by J. M. Briggs
A thick mist surrounded him. It clung to his skin and clothing, and yet the air was too thin. Voices were speaking in the distance before one word began to be repeated loudly. He didn’t understand it, the word meant nothing, but more voices were chanting it now. Suddenly light exploded in front of him, forming an archway of stone and metal. Strange symbols on the doorway glowed and the light filling the opening twisted and churned like dirty water. The voices kept chanting, and then he was being pushed towards the light.
“It’s alright,” Morgana said in his ear. Baldr was holding his arm to keep him upright. “It’s alright. Inhale,” she ordered. He obeyed. “Good, now hold it in for a moment and then exhale.”
Swallowing, Dobiemir followed her instructions a few more times. Then he carefully looked back at the woman. She was leaning against a tree and seemed a bit shaken herself. Nonetheless, she gave him a soft smile. When she started to turn, Dobiemir’s eyes widened. At her side, hanging from a belt was a sword. It had no scabbard but instead what looked like a small trickle of water holding it in place. Blinking, Dobiemir tried to understand what he was seeing for a moment before giving up.
“Uh, thank you,” he said to Baldr.
“You’re welcome.” Baldr didn’t even look at him; instead, he was watching the newcomer with a hint of fascination.
“Cyrridven?” Merlin called. He stepped towards the woman. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. “When did you-”
“Yesterday,” she answered softly. Turning her head, she looked up the hill. “I arrived in a lake a few miles that way. I’ve been on my way to see you.” Leaning against a tree, she gave their small group a grateful smile. “I’m glad that you came upon me.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. He stepped towards her and offered her his hand which she happily took. “I had not considered the lack of standing water nearby when I called to you.”
“You called to me from a river alongside a village,” Cyrridven laughed. “I did not want to frighten the poor humans. But I also… felt drawn to these woods, so the lake seemed the best choice.” Then she smiled and looked to the Old Ones. “Odin, Sif, Baldr.” She nodded to each of them in turn, her strange circlet illuminating her face and the nearby trees.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so far from water,” Morgana said drily. “This feeling drawing you in, do you think it was Belobog?”
“I do not know,” Cyrridven answered. “It is possible, Morgana. Belobog and I have long known each other.” Then Cyrridven stepped forward towards him. “I am sorry, young one. I’m afraid that my connection with the Iron Realm is so strong that mages often Connect with me the first time we meet. As you likely gathered, my name is Cyrridven.”
“Dobiemir.” He straightened up, reassured by her kind smile. “My name is Dobiemir.”
“It is always a pleasure to meet a mage of the Iron Realm.” She nodded deeply to him. “I am sorry that your life has been disturbed by the darkness growing in this forest.”
“It’s… it’s alright,” he answered. “It hasn’t been all bad. My son was ill, but Merlin and Morgana have helped me.”
“You have a son,” Cyrridven said. Her voice was soft, and her smile widened. “I am grateful to hear that they were of aid to you.” She turned slightly to look at the two mages in question. “They have good hearts, though I fear that sometimes they fail to connect with those they meet.”
Morgana grumbled something and Merlin blushed, suddenly looking very bashful. Smiling despite himself, Dobiemir almost started laughing at the strange situation. But his eyes were drawn back to the hilt of the strange sword. The odd pulse beneath his skin grew stronger, making him shiver. Questions about who she was and how she had found them dried up on his tongue. The feeling beneath his skin was distracting, itching and unpleasant.
“The sword,” Morgana said. Her eyes jumped over to him. “What do you think?”
Dobiemir blinked as Cyrridven looked at them. She smiled again but shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. Morgana blinked at her and Cyrridven moved over to join her. “He is not a warrior, is he?”
“No.” Morgana sighed softly, but her eyes were gentle. “I suppose not.”
“We were on our way to investigate the cave that we last encountered Bel- whatever is in the woods,” Merlin said. “Do you wish to-”
“I shall be fine, Merlin,” Cyrridven said. “I prefer to stay in the water, but it is no more necessary for me than it is for Sif. I am a bit weaker in terms of my power without access to water and my awareness of magic is dull, but it does not harm me.”
Merlin didn’t seem reassured by the words and kept looking down at Cyrridven’s bare feet. She wasn’t bothered and instead gave them all a soft calm smile. Morgana chuckled and nodded towards the path.
“Come along then, Merlin,” Morgana said. “This has already been a strange enough day, but we still have a task to complete.”
The older mage nodded, but once again offered his arm to Cyrridven. She took it, and the pair followed after Morgana, leaving Dobiemir with Odin, Sif, and Baldr.
“Well,” Baldr said. “This day has been… odd.”
“We did know she might be coming,” Sif said. They started walking. “I have never seen her away from water, though.”
“I have,” Odin said. “But not for a very long time. I hope that this does not bode poorly for our enterprise.”
“We should have thought of it,” Sif said. “Dobiemir, when we return to your home, would you object to us making a pond or a well of some kind? In case Cyrridven requires it.”
