God of War--The Official Novelization

by J. M. Barlog

  “We will be safe,” Kratos said, fuming inside that the crazy witch would raise such alarm in his son.

  They followed the cave’s sloping twists and turns as it gradually rose toward a distant dusty shaft of sunlight.

  “She was nothing like I expected. Do you think Mother was wrong when she told me of the witches?” Atreus needed to accelerate to get within a few paces of his father’s march. “What did she mean about seeing her as much as we want?”

  Kratos only grunted, drawing his axe. The sooner they were above ground, the better. The tight confines of the cavern path meant it would be difficult for him to wield his axe against an attacker, and the faint light would prevent Atreus from firing his arrows true to their mark. Unease festered inside Kratos as they continued in near darkness. For a moment, Kratos fought down a concern that the witch had tricked them into following an endless tunnel that would trap them forever.

  “Do you think she—” Atreus started.

  “Quiet, boy,” Kratos snarled. He grew more unsettled. How could he have allowed himself to be put in this situation? He considered returning to the cottage to ascend back above ground. He knew they would be safer there than wandering aimlessly in this hole in the ground.

  Atreus detected his father’s sigh of relief when, after turning a corner, they spied the first strong rays of sunlight peering into the cave. As the light grew brighter, Kratos returned his axe to his sling. They emerged from the cave opening to a rickety, waterlogged old jetty with rotting timbers and a two-person rowboat. They both boarded the craft, and Kratos rowed toward the sunlight.

  Occupying the rear of the boat, Kratos steered with the oars, while Atreus faced him in the center.

  “How often did your mother speak of the gods?” Kratos finally asked.

  They drifted at a slow, comfortable pace down a meandering river. “Not often,” Atreus replied, staring away after answering.

  “The truth, boy.”

  Atreus scrambled through a number of possible responses jumbling around inside his brain.

  Would the truth harm him? Could he convince his father with another lie?

  “Sometimes… when you were away hunting, mostly.”

  “Against my wishes.” Kratos’ jaw clenched; his face turned hard. “That did not seem to bother her.”

  For a time, they remained silent.

  Kratos scanned the banks on either side, cautious of what might be watching from the tall pines and overgrown shrubs lining the banks. Then they emerged into a canyon river pass. Soon, the high canyon walls gave way to jagged outcroppings and small islets. The shoreline transitioned from jagged stone to moss-covered boulders. They were entering a new territory, and Kratos opted to head for the shore. They would sup and sleep in a forest hollow for the night.

  “I just thought of another thing Mother told me about Odin,” Atreus said, while they lay beneath a blanket of fallen leaves at the fringe of an open meadow, a location suitable for a quick escape back to their boat should danger arise in the night.

  “What is that?”

  “Odin only has one eye.”

  “How did that come to be?” Kratos asked, though he surmised it most likely came as the result of some great battle.

  “Mother said he sacrificed it.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We have talked enough of this Odin.”

  With that, silence took over the meadow.

  * * *

  Awakened by raucous seagulls soaring beneath the first wispy morning clouds, they launched their boat back upon the water to resume their journey.

  “We flow into sea water,” Kratos said, a short while later.

  “How do you know?”

  “Do you not smell it?”

  “If that smell is the sea, the sea stinks.”

  Atreus had never journeyed far enough beyond their forest to experience the sea. His mother only spoke briefly of it and the vastness it entailed. He never dreamed he might actually witness it.

  They rowed beneath a natural rock overhang that emerged into a vast caldera. Atreus’ jaw dropped.

  Then they drifted past a half-submerged monumental stone statue of a god, clutching a hammer.

  “Look. That is Thor!” Atreus declared.

  They approached another tall statue protruding from the water. The ornate headpiece it wore indicated it was some kind of king; it was wielding a spear and shield, and was clad in chest and vambrace armor.

  “That statue, can we go look at it?” Atreus asked with growing fascination.

