Chapter 23 Aura
AURA
Coldheart Keep, Skalor
Aura clutches the Treland Sacred Stone in her left hand, her right arm extended outward, and her eyes tightly closed. She sits cross-legged in the Keep’s main level sitting room on a rickety chair.
“Briny?”
“Yes, Aurie, dear.”
“May I read Thora’s mind?”
There’s a loud sigh in her mind that is not her own. “That is not an ability.”
Aura grumbles, releasing her grip on the nautilus shell. She plucks her quill from behind her ear, frantically scribbling out ‘thought reading’ on this week’s list of abilities she is testing.
The parchment lies on the open Endless Shore architecture history book, sitting in her lap.
The ancient tome is a drier read than Ridge Province wine, and all she has managed to glean from its contents is the physical appearance of the gods’ temples.
She frowns as she reads her long list of rejected Sacred Stone powers.
“Ever think it’s in how you ask Grandpapi?” Thora pipes up from the hearth, where she heats a knife blade in her never-ending attempt to entertain herself.
Aura shakes her head. “He told me he and Grandma are not permitted to explain the powers. Gullveig has them on a tight leash since I’m no longer in Treland.”
It has been over a fortnight since Calder and Edmund assigned everyone’s tasks to uncover the location of Makt’s Temple. With Thora charged with Aura’s protection, they have spent their days by each other’s side.
Needless to say, the sisterly bonding session has gone about as well as anyone could have anticipated.
“I will figure out all of the continent’s Sacred Stone powers eventually,” Aura mutters. “Have you finished your scourge of the Keep?”
Thora whirls around, the knife embedding itself into an ugly painting of a brusque man.
From what they can discern through the angry brush strokes, he appears to be around Thora’s age, with a scrunched expression of discontent that could rival their father's.
After almost a month of lurking around Coldheart Keep, they both suspect that only Calder could have created this ghastly attempt at artwork to represent his late father, Avard. The poor man now bears indents on his nose from Thora’s relentless target practice.
“Yes, yes. Calder is nothing if not meticulous. I haven’t uncovered anything suspicious.” Thora abandons the knife and collapses into an armchair, groaning loudly as her arm flings over her bright green eyes. “I am bored beyond imagining!”
“Apologies, protecting my life is a tedious process.” She snips back.
“Oh, please, spare me the pity, Aura. You are hardly in any danger.” Her hands gesture about as their father often does. “You are not the problem. You are the solution for many to get to the Iss Drengr. Otherwise, no one in this sad little town thinks anything of you.”
She leaps to her feet, wincing as the blood flow returns to her legs. “What of the prophecy? Skalor wishes to sacrifice me on an altar!”
Thora drops her arm. “And you don’t think that’s inherently suspicious?
You are Sigvid fucking Thordsson’s daughter.
Lavinia may hate him, but my Drengr Army,” she taps at the center of her chest, “Treland’s military might is undefeatable!
She would be either the most narcissistic cunt on the continent or the dumbest to incite Uncle Sig’s wrath. ”
“So I am just a pawn to people who know better. Is that what you are saying?”
Thora leans back in the chair with a smirk. “If the shoe fits, sister.”
Grumbling, Aura descends the steps toward the kitchen to locate any bottle of alcohol she can seize when she hears her name grunted by Argnier.
“... you cannot pretend she is nothing.”
A resounding grumble suspiciously resembles Calder, and she halts, one toe poised on the next step.
“Can you not recognize what she means to you?” Argnier continues.
Calder’s threatening growl has her debating whether she should continue eavesdropping. His treatment of her may soften with each passing day, but she had no reservations that he could change his feelings about her at any moment.
“You know I don’t sleep much.” Argnier’s tone raises. “I can hear your footsteps pacing outside her door each night. You worry about her. I worry about her!”
“I worry about her because she is the prophecy-”
“Bullshit!” Argnier’s voice drops so low that she can not discern his next few words.
“What do you want me to say?” Calder grunts.
“That she is not some throwaway bedfellow. Not that I think you’ve sank your cock into her yet.
But, she deserves your truth.” Argnier hesitates.
“Before someone else tells her. You may be the Iss Drengr, but I know you possess far more heart than this!” Argnier’s shocking reprimand has her frozen on the steps.
She is about to turn around when she collides with Thora, who has one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Thora taps a finger to her lips before crouching on the step above.
