by Taylor Fray
“You damn idiot! You're gonna get one of us killed!” Zak roared. The crowd was silenced by Zak and Thalude’s roars tearing the air apart. Zak's rational mind was beginning to lose a grip on the fight. Thalude’s claws raked his face, his torso. It was a cold burning as blood leaked on his body. He returned the favor. His arms spun, arched and jagged across Thalude’s body, staggering him. Zak’s claws flashed in the air like he was a dozen armed men with swords.
The two were drenched in each other's blood, as well as their own. Rushing towards one another, their hands locked in a contest of sheer strength. Thalude, being stronger, was gaining the upper hand. Zak’s back was beginning to arch all it could to keep standing with the pressure Thalude was putting on him.
"There. You're stronger than me! We can see it! Are you satisfied? Now yield!” Zak said. It seemed strange, for the one seemingly losing as his arms were slowly bent back to be impatiently calling for the other to yield. But Zak knew that if he unleashed everything he had learned, everything he was capable of, his friend really might not make it out alive.
“I told you,” Thalude said, trembling, “there’s only two things getting me out of this match. The King. Or death. It’s… about… my father’s honor!"
Zak grit his teeth. The damn idiot. He let himself fall until his back hit the ground, Thalude’s enormous frame covering him in its shadow. Then with both legs and summoning all his strength, Zak kicked up straight into the sky, hitting Thalude square in the stomach sending him straight into the air like he had been shot out of a volcano.
His falling body kicked up slit and snow as he came crashing down at the edge of the pit. In a split moment Zak was already on him, his arm wrapped around his neck, his hands locked tight as rivets. Thalude stood up struggling, but that only made it easier for Zak to clasp his legs around his waist. He was locked on to him like a leech now.
Thalude charged around the pit like a crazed bull. He began slamming himself back first as hard as he could into the walls of the pit. Zak was crushed again and again, the wind being knocked out of him, but he didn't let go. He squeezed his arm around Thalude’s neck tighter and tighter. Thalude dropped to his knees. Even his own strength had its limit. He began to fade, his face turning cherry red. His resistance growing more and more limp, his eyes shuddering.
“Call it!" Zak said, frantically looking up to the crowd trying to spot the King. Thalude’s hand was dragging along the ground, barely any life left in it. “Your Majesty! He's been defeated!” Thalude’s body went completely still. His arms convulsed then were motionless. Zak released him, his eyes going wide.
"I declare a winner!" King Sebastian's voice rang out. The crowd roared and murmured about the back-and-forth match.
"Thalude! Thalude!” Zack shook his massive friend who didn't respond.
“Zak, son of Gustav, you have bested all of your opponents. You are honored this day of Einherblot!” The crowd cheered once more but Zak ignored them.
“Thalude, wake up, damn it!” Zak looked around for anyone who was not a complete fool and engrossed in celebration. His father suddenly stood close by.
“Damn boy was stubborn.”
“He needs help!”
A figure came down to the pit from amid the crowd. It was Brianna, Thalude’s mother who still wore the raven feathers of morning to match her black hair. Her worn hands reached frantically to her son’s face.
“I’m sorry, Brianna. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
She seemed to remain entirely calm. “Don’t insult his courage by being sorry.” She felt around his neck. “He is destined to die a warrior’s death, but not today.” With two fingers, she made the mark of a few runes on his forehead. Within moments, embers of light hovered around Thalude’s head.
“Blegh!” Thalude coughed again and again. The color returned to his face and his eyes flickered once again with awareness.
"You nearly met your father today," Brianna said as she stroked his forehead. “You're as stubborn as he was. At least it kept you in the fight.”
Thalude took huge gulps of air. "But looks like you kept me in this fight, mum." He sat up and looked to Zak.
"You scared the hell out of me, you bastard!" Zak gripped his forearm and Thalude gripped his as they touched chests and embraced. The worst part over, Zak allowed himself the slightest gleam of tears in his eyes. It lasted only an instant but they were there. They both stood. The crowd erupted into full-blown cheers again.
"Thalude, you have made the clan proud. You have made your father proud,” King Sebastian said. “You are recognized.”