  Kratos surveyed the tranquil water before answering. He tried to peer deep beneath it, but the water was too murky. Trusting his instinct that they would remain safe in the boat, he shifted his oar to steer toward the statue. As they got closer, Atreus pointed out the rune inscription carved into the shield.

  “What does it say?” Kratos hated that he was ignorant of the symbols these people used. Now he wished he had allowed his wife to teach him. However, until now, he had had her to translate, or her axe to speak for him when confrontation crossed his path. His skills as a warrior, up until now, had been sufficient to communicate his thoughts to any who dared oppose him.

  “‘Sacrifice your arms to the center of the water’,” Atreus read, pausing uneasily. The words sounded ominous. Atreus’ gut tightened. “‘Awaken again the cradle of the world.’ Wait. Throw our weapons into the water?”

  Puzzled, Atreus turned to his father.

  Kratos grew concerned. Abandoning a weapon was always an unwise option. Was this the work of the gods? Disobey the gods and severe punishment could result; obey the gods and become vulnerable to anything ahead. Kratos never trusted the words of a god. He knew better.

  “What does it mean, throw our weapons into the water? Well, I guess that wouldn’t be a problem for you,” Atreus said. If he weren’t so unnerved, he would have smiled. “Are you going to do it?”

  Kratos only mumbled.

  “Is this a command from the gods? Would the gods want us to be unarmed here?” Atreus persisted.

  As Kratos scanned their surroundings, shifting the oars, the small boat drifted further from the distant shore. If he surrendered his axe to the lake, as the rune commanded, he could get it back. However, in so doing, he would reveal to any clandestine eyes the power he wielded. If he retained his axe, he might have to face an angry god.

  Unsheathing his weapon, Kratos hurled it into the fog-enshrouded lake. It disappeared immediately.

  Seconds dragged on after the weapon vanished from sight. Kratos attempted to recall his axe. “The axe fails to return,” Kratos muttered, confused and suddenly alarmed.

  From all across the caldera, from the lakeshores to the high caldera walls, hundreds of white gulls exploded from their roosts. They started circling the caldera, in what began to look like a swirling snowstorm. Most soared up the caldera walls to disappear from view, but some floated in wide circles to monitor the water’s surface. They were expecting something to happen; Kratos interpreted that much from the way they locked their gaze on the drifting boat.

  “Father, what does it mean?” Atreus’ voice quivered.

  In the next moment, the water level of the entire lake began to drop, rocking the small boat angrily from side to side, causing both to cling to the edge.

  “Just hold on!”

  “Remain calm!” Kratos released his tenuous hold on the craft to stand beside his son.

  “I am,” Atreus said in a level voice, following a scaly wall rising beside the boat.

  A giant snake, so huge it consumed the entire sky before them, rose up out of the water, then lowered its head, tilting it to one side to eye Kratos and the boy suspiciously. Water dripped from its enormous snout. As if it was discarding a toothpick, the creature released the axe to drop into the boat.

  Kratos made no move for his axe, knowing that to do so might demonstrate a hostile intent and lead the creature to attack. Despite his pounding heart and
knotted-up gut, Kratos remained stoically still, but his mind churned.

  The surrounding water grew tranquil. The flapping gulls ceased their cries, as if this monster commanded their silence. The solemn air gave Kratos the feeling they were facing some regal creature of greatness, more deity than beast.

  A low rumble followed from the deepest recesses of the snake’s throat. The deep harmonic voice rolled out like a combination of clicking and singing, two simultaneous layers of lower and higher pitches. Air rushing between its teeth resembled the wind swirling between rocks. The words, if that is what the creature’s sounds were, all ended with a purring suffix.

  “Keh-naw-nooooo. Gooooo-thooooo seh-nooooo.”

  “It speaks? Is it speaking a language?” Kratos said.

  “I think so. But nothing I can understand.”

  Carefully, Kratos sank to one knee to take up the axe handle, choosing to point the blade toward the bottom of the boat.

  Kratos shook his head in an exaggerated fashion to convey his confusion to the great beast.

