by Kody Boye
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Just keep going.”
The horse shook her head, grunted, then stopped and pawed at the mud.
“No,” he said again. “Keep going.”
This time, she didn’t budge at all.
Frustrated, uneasy and afraid, Odin kicked her sides and tugged her reins so her head would pull back and toward him, but no matter what he did he couldn’t seem to make her to move. Even a simple whisper of words, those of which normally calmed her nerves and made her move forward, did nothing to erase the fear that must have currently laced her heart.
It’s all right, he thought, sighing. She’s just having a moment.
He waited, stroking her neck with his freezing hand, and watched the woods around them, trying to imagine just what could possibly be watching them from beneath the thicket of trees or even from the heights of the lingering branches. It was said that werewolves still existed in these parts—that, regardless of the great hunt that had once taken place, a few managed to exist—but if they happened to be watching them he couldn’t be sure. Even if he could know, he didn’t necessarily want to, but that was beside the point.
Slowly, but assuredly, Gainea began to take her first few steps up the road since pausing in midstride.
Odin sighed.
Directly before them, he considered the reality of his situation and began to grow uneasy at the fact that, soon, they would have to stop, if only because both he and his mount needed rest.
After taking a moment to deliberate on his situation, Odin turned Gainea off the beaten path and began to follow a range of rocks that was bound to lead to a cave at some point.
Please, he thought, leading her deeper into the woods. Give me a cave—a thicket of bushes at the very least.
For some reason, he didn’t think he’d find what he was looking for soon.
After following the wall of rock for what seemed like ever, he bedded down inside a cave and tried to go to sleep, but found himself unable to do so for the nerves wracking his conscience and unease prickling the minute hairs on his arms. Muscles in knots, back in pain, skin cold and his breath fading rapidly in and out of his chest, he forced himself to try to fall asleep, but found himself unable to do so for fear that, while sleeping, something would surely step into their personal sanctuary and force them out by death or will.
This is ridiculous, Odin thought, trying as desperately as he possibly could to try and will his body to rest. Why can’t I go to sleep?
After drawing the bedroll tighter around him, he pressed his hand to the fabric above his body and thought, for one brief moment, of channeling his aggression into the warmth he so desperately needed to keep from what he considered would be a sought-after death from damp clothing.
No, he thought. Don’t.
Given his inability to control his magic, there would be absolutely no chance for him to simply heat the fabric, much less keep it from catching on fire despite how damp at was.
In the end, he decided to suffer.
Over the next few hours, which seemed to roll by endlessly and without regret, he tried to imagine himself being swallowed by darkness and eventually caved in to the lesser emotions that plagued him so. He bawled, sobbed, cried and wished desperately to go back to the group, to apologize to his father and say that he only wanted a slight understanding of his Gift, about how to control it without destroying himself and the things around him. They could work something out. He could take a job at the castle, shining boots or even cleaning rooms, and send the money home in exchange for allowing a skilled mage to train him in his abilities. There would be no pain, no suffering, no dread, worry or consequence, as within the hands of someone who knew what he or she was doing there could be no possible outcome of which could harm him. They could even have him practice on inanimate objects and train him to use his powers for simpler things, like cleaning or helping others. He need not learn how to use his gifts for military purpose. They…
Halfway through his stream of thought, he stopped.
What was he thinking? His father would never let that happen, and even if he did attempt to go back to the group, did he expect the man to welcome him with open arms, with smiles and shame for what he had done to force his son away? No. He knew, to the greatest degree, that his father would beat him senseless and make him cry in front of the other men and boys just to show how a father should discipline his runaway son.
You need to try to sleep, his conscience whispered. How are you going to travel if you don’t have your rest?
He wouldn’t. The most likely scenario would be that he would fall asleep at the crack of dawn, then doze until midmorning before he’d have to start off again, then continue on throughout the day until the sun went down.
I don’t even have a cloak, he thought.
“Gainea,” he said, opening his eyes to mere slits to stare at his equine companion. “Please… if you will… talk to me.”
Despite his inner, possibly-magical connections with animals, the horse did not reply.
As if nothing had been tormenting him, a wave came up and swept him away.
Morning came with the scent of dew and the glistening kiss of rain. Though he had slept for only a few mere hours, and while his body protested even the idea of rising and riding on horseback throughout the rest of the day, Odin opened his eyes to a world that looked absolutely magical. Water droplets reflected golden-orange light in every direction, creating miniature rainbows across his plane of vision; the plants glowed green, as if new and virgin-birthed; and the earth seemed fresh and new, almost as if the devastating storm had not happened and thrust him into the horrible situation. Everything seemed godlike, in a way, as colors pulsated in ways never before and the light appeared more physical than it seemed entirely possible. Beauty couldn’t describe what Odin saw through his eyes at that particular moment, and it was for that reason that, while seeking out his horse in the darkness, her breaths deep and peaceful, he found himself able to straighten his posture and relinquish his horrible feelings to the Gods above.
