Chapter 20 Aura
AURA
Coldheart Keep, Skalor
Behind the Princess, Calder hums a sad, archaic tune about a soul’s descent into the Abyss. He inspects a hunk of reindeer meat roasting on the outdoor wood-burning oven of Coldheart Keep. Aura salivates at the rich, savory scent of the roast lingering in the air.
She trudges through the freshly fallen snow among the evergreens near the Keep. Her neck cranes to observe the powdery peaks of the Vill Mountain range encircling the Hold like a natural wall–a stunning scene!
And one that reminds her far too much of the dramatic fjords of her homeland.
“Have the others finally sent you in an attempt to move me along?” He hollers from the stone patio.
With a wide smirk, she trudges across the footbridge that spans a stream carving through the landscape. “They should be more considerate of your old age.”
He rubs his ear. “Did you call me old?”
“Yes,” she bellows, her voice carrying across the treetops. “Old!” Aura joins him on the stone landing attached to the castle. She places her hands on her hips, tilting her head.
He seizes the front of her tunic, pulling her against his chest, evoking a shriek from her as his teeth draw her skin into his mouth.
She whimpers as his hand tangles painfully in her hair.
“We have time before the meal is ready.” His large hand grips the apex between her legs. “I should use this time wisely.”
“I would rather you not burn the meat.” She tugs her wool cloak against her. “I understand ‘swift’ is not in the vocabulary of the elderly.”
His corded arms cage her against the stone wall of the Keep. “I’ll keep that in mind as I devour you, Princess.” He growls her title in a tone that pierces straight to her core.
Is this the moment he lets go and succumbs to the flame of desire, uniting our hearts?
Except he doesn’t.
Instead, Calder releases his touch and resumes tending to the stove.
“The roast is nearly done.” The smug glance out of the corner of his eye has her glowering in response.
“What were we doing?” He scratches his chin with a twisted grin that has her fuming.
“Sorry about that,” he offers with a shrug.
“When you reach my age, your memory just isn't what it used to be.”
“I shall remember this!” She stomps back inside to his boisterous laughter.
Edmund, Thora, and Gunni rush her, and a collective sense of disappointment washes over the group when they realize she is not Calder bearing the meat.
“He says it is nearly ready,” Aura mutters.
“I will consume him if he does not make haste!” Edmund grumbles.
“Come here,” Thora waves Aura to her side, snaking her arm around her shoulder. “Did you offer to please him?”
“Sissy!”
Does she really wish to have this conversation?
“Did you get on your knees and shove that man’s cock down your throat as deep as you can? Because if not, you are not working hard enough for this meal.”
Aura tosses her curls out of her beet-red face. “I offered my whole body.”
Her sister shakes her head. “I don’t know. That’s probably not good enough.”
Gunni, who is loitering nearby, chortles at their sibling snipping.
Calder spares her further humiliation when he enters carrying the reindeer on a platter, a quarter the size of the table they would eat at.
To say they gorged themselves is an understatement.
Despite the unsavory taste and smell of the pickled fish Gunni brought, no food is left when they all recline in their seats.
A fire crackles in the hearth of the high-ceilinged dining hall while they sip on tiny glasses of a pungent, clear alcohol.
According to Gunni, it is an old Skalor tradition that follows a hearty meal.
“For the grand finale.” Edmund pulls an ancient tome from a pocket of his robes. The book thuds on the table's edge. “Suspenseful silence.” He steeples his fingers.
“I plan to track down Makt’s weapon. If Edmund’s Gothi texts are accurate, the gods are vulnerable to their own Astrian steel.” Calder interrupts with a grunt from Edmund at the opposite end.
The Iss Drengr drapes his arm around the back of his own chair.
Edmund’s jaw drops, and he slaps his chest in faux surprise. “Have you no sense of style, Jarl Calder?”
The Iss Drengr smirks, kicking his boots up on the table beside Aura, his hands intertwined behind his head. “Dazzle us with the master plan, Gothi.”
“Yes, yes, the great Calder Avardsson wishes to locate the weapon of a god.” He mocks. “A deity, I might add, that should have been destroyed fifteen winters ago by his hands.”
