Serk.
The grisly sight of his head bashed in while the single chain strangles him is too much. Aura claps a hand to her mouth to keep from retching. Instinctively, she traces a finger along Eivor’s braided luck bracelet.
She knows there are loved ones she has yet to discover along this trial.
As she wades through the trickling current, the shade of the nextvictims has her clutching her chest as she glances upward to see her uncles: Grim, Slode, and Bertie.
Shocked tears flow freely as she covers her mouth again, forcing herself to swallow back the bile and the emotion flooding her senses. These men guided every aspect of her formative winters. To see any of them in such a state…
Their deaths are only a mirage cast by the forest. They are safe in their homes, waiting for us all to return.
Next are Briny and Maeve, off to the side, their feet almost touching the water, which no longer flows clear.
Blood stains the stones, leaving a metallic scent uncomfortably lingering in her nose.
She stumbles from the crimson brook to confront another stretch of corpses hovering above her head along the beaten road, sloping back to the forest floor. The stench of death is so strong that it overwhelms her senses, causing her to gag.
As she ascends the path, more clanking chains and an eerie silence greet her.
Only these bear her siblings.
Thora’s lovely eyes are missing, and Bjorn gapes, his tongue removed. She walks backward up the path, unable to look away from the horror of their grotesque figures.
Aura screams as her feet tread on something soft. Tears streak down her cheeks as she quivers. Her head tips down to see her mother lying in pieces.
“No! This is not real!” She struggles to accept this as a fear manifested by her mind and the Norns’seidr.
Disregarding the logic screaming at her from within, she falls to her knees, her hands shaking over Avina’s remains. “Mum, you are safe in Blackwood. This isn’t real!”
“Is she, little Sigvidsson?” A distorted voice answers. “Are any of them safe from me?”
A figure materializes in the growing mist.
“Say what you mean!” Aura shouts at thedark figure.
The shadowy form’s haunting laughter tightens her chest, causing her breathing to increase. Still, she urges herself onward.
If she wants to defeat her fear, she must confront it.
“What is your deepest fear, Aura?”
She swallows, unable to say it into existence. “That I will lose my family.”
“Wrong!” The voice shifts into a disturbing blend of a deep male tone and a husky female voice.
She pushes through the mist, revealing the next body she expected to find after discovering her mother’s corpse.
Her father lies along the path. The recognizable great axe of Freyja cleaves his chest cavity in half.
Father!
She collapses to her knees beside the man she has spent so much of her life desperately trying to please. Hot tears of anger and bitter resentment flow from her chest.
“Failure.” She chokes out as she removes the axe's head from his flesh, brushing his copper braid so it lies beside his head. “My deepest fear is failure.”
“Good girl.” The voice is unmistakable, sultry, and feminine.
When Aura raises her head, she meets the condescending smirk of Queen Lavinia emerging from the swirling mist.