“Come on,” he said, untying the horse’s rope to free her from her place on the ground. “Let’s get out of here.”
Leading the mare out into the cool morning air by her reins, he retrieved a blanket from a saddle bag, slid it about his slim shoulders, then mounted the giant beast with a simple jump and step before pushing her into a quick trot.
When the road came into view, Odin thought for but a single moment everything would be just fine.
Such a beautiful day, he thought.
That pleasantry quickly shifted as soon as something darted out in the road in front of him.
His sword came out in but an instant.
Gainea bucked and kicked the empty air in front of them.
What was that?
Each and every second that passed on the invisible hourglass floating in the air made him all the more nervous. With only his horse and his sword to protect himself, much less any form of magic that he could use to his advantage, most any sort of adversary, if they happened to be in a group, would be able to take them down. A pack of wolves could easily dismember both him and his horse before he even had the chance to defend the two of them, and a group of bandits, especially armed with bows, would surely shoot him dead and take what few belongings he had. Along with this, he feared for his horse’s sanity—for that fact that, ever so quickly, she could easily be spooked and leave him to the open world: alone, isolated, and with nothing but his wits and metal to guard him.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, tangling the hand that held her reins within her mane. “Everything’s going to be just fine, Gainea. Don’t you worry.”
It appeared from the woods in that very moment, stalking on all fours with its elongated snout extended and its amber eyes gleaming in the fresh morning light. Its elegance, though grounded to its animalistic nature, could not have been matched by any other animal that happened to be in the forest, save for a Marsh Walker defo
rmed beautiful by the constructs of nature, and its limbs seemed to grow an ample sense of solitude as it pushed itself up on its back legs to reveal a full height of some six-feet. It stood nearly as tall as the horse—nearly as tall as Odin was atop Gainea herself—but it did not frighten him in the least, as in that moment it seemed all the less intimidating and all the more breathtaking, a creature of the forest that commanded respect by appearance alone and instilled wonder simply by existing.
It, Odin thought, then stopped before he could continue. The creature’s eyes dilated and focused directly on him, its unnervingly-wolfish features impressing upon him a sense of fear that he could not dissuade.
Could it really be what he thought it to be—a creature of the forest who walked upon its back legs and in legend tore men to pieces?
Hello child, it said, tearing Odin from his thoughts much like it would were it to sink its teeth in his throat. I hope you’re aware you slept in my den.
The words, soft and like whispers fluttering amongst the breeze, floated over his head and slid across the mind. A dizzy sense of glee that brought him back to a time when he first learned he could talk to animals overwhelmed him instantly, not only startling him to alert consciousness, but to thoughts of the past—when, while walking along a road, a horse he’d encountered had warned him to tell his neighbor that something bad would happen were he not careful. To think that such an event had transpired and he had been able to experience it was almost crazy, but knowing the logistics of animal magic and how it seemed far-spread within their magically-waning world made him all the more thrilled to know that he could speak with such an elegant beauty as she.
Stunned at the fact that she had just spoken, much less to him, and had not attempted to attack, Odin merely opened his mouth, feigning a choice of words, then clamped his jaw shut when he realized he had not the words to spread. “I,” he began, then stopped before he could continue. “I duh-duh-didn’t mean—”
He was interrupted midway when, from beneath the creature’s legs, three smaller forms emerged. Pups, no bigger than young domesticated dogs, clung to the creature’s fur and tilted their tiny heads up to examine him with eyes that seemed struck with fear.
“I’m sorry,” he said, faltering, grimacing as Gainea shifted and kicked one of her back legs off the ground. “I didn’t—”
His eyes traced the creature’s fur up to its hip, then to its chest, where a pair of swollen breasts lay visible under a coat of thick grey fur.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, still dumbstruck by the fact he was actually communicating with a werewolf, much less one who could talk. “My father, he disapproved of my Gift. He—”
You are aware that you are the first man-creature I have spoken to in quite some time?
“I… I am?”
Yes, child. You are aware of your power with mortal animals, but not with a creature such as I.
She blinked, eyes subtly changing in focus. Unsure exactly of what she was doing, Odin simply sat there with the reins in his hand, grimacing as his horse continued to fidget. He didn’t necessarily mind the overt attention. The fact that she hadn’t attacked either him or his horse was a miracle unto itself.
“What do they call you?” he asked. “I mean… what—”
You mean what would they call a creature such as myself? Not a werewolf, or a shewolf, as some of the men call females such as I?
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
I am an immortal creature of earth, dirt and blood. There are others like me—especially far away in the mountains to the far south—but there are few of us remaining. We are all but dead, here in the human world—hunted, killed, skinned and hung on your walls—so to look upon you and see the fear of nature in your eyes calms my heart so.