“Lavinia has an intimate relationship with Makt.” Calder crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl. “A few of you are still in the dark about the Skalor prophecy.” He clears his throat and hesitates as he did aboard the Wicked Wyvern,
“Skalor’s salvation requires two. Liberation bleeds at the hands of the god-born child. To make equal upon a field of sunless roses, a willing sacrifice must be taken. Only when Salt melts Ice will peace descend upon the realm.”
Aura scrawls the words in her sketchbook.
“Lavinia intends to force Aura into the prophecy as a sacrifice.” Calder grumps.
“What do you think each line refers to?” Aura asks.
Everyone focuses on Calder, who looks like he was caught naked.
“I do believe the ‘Salt’ refers to Aura.” He does not elaborate, but she can tell he withholds more information from them.
Gunni leans forward, staring blankly at the table. Thora’s face scrunches so tightly that her eyes squint.
“Is this why you two are together for some reason? Because of this prophecy,” her sister nods between Calder and Edmund.
“That is enough!” Calder barks. “We are not here to swap secrets. We are here to discuss this mission.” He clenches his pipe tightly in his teeth.
Aura leans closer to him. “What are you hiding, Jarl Calder?”
Edmund sneers, examining his cuticles while Gunni laughs so hard he falls off his chair.
“That is my cue!” Edmund perches on the end of the table, twisting around.
“After fleeing my temple in Pradacia,” he gestures dramatically, “I stumbled upon a felled warrior shot down by no less than a dozen arrows. Pradacian Sweepers are deadly and spike their arrow tips with a unique blend of Azure. They patrol the border with Skalor, distrustful of their ancient enemy. I fought them off in time to rescue the man.”
All attention shifts to the Iss Drengr, who drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. He growls as he admits, “Yes, Edmund saved my life.”
Uncle Slode is known to have bested her father in the sparring ring on occasion, along with training his only son.
This story may hold some truth.
“You witnessed my cousin fight?” Aura cannot help herself.
“Barely. The Azure had kicked in when he arrived.” Calder adds dismissively.
“Liar!” Gunni laughs while pounding his fists on the table. “Even you couldn’t help but tout the lad whose ‘axes whirred through the air with better precision than Sigvid or Slode.’”
Thora reclines back in her chair. “Interesting.” She tosses one of her throwing knives into the table's wood grain.
“Yes, he is a great fighter. He saved my ass.” Calder grumps. “I have never seen anyone fight as well.”
“You humble me, Iss Drengr. To think I am this good even without a Sacred Stone ability.”
Aura shares in the laughter at the table, even as a nagging thought prods at her skull.
Her father always said Calder did not possess a Sacred Stone ability and that his name was missing from the list of thirteen-winters-old Trelanders who received powers.
Out of her peripheral vision, she watches him stretch out. Having seen and felt his ice with her own eyes, she is certain he embodies power itself.
“You mentioned Makt’s weapon?” Aura nudges the conversation back to its original purpose.
Edmund gestures widely toward Calder. “I believe our Jarl is the expert.”
Someone coughs in the dark corner of the room.
Aura and the others turn to see Argnier Hilmirsson stride into the light of the hearth.
His light gray hair falls freely, interwoven with braids, on his surprisingly lean shoulders.
His eyes are much like the piercing blue of her father’s.
Even the air around him holds a familiar bitterness that reminds her of Sigvid Thordsson.
He nicks Edmund’s glass, downs the clear liquid, and steals her cousin’s discarded pipe. After lighting the bowl, he begins sauntering around the table.
“You may not know the tales of my dealings with Lavinia.” He pauses beside Gunni to swipe his drink off the table, tossing back the alcohol as if it were water. “She manipulated me.” When he reaches Thora, he also absconds with her mug, guzzling it down. “Used me for her bidding.”
Calder is already holding up his horn by the time Argnier reaches him. The scene feels normal for them.
“I barely escaped.”
“Evening, Argnier. So gracious of you to join us like the skulking ghoul you have become.” Calder quips.
“Watch that tongue with me, boy. You know better.”
Argnier snatches a stool, which he pulls up next to the fire. “Lavinia is a cold-hearted bitch.”
“We know this,” Edmund whines.
“She made me do things that I can never speak of. She is a tough old crow. As I fled her clutches, I made one final attempt to send her to the Abyss. But, as you can see, I failed. Even my nephew, the great,” he spits the word with contempt, “King Sigvid took a swipe at the broad and didn’t succeed.
” He glares into the fire as if the flames have personally wronged him.
