Chapter 27 Aura
AURA
Viktoft, Skalor
“This inn is worse than the one in Geit,” Calder grumbles as he lights a fire in the hearth that is only large enough for two small logs.
Outside their window, the sun twinkles along the lake outside the window of Viktoft’s lone lodge.
Looming in the distance is the solitary mountain encapsulating Makt’s Temple.
They now face a waiting game for Edmund and any of their other companions to join them.
Aura drops on the edge of the bed.
Why do I feel as if my life is spinning off its axis?
After Calder froze Harvart in the longhouse, it seemed he was beginning to confront the emotions he had tried so hard to wall off toward her.
Yet, why did finally unleashing their passions in the woods make her thoughts on Calder more uncertain?
“My beautiful girl. What troubles you?” He kneels before her, taking both her hands in one of his.
Her heart thunders in her chest. If she shares her pain at the looming end of this mission, he will view her as a childish girl yearning for more than she deserves from the most powerful man on the continent.
The sense of security he cultivates around her will vanish.
“I worry about accessing the Temple.” A genuine anxiety, to be sure, but not the worry that gnaws at her insides. Entering the ancient shrine of a malevolent god has kept them both on edge.
“What specifically concerns you?” His thumbs massage the tops of her hands as he tilts his head.
“What if we can't enter? Or what if he learns of our presence and tries to sabotage us?”
“Then you will call upon the gods for seidr to demolish the front door.” His index finger strokes her jawline. “If he attempts anything untoward, I will kill him.” Calder’s growl is low and promising.
“Speaking of the gods,” she says, moving beside the hearth. “I have thought long and hard about this and intend to call upon them for guidance.”
“Who are you…” He groans in acknowledgment of her smug smile. “Oh no, this is a bad idea, Princess. When you brought this up casually, I thought you were joking.” His joints crack as he stands. “He won't talk to you regardless of your possession of the Treland Sacred Stone.”
She fiddles with the nautilus shell between her fingers, ignoring him.
The god she intended to call upon operated independently, and she fully anticipated Calder’s disapproval of the matter.
However, if this works, it would provide a solid guide for entering the temple.
“Briny and Maeve are more invested in your fate than even the damn Norn. Bringing him in will not yield the answers you hope.” Calder lays on their bed with his fingers intertwined behind his head while she paces before the cold hearth.
I carry the Treland Sacred Stone. I hold a direct line to the gods.
Why not investigate its lengths?
A glance over her shoulder shows Calder cocking a brow. At least he seems more amused than frustrated with her.
With a toss of her curls, she clutches the nautilus shell in one hand. “I, Aura Sigvidsson-Redwood, Princess of Treland,” she conjures an authoritative tone, “granddaughter of the God of Strength and Goddess of Wisdom, invoke the God of War.”
In the background, she can hear Calder audibly sigh.
“I invoke Ingvar!” Her voice bellows through their tiny guest room.
She jumps at every creak of the inn’s shabby floors and walls, expecting the God of War to burst through the door. Time ticks by as Calder’s visible amusement grows.
She is about to admit defeat when, of all people, Briny’s voice interrupts the anticipation.
“...she is my granddaughter! You puffed up, meathead!”
Aura stumbles against the wall as two ethereal figures appear before the hearth. Although she has seen her Grandpapi before, both in his ghostly form and in the flesh, Briny’s identical appearance to her father—complete with a single braid, beard, and intense facial features—always gives her pause.
Fortunately, his open linen tunic and beaded bracelets mark him as someone other than the gruff Sigvid Thordsson.
The other deity is a tall man, possibly taller than the Iss Drengr, dressed only in dark pants with a bear cloak draped over his scarred chest. A long, wild mane creates a deranged expression on his weathered face.
Ingvar, God of War.
Unlike other gods who accept prayers for daily life, he remains impartial to human conflict and reveres hard-fought warriors, the only individuals granted status by him. His afterlife, the Garrison, is said to be a grand city where souls await their venture to their undecided afterlives.
Gothi claim that souls can spend decades, even centuries, waiting for the gods to decide their fate. His presence as the other patron god of Skalor stems from the country's long-held history of interwarring tribes across its five distinct islands.
And he is attempting to strangle her Grandpapi.
The bed creaks as Calder’s boots thud against the floorboards until he stands beside her, watching the gods wrestle.
“Did you happen to call them both?” He whispers, disbelief hangs in his tone.
She shakes her head, unable to tear away from the fiasco that will surely cause unwanted attention in the decrepit inn run by that nosey old bat of an innkeeper—the ignorant woman who thought Aura to be a daughter of Calder.
