Fire and Lies (44 page)

A complete list with audio is available at
www.angelabchrysler.com

Alfr (Alf) Elf

Alfar (Al-far) Elves

Alfheim (Alf-hame) Elf Home

Bergen Tryggveson (Bear-gen Treeg-vay-son) Ljosalfar and berserker

Caoilinn (Kway-linn) Ljosalfar

Daggon (Day-gon) Dokkalfar

Dokkalfr (Do-kalf) Dark elf

Dokkalfar (Do-kal-far) Dark Elves

Dubh Linn (Doov Linn) Dublin, Ireland

Dvergr (D-vare-g) Singular

Dvergar (D-vare-gar) Plural See “
Regarding the Dvergar
” at www.angelabchrysler.com

Eilif (A-leef) Dokkalfar

Eire’s Land (Air’s Land) Ireland

Elding (El-ding) A mysterious metal infused with the Seidr only used by the Dokkalfar and the Dvergar.

Elding (El-ding) The age in which the Alfar reach full maturity and stop aging.

Finn (Fin) The Old Norse word for the Sami

Finntent (fin-tent) The Old Norse words for a portable teepee-styled tent still used by the Sami

Fjandinn (Fee-yan-din) The old Norse equivalent to the Christian word “Devil” used by Norsemen prior to the introduction of the Christian culture.

Freyja (Fray-ya) Norse goddess

Gamme (Ga-may) The Old Norse word for an earthen home still used by the Sami

Ginnungagap (Gi-noon-ga-gap) The Great Gap

Gudrun (goo-droon) Dokkalfar

Gunir (Goo-neer) The Ljosalfar city in Alfheim

Hel (Hel) Loptr’s daughter, Hel, guardian and overseer of Helheim

Helheim (Hel-hame) The Norse version of the Underworld where Loptr’s daughter, Hel, resides.

Idunn (I-thoon or I-doon) Norse goddess

Jotun (Yo-toon) Giants

Jotunheim (Yo-toon-hame) The home of the giants

Kallan Eyolfdottir (Ka-lon A-olf-do-teer) Dokkalfar

Loptr (Lopt) The Old Norse name for Loki

Lorlenalin (Lor-len-a-lin) The Dokkalfar city in Alfheim

Ljosalfr (Lee-yos-alf) Light Elf

Ljosalfar (Lee-yos-al-far) Light Elves

Midgard (Mid-gard) Literal translattion “Middle-Earth.” Midgard is the human realm.

Nidingr (Ni-thing) Literal translation: “Nothing.” The status of  “outlaw” given to a dishonorable coward who has been stripped of his station, property, and citizenship in Norse culture.

Odinn (O-thin or O-din) Norse god

Olaf Tryggvason (O-lof Treeg-va-son) Historically, the first king of Norway.

Note: Olaf Tryggvason has no relation to Bergen or Rune whose last name is Tryggveson. The name of Olaf’s father was “Trygg” while the father of Rune and Bergen is “Tryggve.”

Seidr (Say-th or Seed) The life source bound to the elements and all living things and referred to as “magic” in the Deserts.

Seidkona (Say-th-kona or Seed-ko-na) Old Norse for “Witch”

Surtr (sert) Lord of the Fire Giants

Sigyn (See-gin) Loptr’s wife

Svartálfr (Svart-alf) Black Elf

Svartálfar (Svart-alf-ar) Black Elves

Svartálfaheim (Svart-alf-a-hame) Home of the Black Elves

Thing (Thing) The Norwegian Parliament still in existence today in Norway.

Tryggve (Treeg-vay) Ljosalfar

Wicce (Witch) Anglo-Saxon word for “Witch”

Winter and Ash (Tales of the Drui Book #3)

CHAPTER 1

Silence. The snow fell lightly onto the ash and stone. The birds that had long since nested here came no more. Silence of the worst kind settled over Lorlenalin’s streets.

Kallan walked among the ash and snow. Her crimson gown upon the stone, the only sound. Without a word, she stepped through the ruins of Lorlenalin. She inhaled, expanding her chest against the empty chasm that filled with the silence left behind. Silence and stone. Silence. It and Kallan were all that remained of Lorlenalin.

Each footfall was like an echo that drummed life back into her. Each breath was as a renting reminder that she lived while they did not. It violently reawakened her to her solitude and she repeated Bergen’s words in her head.

Dead on the cold dank shoals

Dead on the barren floor

Millions could weep no more

Silence the thousands.

Kallan stopped beside the dilapidated stone, crumbled and broken, unrecognizable, save for the location. Once the grand fountain in Lorlenalin’s center, now a ruin.

It would be Jol soon. Voices would have been raised in song this day. Voices no more will sing. A shiver ran up Kallan’s spine. A month ago, she would have broken to her knees and screamed. A week ago she would have dropped her shoulders and sobbed. This day, she could only stand and let the agony of grief eat through her. There were no tears left for this.

