The woman waved away her apology. “It is nothing,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “In public, Njáll is our Jarl. So the Konungr cannot be his father. That is for when they are alone.” Elara nodded along, her mind unable to keep up with her body. “I am Astra.”
“Hello, Astra.”
She paused. No one here knew her name. And for now, she wanted to keep it that way. Like the knowledge protected a small piece of herself. Elara felt immediate comfort in the woman’s presence, a million questions rushing to the surface.
“The wolf?” Elara murmured, blinking as she met Astra’s patient gaze.
“A gift from Odin. To battle Fenrir at Ragnarök.” At the puzzled expression on Elara’s face, Astra explained. “A war between the gods that will determine the fate of the world. Odin and Freyja will protect those who worship them against Loki and Hel who wish to claim dominion over the other gods.”
It hit her all at once, making her dizzy. Elara plopped onto the ground, the hard earth digging into her ass. The lines around Astra’s eyes softened as she dropped beside Elara, content to sit in silence beside the foreign girl while she collected herself.
“Too much? Njáll tells me I’m too much.”
Elara shook her head, pushing her braids over her shoulder. It was a lot. Despite the heavy weight in her stomach, the knowledge felt like an answer she had been craving for years.
A tiny laugh hummed past her lips. Njáll’s father was the other blessed by a god he mentioned.
It brought some peace to her, threading together some of the uncertainty troubling her since the visions first appeared.
More or less, her life could be the same. This man married, had children, and led his people.
It was hope.
And most importantly, time.
She felt lighter than she had in a long time.
“Do you know of the draugar?” Elara asked.
Astra nodded, the smile lines etched on her face fading as she stared into the distance.
“The draugar are to be the armies Hel and Loki will use to bring forth war.”
“What are they?”
“Undead spirits reanimated into corpses to do Hel’s bidding. When we die, some souls go to Fólkvangr or Valhalla to feast with Freyja and Odin. Those not chosen, go to Helheim, a realm ruled by Hel, Loki’s daughter.”
At the pinched expression on Elara’s face, Astra continued, gently squeezing Elara’s thigh.
“Most of those who go to Helheim rest in peace. But those who suffered uncleaned deaths or crossed over having regrets are vulnerable. Hel promises them a new soul, a new body, a new chance to walk this world once more if they submit to her will. Once they do, she binds their spirits to undead bodies. It is a cruel fate, but one they accept. And once they accept, nothing of their human spirit remains. They are forever changed.”
“They want to inhabit living bodies?”
“Yes. And Hel promises that in exchange for helping her and Loki pierce the veil that keeps our world separated from the gods. With an undead army, they plan to draw out Odin, and with that, start Ragnarök. Loki and Hel wish to rule in place of Odin and Freyja.”
A shiver crawled up Elara’s spine, making her hands shake as she shoved them into her lap.
The thought of souls being bartered like common goods made her stomach turn. She almost —almost—felt bad for the draugar. Their fate sounded worse than death.
Elara looked down at her hands, imagining the hope given to lost souls, only to find themselves stitched into a decaying form, leashed to a god for eternity.
It was a mockery of life, a cruel trick played on those who had already suffered enough.
“So Odin gave the Konungr a wolf form to battle for him at Ragnarök?”
“Not only Odin. Everyone,” Astra said matter-of-factly. “The balance of worlds would be lost if Loki rose to power.”
Elara’s mind raced. She hid her hands further in her lap, refusing to show Astra how her hands trembled.
