Chapter 32 Aura
AURA
Makt’s Temple, Skalor
“Get away from him!” Aura’s axe clashes fiercely against the vísir’s raised weapon.
She positions herself protectively between Calder’s lifeless body and the female warrior chosen by the Norn to guide the souls to their afterlife.
How did this fucking happen? He is the Iss Drengr. He cannot die!
Somehow, she swallows down her rising agony and grief to tap into the only emotion motivating her actions.
Rage.
Aura screams as she grips her axe with both hands and drives the blade into the side of the immortal warrior. The clash of ebony against steel reverberates up her arms, compelling her to step back and tower over Calder’s body with a snarl.
The vísir wears solid Astrian steel armor like none Aura has ever seen.
The iridescent metal conforms to her athletic body like a second skin.
A pair of black wings sprout from her back, with strips of sapphire embedded in her veins.
The shiny helmet may conceal her face, but a set of haunting dark eyes peer out through slits at Aura’s bold defiance.
“How can you see me?” the vísir’s muffled voice demands as Aura commands her violet fireball to explode in a burst of flames, causing the warrior to shriek and stumble away.
“You will not take him from me!” Aura thrusts her father’s blackwood axe at the vísir’s face.
“Wait!” The vísir disarms Aura, causing the axe to drop onto the sand. “Cease your attack!” Instead of kicking away the axe, the afterlife warrior cradles it in her hands.
Aura forms a sword and shield from ice, stepping toward the vísir. She lifts the sword, aiming for her neck just as the vísir removes her helmet.
The woman is no older than herself, with beautiful raven locks and matching wide eyes. “By the gods! Are you Sigvid Thordsson’s daughter?”
“Yes. My mother is Avina Redwood.”
The vísir assumes an honorable kneel with her father’s axe. “In my mortal life, I was known as Helga. A Drengr and Inner Circle member of your father. The man I am instructed to reap immediately to the Depths is Calder Avardsson, a fellow Drengr.”
Aura’s seidr vanishes, leaving her with the pain of uncertainty surrounding the man lying unresponsive at her feet.
Helga rescued her pregnant mother from Thrain, her uncle, who sought to force her into a marriage to unify the country. Avina always spoke highly of the only woman, besides Grandma Frida, who loved Thrain Thordsson.
Helga rises, twirling the blackwood axe. “Your father was the strongest man on the continent.” She returns the weapon with a look of fondness. “And how can you see me? No mortal can behold a vísir.”
Aura contemplates the question, her fingers pressing against the nautilus shell she holds up for Helga to see. “I carry the Treland Sacred Stone.”
Helga nods in understanding.
“Is Calder…? Can you help him?” Aura collapses to her knees, pleading internally with Briny for healing seidr
Please don’t abandon me, Calder.
Helga settles at her side. “What is your name, child?”
“Aura.”
“Aura, I was summoned by the goddess Gullveig to deliver him to the Depths.”
Gullveig, but why?
“However, my existence in the mortal realm is contingent upon his soul. If he wakes, I must leave. Let me help you move him to safety to receive proper healing. For old times' sake.”
Aura clutches his cuirass, and a quiet, bitter tear trickles over his heart for his folly. “Fine. We must regroup with our two companions.”
Helga assists Aura with Calder, whose dead weight feels like that of a grizzly bear.
“What brings you here?” Helga sheaths Freyja while Aura holsters her father’s axe and straps Makt’s great axe to her back.
“We needed a weapon to kill a god.” Aura spits, fixating solely on the throbbing ache in her heart at the thought that Calder may not survive this ordeal. Envy pricks at her mind as she watches Helga bear his weight easily.
Why does Aura lack the strength to carry him out alone?
Nevertheless, they navigate their way back through the tunnel to the Great Hall.
“Argnier! They’re…half back.” Edmund yells as he runs toward them.
Her companions skid to a halt. Their expressions of relief fade to confusion.
“How are you supporting him? Is this some seidr shit?” Edmund stalks around Helga, unable to see her carrying Calder.
“What happened? The temple is damn near covered in ice.” Argnier stares at the Iss Drengr, whose head lolls onto his chest.
“A vísir helps me bear him, but we must reach Fitz’s shack if we hope to save his life.” The final word catches heavily in her throat.
Argnier rubs the back of his neck. “Well, shit. We'd better get a move on. Can’t have the Ice Prick melting on us.”
“Aura,” Helga stops her from following her companions back towards the entrance, “these temples always possess a back door.”
After redirecting Argnier and Edmund, they soon locate another stone door with Makt’s sigil.
