Epilogue
In which this tale comes to a close and another story begins…
It took several hours to get everyone up the rock face, down the path, and back to the cottage. Fanndis rode into the village to wake Father Kimbli, telling him they had a favor to ask of him. Valkyrie, now able to hobble around on her healing leg, tended to those who were worse off. Arna, who had been strengthened by the power of the pendant as well, provided encouragement and aid to Valkyrie. Stigg had his shirt off, sneering at the pillow of white linen wrapped around his torso and the salve that smelled like death plastered to his wounds. He wrinkled his nose at the stink and tried to read his book in peace despite the constant distraction.
Soryn, too, had linen strapped to his knife wound. The same foul scented salve nestled within the gash that was quickly healing itself. He sat by Stigg, a new and strong camaraderie between them, and read from another book. Both men begrudged the fact that they could not smoke their pipes, but Valkyrie persisted that smoking was counterproductive when one’s body was trying to right itself. Each one had scowled at that. Arna laughed at how alike the men had become since she had been in her coma. For some reason, she found that the older, more mature Soryn was even more attractive and appealing, though she missed his boyish optimism and hope. Perhaps he would gain it back now that Fenris had been dealt with and she was awake.
Fenris sat dazed in the corner with Ulf, Nora, and Derik lying about him on the ground. They had taken it upon themselves to act as watchers in case Fenris chose to do something foolish. The head wound he received from the rocks on the mountain had been bandaged, as well as his shoulder where Ulf had bitten him. Though Valkyrie despised the man in their midst, she could not let him be neglected when it came to care. She was a healer, after all, just as Fanndis was. Fenris did not even struggle at the rope bindings that had been tied a little too tightly. No one made a move to loosen them.
Once Valkyrie had a chance to sit down around the fire, the door to the cottage flew open to reveal Fanndis and Father Kimbli, both shivering at the increasingly cold wind outside.
“I do believe winter may be upon us,” Fanndis exclaimed, through chattering teeth.
“Shall we put the kettle on?” Valkyrie offered.
“Please do,” Fanndis replied.
Father Kimbli hung his coat and stared at the assorted casualties of the night’s battle. He frowned at the wrapped middles of Soryn and Stigg, the crutch Valkyrie used to get around, and the person responsible for it all hunched over in the corner. The frown deepened when he saw no penitence in Fenris’ lethargic face. Though he was an old man now, Kimbli straightened himself up and walked over to the corner. The old priest crouched in front of the man who had once been a boy under his care. Memories of Fenris’ troubled childhood and violent adolescence jumbled in Kimbli’s mind.
“I want you to know something, Fenris,” Kimbli began.
“What? You intend to throw me to the wolves?” Fenris’ words came from a weak and slurring mouth. He chuckled at his private joke.
“I intend to see you fully repent for the chaos and shame you have wrought in this family and I intend to see you smile again, with kindness and gentleness in your heart; not this evil, vengeful sneer you have now,” Kimbli told him.
“We’ll see, old man. You tried it once. We know how successful that rehabilitation attempt was,” Fenris cackled, trying to focus his gaze on the face before him.
Kimbli straightened up and asked Valkyrie for some of the tea she had just brought in on a tray. The old priest brought the cup to Fenris’ lips and let the man drink, though the eldest son of the dead Maslyn did so with bitterness and resentment in his heart. He contemplated spitting it out at the man, but Fenris knew he was beaten and that he was at their mercy. His head felt as though it would crack in half and he was nearly dead from exhaustion. The pendant had drained him of his energy even before his head had been smashed on the mountainside. Fenris was no fool, contrary to what everyone around him believed.
“You will come with me to the church,” Kimbli declared. “You wolves may visit us whenever you like and, Fenris, I hope you know that if you try anything malevolent again, they’ll be there to remind you of the scars you will always bear from your brother’s fangs,” Kimbli said.
Fenris merely smirked and glared at his captor. “Like I said, we will see.”
Kimbli sighed and sat down in a chair by the fire, gratefully accepting another cup of tea from Fanndis’ hands. The old priest felt entirely too old to have a willful, deceitful, beast of a man as his ward, but he knew that everyone else in the room had experienced a little too much of Fenris over the years. If anyone could deal with him, it was God. Kimbli smiled, knowing that in the end, things would turn around for Fenris, if only he would have ears to hear and eyes to see. The warmth of the tea settled into the old man’s bones and set a small blaze burning there. It was nice to feel a fire for some greater purpose every now and then. He knew that Fenris would be his last test, his last challenge on this world. Kimbli hoped he would rise to meet it and that he would be successful.