At the King's words, the crowd cheered once more for the two fighters, and began winding their way toward the Great Hall with anticipation of revelry. Many among them murmured at the coming Boast, what Zak would boast to accomplish, and what he would ask in return.
"Now that you’ve beat me, old friend," Thalude said, “We have to even the score. There's one thing you'll never beat me at: drinking."
Zak grinned. “Doesn't mean I won't give you a good match.”
"We'll see about that, you rabbit’s ass!" Thalude slapped him on the shoulder and then made his way toward the great hall with his mother. Slowly the crowd dwindled away until only Gustav was left standing in the frost with his son.
Zak watched as his wounds began to heal. He threw his griffon pelt over himself to cover the remaining blood stains all over his body.
“Just like the harvest, it's time to reap the year’s work,” Gustav said. Zak looked at him, knowing what he was asking of him. Indeed it had been a long season of work, constant training, constant learning.
“You know what to do now. Redeem your fathers.” Gustav placed his hand on Zak’s shoulder and beheld him for a moment. Then he turned and walked toward the Great Hall.
Zak set his jaw and followed his father's black cape as it rustled in the falling snow.
Zak took his seat opposite the king, who was at the head of the table. Along the massive pine slab sat the high nobles, all dressed in their furs, their gold ornaments, their threaded finery.
“To Einherblot, to Fenris, and to the 13 Moons!” King Sebastian said as he raised his large silver goblet. All at the table followed suit, and Zak did so as well, though his mind was too distracted to really enjoy the moment. His face was all seriousness as he mentally fumbled practiced words, for the Boast was upon him, and once he Boasted and demanded his reward, there would be no going back on his father’s purpose, which had now become his own.
The vast room was filled with the sound of feasting. Fangs tore at meat, lips were drenched in mead. Zak ate, distracted. Now and then someone would praise his performance in battle and he would only grunt and mumble some words of acknowledgment.
He peered back to the common tables, where Sasha was seated. He had barely seen her the entire year, and now right in front of her he was going to ask for someone else's hand in marriage. They had never spoken of any such thing, were never committed in any way, but still he felt almost as if he was betraying a friend.
The clinking of goblets and smacking of lips began to die down as the enormous werewolf appetites were satiated. Servants dressed in bright dresses cleared the tables of all but the goblets—for there was always more room for mead.
Everyone understood that the Boast was at hand.
"Oh 13 Moons! Oh 13 Moons, listen to your King!” Sebastian said raising both his hands and addressing the entire crowd. “First, I would like to recognize not only Zak son of Gustav, a great and noble warrior we behold today, and not only Thalude son of Nicholas whose strength is unmatched in centuries, but today I would like to recognize all the warriors of our clan. Especially…” Sebastian's tone grew somber, “especially those who have fallen this year. I know many of you are concerned with Uriah the Betrayer,” the King went on, “and the rifts that continue to spread among our kind. I know you're all concerned about the decay of the world of men and what it means for our world. But I am here to assure you that as lon
g as I am your king, I will uphold the ancient ways. I will guard the Mist, I will make sure that none of us die needlessly. You may not see it yet, but I see it. I see it clearly. This will be a great and glorious age of the 13 Moons once more!”
The crowd cheered and clinked glasses together.
"Hail King Sebastian!" cheers rang out from the hall. Zak raised his glass, though inwardly he found it strange that the King would need to reassure people of his kingship. He had never done such a thing at any other festival of Einherblot.
"Now, I know all of you don't want to listen to me go on and on, for I am no bard, I am only a king, and people can grow tired even of a King.” With that he looked at Zak and Gustav. Crowds booed indicating they disagreed with him—it was a kind of flattery. He hushed them once more with a sway of his hands.
"Now then, Zak Skarsgard, winner of this year's Einherblot, stand—and boast!" The crowd erupted in hollers and cheers, laughs and shrieks of delight. Zak was still somber, not having forgotten how deadly a boast could become.
