“Cale?” Raynar said.
“It’s alright, Ray. He didn’t hear me.” Mahmoud said, smiling wistfully at Caleb.
“Sorry! Sorry, I was… it’s been a long…” day? Month? Caleb licked dry lips and felt the penalty of his Outsider’s path.
“You need a wife.” Mahmoud’s wife Ghufran said, passing Caleb a plate with coffee and pitted dates.
“Someone to take care of you. Share your burdens.” She smiled and patted Caleb’s cheek as he took the plate. His tongue worked in his mouth, eyelids blinking away a sting. Careful not to spill the coffee, Caleb stood and walked to the stairs for the safety of the rooftop garden.
“Cale!” Raynar leapt to his feet.
“Let him have a minute. He obviously needs it.” Livia said, pulling Raynar back.
“He’s been alone too long.” Raynar said, as Caleb retreated beyond earshot and entered the rooftop garden. The lush planters brought a soothing fragrance to combat Caleb’s rattled nerves. As he walked with his plate of coffee and dates, he let one hand brush against the fronds of palms, and the leaves of a jasmine bush, which burst into the air with its’ perfume and settled across Caleb’s brow to soothe it. The plate clinked on the clay wall protecting him from the roof’s edge. He chased the plate with his elbows, sleeves rolled up his arms. The wall was warm, radiating from its’ day spent baking in the Mediterranean sun.
At the end of his journey, Delilah got a new avenue for prestige and a paycheque, his father got to rescue a surprise lost sibling and Finnegan got a cell phone and fresh air. Wins all around.
“What do I get?” He asked the twilight sun.
“Everything I do helps them, what do I get, huh? Where’s my closure? Why don’t I get my assurance? Damn it! Even Bragi got what he wanted, what about me?! Why don’t I get anything worth a damn?” Caleb huffed a laugh and sunk to the roof’s floor, hugging his coffee in hand. It stung his lips with the luscious bitter and sweet pour of real turkish-style coffee, settling a shiver in his ribcage for some brief flicker on which to place his resolve. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Here we go.” He rumbled, flicking at the screen. A white box greeted him: Voicemail. New Message. Pursing his lips, Caleb thought of pitching the phone off the edge of the roof. Be done with it, his body said. Be done. Live a life at his father’s table. The tajine was fantastic.
The back of his head settled on the roof wall. He clicked the voicemail message. Delilah’s spastic voice shrilled into his ear.
“… and they want to bill me for the car! You insensitive son of a goat herder! You owe me, Caleb! Owe me! After I take you to Africa, you should be bowing at my feet for forgiveness! You’re going to repay me, Caleb! I can’t believe you’d take the keys after all… you… you need to get to Switzerland and pick up my daughter. She got expelled. Expelled! My daughter! I’m mortified! Go get her, you can tell her I’m not leaving Africa for an insubordinate little freak. If she wants me she’s going to have to sing my song or she can suffer it out with you. Take her on one of your trips. Exorcise the demons from her, whatever! I don’t care, pick her up. Once you get her, I’ll transfer money into your account to cover your costs. Use the money for whatever. I don’t care. I’ll be home in three months. Maybe longer. Text me when you get this.”
Caleb laughed to the burgeoning moon, and threw his hand to his forehead.
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“What isn’t?” Livia asked, pulling her pashmina across her shoulders and huddling into it. Caleb stared at the twilight. His jaw worked. Open up to his father’s lover du jour? She’d disappear before he stood back up. All of them did.
“Thought you’d like peace and quiet. Hope you don’t terribly mind, but it was either your father barging up the stairs or me.” Livia’s forearms sunk onto the warm clay railing beside Caleb. The woman stared at the descending night, careful to keep her head forward and eyes on the town. Gripping at a cacophony of lost words, Caleb shut his eyes and battled for a picture of a tawny haired mother, a young Norse bride who cuddled his infant self. No image came. Livia’s was as good as any.
“I know you think I’m too young…” Livia began.
“Stop.” Caleb opened his eyes and stood roughly to Livia’s side.
