Astrid Soulweaver's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Inside the temple, the air was cold and still. Hel sat on a black throne, half her face living and half bone. She did not look at Astrid. She looked past her, to the gate. "Three souls crossed back into the living world," Hel said. "My boundary was broken. You come asking me to break a curse while another breaks my law. Name the one who did it, or leave." Astrid's jaw clenched. She had no answer, only fear. Freyja had asked her to give up the need for a reason. She breathed in, then out. "I don't know who did it," she said. "But I can find out. Let me look." Hel's bone hand lifted. The green fire showed Astrid a shape in the dust at the gate. A print, left by a boot, pressed into the dead road. Astrid knelt and touched it. The grief she carried answered the mark. She felt the pull of it, the way a soul is dragged. And she knew the rite it came from. The burning of an oath-ring. Loss spoken in a dead man's place. It was the rite she had learned of from her own teacher. The rite that opened doors not meant to open. Astrid stood. "It wasn't done by one hand," she said. "The rite to unspeak a blood oath can pull a soul back if it's done wrong. Someone taught it, and it spread. They didn't mean to break your law. They meant to grieve." Hel was silent. The living half of her face turned to Astrid at last. "You defend them." "I'm telling you the truth," Astrid said. "No one opened your gate on purpose. The fault is in the rite, not in a thief." Hel leaned forward. "Then you will carry word back. The rite must be stopped before more souls slip through. Do that, and I will not blame you for another's error." Her bone hand fell. "But I will not break your curse today. You brought me a problem, not a payment. Go close the door you helped open. Then return." The green fire dimmed. Astrid was out on the road again, her little wolf against her leg. The gray dust stretched back toward the living world. The road did not end at her village. It ended at a dark dwelling she knew. Hjördís sat outside it, antlers black against the sky, cloth bound over her eyes. Beside her stood Thorolf, a whetstone in his ruined hand, a blade across his knee. He had been sharpening it since she left. "You're back early," Hjördís said. She did not ask how. "What did the Queen take?" "Nothing yet," Astrid said. "She wants the rite stopped first. The one that pulls souls back." She looked at Thorolf. "Your rite. The oath-burning. It's been breaking Hel's gate." Thorolf set down the stone. His face went still. "I taught it to the widow," he said quietly. "She taught others." "Then we have to find all of them," Astrid said, "before Hel closes her door to me for good."