A hush descended over the cottage as the suns rose. When everyone was sure Fenris was unconscious and would not escape his bonds, the rest of them drifted to sleep; all but Soryn and Arna. The pair of them hobbled out to the front of the cottage and watched the suns light up the world. The sky brightened with fiery reds and oranges that promised a gorgeous last day of summer. Somehow, they both knew the heavy snows would come that night and all would be shrouded in white and mystery once more. They held hands, sitting on the bench that Fanndis sometimes used for rest while she worked. Arna leaned her head on Soryn’s shoulder and he rested his head on her hair.
The entire scene was almost surreal. Peace and comfort spilled over them. It was over. Soryn knew it was time to ask his question. It may have been premature, it may have been reckless, but he knew it was right. Without breaking their closeness, Soryn braced himself and whispered, “Arna?”
“Mmm?” she muttered dreamily.
“I need to ask you something; something important,” Soryn confessed, trying to maintain his calm.
“Alright,” Arna replied, a grin hiding in the corners of her mouth.
“I want you to understand that it’s not because of what happened last night and it’s not because you’ve been in a coma and it’s not—” Soryn stopped when he felt Arna’s small finger pressed against his lips.
“What is it, Bialas?” she prompted.
“Will you spend your days with me like this? Will you marry me?” Soryn asked, his heart a thunderous pounding in the cage of his chest.
“Of course,” she promised, as though it had already been decided long ago.
Soryn sighed and wrapped her tightly in his arms, laying a gentle, chaste kiss on the top of her head. Smiling, he inhaled her scent and was comforted by the odors of lavender and jasmine. Inside, he knew the house was sleeping, but he felt like he had woken up from a long and perilous dream. The suns’ rising felt wholly new to him, like it was the first dawn he had ever truly seen. Arna looked up when they heard the distant ringing from the church. Morning Bells held a new hope for Soryn. He had always associated the dark events of his life with the ringing of the Night Bells and with troubled sleep. Now, he knew that he and Arna would greet the day together, listening for the quiet, placid sounds of the chimes that rang in the day.
When he realized Arna had fallen asleep, Soryn did not move. He stayed there listening to birds in the trees and watching the suns rise ever higher in the sky. Sometime mid-morning, his arm fell asleep, but he didn’t move it. Instead, he leaned into his future wife and smiled, resting in her presence and in the peace that blossomed in his heart. The clouds came later and sounds in the cottage prompted him that he should probably move and wake Arna. But he did not. He sat a while longer and fell asleep as the first silent snowflakes ushered in the white of winter. He dreamed of snow falling about them under a spotted field of twinkling
stars, and of the Night Bells ringing.
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About the Author
L.M. Sherwin has been writing since she was too young to hold a pen. Her first stories were dictated to her mother who wrote them down to preserve for posterity. As time went by, Sherwin moved on to write amusing short stories. In middle school, she wanted to tackle her first epic novel. Things kept getting more involved and, though she still has all the notes from this novel, Sherwin put it aside to pursue other story ideas. In college, she started work on a manuscript she intended to finish. After marrying her high school and college sweetheart, her husband encouraged her to pursue her life-long dreams of becoming an author. She started writing an hour a day. After a year, she had written four manuscripts—three novels and one novella. In 2012, she published two novels, Night Bells and Silent Shades. In early 2013 she published her first novella, The Dark Ship, and she has hopes of publishing two more novel-length works before the end of 2013.
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Other Books by L.M. Sherwin
TALES FROM NIFLHEIM
Night Bells
Silent Shades
TALES FROM THE MOONS OF KIROVNA
The Dark Ship
Find L.M. Sherwin
Website: https://lmsherwin.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LM_Sherwin
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/L.M.SherwinBooks
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6505775.L_M_Sherwin
The Tale Continues...
Silent Shades
Book Two in the Tales from Niflheim series, a subset of The Primoris System Novels
By L.M. Sherwin
Frigg is a hired killer—a mercenary who belongs to a group of elite assassins ruled by a fierce commander. After completing a contract that leaves her close to death, Frigg is rescued by a surgeon and taken to his cabin to recover. When she is well enough, Frigg escapes and returns to her life as an assassin. Frigg receives a new contract from her commander and travels to New Kristiansand to murder Lord Maslyn, the mayor of the city. Upon arriving, she discovers more about her mark than she ever anticipated. Can Frigg put aside her personal feelings in order to complete her contract, or will she abandon her vocation to protect the person she was sent to kill?
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