Chapter 1
One
Elara
Time ceased to have meaning, each day bleeding into the next. Elara moved like a shadow, her father not faring much better.
Thankfully, their neighbors chipped in, bringing meals and tending to their farm in the days and weeks that followed.
They had since laid her mother to rest underneath a willow tree, but the hollow ache in Elara’s chest only grew.
Sometimes in the darkness, whispers called to her, their voices indistinct. At first, Elara had wondered if it was her mother seeking her out. That belief faded as quickly as it came.
With each hushed voice came an unnatural chill, reminding her nothing of her mother. Instead, it only festered the loneliness devouring her, feasting like a parasite until nothing was left.
Whatever murmured to her from the shadows was not of this world. Not something she wanted to acknowledge, secretly hoping if she ignored them long enough, they’d disappear.
As the weeks dragged on, Elara forced herself into some semblance of a routine. She often stared into the distance, eyes unseeing as she completed the most menial of tasks.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Like her, her father still struggled, finding it difficult to get out of bed most days.
Elara committed to her promise, making meals and ensuring her father persevered.
Around him, she smiled, burying her own pain.
She had not seen him this despondent in many seasons. Not since she was barely old enough to hold a hoe.
Elara had not always been an only child. When she closed her eyes, she still saw flashes of Edmund—her older brother.
Bright green eyes twinkled, his smile flashing in the sun beneath chestnut locks. He had been much older than her, already strong enough to wield a blade.
It had been the warm season when they came. While Elara sat in her mother’s lap, watching as her father and brother skinned a deer, shouts carried from their village, plumes of smoke darkening the blue sky.
“Edmund,” she cried, breaking free from her mother’s steel grip and jumping into her brother’s arms.
“Elara,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “You must go with Mother. Father and I will find you when it is safe. I love you, little sister.”
Those were the last words her brother ever said to her.
Along with her mother, Elara ran into the woods, disappearing into the dense foliage. They hid away from the towering men who ransacked their village, leaving blood and bodies in their wake.
Droves of mountainous men came, swarming their tiny village, cutting down any who stood in their path.
Edmund had confronted them, his sword against two massive, scarred men wielding large battle axes.
Elara eavesdropped as her father told her mother what had happened to Edmund. The story still haunted her. The warriors felled her brother with ease. Her father had been too late.
Tears tracked down his cheeks as he told Elara’s mother, stroking her hair as she sobbed.
How he avoided the warriors’ eyes, hefted Edmund’s limp body and carried him into the safety of the forest before finding his wife and daughter had been nothing short of a miracle.
Eventually, the attackers left.
They took nothing, but the fear they caused lingered for years.
The entire village worried they’d return.
Yet, they never did.
Sometimes she wondered if she’d dreamt it. The only thing that reminded Elara they had been real at all was the hole in her heart where the memory of her brother shone the brightest.
After that day, Elara’s vivid dreams turned incessant, sometimes causing a heat to pulse under her fingertips, sparking like a newly caught flame.
While she told her mother of the dreams, she kept the fire stoking in her fingers to herself.
Even now, nearing her nineteenth summer, Elara had never told anyone about the crackle of energy buzzing beneath her skin.
Sometimes, it flashed like lightning, crackling across her skin and vanishing in a wisp.
Other times, it merely hummed, beating like a distant drum.
None of it mattered.
It did nothing but remind her of the loss of her brother, renewing the grief now fresh and twisted with the loss of her mother. Her father suffered too, the loss of his son and now his wife weighing heavily on his shoulders.
Elara had to be strong. Her father needed her to be.
Only when she was alone did she allow herself to feel the full weight of her mother’s loss, muffling her cries with her pillows so her father wouldn’t hear.
Most nights, she fell asleep after her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were tear-stained.
The next morning, Elara awoke to an empty house, surprised when she looked outside to see her father tilling the fields. A tight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Too many emotions stirred in her belly.
She let him be, afraid she might spook him if she interfered.
Instead, Elara followed a deserted path through the woods, one she had taken with her mother many times.
A dewy mist floated around her feet, sunlight streaking through the thick canopy of leaves.
Birds chirped from their boughs, and Elara rubbed her arms, an unnerving cold crawling up her spine.
Pressure pulsed in her fingers. She brushed them over her linen dress, the material scratching the sensitive flesh.