Thora leans back in her chair, joining Calder with her feet propped up on the table with a humph.
“She seduced you like the sad little man you are,” she says.
“When she realized your seed was drier than a desert, she kicked you out on your sorry ass.” Her disrespect is tangible, silencing the room with tension between her and their great-uncle.
“You are much like your father, vicious one. Your words hold some truth, but that doesn’t mean I wish to remain in Nightwall Keep with her. Say what you really mean.”
Aura and Thora flinch simultaneously, his words eerily like their father’s.
The Guardian line possesses strong traits.
Thora leans across the table. “You abandoned Salt. Your brother, your family, to chase some harlot power-grabbing wench to this decrepit country.” She stands so violently that her chair clatters to the floor.
“Look around, Argnier! Not even a single child of Skalor stands here ready to protect her.”
Aura coughs, glancing at Calder, who is unmoved that no one else recalls he is the only Skalor-born child at the table.
“I made plenty of mistakes in my life,” Argnier’s hackles raise, “and I am attempting to fix them. I wouldn’t hesitate, given the chance, to end Lavinia.”
“Enough!” Calder’s voice rattles dust from the high-beamed ceiling.
“Arguing is fruitless. Argnier,” he jabs a finger at him, “we have all heard the stories. I know you are striving to make amends, but bickering will get us nowhere. Thora,” he directs his frustration at her, “we all respect your love for your country. However, we need to work together to resolve this situation. Let us find a way to save Skalor from the tendrils of unfathomable evil.”
“What should we know about Lavinia, Uncle Argnier?” Aura refills his empty cup with the clear liquid Edmund brought.
“The Queen is powerful. We need allies if we want to attempt to overthrow her. Other Holds will need to join our cause. I know Calder can freeze most of a city, but that won’t mean shit when her entire army is after us.”
“Her army is a thimble compared to the might of the Drengr.” Thora presses her palms on the table, glowering at Argnier beside the fire. “You have been too busy poking around brothels over the last several decades.”
“Thora!” Calder’s growl is a warning.
“My point is valid, Iss Drengr! Lavinia has fewer forces than Thrain when he took on Uncle Sig and Aunt V. And Freyr brought the drauger army!”
“Yes, vicious child. But Makt is much more, how do I put this?...” Argnier hums to himself, “hands-on evil. He isn’t a god who tasks his minions to conduct his misdeeds. He does them himself.”
“This would be the intimate relationship I mentioned.” Calder exhales a cloud of smoke. “To destroy Makt, we must kill Lavinia.”
Thora strokes her chin, her gaze unfocused at her feet. Even Gunni drums along the table without words.
“If I may?” Edmund smirks. “If we locate Makt’s Temple and claim his weapon, we can storm Nightwall Keep, kill Lavinia, and hopefully lure the demon god into the mortal realm.”
“She does have Isabel and Freyr on her side, too.” Aura shivers at the thought.
“Well, Argnier,” Thora snaps, “can you offer any helpful information from your time spent touring the Endless Shore and loitering around Coldheart like an overgrown troll?”
He snorts in derision. “I will admit that was the first time I’ve been called a troll.” He gulps his potent liquor. “Ice Prick is right, and we must retrieve Makt’s weapon. Far Eddie, I’m sure you have some knowledge of this temple?”
“Please, no need for ceremony.” Edmund waves off the formal Gothi title. “The temple is likely located near the Forest of Fear. I will need time to confirm with the texts in the Kaldrgataness Gothi Temple. Without a doubt, heavy seidr will protect it.”
“I will call upon Clementia’s Hold for assistance, and we will need the Drengr in case Lavinia and Makt summon the drauger army.” Calder inclines his head to Thora, who nods in understanding.
“I will hold the fort down here. I assume all of you will venture out?” Gunni only has eyes for Thora.
“I am always pleased to see you go above and beyond the call of duty, Gunni.” Calder jests at his old friend for his willingness to remain behind.
“You know me.”
“In the morning, Edmund will gather any tomes from the temple and bring them here for everyone to comb through. Tonight, eat, drink, and throw axes. We have an Abyss-sized task ahead of us.” Calder holds up his horn.
Search for a mystery weapon that may or may not exist?
Use it to kill an ancient god that no one has been able to vanquish?
Fulfill a cryptic prophecy to save Skalor?
What can go wrong?