  “Father, I think he is the World Serpent that Mother spoke of.”

  “Gooooo-thooooo-leeeeet, air-fooooo-thooooo.”

  The serpent stared quizzically at him through pale yellow eyes, conveying confusion.

  Neither moved as the giant creature wearily disappeared beneath the murky water. A wave taller than Kratos crashed into the boat, causing both to scramble for handholds again. But instead of disappearing completely, the serpent only half submerged, keeping its view above the surface, which placed it at eye level with the boy, as if scrutinizing him alone.

  With a weak smile and an arm gesture, Atreus bid their leave from the great snake.

  But before leaving, Atreus stared at the creature as if he could delve into its mind through those soulful orbs. There was not an animal behind those orbs; there was a supremely intelligent being, with great power that it chose to restrain during their exchange. It could easily have killed them on a whim, but it didn’t.

  “That was amazing,” an exhilarated Atreus said, sitting back down in the boat.

  As the serpent rose, the water level retreated. In the distance, Atreus spotted an ornate temple covered in barnacles and dripping wet, the building dominated by the statue of the ancient king that had been submerged earlier. Seven towers now appeared surrounding the lake, with a void where an eighth tower should have been. A boat dock sat just before the structure.

  “That was all just under the surface of the water. There’s a dock,” Kratos commented. “How much do you know about this serpent?”

  “He is one of the giants—so big he wraps around the whole world and bites his own tail,” Atreus explained.

  “An exaggeration, no doubt.”

  The stories his mother had shared with him years ago were, in fact, true. He never expected them to be true. And he never expected that even if they were true, he would be allowed to witness any of them. Then a dark foreboding swarmed his brain. He felt his stomach drop into an endless pit. If the stories she had told him sitting before the fire on those lonely nights were true, that meant…

  Atreus snapped his brain back to the present. He could not allow himself to think those thoughts.

  Reaching the dock, Kratos and Atreus left the boat, traveling the path that led to the temple’s anteroom. Entering the odd-shaped chamber, they found none other than Brok pushing open a large set of temple doors.

  “Well, if it isn’t the bearded beefer and his sac-seed.” The little blue man offered a toothy smile.

  “Brok? Wait, how are you here?” Atreus asked.

  “None of yer fuckin’ business. And don’t go makin’ pig eyes at my spot. I saw it first!”

  “I don’t understand how… all this was just underwater,” Atreus said. Brok disappeared through the open temple doors. The clanking of metal against metal drifted out.

  “What do you think he wants?” Atreus said to Kratos.

  “To test our patience.”

  “When word gets out about my new shop, they’ll be clawing all over each other for my wares,” Brok said, reappearing.

  “Sure! Good luck,” Atreus said.

  “Whatever,” Brok muttered, waving them off while he returned to his tools.

  Finding nothing inside the temple that could be of use to them on their journey, they returned to the boat, Kratos rowing until they reached the opposing shore.

  As they trekked into the foothills, Atreus cautioned himself that he needed to be ready for anything; it had seemed far too easy to reach the base of the mountain.

  “Do you think that for this last leg, maybe I could carry her?” Atreus asked timidly.

  “I told you no twice already,” Kratos replied without looking back.

  “Why?” Atreus said, growing angry at his father’s stubbornness.

  Kratos refused to contemplate an answer. He did not understand why he couldn’t relinquish control, even for a short time. Having his wife connected to him allowed him to feel she was still a part of his life. Surrendering her to Atreus, even for a moment, might force him to allow his grief to surface. He beat down the urge to touch the leather pouch on his belt, to reaffirm she was still next to him, as she had been when they shared their marriage bed. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face, her looking into his, and the smile she displayed when they lay together.

  “She meant more to me than she did to you, anyway,” Atreus said.

  Kratos stopped on the path.

  “What did you say to me?” he growled. Fuming, his jaw locked as he came about to face Atreus squarely. The vein in his forehead pulsed.

  Atreus had never seen such anger on his father’s face before.