The thicket thinned the further into the woods she descended, eventually opening up to a valley overflowing with wildflowers.
A spot once filled with happy memories now only made her chest squeeze until it was hard to breathe.
During the warm months, Elara spent many days in this field with her mother, picking flowers for their table or weaving them into baskets. One time, her mother had created a crown of wildflowers, placing it on Elara’s head and kissing her cheek.
A chill slithered down her spine and Elara fell to her knees. Grass crunched under her and silent tears leaked from her eyes.
Soft petals slid under her fingers as she ran them over the flowers surrounding her. She shook, cradling her middle when a flash of dark braids and a scarred face blurred her vision.
She sucked in a sharp breath, wiping away the tears. The man’s face made her gasp, but she blinked it away. When she looked up, she expected to see someone standing in the distance.
Yet, the valley remained quiet, undisturbed by anyone except her.
Blood thundered in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the forest. Breaths hammered as her hand slid over the spot, trying to soothe away the frantic hum.
Long strands of hair slipped over her shoulders, a light breeze tickling the thin hairs on her nape.
Splintered rays of sun peeked through the treetops, casting shadows along the dewy grass.
The time between the cold and hot seasons had always been her favorite. It was a time of renewal. Of rebirth.
Still, she couldn’t savor it, enjoy it like she once had.
Every memory of the woman she loved now was tainted with pain. With anger. Anger at herself for not insisting the healer do more. Anger at the wolf that attacked her. Anger at a god who stole the people she loved from her.
Fresh tears stung her eyes and shuddering breaths shook her chest.
She had been too young to fully grasp the finality of Edmund’s death. Now, the loss of her mother threatened to crush her, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Then she heard it.
The whispers. Louder than ever.
“Come, sweet child. Here, it is quiet.”
“Why are you warm when she is cold?”
“You have failed her.”
“Stop!” she shouted, her lungs stinging. “Leave me alone.”
Tinkling laughter carried along the treetops, and a shiver made Elara’s toes curl. The voices taunted her.
Was she mad with grief? Was this to be the end?
She plucked a flower, twirling it in her fingers. Teeth pierced her lower lip, blood sliding along her tongue.
“Momma. Can you hear me? I need help. Make them stop. Edmund. Anyone. Please.”
Deafening silence followed her plea; the forest was unnaturally quiet.
Her fingers trembled along the stem, wishing she wasn’t so alone.
After sitting there for too long, her knees started to ache.
She froze, about to stand, watching as the world around shifted.
A thick mist crawled in from the shadows, curling around her limbs. With it came a comforting warmth, reminding her of tea on a snowy night. It enveloped her, stilling the anxious flutter rattling against her ribs.
Shimmering light glittered in the haze, materializing into a figure draped in sheer silks, highlighting the elegant slope of her shoulders. Thick waves of glimmering hair framed her pale face like spun gold. It matched the liquid gold shining in her eyes.
If the whispers were from demons, then this woman surely was an angel.
Elara gasped, arms still wrapped around her waist.
Was this Heaven? Had grief finally claimed her?
Slowly, the angel’s bare feet emerged from the mist, barely hovering above the lush earth. A glowing necklace sat at the hollow of her throat, pulsing like a beating heart, making Elara’s breath hitch.
Elara swallowed, rubbing her swollen and puffy eyes, half expecting the woman to vanish.
Except she didn’t.
“Do not fear me,” the woman said, her luxurious voice comforting. “We have always been bound, Elara. You are destined for many things. The time has come for you.”
For the first time in days, the grating sound of the voices in the shadows ceased. Elara’s chest expanded, the tightness in her ribs softening with the woman’s words.
The smart thing to do would have been to run.
Nothing boded well with a floating visitor cloaked in veils. This had to be a dream.
Or worse, a nightmare.
Yet, Elara’s stubborn curiosity rooted her to the spot.
“And who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking as she twisted the flower in her hands.
The woman spread her arms, her white teeth flashing in the splintered sun. A gentleness surrounded her features, making the tension in Elara’s shoulders melt away.
“I am the one who chooses the fallen for Fólkvangr. Mistress of the Seier. The one who defies the treacherous.”
Each word left her more confused than the last. This angel did not speak of Heaven or Hell. She spoke foreign words about foreign places. A furrow wrinkled between Elara’s brow as the woman stepped closer.
