by Kody Boye
Why does he hate something that’s going to help me?
Men with magic were always the ones told of in legend—the ones who, somehow, someway, always managed to survive the most gruesome of situations and the most horrendous of wars. What of Arc, who had traveled the Crystal Deserts killing the last of the hideous Cyclopes, or even Baelra whom, in her day and age, had saved a separatist group of outcast women that had borne the Gift also? Both figures were regarded in history—were, of course, highly revered as well—and both had used magic in order to make their world a better, safer place. Why was he to be denied such a privilege if he had the opportunity to use it?
This is it, he thought, sitting up, then running a hand through his hair. This is where I decide what I’m going to do.
It took only one look at his father to show that the man had been asleep for a very long time.
Sliding out of his bedroll, Odin began to pack as swiftly as possible. First the sword, which his father had given him at thirteen, went to his belt, secured on his right for easy access. His bedroll and his saddle came next, both of which fell under either of his arms. While he carried a heavy load, he managed to slide out of the tent without making so much as even a whisper of noise.
Be quiet, he thought, grimacing at each step he took across the campground. You don’t want to wake anyone up.
In these weather conditions, there was little chance of anyone hearing a few footsteps, as beneath his feet the only sounds were the squeak of mud beneath his boots. Were one to be awake, however, that would be an entirely different question. A figure stalking across the campsite could be seen as a threat. Then the entire party would be woken, only to find that poor Odin Karussa was sneaking off in the night after being punished by his father. What a sight that would be.
When he came to the line of mares and stallions situated on the edges of the campground, Odin gestured them to be quiet with a simple wave of his hand, then approached his own mare. Gainea, named after the Goddess of Life, snorted and flipped water from her mane.
“There were go,” Odin said, securing his saddle atop her back before maneuvering under her stomach to clip the harness in place. “We’re going to leave now, okay?”
She nudged his chest with her snout shortly after he climbed out from beneath her.
“Yeah,” he whispered, disengaging the rope that held her to the tree with a simple cut from his sword and gesturing her out of the campsite.
When he left the perimeter of tents, horses and carts, Odin began to make his way through the forest and toward the animal-trodden path that led out to the road, but stopped before he could get there.
In lieu of his feelings, Gainea bowed her head and sneezed.
Odin turned his attention back to the campground.
Goodbye, he thought, closing his eyes and trying desperately to fight swarms of emotions from overwhelming him. I’m sorry it had to be this way.
With a kick of his foot, he pushed Gainea into a trot.
He would forge his own destiny.
2
The rain started shortly after he left. Cold, foreboding, whispering of a hard trip and not in the least bit pleasant, it showered around him as if he were being punished for his choice and beckoned him to turn around, almost as if it were the ghost of his father raging in his sleep.
I’ll turn us both around and take you back to Felnon if you disrespect me.
If any an action were to disrespect his father, this one would be it.
You can’t think about it, Odin sighed, his thoughts soon falling back to the men at the camp. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.
If anything were to hinder his progress other than the rain, it would be a man having recently awoken to find one of the horses gone. There would, he knew, be a search party, after they realized young Odin Karussa had disappeared. Along with that, his father would likely pursue him up the road on his giant black stallion in a full-out gallop. If that were to happen, there would be no way for him to escape the persecution he so desperately deserved.
Bracing himself for the worst, Odin turned his head up and watched the trees and surrounding forest.
Under the dark, barely-moonlit sky, anyone or anything could be watching him—an animal, a bandit, a werecreature, perhaps even a Marsh Walker, an amphibious creature known for traveling long distances to hunt prey. To think that he’d only thought of all the troubles a man could run into while alone seemed to only solidify the notion that he would not be safe until he broke out onto the northern road that led to the capital itself.
“And here I am,” he laughed, “doing just what my father told me not to.”
So far away from the group and beneath the oppressing shriek of rain, no one would hear him scream were something to happen.
Shaking his head, he pulled his cloak tighter around his body and ran his hand along the horse’s neck, sliding his fingers through the slick hair beneath his fingertips and giving her but a moment’s notice before making her take off into a feverish gallop.
He continued on for the next long while without feeling any sort of dread or worry. Observing the forest, taking into account the creatures of the night which played or hunted upon one another, he watched a pair of raccoons run across the road and heard an owl hooting in the woods in front of him. Things seemed fine—even peaceful, considering the light of his current situation—but it wasn’t until that moment, when taking into consideration his situation and how tired he was, that he realized something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Odin pulled his horse to a stop.
For a moment, he couldn’t discern just what it was he felt. A short moment later, however, the realization came to a stunning climax.
No.
It took less than a breath’s worth of time for him to realize they were being watched.
Beneath his weight, and beneath the oppressing tide of nature, Gainea shifted her body to and fro while waiting for Odin’s next command and snorted, as if disapproving of the situation or the fact that there seemed to be a horrible omen hovering in the air. In response to this, Odin placed a hand against her neck and gently tapped her sides with his heels, urging her forward.
“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, but no matter what he did he couldn’t seem to make her to move. Even a simple whisper of words, which normally calmed her nerves and made her move, did nothing to erase the fear that must have 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 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 surely, Gainea began to take her first few steps up the road.
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 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 step inside force them out by death or will.
This is ridiculous, Odin thought, trying as desperately as he could to 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 needed to keep from succumbing to the chill.
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 it 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 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 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 purposes. They…
Halfway through his 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 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 and continue on 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 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 his horrible situation. Everything seemed godlike, in a way, as colors pulsated in ways never before and the light appeared more physical than it seemed 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.”
He took a moment to gather his bedroll before 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 before pushing her into a quick trot.
When the road came into view, Odin thought for 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 air in front of them.
What was that?
Each second that passed on the invisible hourglass floating in the sky 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, any adversary 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 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 the fact that she could easily be spooked, buck him from his saddle, and leave him alone, with nothing but his wits and steel 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, and 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, but did not frighten him in the least.
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. Knowing the logistics of animal magic, however, and that 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, then clamped his jaw shut when he realized he had not the words to say. “I,” he began, then stopped before he could continue. “I duh-duh-didn’t mean—”
He was interrupted 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 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 gray 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 m
ortal 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 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 fall at his side then—slowly, as to not distress the creature or her pups—slid the blade into its womb, nodding as the clasp across its surface clicked 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 which they die, because in the end, they return to the gods.