallan brushed the short bits from her eyes and hungrily looked over the tray lavished with fruits and salted meats. She had almost started to enjoy herself, when the gentle click of her door interrupted her evening.

With one hand upright and a pear clamped in her teeth, Kallan cradled a ball of orange flame.

“Be still,” Torunn said. From the bedroom door, she waited for Kallan to lower her defenses. Despite the uneasiness in her eyes, the old key keeper forced a grin.

Once Kallan realized Torunn wasn’t Rune, a slight poke of disappointment stabbed at her chest. With a flick of her wrist and a poorly suppressed eye roll, Kallan extinguished the flame and pulled the fruit from her mouth.

“No one knows you’re back yet,” Torunn whispered. She dared a few steps forward.

“You were expecting me,” Kallan said.

“Of course.” Torunn smiled and came to stand before Kallan. “Who do you think prepared your room?”

Kallan stared wide-eyed at the gentle face, unsure what to say as the Ljosalfr intrdocued herself.

“I am Torunn, the castle’s keeper,” Torunn said, inviting the Dokkalfr to speak.

Kallan gave a single nod, keeping her eyes fastened to the Ljosalfr.

“What do you want?” Kallan asked, hardening her face at the sudden pleasantries.

Torunn folded her hands and dropped them to her front as she peered at Kallan with the same look Kallan had seen from Rune so many times.

“I am here to offer reconciliation.” Torunn attempted to soften her voice, avoiding an accusatory lilt in her tone.

Kallan shook her head with a bit of a chuckle.

“Forgive my suspicion,” she said, “but I’ve seen too little from the Ljosalfar that suggests you want to reconcile.”

Dropping the pear on the table, Kallan pretended to look through the tray of food.

“Please…” Collecting the folds of her skirts, Torunn followed Kallan along the rows of trays. “I understand your apprehension…your hesitation.” Kallan raised her face to the dark outside her window above the tables of food. “I’ve watched you stand against Bergen and Rune surrounded by a people who despise you.”

“For two days you’ve said nothing to me,” Kallan said, staring up at the almost half-moon. “Why the sudden change?”

“For Rune,” the woman said. “For Bergen.”

Kallan frowned. “Common enemy, common ground?”

Torunn shrugged then smiled kindly despite Kallan’s ill temper.

“In a way.”

Kallan shook her head.

“You can’t help me,” she said and, hugging herself, sauntered into the sitting room.

The sweet lake air snapped and whipped the fire’s flames. Kallan inhaled deeply, coming to stand in the room’s center where a fine, thick fur rug swallowed her toes.

“I know these boys,” Torunn said, “every secret, every nuance, every quirk. I know the way they think, the way they hate. The way they love… I know what they drink and whom they fight. I know which bed they sleep in every night. I know what bedfellows they keep.”

With one question suddenly at the front of her mind, Kallan turned about, but the twinkle in Torunn’s eye stopped her from asking who frequently shared Rune’s bed with him.

“You can’t tell me none of this information can be of use to you,” Torunn asked.

Gentle curiosity narrowed Kallan’s eyes.

“Why do you tell me this?”

Torunn smiled.

“I’m too wise to hold my tongue when I shouldn’t.”

Kallan mulled Torunn’s proposition around for a moment.

“Even if you could help,” Kallan asked, “why would you?”

With a hearty chuckle that encouraged Kallan to absorb the full humor of the situation, Torunn smiled broadly, multiplying the intricate lines at her eyes.

“In the time I have served this family, those boys have given me an eternity of woes. I am all too eager to pay them back for the years of affliction they have bestowed unto me. Besides…” Smiling, Torunn shrugged. “They deserve it.”

Sighing, Kallan shook her head and returned to her bedroom. Exasperated, she settled herself into a chair before the small hearth fire, letting her arms hang off the side of the chair.

“And how could I—”

“Lady Kallan,” Torunn said, dropping to her knees beside the Dokkalfr. “Your Majesty.”

Kallan gazed at Torunn, shocked at the formal recognition.

“In the short time that you’ve been here in Gunir, I’ve seen you rumple Bergen’s pride—which, in itself, is a great feat. I’ve seen Rune run more laps trying to keep up with you and get the runaround he’s been needing for a long…
long
time.”

Kallan stared at the fire.

“I don’t know what transpired since Swann Dalr,” Torunn said, “or how the two of you ended up in Midgard gallivanting around with the kings of Men and the Dvergar, but whatever it was—whatever it is—it has worked. Everyone is here at the end of this thing. And we are all very, very tired.”

Flames licked the air with a liveliness that seemed to infiltrate Kallan’s nerve. She tried to remember the last time she played at a game like this.

It was Daggon,
she recalled, thinking back.
He had needed to retaliate against one of Father’s jokes that entailed a cauldron of deer blood, the whole of the army, and his horse.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Kallan’s mouth.

“What’s the plan?”