Zak stood and cleared his throat. "King Sebastian, I am honored to be…"
"Come now, is this a Boast—stop groveling!” The King said. “Boast in the spirit of Fenris! Boast like a warrior in his prime!"
The crowd cheered once more. Gustav nodded to Zak indicating the king was right. Laughter swirled all around Zak, biting at his dignity. Zak reached down into something inside him, that predatory strength that was in every werewolf but especially in those who cultivated their warrior spirit. The laughs and cheers of the crowd ran a jolt of anger up his spine.
“QUIET, YOU SNIVELING DOGS!" his roar boomed in the hall, rattling tables and spilling goblets. Everyone was taken aback at the sudden display of ferocity. Silence hushed over the crowd as Zak cast his eyes over them, daring anyone to contest his rebuke. "I am Zak Skarsgard, son of Gustav the Red! I will not boast a deed that is not worth boasting!” The hall was so silent faint cries of birds could be heard coming from outside. “All of you know that Uriah the betrayer still lives. All of you know his death is coming. It is a point of honor for us. His death will come—I assure you. But there is a threat far greater to the realm of Fenris, and to our people. The Old One, the first of the bloodsuckers, the most ancient of them all, still lives."
Fearful murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"His spirit is lodged in an ancient relic called the Turach. It is the last remains of his body, it is his magically preserved Eye. Word of its existence has spread among the leeches, and it is only a matter of time before they find it. Once in their power, the war that will erupt between us will make the Battle of Serpents look like a squabble in the marketplace.” Werewolves at the various tables looked to one another, drained of their glee. “That is why to avoid this, to destroy the Old One once and for all, I will seek out this relic. I will seek out the Turach, and I will make sure it tastes complete and final oblivion!”
Shouts of praise rang out, though much of the crowd was silenced, baffled by the news that such things still existed somewhere in the worlds. The Old One was long considered to be slain. After a few moments of the crowd taking it all in, Sebastian spoke up. "You have boasted well Zak, but how—I pray—will you ever accomplish this?"
Zak considered this for a long silence. "That is not part of the Boast, Your Highness. That is my burden to bear."
King Sebastian grinned. Looking between Zak and Gustav, he slowly nodded. "You’ve spoken well and know our clan’s ways, Zak. We accept this Boast!” Sebastian shouted to the crowd.
The crowd began shouting all manner of things. “Aye!—We accept this boast!—Praise Fenris!—Drink a beer with the King for me, you bloody wanker!—Kill that dirty leech!—You can do it, Zak!" The crowd shouts mingled in a cacophony of cheers and random thoughts.
King Sebastian smiled as if he knew exactly what Zak was thinking. "And what do you ask in return, should you achieve your boast, Zak?”
The crowd whispered all manner of guesses. Zak glanced briefly at Tyrene who sat beside the King. He had tried avoiding her gaze the entire evening. She was tall and thin of body and face. Her hair was dark brown, somewhere between her father's raven black and her mother's corn blonde. She was gentle—as gentle as werewolves can be at least. Zak knew little about her only that Stag was her totem and that she was an excellent archer and hunter, which was extremely surprising.
Zak felt an urge to look back at Sasha, but he knew there was no use in it. Destiny was greater than feelings, and he had the destiny of an entire kingship on his shoulders.
"Should I succeed in my Boast,” Zak said, “I ask for Tyrene’s hand in marriage." He said it plainly, feeling no need to elaborate.
Shouts of "I told you! I knew it!" And other such reactions ran through the rollicking crowd.
King Sebastian nodded as he stroked his beard. “Even if I were not obliged by this day of Einherblot…” Sebastian said it holding his hands out and gazing amid the crowd, “I would be pleased that you ask of such a thing, Zak Skarsgard! Who else among our people is more worthy of my eldest and my heir?” Nervousness ran through Zak. “And so without hesitation, I grant it!”
Tyrene’s jaw clenched and her eyes steeled but she did not budge. She did not smile, but she did not frown either, she only seemed like a pillar of stone as she sat there with every eye focused on her.
Seeing her this way, Zak couldn't resist blurting out "—And does it please you, Tyrene?"
Tyrene’s brows raised, almost as if he had just asked something inappropriate.
