Page 59 of Alien Viking's Passion

With one arm he grabbed Aretha and tossed her behind him, reaching up with Krakhogg, plunging its blade into the blue lighting Kofraks had called down from the clouds.

23

- Aretha -

She collapsed to the ground. Her arm was useless, and she didn’t even know if she was still holding Fjernstjerna or not. Or if it had been burned to a crisp, which was what it felt like.

What she saw horrified her. Craxon was in the middle of a storm of blue lightning, coursing all over him, following his Marks like high voltage following a grid of copper wires.

It was the Ice Caves all over again, but this time it wasn’t stopping.

The Viking prince didn’t scream or move, frozen in the terrible shroud of pain and magic. He could be dead already.

Aretha dragged herself to her feet, preparing to attack Kofraks again.

But now the draugr king wasn’t alone. Now there was someone beside him.

It was the old woman, the priestess with the red robe who had talked to Aretha that night.

She was standing beside the draugr, turned towards him. One of her arms went across his face, turning it towards her.

And then she kissed him. Right on that horrible, fleshless mouth with its ugly grin.

The lightning stopped. Craxon fell to the deck, Krakhogg clattering on the wood.

And Kofraks was standing still, stunned.

The old woman took her lips off him.

“Now, Aretha,” she said calmly, and Aretha could swear there was light in her blind eyes.

There was only one thing she could mean.

Aretha clenched Fjernstjerna, ran at the draugr, and gave him the hardest stroke she could muster.

The blade slashed across the monster’s chest, cutting it open. Black and green fluids and rotting guts spilled out among the seaweed.

Not satisfied, Aretha changed her grip and thrust the blade into the opening she had cut.

Kofraks sighed, staggered back, and stood swaying at the ship’s railing. The yellow light went out of his empty eyes, and he tipped over backwards. There was no splash as he hit the ocean.

The clouds dispersed, sunlight filled the world again, and the storm stopped. The waves calmed down within seconds, and the ghost ships vanished in the light from Straum.

Only the krakens were still present, holding onto the Vikings further aft in the ship.

Aretha kneeled by Craxon’s still form.

“Are you all right?” Her voice trembled as she touched his hair. There was smoke rising from him, and he smelled of burned flesh and metal.

But there was a heartbeat, although faster than usual. And he was breathing with a raspy wheeze.

“Come on, Craxon,” she begged. “You can handle this. You’re my prince, strong as Ragnhildrose itself!”

“Swift as the musvakr,”he finally groaned,

“Proud as the grumr

Aretha wields the distant star

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