“You said you were of earth, dirt and blood,” Odin said. “Does that mean I’m made of—”
No, child. You are more than what a human pup is made—
“I’m more?” he asked. “I—”
Silence! she growled, baring her teeth in a violent snarl.
Odin shivered, but nodded. He allowed his sword to dall at his side then—slowly, as to not distress the creature or her pups—slid the blade into its metal womb, nodding as the clasp across its surface clicked and secured it into place.
If you feel the need to ask something, she began, please wait until I am finished.
“Yes,” he nodded.
Mortal men, as I had been about to say, are made of blood. But, like I also said, it is the only trait I and a mortal share. Mortal creatures—humans, for example—are made of other things. Mortar, iron, greed, disease—these are the things that eventually destroy them.
“Because we’re weak,” he said. “We—”
Not you, child. You are not a mortal boy.
“I… how can you—”
Those who bear gifts are greater than mortal men. Their spirits, their souls, survive beyond the time of which they die, because in the end, they return to the gods.
“Yuh-Yes,” he stuttered. “I… I understand.”
So, she continued, the man whose seed you sprung from, he may be foolish and nothing more than that. Some are afraid of the things they don’t understand, while others embrace those things with open arms. Your father—your creator—he is afraid. You, his son—his offspring—accept the different. Is that right?
“Yes.”
And, child, am I right when I say you do not believe what you have done is wrong? Am I right when I say you feel as though, had you not left your creator, he would have created invisible bonds that would have been tied to your heart?
“Yes,” he repeated. “You’re… you’re right.”
Do not be afraid of the thing you have done or the things that you will eventually do. You will have to learn that, eventually, you must make your own path in this world.
With that, the wolf and her pups disappeared into the cave, leaving Odin to push Gainea into a trot that she did not want to perform.
Morning rose into afternoon. The birds chirped, the creatures of the night went to sleep, the rodents, in abundance, gathered at the side of the road to watch the giant horse and its rider make their way up the road—it was a perfect morning, given the fact that there’d been so much rain the previous night, but in spite of the beauty currently surrounding him, Odin couldn’t stop thinking about the wolf or the things she had said. Had she been following him since last night, pursuing him through her territory to make sure that her pups were safe, or had it been for some other, possibly beneficial reason?
Whatever it was, he thought, she’s not bothering us now.
There was no feeling of being watched—no tickle at the back of the neck or unease within the confines of his chest. Even if for some reason his senses weren’t true, surely Gainea would’ve reacted to outside stimuli. She was, of course, a horse, and would obviously pick up on any danger that was in the immediate area.
As of now, nothing was following them. He could have faith in that.
She said, he began to think, then began to falter shortly after the words began to ooze from his mind and into his consciousness. That I would make my own path.
Was that what he was doing here, in the now, whilst making his way to Ornala—making his own path through the world and trailblazing his own right of passage? If so, he hadn’t accomplished much in the day-and-a-half he’d disembarked, and so far hadn’t seen any passerbys from the caravan. Maybe they’d passed him while he slept, bringing them that much closer to the adult lives that beckoned to all those boys, or maybe they hadn’t passed by at all.
No.
It took a moment for the realization to sink in, but when it finally did, he found himself content with the fact and instead settled back into his seat, breathing in the crisp morning air and smiling at a group of baby birds that could be seen in the trees.
There was very little chance that the group had caught up to him within the early hours of the morning. He’d travelled far too long for an
y of them to have made up that lost time spent during the night.
And when morning came, he thought, father discovered I was gone.
Guilt ate at him like a hunter to a small animal, tearing into him with teeth and claws and spit and slime, but regardless of whatever he felt in that moment, he couldn’t dwell on the fact. His father would know that he was headstrong enough to pursue his own path, much less make it to the castle on his own.
Make your own path, the voice said.
“I will,” he whispered.
He may be foolish and nothing more than that.
“Father is foolish.”
You are aware that you are the first man creature I have spoken to in quite some time?
Though he couldn’t place the exact feeling or premonition that dwelled on him, he couldn’t help but feel nervous at the fact that the wolf had implied something far more curious than she had let on. She’d made it apparent that she had, of course, spoken to a ‘man creature’ or something similar in recent past, but how long ago could that have been—a day, a week, possibly even a month?
Gaia magic isn’t that uncommon, he thought, dwelling on the fact that he, too, was blessed with such an awe-inspiring gift. Even though some people can only talk to certain kind of animals, it’s not as though she couldn’t have had a conversation before.
Being the most prevalent of the magics still existing within the human realm today, it was quite likely that someone like him had stumbled across the wolf’s territory—alone, on their horse with nothing more than a few short rations to guide them—and managed to converse with her. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, considering that a few choice individuals managed to be blessed with such Gifts, and while he couldn’t help but dwell on that basic concept, Odin eventually began to simmer on the fact of how ignorant he was of his abilities.