Something only Elara could manifest.
Alruna.
Thirty-Seven
Elara
Even here—in the realm between the living and the dead—she heard the rasping hunger of the draugar. They threatened her sanctuary, determined to stop her.
Elara refused to acknowledge them, to give them space to infiltrate her spirit.
Not now.
Not when everything teetered on this moment, teetered on her.
If she were going to succeed, she needed to stoke her seiðr, breathing life into the power needed to seal the veil and summon Alruna.
“You will fail, Seiðkona. You are not strong enough to stop us.”
Their doubts fed off her own insecurities. Hlif had warned her they would seek to weaken her, to distract her. Still, Elara hadn’t prepared for this. She hadn’t anticipated this moment happening so soon.
Foolishly, she believed she’d have more time. More time to work with the Völva, more time to strengthen her magic.
But time was a luxury she no longer had.
Elara emptied her mind.
On an exhale, still golden waters stretched out further than she could see, disappearing into a dark horizon. Her finger skimmed the surface, letting the ripples soften and expand.
Elara closed herself off from the world, all her energy poured into the warmth pulsating beneath the surface. Nails scratched at the back of her mind. Frigid fingers demanded attention she would not give.
Turning her hand, she exposed an ember humming with its own heartbeat in her palm.
Memories of her mother and father laughing, of Edmund, of Njáll telling her he would love her until his dying breath, of love, of joy filled her up.
This wasn’t the gentle mediation she had practiced with Hlif.
It couldn’t be.
If she failed, she’d lose Njáll.
She couldn’t suffer another loss.
The grief would destroy her.
Determination drove her forward. It wasn’t just Njáll. She’d grown to admire his people, and it was her duty to protect them as much as it was Njáll’s.
She pushed harder than she ever had, channeling sheer will, fighting against the dead who wished to claim their souls.
The ember in her hand flickered, brilliant shades of burnt orange and icy blue flaring at the base.
Breathe.
She chanted the mantra over and over again.
Love.
A defiant flame erupted in her hand, larger than anything she’d ever conjured before.