“Great, more riddles.” Aura huffs while examining it just like before.
“Requires the same sacrifice. Hmm, perhaps,” Edmund cuts his arm and drips blood onto the seal.
“Mayhaps Calder bears the ideal blood?” Argnier gestures to Aura and the unseen Helga, who guide him forward so Edmund can slice Calder’s arm and add his blood to the basin attached to the door. Once a single drop of Calder’s blood drips into the bowl, the ground shudders as the door slides open.
A lump forms in her throat. She will certainly drown in the weight of her powerlessness in this situation.
Fuck the gods, fuck my father, and fuck Lavinia for placing him in this situation.
They maneuver out of the temple and emerge at the foot of the mountain.
Edmund cranes his neck to gaze up at the peak with a puzzled expression. “Well, it would have been nice to know there was a backdooor before we climbed the damn thing.”
Aura tilts her head to glimpse the mountainside, and the air rushes out of her chest, nearly dragging her to her knees. A layer of ice coats the side, thick enough to cover the trees to their tips. She shivers at the light snowfall still swirling against the dusky sky.
What have you done, Iss Drengr?
Their trek to the edge of Viktoft is silent except for Aura’s haggard breathing and continual refusal to allow Helga to simply bear him herself.
He is mine, and I shall ensure his safety myself.
“The runes surrounding you do not speak well of your relationship with Sigvid.” Helga breaks the silence as Fitz’s shack and barn rise along the embankment.
“The runes?”
“Your life, companions, aspirations, knowledge, I can foresee your past, present, and future in the runes surrounding you.”
Aura grunts, unwilling to focus her mind on the fucking Salt Province at the moment.
“The runes are correct. My relationship with Father has been strained lately. When I last saw him, he couldn’t believe I was his daughter.
” She swallows the bitterness hard, having not shared that heartbreaking moment with any living soul except Calder.
Argnier and Edmund walk ahead, gratefully keeping silent. The group pauses several steps from the front door of Fitz’s home to let Argnier knock. A faint glow flickers through the warped glass of the windows.
The door creaks open, offering faint warmth to the party.
“Fitzroy! Hello, my old friend!” Argnier greets him with overflowing enthusiasm. “I have a bit of a problem. We were exploring the old temple up the way, and one of my fellow explorers got a little hurt.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Could you patch him up?”
Stepping onto the porch is not a man but a white mink standing on its back legs. The tiniest monocle sits on his right eye, and even from a distance, she can tell he wears tiny black boots and a checkered robe.
Now, I understand the preoccupation with weasels.
“Aye, I know who this is.” He gestures a paw toward her Iss Drengr. “I will not heal Calder, son of Lavinia.” His squeaky voice is nearly adorable.
Almost.
“Awe, Fitz,” Argnier chastises the mink as though he is a small child who thinks the sun will never rise again, “he has committed terrible acts against the Queen. Yeah, it is unfortunate he shares her blood, but he is trying to change.”
Fitz shakes his small furry head. “That bitch Lavinia killed my wife and had me transformed into this form. I have lived this way for more damned winters than I did as a man!”
“But you are much cuter like this, Fitzy.”
“He bears the seidr wounds on his skin.” Fitz gestures with his paws toward Calder’s face. “His condition is severe. Perhaps beyond my abilities.”
Somehow, along the journey to the cursed mink man, Aura completely missed the veins of blue cutting along every bit of his exposed skin and beyond as if his seidr burst through to the surface.
“The answer is no, Argnier.” Fitz turns away as Aura entrusts his body to Helga.
“Wait! Please!” She falls to her knees. “Please, Sir Fitzroy, I need you to save him.”
“Lass, that wretched wench turned me into this form for thirty winters. I am sorry for your loss. I will not assist her only son.”
“Lavinia’s actions against you are despicable. Calder Avardsson,” She emphasizes his surname even if his name alone sticks in her throat, ‘has done you no harm.”
His little paw scratches his chin. He sighs hard enough that his furry head leans back. “I don’t have a table large enough for him.”
Her bottom lip trembles as she senses he might be digging his paws in on this.
She refuses to lose Calder.
“Sir Fitz,” she steadies her wavering tone, aware that she is just moments away from breaking down.
“That man,” she gestures towards the Iss Drengr, “is leading us to destroy Lavinia and Makt. As a humble woman, I beg you to save the only man you know is powerful enough to defeat them. We will even build a table for you.”
“Do you know who he is, lassie?” Fitz lowers his voice so only she can hear. “Who he truly is?”