The Saints of Ornala: The Banished Legend, #5

PART 1

Something’s happened, Virgin said.

Thunder rumbled, lightning struck, and outside, the worst storm Virgin had ever seen raged on.

Within the darkened space warden’s office, Virgin paced without abandon. Heart pounding, thoughts racing, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were completely, utterly alone.

It’d been hours since Odin had gone out to find the little girl. So far, he’d shown no signs of coming back.

He should’ve been back by now, Virgin thought, trying his hardest to maintain control of his breathing.

He wasn’t stupid—knew that, in spite of the rain, even the slowest of men wouldn’t have taken more than an hour at the most to get to the hills.

Odin had been gone for almost a quarter of the night.

At the doorway, Carmen’s giant red dog Honor lay whimpering. The sound alone was enough to inspire fear within Virgin’s heart.

Sir, one of his men said, clearing his throat to gain Virgin’s attention. Excuse me for saying this, but… and I mean no disrespect to you whatsoever…. but I think you might be blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

It’s highly likely that the commander found the girl and is waiting out the rain in the hills, another man added. Did you stop to think of that?

No. Virgin hadn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t. He knew Odin better than anyone. He wouldn’t have stayed out in the rain, much less without sending a message.

But you as well as anyone knows that magic doesn’t work well in the rain, the devil on his shoulder said. He told you.

Damn what he told me, Virgin whispered.

Lightning struck.

Honor whimpered.

Virgin’s hand balled into a fist.

I’m going out there, he said, raising his gaze from the floor as thunder rumbled across the horizon.

Sir, one of the men said, standing. I would highly advise against—

Odin wouldn’t have stayed out there.

How do you know?

He would’ve sent a message.

You know that messages get—

Skewed in the rain. Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have tried.

What makes you think he would waste energy sending a message when he could use it to keep him and the little girl warm?

Because it’s just a little rain, Virgin thought.

A little rain never hurt anybody—not even a girl who had been kidnapped by a monster.

With his mind made up, Virgin reached down, gripped his dagger to ensure that it was still attached to his belt, then strode across the warden’s office until he stood at the wall. Once there, he pulled free his waterproofed cloak, as well as a crossbow and a quiver of bolts.

Sir, one of the men said. Please, for all that is good in the world, don’t go out there.

I’m not leaving the commander and the little girl to rot in the rain, Virgin replied, reaching for the doorknob.

Sir—

I said—

Don’t make this about who you’re sleeping with.

Virgin’s hand stopped halfway toward the doorknob.

What? he thought.

Excuse me? he asked, turning.

The gentlemen who’d spoken reddened under Virgin’s stare. Shortly thereafter, he stiffened, straightened his posture, then pursed his lips before saying, Everyone knows about your relationship, and it’s understandable that you’d be worried, but just because he hasn’t returned doesn’t mean you should just go blindly wandering into the—

"I’m not blindly wandering anywhere, sir. And for your information, this isn’t about who I sleep with—it’s about the commander of this settlement having to contend with something that subdued a full-grown man and kidnapped his little girl. We have no idea what’s in those hills. For all we know," he paused, then faltered, his voice catching and heart fluttering.

For all you… what, sir?

For all we know, Virgin continued, finally facing the reality of the situation, the commander could’ve been hurt.

Or worse. Dead.

Though he chose to keep his thoughts to himself, Virgin shook his head, then opened the door to the warden’s office. Honor, he said. Come.

The dog whimpered, bowed its head, and tucked its tail between its legs before it followed him out into the darkness.

Rain buffeted him.

Virgin’s resolve was strengthened.

He made his way along the valley with the dog in tow as behind him the gargantuan metal gates to the settlement closed. Cold, weary, terrified beyond belief and frightened not for himself, but for the man he loved, he adjusted his hold on the crossbow and reached up to tug his hood over his eyes as the rainfall continued to intensify.

Everything’s going to be all right, he thought. You have nothing to worry about.