“How old do you think I am?” He asked, setting the empty coffee cup on the plate.
“Ah, I…”
“In forty years, I’ll be two hundred. You’re a pup. A flake of snow on the breeze. Dad’s buried enough brides.”
“What a dismal way to live. One day we die, so don’t get excited for anything or anyone, hm?” Livia squared her shoulders and looked Caleb straight in his face. His brow furrowed.
“Expect me to have my father’s sunny disposition? Sorry, I’m not his clone. Just the last of his kids to kick it.”
“Keep talking, I won’t feel sorry for you.” Livia said.
“Why would you? I’m just a homeless!” Caleb barked, shoving his knuckles on his forehead. “Damn, that came out wrong.”
“Try again, we have until the sun comes up.” Livia kept her face severe and open, a commander’s brow dominating her petite height.
“I hate it when Dad has to rescue me. I’m the one holding everyone on their own turf, not him. He bailed! Up and walked off, said ‘peace out’ and bummed around Europe watching humans drop like dung beetles and there’s little Caleb trotting off to another mystic forest fire, or demonic orgy in Denmark saving the world from burning churches and pixies who trot the line.”
“Sounds lonely.”
Caleb huffed. “Incredibly.”
“Is that why you keep going back to Delilah?”
“What do you know about Delilah?” Caleb leaned his back against the roof wall and propped his elbows behind him.
“Ray and I found Finnegan in Vancouver. We used a door in Delilah’s flat to bring Finnegan home. Curious place, seemed normal enough to me but if Ray and Finnegan were any indication, I half expected them to run full bore down the hall and wait until I’d declared the minefield disarmed. I don’t understand your world, Caleb, but I do know people. What kind of woman is she, if she builds an ivory castle around herself, but leaves her own daughter in the yard?”
“You got past Delilah’s curses?” Caleb’s tone softened. He worked his tongue in his mouth and tried to picture Ray and Finnegan at Delilah’s monumentally well protected door.
“Yes, and if you ask how, I’ll shoot you with my incredibly loaded gun.” Livia pulled her arms across her chest and glared up at Caleb.
“Threats aside, I can see why everyone’s worried about you. If you’re going to wear thin and take no help, you ought not show it. I can teach you an ‘ask no questions’ bitch face, if you like.”
Caleb burst into laughter and rubbed his forehead.
“I can see why Dad loves you.”
“And I can see you’re a tired soldier at his wits end. Ghufran wasn’t wrong. You can’t go it alone.”
Offering his plate of dates to Livia, he smirked as she took one. He took a date and chewed it to buy a few meagre seconds for his mind to come up with an exit strategy. Damn it if the woman wasn’t right.
“Delilah wants me to pick up her daughter from boarding school in penance for taking the rental keys. I’ve half a mind to call the kid a cab to Euro-Disney and send Delilah the bill.”
“Her … you know where the girl is?” Livia balked.
“Ah… why do you know about her?” Caleb asked, eyebrow quirking upward.
“We used the girl’s door to get to Finnegan’s. She’s friend to some faerie girl. Astra, or Aspen…”
“Astraea.” Caleb grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Faerie princesses and Delilah’s offspring… was there enough order in the world to balance out that potential hullabaloo?
“Yes, that’s the one!”
“A couple hours ago, Dad told me to leave Delilah behind. She’s no good, time to…”
“Caleb, you have to get that ch
ild.” Livia put her hand on Caleb’s arm. His eyes shot to her fingers, curled as they were around his wrist.
“No. What can Delilah do to me if I walk away? Burn my shirts? Bill me?”
“That little girl needs you.”
“Fuck! What child needs me? I’m the worst!” Caleb sneered, pinching a pitted date between his fingers.
“I spent years in boarding schools, Caleb. My Dad did the best he could, but it wasn’t easy for a military single father, especially during deployment. For a bastard like Delilah’s daughter? Like me? It’s hell. A bunch of preening queens in training stepping on our backs to feel a half step closer to their parents. Go get her. If you don’t want to help, Ray and I will.”