There now the children be

Those who’ve forgotten me

Too dead to smile for me

Silence the hundreds.

And so it was done. Kallan stepped and stopped. Her eye caught a gleam of something. Not stone or beam. Not skeleton or skull. Not this time. Kallan bent down and pulled the smooth white bracelet from the ash and snow. She knew the etchings, inscriptions, and eternal knots long before her skin went white. She clamped the elding bracelet in her hand and remembered.

Rind.

A pinch of pain found her through the hollow remains. Too clearly, she could hear Rind’s little voice once more.

“Will you promise?”

She had slipped the bracelet over the tiny hand and watched as Rind spun the bracelet over once then snuggled into her and went to sleep.

“I promise,” Kallan whispered and closed her voice on a sob. If there had been tears left, one would have fallen. But her heart was empty and her eyes were dry.

Once more Kallan walked through the ruins of Lorlenalin, clutching the bracelet. For hours at a time she wandered with no place to go and no one to find. She walked as if looking for someone she knew wasn’t there. Regardless, she walked and looked.

She wandered for hours taking in each broken step and stone. She wandered for days. The snow only fell. She wandered for weeks… a moon passed and then another. She wandered until she could no longer count the moons. Walking and circling the steps of Lorlenalin. Maybe there was someone, somewhere. Maybe she wasn’t alone. She wandered until the silence carved out the last of her heart in the depths of her solitude.

* * *

At the base of a mountain, at the shores of the sea, Livsvann’s water flowed. The snows fell here, coating the gray sands with white. Rune stared into the Kattegat and waited. For moons he waited, ready for when Kallan, at last would pull herself away.

“Rune?”

Rune stared a moment longer into the sea before turning to give a weak smile to Torunn. Her cloak pulled tight on her shoulders. Though he couldn’t see it he knew, she had fastened her gray hair tightly to her head beneath her hood.

“Rune, it’s Jol.”

“So it is.”

“Come home.”

Rune smiled, cold and distant.

“I’m waiting here, Torunn.”

Torunn sighed quietly and came to stand beside Rune. Even the docks were left in ruins.

“Has there been anything?”

“Nothing. No clue, no sign. No life.”

“Will you go to her?”

“That isn’t what she needs now, Torunn. She has lost everyone. Her orphans, herfather, her friend, Gudrun, Daggon . . . Astrid . . .”

Rune shook his head.

“She has nothing left. The least I can do is stand here and wait and be here when she decides to find me.”

“But it’s been months. It’s Jol. Get Kallan and come home. Bergen is gone. All of Gunir has felt the magnitude of this. The city is colder than the snows.”

“Torunn, I love you. But I will not move a foot away from these shores until Kallan is ready to leave.”

Torunn’s shoulders fell. She wouldn’t fight a known defeat.

“It is the least I can do for her.”

Torunn nodded, but when she turned to go, Rune called her back.

“Torunn.”

She gazed over her shoulder.

“Did Cook make the Jol pudding this year?”

“As always. And the halls are strung with balls of holly and pine.”

Rune nodded. He could smell the cinnamon and pies . . . such comforting warmth during such a dismal time.

“Could you—”

“I can bring you a basket.”

Rune smiled. Though still cold, a touch of warmth broke through.

“Thanks Torunn.”

Torunn gathered her skirts and trudged back up the hill, following the waters of Livsvann and leaving Rune to Kallan and the sea.

* * *

Rune crunched the snow beneath his boot. But she didn’t turn. Frail and thin, Kallan stood staring at the gray sky. Her gown fell like sheets of blood on white. The silence was deafening, but Rune stood and waited.

“I can’t hear the sea,” Kallan muttered. Her throat was dry and cracked from disuse.” I never noticed before now. I never cared. I wish I could. It would help fill the silence.”

Rune glanced at a pile of rubble buried now beneath the elements. Most of the ash was gone save for the path Kallan had worn into the snow with her pacing.

“I’m so cold,” Kallan whispered. “And I can still hear them. Their voices, so clear. Their faces…I remember so clearly…” Kallan turned. Her face usually so pale, was nearly as white as the ice that clung to the ruins.” It’s as if they are here…in the keep, in their beds... They’re just sleeping and I can see them if only I will it…If only I tried. And so, I keep walking, as if I’ll turn a corner and see them. And I can reach out and touch their faces. And all will be well again. If only I bother to try…I can take their hands again…if only I bothered to look. All I have to do is call out, and they will answer. And so I walk…but there is only ever snow.”

As she spoke, her breath hastened and dry tears swelled, but never fell, and a madness had taken her, leaving behind a wild look in her golden eyes.

