Chapter 30 Calder
CALDER
Makt’s Temple, Skalor
Calder’s tiny flame dances happily beside his massive leather boots, making a faint squeak each time it bounces off the stone floor. He hates leaving Aura alone, but they must move swiftly and cautiously to obtain the god weapon and leave before Lavinia realizes their plan.
And if it’s between saving my beautiful girl and myself, I will choose her every time.
An honorable man would have admitted his severe lapse in judgment at the secluded hot springs outside Geit. Touching her was against her father’s orders, an act that would condemn him to the only family that ever embraced him.
A respectable man would have given the young woman a room of her own in Viktoft, rather than toying with her in such a despicable, debauched manner.
Among all the winters spent battling the notion that he is the very demon whom all fear him to be, Aura embodies the harrowing truth.
That if anything were to happen to the Princess, every single fucking afterlife would crumble just for him to see her smile once more. Man, woman, and God should fear his ice because he refuses to hold back anymore.
Aura Sigvidsson-Redwood belongs to him.
Even if it means fate condemns him to cross axes with the infamous Beast of the Salt Province.
Slowly, Calder descends the ancient stone steps. His gaze locks on Aura until the next level of darkness obscures his vision. His cheerful little fireball bounces before him, granting him enough light not to crash into something.
At the bottom of the stairs, he enters a similar immense square chamber with two other entrances. One door is jammed shut, while the other opens to a space with barely enough reading materials to be considered a library.
Aura would love to see this.
He directs his fiery friend toward a couple of torches hanging on the walls while he continues to explore. Odd Gothi objects, including ceremonial daggers, unidentified bones, and spherical orbs filled with glowing mist, clutter the tables and shelves that stretch from the floor to the low ceiling.
He cautiously inspects the dusty racks. Two glass cases contain a few tomes penned in ancient runes. In a smaller case lies a human skeletal hand wearing a large onyx ring.
Why would they have this?
He drops the bones back onto the velvet cushion and returns to the central passage.
“Calder!” A booming voice like that of a general bellowing through the clamorous dirge of a battlefield blares in his mind.
“Who is there? Show yourself!” He draws Freyja, unsure what twisted seidr he has unleashed in the depths.
Chilling laughter answers. “Your beloved steel cannot touch me. You know who I am and what I want, my son.”
A black mist materializes from behind a corner shelf with vials swirling in every color he can perceive.
He secures his great axe to his back and folds his arms over his chest. The amusement over the macabre space has long faded. “Hello, Makt.”
An ethereal figure forms from the mist. The shape of a towering warrior, whose harshly defined physique appears to have been carved from a mountainside.
His wild mane of hair desperately needs a cut, and stubble covers his face.
A thick velvet cloak framing a glistening plate armor drapes his broad shoulders.
“You should know I still refuse you.” Calder glowers at the God of Power.
“Ah, but you see, you have created a weakness with that woman.” He tisks, pacing with his hands clasped behind his smoky back. “When I thought you could sink no lower, you fornicate with the grandchild of Maeve and Briny.”
“Say what you mean.”
His lips tug into a wicked grin straight from the Abyss.
“I want to watch you dance. If I tie up your pretty girl and peel the flesh off her bones, you’ll offer me that agreement I so desire.
” Makt shakes his head. “A man willing to die for a mere woman. Pathetic. With all this weakness in your soul, how will you ever be able to wield my great axe?”
Rage, the likes he has never known, floods his veins with a feral instinct to shred him to pieces.
How dare he threaten my princess!
“You offer me a cruel death and expect me to thank you for it?”
“You were born for one purpose and one purpose alone.” Makt spits the words like icy rain. “You chose to ignore me, and see where you ended up.”
Aching pain from fifteen winters ago wrenches his gut. Calder reacts without thinking, throwing a book at the gods' shadowy form. “Do not ever speak about my son!”
“I owned that boy just as I own you. One way or another, you will acquiesce, my son.” Makt’s form explodes into a black mist that vanishes into the stone floor, leaving him alone in the stale library.
When Calder returns to the crumbling dining hall, he trembles with a bitter blend of emotions that only his parents can curdle in his miserable spirit.
The threat of losing Aura has his heart pounding with agonizing tension. He cannot decide whether freezing all of Skalor will alleviate his fury or if he must slowly cut Lavinia apart until her dear consort appears.