“The Princess is always pleased to obey her father,” she answered, “for his authority is twice, both father and king”
What exactly she meant by such an answer, Zak wasn’t sure, but it seemed she had made duty the central part of her life. Soon he was swept up in congratulatory toasts and revelry. He clinked goblets and drank, letting himself be swallowed up by congratulating arms and patting hands, trying to put out of his mind that the last werewolf to ask for the princesses’ hand had ended up in ruins, his father decapitated and bloodied, had left the clan and not been heard from again.
“Well then, Zak. I have accepted your Boast, and your reward should you succeed,” the king interrupted, silencing the revelry, “But as king, I can place a condition upon your Boast, and I do so now.” The Hall went silent. It was technically the King’s right to use this conditional rule, but seldom did a king ever use it. “You must remember last season’s boast. Yuri. It cost our clan the lives of six proud warriors and the exile of the very one who Boasted. For this reason, as your King I have decided that a condition of your Boast is that neither your father, nor any warrior of the clan may aid you in your quest. So while you are searching for the Turach, your father, the great Gustav the Red must remain here, serving the Great Hall, and under watch.” A murmur ran through the crowd. “Furthermore, if you cannot accomplish your Boast within one moon, then I in turn ask for something. A small gift. You have asked for my daughter’s hand. If you do not accomplish your Boast within the next moon, then I ask for your hand. Your right hand. On a plate.”
“Sebastian!” Gustav roared, his warhammer flashing in his grip. A dozen caped guards suddenly drew swords and surrounded Gustav like the markings on a clock. A wild commotion broke out all throughout the hall. Zak was about to burst into his war form, but his mind raced to find a solution.
“It is only fitting, if Zak is truly the descendant of great kings such as Magnus and Soarra, that he should be able to accomplish such a feat singlehandedly.” Sebastian’s voice was drenched with scorn and sarcasm.
“I accept!” Zak cried out to the guards rather than to the king. “I accept! I accept the King’s conditions!” He held his hands up asking for calm, his face shaking.
Gustav shook his head. “No,” he muttered, barely audibly.
“I will accomplish my Boast alone, and within one moon…” Zak did not want to admit it to himself, but he knew he spoke the words as if they were his death sentence.
CHAPTER 11
If she had known how the party would turn out, she never ever would have gone. But the worst defeats come to us precisely when we think we’re engaging in harmless pleasures, and even for mages who warp reality, seeing the future was a delicate art save for only the highest among them. And so, Emily arrived that night hand-in-hand with Dominic. They knocked at the door, music coming through the walls, and waited to be let inside.
"Just a month left until we hit the beach?" Dominic said to her, his arm wrapped around her waist, kissing her on the neck.
"I didn't know you were such a beach person."
"I'm not. I'm more of a see-you-in-a-bikini person."
They began kissing. They had been like this lately, hardly able to keep their hands off each other.
"Are you really excited to see me with some tiny pieces of cloth on?
"You know what they say, less is more." Dominic chuckled then began nibbling on her year, making her squeal when suddenly the door to the dorm was opened.
"Hey! We were just talking about you two," Gianni said as she greeted them. She was dressed in a peach dress and large ornate earrings that complimented her olive skin.
"Oh, what were you saying about us?" Emily asked enjoying some banter with her friends. Nicole greeted her with a hug and jumped in.
"We were trying to decide on a nickname for you two." Nicole said with a big smile on her face.
"Oh. This can't be good," Dominic said glancing at Emily.
Gianni grinned. "We were thinking either the ‘Energizer bunnies’ or the ‘Kissy Faces’.”
“Subtle,” Emily said with a smirk.
“Not bad, not bad,” Dominic said. “But don't ask me what our nicknames for you two are, or you’ll really be offended." Emily slugged him on the arm.
"Don't listen to this rascal.”
They all made their way inside the building. It was even more crowded inside the dorm than out in the hall. It seemed like the whole freshman class and half of the others were crammed into this tiny space. Tank tops, denim, glowing phone screens and bright red cups reeking of alcohol were the predominant things in the room.