He whistles with his fingers so loudly that she claps her palms over her ears.
“Oi! Explain!” His voice rattles a cup on one of the end tables.
Ingvar leaps away from Briny as if he were diseased. Slowly, he pivots to Calder as his brow knits. “You dare speak to me in such a way!”
“Yes.” He crosses his arms.
“Do you know who I am, boy?”
He doesn’t even blink at Ingvar’s fury.
“I require a modicum of your respect.” Ingvar straightens, regarding Calder with a wicked grin. “No matter your…lineage.”
She notices the slight shift in Calder’s stance and the twitch of his hands at his side. The action is subtle, yet she sets it aside for later.
“Answer her questions,” Calder squeezes Aura’s shoulder, “and I might consider giving you that modicum amount.”
“You insolent-” Ingvar snarls, fisting his hands. Briny pulls on his mane, distracting him.
Aura steps forward, holding her chin up high. “I summoned Ingvar to answer questions on the Temple of Makt.”
Ingvar punches Briny in the gut, sending his ghostly form stumbling through a wall.
Gods, I hope that room is empty.
“What makes you think I would possess even an inkling of knowledge about Makt, halvgud?”
“Well,” she starts as Briny emerges through the wall to throw Ingvar’s bear cloak over his head before shoving him to the floor as he smiles at her.
“She is my granddaughter, and I will speak to her,” he growls in Ingvar’s ear, kicking the enormous god. “Hello, Aurie.” He steps forward with his arms outstretched. “What can I answer?”
“We are preparing to explore the ancient ruins of Makt’s Temple, and we need to know what manner of horrors we will encounter and how to gain entry. I thought summoning Ingvar, as the other patron God in Skalor, might be beneficial."
“Oh, Aurie, there is much you will see. Spiders, rats, a lot of dust.” He adds dismissively.
Ingvar leers over him, cracking his knuckles. “Why don’t you fully explain everything, Briny? I’m sure they need to know everything you have kept from your boy and Maeve’s beautiful daughter.”
Grandpapi frowns. “My hands are tied, Ingvar. What any of us can share is limited.”
“Is that what you tell Maeve?”
Briny spins around, slamming into him. “Leave her out of this!”
“You and Freyr have done a fine job of that already.”
Oh gods. How did this situation get worse?
Aura cringes at the idea of the three patron gods of Treland passing their time in bed together.
And what are the gods hiding from my family?
Briny has been an open book since her birth. He and her father even have regular conversations in the Guardian Mausoleum.
Calder whistles again. “Children!”
Ingvar stumbles away this time as Briny moves protectively closer to Aura.
“Can either of you explain what we are facing and how to enter Makt’s Temple?” Aura is losing patience.
The God of War cackles, crossing his arms. “You focus on the wrong aspects of your journey, halvgud. This mission is fraught with other dangers. The most deadly threat is closer than you realize.”
Calder growls, “Say what you mean, Ingvar.” His words sound eerily like her father’s, and times like these serve as a chilling reminder of their connection.
“We gods are not omniscient, much to your humans’ dismay. Although spending enough time in the mortal realm and visiting seers helps us develop a kind of hindsight.” He gestures to Aura. “You summoned me. I speak to you alone, halvgud.”
Briny and Calder huff, leaving her alone with the God of War.
As Calder steps back, he signals to her that he will remain close by.
“What do you know?” She asks, recognizing that this idea was poor and Calder was right.
As usual.
The God of War circles her, sniffing as he passes. “You smell so much like her–determination and fire.”
Who?
“My Maeve. I do not care what that idiot Briny thinks. She belongs to me.” He turns on the Princess as if suddenly remembering she is still in the room. “For Maeve, I shall tell you what I know.”
She could almost dance with happiness.
He tilts his head, examining her. “Makt is the God of Power and values personal involvement in all his ventures. Expect his temple to reflect this. He may even visit you. Given your traveling companion, I doubt you’ll have trouble accessing anything inside.”
“How can we kill him?”
Ingvar’s cackle is unsettling. “You are adorable, halvgud, but I will not disclose our weaknesses.”
Her shoulders fall.
“Contrary to popular opinion, I do care about my realm.” He adjusts his bearskin cloak. “I have followed your quest with great interest. Trust me when I say the worst is yet to come for you, halvgud.”
He vanishes in a rush of crimson wind.
“There is one bed. One fucking bed.” Argnier’s muffled voice from the adjacent room wakes Aura from her nap after her conversation with Ingvar.