Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Elara
One silver eye and one hazel eye glared at her, swimming with a mix of adoration and fury. Her hands did not shake, and her body did not tremble. She stayed surprisingly calm as she held Njáll’s face.
Ash from the cloying smoke stung her eyes. The taste of death made acid crawl up her throat.
But for one stuttered heartbeat, she ignored all of it.
All her attention was anchored on the man she loved. To the strong, callused hands cradling her face as if she were a precious gem.
Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles, drawing the rune that hung from her neck.
“Elara,” he whispered, his voice thick with so many unspoken promises.
“I know,” she breathed, squeezing his hands.
Everything dissolved. A suffocating slurry of ash and peat smoke rained down on them, the dark flecks clinging to their hair.
Dozens of peeling corpses lumbered through the narrow lanes of the village.
Frost-covered hands twisted out from their rancid bodies. Her throat bobbed, swallowing strained. Elara’s gaze zipped across the darkness slowly consuming the place that had become her home.
A colossal wolf tore through the throng of undead. Primal snarls shook the trees. Odin’s fury radiated from the Konungr, his fangs glinting like a beacon.
Hordes of warriors fought to shield their loved ones, giving the time they needed to escape. Their blades did little to stem the tide of the undead, merely prolonging what felt like the inevitable.
A towering, skeletal corpse closed in on a man Elara didn’t recognize, his long beard braided down his front.
Slowly, a frozen hand reached out, coiling around the man’s neck. Elara’s heart clenched, forgetting how to beat.
She watched the life drain from the man’s eyes, his sword falling to the ground with a defining thud before his body went limp and crumpled to the ground.
A silent scream clawed at her throat.
Fingers bit into her chin, Njáll dragging her back to him.
They stared silently at each other. A truth hummed behind her sternum, feeding the light glowing in her chest. Her fingers splayed over the spot, her gaze locking with Njáll’s.
The warmth swelled, insistent and demanding. Elara didn’t know how yet, but she knew it had to be her.
“Njáll. I can stop it, but I need you to shield me while I work.”
He didn’t argue. His lips turned downward, duty lining his rugged features.
His lips met hers, urgent and coaxing. It didn’t last nearly long enough, but Njáll poured every intense emotion into it, fueling her, reminding her of why he held her absolute trust.
“Anywhere you go, little flame, I’ll follow.”
Elara threaded her fingers with his, bringing him with her to the carved totem at the center of the village.
A corpse ambled toward them and Njáll roared, shoving it back with the butt of his axe. The draugar stumbled, knocked further back when Odin’s wolf barreled into its chest, jaws snapping and teeth dripping.
Njáll dipped his chin at the Konungr, his head pivoting to nearby warriors.
“Bjorn. Erik,” he hissed, jutting his chin at the two men. “Come. Keep a perimeter around Elara.”
The men heeded their jarl’s command.
Elara dropped to her knees on the wet ground, the cold seeping into her skin. Soft strands of grass slid through her fingers as she closed her eyes. She trusted Njáll. Nothing would stop him from keeping her safe.
It fueled her. Propelled her forward.
Little by little, the cries, the screams, the shouts, all faded into a muddled hum. Elara projected her consciousness to the veil, needing to repair whatever damage allowed the draugar to cross over.
The barren landscape seemed to mock her as Elara stared off into nothingness that was the land between the living and the dead.
While she needed to heal the tear in the veil, something else took precedence. The only thing that could destroy the draugar.
Something only Elara could manifest.
Alruna.