The arid sun dove beneath the cityscape and withheld its’ radiant warmth to chill the edges of Caleb’s conscience.
“Being a babysitter isn’t closure.” Caleb groaned.
“Pardon?” Livia asked, glancing up at the crows feet pulling at Caleb’s cheeks.
“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t say it for you.” Caleb whispered.
“So, are you going to get her or am I?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“I’m a Captain in her Majesty’s Air Force. A good officer never gives up, when the job’s half finished. Take a care, I might get you a uniform and teach you the salute.”
Caleb smirked and chewed on the date between his fingers.
“Yeah, I’ll go get Lily. The second she gives me lip, you’re shoving her in the Cadets, deal?”
“Capital.” Livia offered her hand and Caleb shook it.
“I’m gonna stay up here for a while, clear my head. Keep the voracious Viking off my scent?”
“Oh, I’ll distract him, don’t you fret soldier. Come down when you’re ready… oh, Caleb?” Livia said from the top of the stairs, “We really do love you, you know. All of us. I know you like to do things for yourself, but you’re no bother. In inclement weather, even the tallest trees lean.”
The vacant space left by Livia’s descent brought an incense perfume to the air. Caleb texted a ‘Pick her up tomorrow. Call ahead. C’ to Delilah, pulled up the information for Lily’s boarding school on his phone, and saved the address to his contacts. Pursing his lips, Caleb flicked over to his photos and thumbed through photographs he’d taken of his father’s transcriptions of Cardinal Bricius. Feeling the sanctity of old friends long gone hadn’t quite hit the old soul in Caleb, but as he searched along the scrawled letters and multiple colours of ink, Caleb deleted them. His old man might be right and sleeping dragons ought to be allowed their rest. After all, only the most powerful magicians knew their dragons lied within.
Jæren, Norway
782 AD
The land was bleeding. Bricius palmed at the ground to wipe the blood away. He collapsed to his elbows, rubbed his forehead and found the flow of blood was from his own body. Rain shook loose of the cacophonous clouds. It seeped through his clothing onto slick skin.
“Give me my brother, priest.” Magni’s throat burned with the words, spitting, biting, hoarse tumultuous words. Bricius felt Magni’s boot on his shoulder. He gasped and rolled to his back, mouth open to catch whatever drink he could from the rain. Water fell like darts pointed in thin sleet. Bricius’ fingers quivered. Magni’s eyes were the colour of the storm. They glared from the raven mop of hair which scattered across his cheeks and shoulders. Hearing the ravens caw, Bricius rolled onto his stomach and pushed his elbows at the mud.
“Yes, yes, you filthy crow. Gave Noah his olive branch, what do you give me, eh? An alarum. Damned birds.” Bricius yelped.
“Muninn and Huginn are my grandfather’s pride. You will not confront them. Give me my brother.”
“You are not Ragnar’s keeper. The ravens are not Woden’s pets. This storm is not your making.”
“He is Modthi, son of Thor!” Magni thundered. Lightning crackled in the storm.
Bricius toppled to his feet and slid in the mud until his boots stuck on a stock of grass. Reaching for the wooden crucifix around his neck, Bricius pulled it out and held it in his hand.
“He is a child of the Living God, baptized and re-born! You fallen man of a decrepit house, you do not own him! He is not yours to die in shambles, to kill and steal and destroy that good which would add to Christ’s call! Ragnar is under the protection of the Most High God! You will not touch us.”
The priest backed into Ragnar’s comatose body and knelt to pull him into his arms. The rain had washed clean Ragnar’s skin but not the anger ridden on his face. The weeping anger was a cancerous calamity in the otherwise pristine young man. Bricius saw a wound which carried would scar and be purified only by a daily vigilance and life of prayer. He needed Francia, or Aksum. Ragnar quaked, his body spasmed in shivering cold.
“My axe will touch you well enough.” Magni roared. Bricius turned his eyes to see the mud-stained Jarl swing his war-axe in a wild swing above his mighty head.
“Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Líbera nos, quǽsumus, Dómine, ab ómnibus malis…” the priest’s voice was swallowed by a rushing wind. The thunder and rain swept backward, crashing into the body of Magni and his swinging axe. Bricius continued praying, arms fixed around Ragnar’s limp body. The wind which swept around him was warm and sweet. It smelled of olive groves and incense burning in cedar-planked rooms. The warmth of the wind began to dry his cassock and the ground beneath them of its’ northern chill. Bricius’ voice grew louder. Magni’s axe fell backward to the ground. The raven-headed Jarl grunted and roared, yanking the handle of the axe to take another swing. The rain and the thunder and the storm swelled round him. He heaved the axe and was buffeted back. He yelled hoarsely, this god of strength, and felt the axe handle leave his grasp. Magni fell to the ground. Tumbled downward to the sod and the muck. Bricius felt a warmth cover him. His voice blossomed in the wind.
“…in diébus nostris, ceut, ope misericórdiæ tuæ adiúti, et a peccáto simus semper líberi et ab omni perturbatióne secúri: exspectántes beátam spem et advéntum Salvatóris nostri Iesu Christi. Benedíctus Deus in sǽcula. Benedíctus…”
Magni roared, “I’ll rip Modthi’s heart from his chest!”
Pace by pace Magni battled the whipping, biting wind. The ravens cawed. Thunder boomed across the sky. Bricius’ voice resounded through the wind. The wind licked and brushed against Magni’s contorted face.
“My God will supply all my needs.” Bricius said, rising to his feet with a refreshed vigour. He pulled Ragnar’s arm across his shoulders and held the limp man to his side. Turning his back to Magni’s raging tempest, Bricius of Francia carried Ragnar to the village.
“Priest!” Magni’s barks and shouts unravelled in the calm, constant wind.
“I’ll kill you all priest! I will find you and kill you all!”
Gunnar burst from the kierke alongside Ole and his wife Frete and took Ragnar’s limp body from Bricius. Marte put her hands on Ragnar's forehead and cheeks.
"He breathes, Father."
“My flock, we must find sanctuary in the Southern lands. Gunnar, if you please, grab my trunk. Take all you can carry. We will not return to Jæren. Gunhild, provisions please. Marte hurry the children. The winds will carry us out of the fjord. Go! Go!”
The storm raged. Magni’s hoarse and screaming voice thundered. The faithful grabbed their axes, their swords, staves and hammers. None moved forward to lay waste the priest’s small flock. Magni bellowed from the hill. He dug his hands into the ground to pull against the battling wind. The Christians set Ragnar’s body on the deck of their merchant ship, as the others set to the sails. Bricius put his hand on Ragnar’s chest.
“Be near him oh Lord, in his time of need. Cleanse him, salvage him for your glory.” The ravens landed on the deck. One of the ravens cawed and flapped its wings. Bricius glared over.
“Out! Off with you before I bless you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost!” The ravens fled cawing. The ship set sail on a favoura
ble wind. Bricius covered Ragnar in a fur blanket and put his hand to his forehead as he watched the fjord of Jæren recede.
Magni’s screaming echoed across the mountains. It swept into the water before the rocking ocean waves overwhelmed a pale, defeated norse god.
The End.
The Wendigo (An Excerpt)
A bundle of fabric and loose-knit bones rolled onto the grass between 12th Avenue and the sidewalk in Vancouver’s West End. Had darkness not descended upon the exhausted metropolis, Caleb Mauthisen would become a stain on the anemic roadway, dashed in his clothes by daily commuter traffic, whose chatter would pour like the rain.
Poor thing, driven from drink to drug until only the street would claim him.
Better lock the car door.
Better not let him see you look. He might think you’ve got spare change. An apple. A clever pill.
Hyperion had left him, as the elder sun god had left Ouranos. As he’d left Kronos a field of sand pummelled by the rocks Kronos had swallowed whole. Caleb rolled to his belly and a loose groan curled from the dust and muck of his coat to rise as a hymn to the raven headed Wendigo and its’ once human lascivious claws.
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