Twenty-Nine
Elara
Awhine puffed out her cheeks as Elara burrowed further into the furs, the scent of cedar fading quickly from the thick hides. Her limbs stretched out in the cold blankets, a rough rasp under her skin without Njáll’s hard warmth curled around her.
It had only been one full turn of the sun since he left to patrol the outskirts, yet his absence gaped in the hollow of her chest. Her fingers skated through the cold spot beside her, searching for his taut torso only to find disappointment.
No one knew how long the jarl and his men would be gone.
Without him, the cozy dwelling appeared deceptively cavernous.
With a groan, she sat up, her muscles aching from a combination of her work with Hlif and her jarl’s thorough claiming of her before he left. She slouched, tugging the furs over her bare chest, the cool air stinging her sleep-warmed skin.
Ashes smoldered in the fire, and Elara begrudgingly rolled from the bed, tossing three logs onto the embers.
Static tingled at her fingertips.
She swayed, colors blurring as murmuring voices clawed at her defenses. The initial urge to flee subsided quickly.
Still clutching the furs that smelled faintly of Njáll, Elara closed her eyes, calling upon the golden ocean.
She slipped into that vast, vacant place, the world around her barren except for her inner light manifested before her.
A tiny flame puffed in her outstretched palm.
Inhaling a slow breath, Elara blew softly into the heart of the fire, tending to it until it encased both hands.
Nebulous voices haunted the fringes, clinging to the shadows like a poisonous cloud. They were not screaming, not calling to her directly.
Instead, they waited, waited for her to fail. Waited for her to succeed.
Waited for an opportunity to strike.
Elara ignored their incessant stares, dipping her fiery hands into the glittering golden oasis, sighing when the warmth pooled in her palms.
The present slowly spun back into focus.
Soft dirt brushed against her bare feet. Streams of sunlight slipped in through the gaps in the wooden beams. Wrapping the furs around her shoulders, Elara sat on the floor by the fire.
After many long days with Hlif, she had now consistently been able to draw on her light to hush the spirits. She no longer teetered on the verge of collapse after a session.
She’d been able to find the threads much easier, relying on Hlif’s guidance less.
Progress had been slow, but still progress.
A curling smile pushed against her cheeks.
Njáll brandished his strength, his power reflected in the cut of his blade. And now, Elara felt that strength mirrored in herself. Not with a sword or a spear, but with her mind.
While they were muted, the vague, rasping voices of the draugar lingered, their presence more demanding since she began working with the Völva.
Subconsciously, Elara reached out for Alruna, saddened when she didn’t appear. The panther had retreated. While Hlif had told her Alruna had been her seiðr made real, it didn’t change the fact the panther had been a constant companion.
Elara grieved the loss, hoping to conjure the creature once more.
Loneliness came without her.
No Alruna. No Njáll.