Though his senses would be dampened in the rain, he had quite possibly the next best thing—Carmen’s dog: who, with his expert hearing and calculated nose, would be able to detect any hidden threat in the darkness.

As they continued to crest the eastern side of the valley, carefully avoiding the snarls of grapes that adorned the hills like lush carapaces upon the grandest of insects, he became increasingly aware of the monolithic presence before him. The hills, wreathed in shadow but occasionally highlighted by bursts of lightning, appeared malevolent in nature—which was not, Virgin imagined, because of their appearance. To anyone looking upon them, this crop of rock appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary. What made it frightening was the possibility—that, within its structures, and beneath its hallowed depths, his lover could be dead.

Can’t think about that, he whispered. Not now.

At his feet, Honor whimpered, but remained steadfast. Virgin reached down and tangled his fingers in the dog’s thick mane, which seemed to calm him at least slightly.

When he felt as though their journey would not be impeded, Virgin released his hold on the dog’s fur.

They continued forward.

It took little for them to cross the eastern heights of the valley and for them to arrive at the base of the rolling knolls that descended before the rocky hills. Here, the goat population numbered aplenty, and upon seeing him, scrambled for the hills. While the situation seemed grim, the fact that the goats were out in the open spoke wonders for his conscience.

If they’re here, maybe there’s nothing in there.

Or, he thought, maybe whatever was in there was dead.

With a shake of his head, Virgin reached down, secured a bolt into the crossbow, then tightened and drew it back before gesturing Honor forward.

At the base of the hill, the dog lowered his head and growled.

Every hair on Virgin’s body stood rigid.

It’s okay, he whispered. Everything’s going to be fine.

Or so I hope.

In response, he raised the crossbow and began to make his way forward.

The dog followed.

Rock shifted under his feet.

Virgin’s foot settled into a groove of mud beneath him.

Lightning flashed.

Honor peered into a nearby opening.

When no growl came from the dog’s throat, Virgin stepped forward.

Deep within the shadowed recesses of the cave, Virgin could see nothing but rock—which, at that moment, made him all the more doubtful.

Well, he thought. Here goes nothing.

Honor, he said. In.

The dog jumped into the cave and went sliding down, nails clicking on the rock as he struggled to stop.

Virgin followed soon after.

It took but a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once fully revealed, his surroundings seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Flat ground, rocky walls, jagged bits and pieces of earth that had been upended and rooted by the tests of time—the cave was shown, in but a moment, to extend into a long corridor.

The dog barked.

Virgin jumped.

The click of four feet bounded throughout the cave.

Honor! Virgin cried, cursing as the dog disappeared beyond his vision. Get back here!

The dog’s barks echoed along the walls until they sounded like nothing more than a coin falling into deep well.

Virgin pushed his crossbow forward and began to make his way down the corridor.

Honor’s barking increased to a fever pitch.

Oh God, Virgin thought, tightening his hold on his projectile weapon. The fucking dog ran down the corridor and now it’s found something. Dear God, what the hell am I going to—

He steeled himself for what was to come.

He had to find Odin. That was all that mattered.

Lights danced over his vision. A tongue lapped at his neck. A growl, deep and harsh, sounded at his ear.

Where am I? Odin thought.

Pain sung across his body. Blood ran down his arms. Agony drummed within his side. Torture by men could not have compared to what he felt, and in response, he began to wonder if he’d awoken from the straits of death.

It’s okay, he thought. You got away. It’s dead. It can’t hurt you anymore.

If anything, he would not suffer a violent death. He’d killed the bull. It would not be coming back for him.

The tongue continued to lap at his neck.

He opened his eyes.

Odin could see nothing but darkness.

Nothing to see, he thought as his eyes once again closed. Nothing to do, nothing to think, nothing to feel.

It wouldn’t be much longer before he bled out and his life came to an end. At the very least, he’d brought his people to Avalon. He could go to his grave with that knowledge.

A whimper sounded in his ear, followed by the sound of feet retreating from him.

What sounded like a voice began to sound down the corridor.

No, Odin thought. It can’t be.