The sight of the Princess is like a shining beacon of hope, assuring them that their quest is not a complete suicide mission.
Aura has now amassed a little army of multi-colored mini flames, each sporting a rather adorable curly cue above its head. Her smile at her creations wavers when he enters.
“What happened? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”
I cannot bear to admit the truth about my connection with Makt. Not yet.
“I spoke with Makt.”
Aura gapes, and suddenly, her army of fire bounces frantically at her back. “Why? Briny only comes when I speak through the Stone or at nameday celebrations. Well, there was that one Solstice when he got drunk and made advances on Grandma Frida, who I think he holds feelings toward-”
“We need to locate his great axe and get out of here. Any word from the others?”
At first, she perks up at the mention of the weapon, as he has never confirmed its type. Her fierce gaze wavers as if she wants to confront him. Ultimately, her curls dance around her head as she shakes her head.
“Only you. Did Makt pressure you to be his vessel?”
“He attempted.” He peers at her. “Please, beautiful, do not stray from my side.”
She parts her luscious lips to question him when a faint squeak causes them to turn and face one of her bouncing flames. The seidr fire leaps into her hands, squeaking as if its life depends on it.
“Edmund!” She tears through the corridor on their right without another word.
Calder trips over himself to keep up, not risking her being out of sight for a moment.
He follows her down the damp passageway, trying not to step on her legion of fireballs that continue to get underfoot. When they reach the chamber, the little flame illuminates Edmund’s weary form perched in a rickety chair.
“What happened?” Calder demands more forcefully than he intended. “We have your light.”
Edmund pushes himself to his feet and walks into the flicker of the flames.
“The wall here depicts the gods! I didn’t get to read much because I stepped on the poor little creature, and it ran away.
” He kneels beside the fire, hiding by Aura’s foot.
“I’m sorry, little fire creature,” he says, holding out his hand in repentance.
Aura whispers words of encouragement to his flame until it carefully jumps into his awaiting hand. The light reveals a relief carved into the surface of three of the four walls. “Look at this,” Edmund gestures. “It is the history of the Pantheon-”
“Well, I didn’t find shit in that chamber. Just a skull.” Argnier stomps inside, tossing a human cranium in his hands like a ball. “Anything interesting here?” He looks from the relief to Edmund. “What does it say, Far Eddie?”
Edmund holds the flame close to the stone. “I don’t think you are ready.” He takes a deep, drama-filled breath. “There are ten gods.”
After Edmund’s words drop like a heavy steel ingot, only the faint flickering of Aura’s fire minions can be heard.
“My parents spoke to all six gods the night before I was born,” Aura whispers. “What do you mean there are ten?”
Like Calder, she is unamused at their companion’s jest.
“Let the little fire things bounce off the wall.” Edmund excitedly pats the stone.
Aura motions the horde, which dances against the wall, lighting the embossment.
“Perfect.” Edmund’s tone turns more formal, as if he is lecturing them.
“Look here at the carving. There are nine depictions of each god. First is Makt, the God of Power and patron god of Skalor. Second is Ingvar, the God of War and the other patron god of Skalor. Next, we have Gullveig, Goddess of Order and patron goddess of Pradacia. Then, Briny, Maeve, and Freyr are the patron gods of Treland. Astrid, Goddess of Strife in Astria.” His hand traces the figures, looking down with diamond-encrusted eyes. “Noxumbra and Reidar in Steinlund.”
“I’m confused.” Aura massages her temples. “Are Freyr, Makt, and Reidar not evil demon gods?”
“Excellent question, cousin. I believe the answer is more complicated.” He taps Freyr’s sigil.
“The only logical answer is that someone or something banished these three from the pantheon. Even I have read the discrepancy in the old tomes referencing ten gods, but this,” he taps twice, “is further proof there were once ten gods.”
“You keep saying ten gods, Far Eddie, but I count nine.” Argnier has nine fingers up as he mumbles the names.
“Aura, my favorite cousin, if you will be so kind.” Edmund gestures higher up the wall.
She corrals her army of colorful lights and instructs them to hop higher. The flames flicker beneath a being far larger than the others. Onyx gemstones fill the eye sockets of a god, smothered in the darkness.
“Fellow companions, meet Volund, the God of Death and King of the Abyss.”