“I- uh, no,” he answered. “That would be fine. There’s an empty and rocky patch of land not far from the house. It’s never been good for planting: that might be a good spot.”
Sif nodded in agreement, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she walked a little faster. Odin kept pace with her and called to Merlin. Staring after them, Dobiemir looked at Baldr. The Old One was watching him with an almost pitying look. Anger flared in his chest. He knew he didn’t understand what was happening here, but none of them were bothering to explain.
“Don’t,” Baldr said. “Just… don’t, Dobiemir. This isn’t the life you want, so be grateful that they aren’t pulling you in.”
Baldr shook his head and followed the others. Dobiemir’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to object. He was a mage too, even if he couldn’t use his powers. Surely that meant something. Yet, he had Slavko, and Baldr was right. This wasn’t really what he wanted. Shaking his head, he pushed away the odd emotions. They wouldn’t help him today. Right now, they were only a distraction. Speeding up, he passed by Baldr and fit himself into the center of the group, hoping to overhear something that would provide an explanation.
They weren’t helpful. Cyrridven was uneasy walking on the ground and leaned heavily on Merlin, to Morgana’s amusement. The comments from the others made him believe that she was usually in water, but how that was possible, he didn’t know. Morgana stayed close to him, and every time a branch shifted she took a defensive posture. Nothing came, but the air kept getting colder. He wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t form. Merlin and Cyrridven had gone silent. She kept looking back towards him, her hand brushing the hilt of the sword.
Hesitation filled her eyes. She wasn’t sure. Someone else was as uneasy about this as he was. It was almost comforting. Dobiemir wanted to go home and think it over. Today had started normally, but now there were new strangers to contend with and not enough information about any of it. But Merlin was walking forward with long, determined strides.
They came to the cave far too quickly for him. Dobiemir hung back with Sif and Baldr as Odin slowly moved forward. Dobiemir’s breath danced on the air, and he shivered as the cold sank in again. Silver sparks surrounded Morgana’s hand as she watched for Shadows. Dobiemir swallowed. It was difficult. Fear clawed at his chest, urging him to run, but he stayed still.
“Belobog?” Odin called. He moved towards the cavern
with slow, measured steps. Baldr stayed close to Sif, but Dobiemir could see the siblings watching with worried eyes. “Belobog, it is Odin. Are you there? Is it you?”
Bright green eyes suddenly appeared in the cavern. The terrifying chill swept over the area. The cold turned brutal. Out of the corner of his eyes Dobiemir saw the long shadows of the trees begin to twist. With a trembling hand he pointed to them, and Morgana nodded quickly.
“Belobog, stop this!” Odin took a step back. “Old friend, please try to listen. Try to remember!”
A roar spilled forth. The green eyes flashed, and the shadows turned and twisted. Shapes began to pull forth. Morgana threw her hand forward. An icicle struck the nearest half-formed Shadow. It yelped and collapsed. Odin stumbled back and hurried to Sif and Baldr. Dobiemir looked at Merlin, but the older mage was glaring into the cave. Green magic flared around his hand, and Dobiemir’s eyes widened.
Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back. All of his limbs protested. Suddenly, the stark cold really hit him and he started shivering. Sif was pulling him away. Merlin and Morgana were shouting something. It was a mess. He couldn’t see the others. Shadow monsters were appearing all around them out of the shadows of the trees. Glowing green eyes were everywhere he looked — dozens of pairs coming closer and closer. Sif kept pulling. Or maybe Baldr was pushing. There was noise behind him. He looked back to find patches of ice on the ground, Merlin and Morgana were throwing strange spears made of ice and orbs that shimmered with frost. There was something beyond them. A large figure was reaching towards them out of the cave, made of darkness and those glowing green eyes.
“Keep moving,” Sif ordered. “Stop looking back. This went poorly. Keep moving. We need a real plan.”
Then they stumbled out into the light. Sif released him, and he took a few steps away from her. Inhaling a deep breath, Dobiemir suddenly became aware of the blackness that had been creeping into his vision. It started to clear, and he took another breath. Merlin and Morgana came out of the trees, Morgana still facing the cave.
“They don’t seem to be following. At least the ice worked,” she said. “But there were so many of them. He’s gotten stronger.”
“There were dozens,” Odin agreed. “I’ve never seen anything like those.”
“The ice works,” Merlin said. “That’s something.”
“And we confirmed the worst.” Morgana looked over at him. “Dobiemir, are you alright?”
“Fine.”
“We shouldn’t have taken him there,” Morgana said. She looked at Merlin. “He needs more training, and we need a better plan.”
“At least we know who we are dealing with.”
“That thing is Belobog,” Cyrridven said. Her eyes were downcast, and grief filled her voice. “I fear that we have lost him.”
“Belobog?” Dobiemir repeated. Shaking his head, he fought off the haze trying to roll in. “But… he’s the God of Good. He’s one of the few that truly defends humanity and-”
“No longer, I fear,” Cyrridven said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I… I don’t understand.” Dobiemir shook his head. “How does this happen? Why does this happen?”
