“No, no, no,” Elara murmured, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I can’t… I can’t do it.”
“You can,” Hlif said, her voice a soft and soothing whisper in her ear. “Chase the cold away. Focus on the warmth of your Jarl. Remember his devotion. Allow it to silence the whispers while you wander the veil.”
A powerful jolt zipped through her fingers.
Images of Njáll filled her mind. His lips on her curls, his chest solid against hers, his hands on her hips, the unshakeable promise in his voice.
A golden ocean stretched out to the horizon, its surface glimmering in the sunlight. A tiny, defiant flare pulsed in her palm, coalescing into a sputtering ember.
“Now, breathe that ember into a blaze. Focus on your jarl, not the cold of grief.”
Her fingertips tingled, but Elara focused, fighting past the mental image of the draugar’s grasping, blackened hands.
She drew a slow, deliberate breath, and on the exhale, she poured all her buried joy into that single ember.
Tangible flames engulfed her fingers, and this time, when she reached for the golden water, it pooled in her hand, chasing away the cold and the whispers.
Rocks dug into her knees, and Elara gasped, clutching her chest. She blinked, the cave coming back into focus. Hard dirt rolled under her palms as Elara scratched the floor, kneeling on the ground before Hlif.
Straightening her shoulders, a proud smile curled at the corners of Hlif’s cracked lips.
“Good, Seiðkona. Again,” Hlif demanded, all the gentleness leeched from her tone, leaving a relentless taskmaster in place.
The sun had long set by the time they finished, a thick sheen of sweat clinging to Elara’s brow. Her entire body shook, her mind aching nearly as much as her limbs.
This time, Hlif allowed her to stay on the ground.
She had no idea how she was going to make the trek back to the longhouse, fearing her legs would give out on her.
Hlif patted Elara’s shoulder, handing her a mug of sweet-smelling boiled herbs.
“Drink.”
Instantly, Elara obeyed, her legs curled under her as she sat on the floor by the smoldering fire.
With each sip she took, her muscles unclenched a little more, her mind clearing until she recognized herself once more.
“That is enough for today. Tomorrow, we will try again.”
Days passed, Elara spending much of her time with Hlif, mastering the ability to call upon her light. It came easier now, finding the golden ocean and conjuring flames in her hands that kept the draugar at bay.
Even so, Elara didn’t understand how that light would fix the damage done to the veil, but now she could only focus on one thing at a time.
And with how exhausted she was, her mind drifted toNjáll.
Still, he didn’t come for her, giving her the space she now regretted demanding.
Brielle stayed nearby, hovering like an overprotective mother.
Elara appreciated it, not wanting to be alone after the draining sessions with the Völva. Leif left at dawn and returned at nightfall, offering her a smile but otherwise leaving her alone.
Her hands tightened around the broom handle, needing something to keep busy.
The sunlight hit the floor at an odd angle, and for a moment, the dust motes looked like grey ash raining from the sky. The smell of the hearth vanished, replaced by the cloying scent of decay.
Cold seeped into her bones, and the phantom sensation of nails trailing over her skin made her squirm. Voices didn’t taunt her. No, this time all she heard were icy laughs that made her blood freeze.
“Come back,” a high voice demanded, making the ash turn to mist and the longhouse spin back into focus.
