Her.
Hlif twirled a rod in her fingers with surprising grace, making the flames flicker gold. Warmth flared in Elara’s belly, sweat slicking her palms.
“Now they know you are here. They will not relent until you have proven yourself capable of binding them. The draugar will not stay in the shadows for much longer. They are starving hounds and you smell of lifeblood. Hel has given them the strength to cross the veil, all they need is a path. And if you don’t master your veil-walking, you will lead them to all of us.”
Static pulsed in her veins, the hum ringing in her ears as unease curdled in her belly. Elara shifted, her neck cracking.
Despite her best efforts, her hands trembled in her lap, the full burden of fate threatening to consume her.
“Right now. You walk the veil without realizing it, child. You push your consciousness into the place between life and death. Each time you go, you thin threads between our worlds a little more. I will teach you how to traverse and strengthen the magic protecting our realm from the undead.”
“How?” Elara asked, unable to hide the desperation lacing her words.
“Silence,” Hlif said, her commanding tone cutting through the tension riddling Elara’s muscles. “Silence your mind. Silence your pain. Your fear feeds them. You must harness your seiðr through your light.”
For the second time, the Völva spoke of her light.
At first, Elara assumed it was some innate thing every person possessed. But in the year after her mother’s passing, Elara felt nothing of light, of warmth, of happiness, only sorrow.
Now, in the weeks since she left with Njáll, emotions she long thought lost bloomed once more.
Genuine smiles touched her cheeks, laughter ached in her belly, and a molten heat soothed the worn edges of her soul.
That was the light Hlif spoke of.
And Elara had foolishly run away from it, fearing she was not strong enough to be the kind of person he needed. The kind of woman to stand beside a man destined to be a king.
Wood creaked as the Völva sat on the stool opposite Elara, her figure inhumanly still.
“You possess two things: the ash of your grief and the flame of Freyja. You must use your light to ignite her flame and incinerate the ash.”
If she was meant to understand Hlif’s riddles, then she was woefully unprepared.
Braids slipped over Elara’s shoulders as she bowed her head, eyes darting back and forth. Sweat trickled off her nape. Elara’s brow furrowed while she tried to decipher what sounded more like a riddle than anything else.
“Breathe and close your eyes, Seiðkona. I will guide you to the veil and teach you how to bend it to your will.”
Elara obeyed, the glow of the fire now only visible as red streaks behind her eyelids.
Each breath turned slower than the last, her chest rising and falling steadily.
“Good,” Hlif praised. “We will start with a practice called purification. Focus on the deepest part of your soul, where your light shines strongest.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Elara shuddered, trying to ignore the constant hum of noise distracting her.
“You must learn to draw from it like a wellspring. It is infinite, but you must find it.”
A soft chant in Norse hummed from Hlif, vibrating Elara’s entire body.
The sound mesmerized her, helping to calm some of the chaotic noise ruminating in her mind.
Each note thickened in the room, seeming to weave the air itself.
“Picture the wellspring,” Hlif whispered, her voice layered over the chant. “A pure, golden glow buried within you. Draw from it. Call upon it. You have been feeding the dead. Now, you must feed yourself.”
Over and over, she tried, picturing a vast ocean glimmering like liquid gold. But when she attempted to reach it, it disintegrated in her fingers.
Then, the acrid scent of decaying flesh grew, mingling with an icy chill that made it hard to breathe.