“This is not our world,” Cyrridven replied. Her voice was soft, sad, but rang of finality. “Belobog did not take the proper precautions… or perhaps he grew tired. That also happens.”
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “We’ve seen that before.”
“So, what can we do?” Dobiemir asked. “Against him? These creatures? What do we do?”
“He lives,” Morgana said. “And thus, he can die. Do not lose sight of that.” Moving over to him, she put a hand on his shoulder. It didn’t help his rising panic. All those Shadows could come forth at any moment to destroy everything nearby. “We will deal with Belobog, Dobiemir.”
“Let’s just call it Chernobog and be done with it,” Dobiemir growled. “He’s not the good god anymore! If we have to fight him, then at least fight him as he is now.” His head ached, and the cold was receding slower than usual. Even now, the muscles in his leg ached and were twitching. “I don’t understand what it is you want from me? If the gods are real then surely-”
“Nothing is certain,” Morgana said. “And don’t call them gods: they aren’t deserving of that title.” Her voice was sharp and icy. “They’re powerful, but they aren’t gods.”
“You don’t believe in the gods?” Dobiemir asked softly. His eyes jumped to Odin and the others. “Are you a Christian then?”
“No.” Morgana snorted, but then took a deep breath. “Dobiemir, they are beings from another world. I know that means little to you, but they are. But the longer they stay in our world, the more… challenging it becomes for them. Over time, many go mad. Belobog has gone mad. I believe that when you called him Chernobog, you were very accurate. What was once good and sane has been twisted into something far uglier.”
“Uglier… that thing.” Dobiemir shivered at the mere memory of the cold. “It was like a living nightmare.”
“Yes, very distressing in appearance,” Morgana said. “And much stronger than I would have expected. He might even be stronger now than he was before. Then again, he isn’t holding anything back now.” Morgana shook her head and turned to Merlin. “But that’s not the real issue. We need to find some way to stop him.”
“Perhaps Shiva could help,” Merlin said carefully. “He has the Trishula. Lokpal was able to restore him with it. Maybe we should try to reach him again-”
“Shiva wished to be saved,” Morgana said. Her lips curled into a slight sneer. “Lokpal told us the story, Merlin. Even near the edge Shiva did not wish to harm him. Chernobog is past that point.”
“We haven’t the power to destroy him,” Merlin said. “At least, I don’t think so. He’s… very powerful. Those shadows of his are impressive. Fighting him and them at once will be a challenge.”
“He was one of the first to enter your world,” Cyrridven said. “He’s held off the madness for so long, but it has finally taken him. I confess that even I had begun to believe that he would never fall. He kept to himself, but tried to help the humans that crossed his path.”
“Yet he never became an ally of ours,” Morgana said.
“No,” Cyrridven agreed. “He didn’t. Belobog disliked conflict, and you mages are constantly finding it.”
“Part of our mission in this world, I’m afraid,” Merlin quipped.
Dobiemir swallowed. Belobog wasn’t a god that his parents or grandparents had worshipped much, but he was a figure of good. Thanking him for the good things that happened in a year was custom. But lately there had been nothing good to be grateful for. This madness that had infested the god might be the reason for that.
“So, because he’s gone mad bad things are happening?”
“The Shadows spring from him,” Merlin answered. “But… the gods do not have the power over your lives that you think they do. Nothing has that much power.”
Dobiemir didn’t believe that. But he didn’t argue with Merlin. The pair of mages had great power: it made sense that they did not fear any of these great and terrible beings. But his power was nothing compared to theirs. He had a child to worry about. He would not be risking the wrath of something by speaking so against it.
“I can reach out to Shiva,” Cyrridven said, returning to the original topic. “But last time I sought him out, he had started to sleep near the island. Other Old Ones have joined him in the area and follow his example. Even if he cannot help, then perhaps they can. I suppose it depends on the Demon population’s behavior. And not all Old Ones are willing to communicate with mages.”
None of it made sense. Their words meant nothing. Shaking his head, Dobiemir pulled away from Morgana’s grasp and looked at the trees again. They were still. Almost too still. There wasn’t even a breeze.
“Are you alright?” Merlin asked.
“I- I’m unsure,” Dobiemir said. A strained laugh escaped him. “Life wasn’t easy before you arrived,
but at least I understood it better.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No… ignorance had its own dangers, I suppose,” Dobiemir said. “And my son is healthier now. He grows stronger and has hope for the future. That’s the point of it all. I’m a parent and I must try to give him a better life. I’m frightened, but if fighting Chernobog is the way to do that then I will.”
Merlin was staring at him. The old mage’s eyes were soft but proud. Dobiemir wasn’t sure of the source of the look, but then Merlin’s smiled widened.
“Ah… it is you then,” Merlin said softly, almost to himself. “You are a good man, Dobiemir, I am grateful that we found you here.”