Calder’s familiar footsteps thunk against the stone floor below.
“Your loyalty to my nephew’s rigid way of thinking died the moment you uncovered that young woman aboard your ship. Your loyalty is to Aura. To ensure her safety!” Argnier’s words are met with the sound of a plate smashing against the stone floor.
“Get out!” Calder’s tone is not unkind, but both sisters scramble up the steps only to tumble over one another in their haste, flattening on the landing.
“Ladies.” Argnier grins down at their sad attempts to avert their gazes before stepping over them and striding around the corner.
“His loyalty to Father,” Thora’s rare use of Sigvid’s familial title instead of ‘Uncle Sig’ has Aura’s rapt attention, “hangs by a thread thanks to your lingering presence in Calder’s life.”
“What am I to do? How can I fix such a broken connection I had no intention of severing?” Aura frantically whispers.
Heavy footsteps ascending from the kitchen force them to their feet as the Iss Drengr emerges, wiping tension from his brow.
“Good, you are here.” He addresses Aura. “I want you dressed for a long ride in the cold. Pack a sack of food and meet me in the stables. We will be gone for the day.”
Without another word, he sweeps past, leaving the sisters exchanging concerned glances.
Calder and Aura saddle two mares and ride into the thick forest of Kaldrgataness. The icy air slaps at her cheeks, awakening her from the weeks spent locked away in his castle.
Unlike Treland, most days in Skalor are overcast, with thick, dark clouds hanging over the land. They had left in mid-morning, and she can only guess through the dreary mist that it is mid-afternoon by the time Calder tugs the reins on his horse, signaling her to slow down.
He still has not revealed their course or his sudden desire to abandon their responsibilities.
Nonetheless, Aura follows suit, dismounting along the forest’s edge.
After tying her reins to the same tree as his, he waves her away from the woods and into the frozen field behind them.
She trudges at his side, craning her neck at the towering evergreens frosted with thick snow. Only the redwoods of Timber could rival the majesty of these wild sentinels.
“Where is our destination?” She finally breaks the silence, dodging a mole hole in the ground before she has a chance to twist her ankle.
His grizzly bear cloak billows around his massive form. “I need you to understand the demons of Skalor.”
Aura follows his cryptic instructions until they crest a hill and see a dramatic view of the far-eastern village of Kaldrgataness Hold.
“By the Gods! Is that?” Her heart thunders as she gapes in disbelief at the reality of where he has led her.
Chillbury.
Calder says nothing, slowing his long strides as she rushes past him, sliding down the hill. She darts toward the village, which is still eerily intact after all these winters.
The abandoned homes and stores hold an uneasy silence as she walks along the overgrown streets filled with discarded ceramic vases, crates, and the swaying of open doors in the light wind.
Once upon a time, the candles would have burned bright as children played in the streets and merchants haggled over wares.
She steps inside a home with metal runes dangling from the porch’s overhang. A central hearth sits cold, and a dusty table is set for four.
Her foot tramples on something discarded by the door. When she crouches, it’s to find a small toy doll. What startles her is the doll’s hair color, which is dark auburn, much like her own.
The reality of the people who lived in the village creeps along her spine.
When she emerges from the home, she confronts a wooden statue of a god dominating the center of town. She circles the uncannily familiar man leaning against a great axe.
“Makt.” Calder’s deep voice jogs her from her thoughts. “How ironic. That Chillbury’s fate should be met as they prepared to celebrate the God of Power.” His cold gaze burns with a fervent disdain. His lip curls as he seems unable to tug away from the god’s depiction.
“Before we venture further.” Calder’s voice halts her as she and the doll prepare to traipse along the final street. “You deserve to know what happened to my wife and son.”
She whirls around to see him still glowering at the statue, his hardened expression reflecting more loathing than she has ever witnessed in the Iss Drengr.
“You will never hear me utter my ex-wife’s traitor name.
” He does not glance at Aura. “We met at a Solstice celebration at Nightwall Keep, not long after my dear mother encouraged me to claim Kaldrgataness Hold. I was young and impressionable—senseless and rash in my decision-making. After many nights spent with countless women in Lavinia’s circle, her prized girl caught my attention.
We foolishly married within a couple of months.
After she became pregnant, I hardly ever saw her.
When our son was born, I saw them less and less.
Until one day, my mother appeared in Kaldrgataness to request something of me. ”