Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Elara
Even here—in the realm between the living and the dead—she heard the rasping hunger of the draugar. They threatened her sanctuary, determined to stop her.
Elara refused to acknowledge them, to give them space to infiltrate her spirit.
Not now.
Not when everything teetered on this moment, teetered on her.
If she were going to succeed, she needed to stoke her seier, breathing life into the power needed to seal the veil and summon Alruna.
“You will fail, Seiekona. You are not strong enough to stop us.”
Their doubts fed off her own insecurities. Hlif had warned her they would seek to weaken her, to distract her. Still, Elara hadn’t prepared for this. She hadn’t anticipated this moment happening so soon.
Foolishly, she believed she’d have more time. More time to work with the Volva, more time to strengthen her magic.
But time was a luxury she no longer had.
Elara emptied her mind.
On an exhale, still golden waters stretched out further than she could see, disappearing into a dark horizon. Her finger skimmed the surface, letting the ripples soften and expand.
Elara closed herself off from the world, all her energy poured into the warmth pulsating beneath the surface. Nails scratched at the back of her mind. Frigid fingers demanded attention she would not give.
Turning her hand, she exposed an ember humming with its own heartbeat in her palm.
Memories of her mother and father laughing, of Edmund, of Njáll telling her he would love her until his dying breath, of love, of joy filled her up.
This wasn’t the gentle mediation she had practiced with Hlif.
It couldn’t be.
If she failed, she’d lose Njáll.
She couldn’t suffer another loss.
The grief would destroy her.
Determination drove her forward. It wasn’t just Njáll. She’d grown to admire his people, and it was her duty to protect them as much as it was Njáll’s.
She pushed harder than she ever had, channeling sheer will, fighting against the dead who wished to claim their souls.
The ember in her hand flickered, brilliant shades of burnt orange and icy blue flaring at the base.
Breathe.
She chanted the mantra over and over again.
Love.
A defiant flame erupted in her hand, larger than anything she’d ever conjured before.
Hope heated low in her belly as Elara scanned the fire. She let it swirl there, hovering over her outstretched palms.
First, she had to find the tear in the veil, having no idea how she was supposed to close it.
As if answering her, the fire in hands pulsed. It gently glided across the monotone expanse of lifelessness. Elara tracked its movements, sucking in a breath.
It rose higher, revealing a jagged splinter in the distance.
“Okay. But how do I fix it?”
The mumbled question slipped out. She had never gotten far enough with Hlif to figure out what she was supposed to do once she got here.
Pain slithered up her jaw as she gritted her teeth, staring into the glow of her seier.
“Help me. Show me,” she whispered.
The golden light hissed as jutted forward, touching the obsidian edge of the rupture.
Elara watched as her seier hummed and pushed against the tear, guiding her with its movements. Understanding washed over her, and Elara sucked in a steady breath.
Will was the needle and her seier was the thread.
Closing her eyes, she focused on a shimmering strand of silver light. It glowed hot, almost purring under her touch. A smile tugged on her lip, so much love dripping from the glittering cord of light.
With steady hands, she tethered it to her golden seier.
She plunged her hands into the edge of the void.
White-hot flames licked over her limbs, the sensation agonizing. The tips of her teeth teetered on the verge of shattered as she tried to focus on anything beside the pain sizzling in her blood. Shaking, Elara tried to sew, imagining it was no more than a torn pair of trews needing mending.
Stitch by stitch she worked, afraid she might pass out from the pain before she finished.
Then she heard the gruff rumble of Njáll’s voice. His timbre was nowhere and everywhere all at once.
“I love you. My flame. My light. My life. My kona. I will not fail you.”
Tears pricked her eyes.
“I won’t fail you,” she whispered.
His words dulled the worst of the burn devouring her.
Slowly, the golden and silver threads twirled together, sealing a corner of the tear.
One stitch.
Only a few thousand more to go.
The tear roared a soundless vibration. One that made her soul grow cold.
The screams of dying stars vanished one by one, whispers of forgotten gods calling to her. Indistinct energy rushed from the tear, swirling around her, clawing at her golden threads, trying to unravel her work faster than she could keep up.
She ignored them, her body aching as she worked.
The veil continued to spill through, playing cruel tricks on her.
Shadows took shape, wearing the faces of those she’d shared a home with for weeks now. She saw the village she had fought to protect, the eyes of the people who relied on her.
“Why bother, Elara?” the shadows whispered, their voices a chilling harmony. “You have already lost. Give up. Step into the dark. There is no pain in the void.”
“Nothing worth having in this life comes without pain,” she hissed back.
She doubled her efforts, her voice cracking as she chanted to herself. Anything to drown out the taunts that craved to stop her.
The golden threads began to hum. It resonated through the veil. The nothingness of the tear began to shrink, a sliver left unstitched by golden and silver threads.
It lashed out. The tear in the veil was a dying beast, snapping its jaws at the hand that strangled it.
Elara wobbled, the last of her strength waning.
A translucent hue slid along her arms. Her eyes blinked as she rotated her hands.
The longer she spent here, the more her seier took from her.
Elara hovered there, like the extinguished wick of a candle.
“I can’t finish it,” she breathed.
Cold breaths caught in her chest. Her shoulders fell.
If she stopped now, it would all have been for naught.
Njáll’s voice would be the last thing she heard.
“I am here, little flame. I have you. Trust me.”
Warmth burst within her, swallowing the cold.
It engulfed her. All at once, the pain in her veins vanished, and the rosy pink color returned to her limbs.
Elara laughed, a sound of pure joy.
With a final surge of her seier, she completed the last few stitches.
On her hands and knees, Elara stilled the violent tremor in her muscles. The veil turned quiet. Shadows and voices no longer tormented her.
Despite her body being on the verge of giving out, she was only halfway done. She may have stopped the veil from letting anything else through, but she still needed to handle the draugar in her world.
The creatures who were on the verge of taking everything she loved.