Bowing her head, she clasped the pulsating jewel on her necklace, chanting a series of murmured words in a language Elara didn’t understand.
Leaves kicked up, swirling around them. Warmth seeped into Elara’s limbs, chasing away the ever-present cold.
“Your sorrow has made you a beacon, child. It draws what is dark, and it hides what is fated. Your brother is in Valhalla with Odin. Your mother has reached Fólkvangr, but your path lies here, among the living. One waits for you. He will be the anchor, tethering you in the storm to come.”
The V between her brows deepened as her eyes darted back and forth. The only thing bringing Elara any semblance of peace the last few days was knowing her mother surely went to Heaven.
Not this… Fólkvangr.
And what of Edmund? Of this… Valhalla.
The tips of Elara’s fingers twitched, her mind spinning as the mangled daisy floated to the ground. Saliva turned to ash in her mouth, the worry for her family fading, too focused on the first part of what the woman had said.
A beacon that draws what is dark.
The pressure building in her fingertips grew strong enough to vibrate. Elara shoved her hands in her lap, sweat sliding down the column of her throat as she swallowed.
“Demons?” Elara whispered, afraid to face the truth.
The voices had been demons crawling from Hell to collect her soul.
The woman blinked, her long lashes twinkling with flecks of gold.
“No. The lost. The forgotten. Souls who prey on the living. They envy the living. And your grief makes you vulnerable. The draugar will not stop now that they know of you. You are their only hope to cling to the lives they no longer have.”
A freezing tide swept through her veins, turning her blood to ice as the hair on her nape prickled. The truth went unsaid but burrowed into the fibers of Elara’s being. The voices had a name.
They were real. Not a figment. It wouldn’t stop.
The pain. The suffering. The taunts.
Not until they got what they wanted.
And what they wanted was her.
The color drained from her face. Elara twitched, her body shivering despite the warmth swirling in her belly.
“Do not fear them. For only you have the power to tame them.”
As the woman moved closer, the scent of jasmine cut through the lingering aroma of pine and wet earth. Something rumbled behind Elara’s sternum, thudding in time with the pulsing in her ears.
Elegant, ringed fingers danced along the edge of Elara’s shadow, manipulating it.
Something roused within the nothingness, a ripple dancing across the inky surface. Air whistled through Elara’s clenched jaw as a massive black paw stepped out of the shadow, the earth shuddering under its weight.
A pair of eyes glittering beneath midnight fur met hers. Claws dug into the moist dirt, kneading and tilling the earth as the creature circled.
Slowly, the blood rushing in her ears receded and the tingling in her fingers ebbed. Elara’s body rose in steady, even breaths, curiously following the path of the enormous cat-like shadow, watching over her.
Panic never came. A creature that should have terrified her, soothed her.
“Alruna is the light of Fólkvangr made visible. A shield. While your sorrow has opened the gates for the draugar, she is the lock. Her presence is a barrier, thickening the veil. Those eyes see what mortal ones cannot. She is the embodiment of you.”
With a steady hand, Elara reached toward Alruna, expecting to encounter only air. Instead, the tips of her fingers glided across luxurious fur, twinkling like constellations across the night sky.
A low, rumbling purr left the creature, sending a shock straight into Elara’s veins.
“Why?” she mumbled, transfixed by the being that was neither real nor imaginary.
“You are both hope and devastation.”
“I don’t understand,” Elara said, unwilling to pull away from the silken coat of her companion.
“Let the burden fall for now. The gift I have given you lies dormant; the threads will only tighten when love replaces sorrow. Only then can you truly wield my blessing.”
Before Elara could ask another question, the fog rolled out with the breeze, taking the visage of the golden woman with it.
The quiet chirping of birds returned. Followed by the ambient sound of animals skittering in the leaf litter.
One noise that did not return, however, was the chilling voices.
A tired smile pushed against Elara’s cheeks as she stood.
She lightly ran her fingers along the coat of her companion, tracing the length of the creature’s back, not certain any of this was real.
Only when she lay down in her bed and felt the comforting weight of Alruna curled up beside her did she accept the truth.
The beautiful panther purring next to her was real.
The soft rumble lulled her into her first night of dreamless sleep in years.