Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Good,” he said, his gray eyes sweeping over me with clinical assessment. “Now we can begin your real education. You’ll shave your fisse before your next session, as a sign of your servitude, but nakedness is enough for now.”
I shuddered at the casual way he spoke of removing the natural covering of my private places, but Aksel had turned to move to one of the workbenches, returning with what looked like a collar made of soft black leather. Silver runes were etched into its surface, catching the light as he held it up.
“This is to assist your progress,” he said, approaching me with the collar. “A training collar. It will help you access what’s already inside you—the ancient knowledge that runs in your blood. You’ll wear it when you’re here.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, but when he fastened the collar around my throat, something shifted. The room seemed to shimmer at the edges of my vision. The carved symbols on the wooden pillars appeared to move, to breathe, as if they were alive.
“What—” I started. I looked wildly around, and the effect—whatever it had been—went away. I turned to Aksel, my eyes wide.
“The women of the North once held great power,” Aksel said, circling me slowly. “The völur—the seeresses who could glimpse the threads of fate. That knowledge was suppressed, hidden, but never truly lost. It runs strongest in those who submit to their true nature.”
“It’s… magic?” I breathed, my heart racing.
Aksel smiled, the expression knowing—almost smug.
“If I were a different kind of Herra,” he said, “I would say yes, and let you believe the way the völur did a thousand years ago. But your new Herra is an engineer. It’s not magic, Lorna; it’s science and design. The collar enhances a certain kind of sense that you have access to through the nature of your sexuality.”
I swallowed hard. “My… sexuality?” I whispered. The mystifying events of the last three days had begun to form into a constellation that seemed no less impenetrable, but nevertheless had a shape—a very distressing shape.
“Yes,” Aksel said simply. “Your sexuality. The part of you that craves submission, that needs to be owned, controlled, disciplined. That part connects you to something much older than this modern world your husband represents.”
He moved to another workbench, returning with what looked like a simple wooden box, carved with the same runic symbols that decorated the collar around my throat. My skin prickled as he set it on the floor in front of me.
“Kneel,” he commanded.
I sank to my knees on the cold concrete, acutely aware of my nakedness, of the way the position made me even more vulnerable. The collar seemed to grow warm against my skin, and for a moment I could have sworn I heard whispers in a language I didn’t understand but somehow recognized.
“The völur were not merely fortune-tellers,” Aksel said, opening the box to reveal a set of carved bone tiles. “They were advisors to kings, keepers of ancient wisdom. But their power came from understanding their place in the natural order. They submitted to the gods, to fate, to the men who owned, and used, and protected them. Through that submission, they gained sight beyond sight.”
He lifted one of the tiles, and I gasped. The symbol carved into it seemed to pulse with light—not magical light, I told myself firmly, but something my brain was interpreting as light because of whatever technology was in this collar.
“Your husband is selling Jagland to the highest bidder,” Aksel said, his voice taking on a harder edge. “The Synergy Group, the Russians, anyone who will line his pockets. He doesn’t understand what he’s destroying—the ancient contract between the land and its people.”
“I know,” I whispered, my voice rough. “I’ve been trying to find evidence, to stop him somehow—”
“Evidence?” Aksel’s laugh was sharp. “Evidence means nothing when the entire system is corrupt. No, Lorna. We need something more fundamental. We need you to remember what you are.”
He placed the tile in my hand. The moment it touched my skin, images flooded my mind—not memories exactly, but something deeper. I saw women in rough-spun dresses standing before warriors, their eyes milky white as they spoke prophecies. I saw myself, but not myself, kneeling before a man whose face I couldn’t quite see, accepting his collar, his command, his seed. I saw threads of light connecting everything, showing how Takken’s betrayal would ripple outward, destroying not just Jagland, but something essential about the North itself.
“What do you see?” Aksel asked, his voice seeming to come from very far away.
“Threads,” I gasped. “Connections. Takken… he’s not just corrupt. He’s part of something bigger. The Synergy Group is using him to—” I broke off, the vision fragmenting. “I can’t… it’s too much.”
Aksel’s hand settled on the back of my neck, warm and steadying. The contact grounded me, pulling me back from the overwhelming cascade of images.