  At that moment, it wasn’t his son’s words that seized control of Kratos’ mind—it was his wife’s. He is just a boy. Above all else, you must remember that, Kratos.

  As Atreus stared, he began for the first time to understand the hurt that his tongue could inflict, even upon someone as strong and courageous as his father. He needed to correct what he had done. He somehow needed to undo what he had caused.

  “I just meant… I spent more time with her. You were off hunting so much.”

  “Talking no more would serve you best.” There was ice in Kratos’ voice.

  “Sir,” Atreus said.

  Kratos turned about to march off with a stomping, determined stride. Atreus lengthened the gap between them, finding in the distance a solitude that helped him deal with the jumble of emotions raging inside his brain. His father failed to understand how alone he felt.

  He had lost his mother. He had no one now. He would never be as close to his father as he was to his mother. His father seemed incapable of understanding how to be a father to him. Did he even care enough about his son to be a proper father? Atreus sensed he would have to endure his loneliness for a long time. He panned from the path into the neighboring woods and, for a brief moment, contemplated what might happen if he just wandered away, disappearing into the woods. How long would it be before his father even noticed he was gone? Would he even care?

  Atreus felt his hand sliding back to count the arrows in his quiver. He had nineteen arrows and his hunting knife. He could survive on his own. What was he doing? How could he even think about abandoning his father?

  Atreus’ stare turned cold, realizing his father had not even glanced back to confirm that he was still there. Perhaps he had angered him so much that his father no longer cared if he was still behind him. Perhaps he would even feel relieved if he turned around to find his son had left him.

  So much anger and agony swarmed over Atreus’ heart that he thought he might just drop to the ground and refuse to ever move again. Then his mother’s voice intervened inside his head. Running away was not what she would have wanted from her son. Abandoning his father would only bring shame upon him in her heart.

  “Hurry up, boy,” Kratos called, standing in the middle of the path a dozen paces in the lead.

  Atreus looked beyon
d his father to a stone archway, leading to a pass beneath a high peak. He banished all thoughts about himself and returned to the present. He refused to look at the leather pouch on his father’s belt. He knew selflessness was what his mother would expect of him. This was what would make her proud, even if his father remained unaffected.

  Against a fading shrouded sky, Kratos pushed open the doors of the archway that allowed them entry to the shadowy foothills of the pass. Ahead, they spied a small man working in an open clearing off to the right of the path, no taller than Atreus, but older and much more muscular. He wore golden chest armor while sporting forearm-length metalworking gloves. Bald and bearded, he busied himself at some kind of machine. The light flickering off the nearby campfire danced across the man’s face when he turned to stare at them.

  Several crudely constructed gears and levers lay on broad cloths scattered about the floor. The man knelt beside an open gearbox, tinkering with the insides, applying a crude hammered-out wrench. From the gearbox, a long cable stretched up toward the mountain peak.

  The little man rose in response to their approach.

  “Excuse me,” he said in a tuneful voice, “but how did you happen to come by that axe?” The weapon held his stare.

  “That is my concern alone,” Kratos said.

  The man advanced across their path to block their passage. However, he appeared uncomfortable taking such an invasive action; as a matter of fact, his timid face practically begged forgiveness for his move.

  “And while, good sir, I will not dispute that, I speak because I know that blade. It is one of ours. But we did not make it for you.”

  “Step aside, scrawny dwarf,” Kratos ordered.

  “The name is Sindri. I hate being addressed as ‘dwarf’.”

  “But that is what you are,” Atreus offered as a plain statement of fact, which received an angry glare in response.

  But on Kratos’ next stride, Sindri stood his ground, though his shoulders cringed while he stared up at a towering Kratos with stone-faced defiance.

  “I will not step aside,” Sindri uttered, with a force that proved larger than his size. “See, the special woman we made that blade for…” He fumbled. “Well, I was, I am… quite fond of her. And I would be somewhat displeased if it turned out that… you did something to her.”