“I have to remind myself that they’re gone,” Kallan said. “Even though Lorlenalin’s streets lay in ruins, I have to remind myself that they’re dead. And I hate it! And so much of this tastes like a lie… But if I don’t… I’ll forget and I will never stop looking.”

Rune dared take a step closer, uncertain if Kallan would collapse as she shook.

“There is nothing I can think that doesn’t remind me, nothing I can do that allows me peace. Living is a constant reminder. But I live, and they are dead…all dead. And what’s worse, I don’t even know why. How I want to die…to join them. How I want…to join them, if only to end this writhing in my chest…”The wave she held back broke forth.” My heart has been cut from me! It’s buried here among the ash! If only I look, I could find it! I can feel it!I know it’s there! And I want it! If only I look…I will find it…I will find it! So I look and I wander to find my heart again.”

Grief pulled her shoulders down and arched her back as Kallan buckled beneath the sorrow. But, she did not falter. She did not fall. Kallan stood and kept her feet on the ground. Rune drew near and took her and held her as she sobbed for all of Lorlenalin and the children and the Dokkalfar who lay dead there.

* * *

The snows fell silently on the streets of Gunir. A stale fear hung in the air, the kind that quelled even gossip. The horse masters barked their orders with more venom. Mothers scolded their children with more bite. But no one spoke of the unease that clouded them all. Inside Gunir’s keep, Geirolf tightened his back as he hunched himself lower over his bowl of stew. The vast fire behind him barely fought back that chill. Instead, he slurped his soup, minding his own, as infected by the cold as anyone there.

Torunn’s sharp step from the kitchens nipped the silence, and Geirolf pulled his fur cloak higher over his shoulder. Her chair scraped the stone floor. Geirolf slurped. She pulled her shawl closer as settled herself beside Geirolf.

“Any word?” Torunn asked.

Geirolf slurped.

She wrung her hands together, but failed to rid the cold from her bony hands.

“Not of late,” Geirolf answered and slurped.

Torunn sighed and gazed up at the holly and pine trims that still hung on the wall from Jol nearly a fortnight past. Piles of dried pine needles collected along the edge of the room and the sheen has long since faded from the holly leaves. Most of the berries had withered and fallen to join the piles of dead pine needles.

“Are you ever going to them down?” Geirolf asked, shaking Torunn from her musings.” They only add to the abysmal mood.”

“I—”

The sudden baritone of Gunir’s horn penetrated the silence causing a brief delay before either Torunn or Geirolf could determine its meaning. Exchanging a look, Geirolf dropped his spoon and stood with Torunn as they threw themselves to the double oak doors that led to Gunir’s courtyard.

With a stiffness and a gimp to his leg, the horse master hobbled from the stables as men from the barracks filled into the courtyard to greet their King and Kallan. As Rune slid of his mount, Kallan lowered herself to the ground.

“Welcome back, Rune,” Geirolf said slapping a hand to Rune’s shoulder with a warm grin that seemed out of place. Before Rune could release Kallan, Geirolf swept her hand from Rune, and planted a kiss to her cheek.” Sweet Lady.”

“Tell me you have fresh mead and a hot fire inside,” Rune said, catching Torunn in a hug.

“As always,” she said and followed Rune into the Hall ahead of Geirolf who took Kallan’s arm.

Stripping his gloves from his hands, Rune slid his overcoat from his shoulders to welcome the warmth from the fire as he made his way to the grand stairs on the Hall’s North side. His gaze shifted to the empty throne briefly before leading his clan up the stairs to the second floor corridor.

“Torunn,” he said as Kallan slipped her arm free from Geirolf and silently made her way to the first set of double doors on her right.” Have your girls bring up a platter for Kallan.”

“Certainly,” Torunn said as Kallan closed her door behind her. But before she could gather her skirts, Rune grabbed her arm.

“She hasn’t spoken a word in two weeks,” he muttered. “She barely eats. Brew one of Geirolf’s teas for her…something that will help her rest.”

The key keeper pursed her lips and nodded then hastened down the stairs to the kitchens.

“Geirolf.” Rune gave a nod and proceeded down the hall to the door of his sitting room that was filled with the warmth from the hearth fire.

Geirolf followed Rune inside and closed the door behind him as Rune dropped his coat and gloves to a chair and made his way to the collection of meads and ales beside a table laden with maps and parchment.

“Rune.”

The cork whined as Rune pulled the flask free from the mead.

“How is she?”

Rune chugged back a long mouthful and Geirolf waited.

Slowly, Rune’s hand began to shake and, pulling the bottle from his mouth, he flung the glass into the fire that shattered then ignited and settled back down in the time it took Rune to brace his hands on the table’s edge. His shoulders hunched over as if buckling beneath Kallan’s grief.

“Ten thousand…” Rune muttered. “Ten thousand.”

Geirolf held his breath as Rune dared speak of the fear that vexed them all.