It became louder, harsher as it grew nearer. In his ears it rang like a clear bell meant to save the most damned of men.

Odin opened his eyes.

A gasp sounded nearby.

Odin, the voice said.

Something fell to the ground.

Feet ran forward.

Hands pressed against his shoulders.

Vah… Virgin? he whispered.

It’s gonna be okay, his Halfling lover said, sliding one hand under his right shoulder and beginning to apply pressure. It’s okay, everything’s going to be—

Don’t move me, he whispered.

What—

The bull. It gored me.

A hand trailed along his side.

Odin moaned.

Fresh blood delivered its penance.

Oh God, Virgin whispered. Odin… what the hell am I gonna do? How am I going to move you?

I don’t think you can.

That’s bullshit! the Halfling cried. That’s—

I… I don’t know if I’m going to live, Odin whispered, his hold on his consciousness fading. Virgin… please… Arc...

Everything’s going to be fine, Odin. I’m gonna get you out of here.

Please… take care of him. Our son.

Odin, Virgin said, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Odin! No! Stay with me! Stay awake! Please! God! Stay the hell awake!"

I… I… love…

Odin’s breath faded.

His heart ceased to beat.

His hold on the world slipped.

He fell—slowly, infinitely, into darkness.

Is this, Odin thought as darkness swallowed his being and his world eclipsed to nothing, what happens after you die?

No, a voice said. This is.

A light, faint and illuminating, began at the end of what Odin could only assume was a tunnel above him. It first began to sparkle, twinkling, then expanding as it lowered like a sun falling to collide with the beautiful earth. It was here that he began to wonder if he had truly died, but when the light above became so blinding he could no longer see, he closed his eyes and hoped for the best that could possibly happen.

A low humming sound began around him.

The hairs on his body rose to react to the touch.

Magic? he thought.

No. It couldn’t be. He was dead. No magic existed beyond life.

An explosion rocked the world.

A warm breeze showered over his body.

He opened his eyes to find the world great and completely unforgiving.

It was lush and tranquil, filled with many dragons whom beneath the surface of trees tall and wide lazed like cats with yawning mouths and twitching tails. Upon the trees there grew golden apples that sparkled in the light emanating from the grand star above, and on the ground the grass grew fresh and green—shimmering, it could be said, as if it were touched by the grandest artist’s touch. The breeze that brushed him coalesced around Odin’s body and seemed to lift him into a sitting position, and as he rose, the dragons took note. Some blue, some red, but many green—they trained their golden eyes on him and watched, curiously, as he took a long, deep breath, filled not with the pain he so imagined himself to be in, but relief.

Where am I? he thought.

Could this be his own interpretation of what existed after life—of, he imagined, the great ship in the sky, of Valhalla, of the place where the Dwarves said that all life went, or was he in a place that many called Heaven, in a grand and luxurious clearing where all the greatest things existed?

Heh, he started, surprised that he had a voice. Hello?

The nearest dragon to him—a colossal green creature with a pronged crest upon its head and a beautiful smattering of green scales—cocked its head and flicked its forked tongue out of its mouth. It seemed to study him for a moment before it shifted its body and rose to its stubby legs.

Odin looked up.

The bushes beyond the trees parted.

He reached, panicked, for one of his swords, but found neither of them to be there.

With a great swallow of pride, he turned his head up.

None other than Astlis the fair came forward from the bushes, his lean body proud and his near-white eyes gazing at him unlike they had ever done before.

Astlis? Odin asked, blinking. Is that you?

It is I, friend, the fair-haired mage said. It is I.

What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Kegdulan, with Carmen. You—

All things do not go as planned, my friend. You as well as anyone should know that.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Blinking, Odin waited for a response. When none came, he clumsily pushed himself to his feet, once more surprised that his side was no longer in searing pain.

What do you mean? Odin asked, beginning to step forward but unsure whether or not he should bridge the distance between him and Astlis.

Do you even know it’s him? a voice in his head whispered.

Of course it’s him. Why wouldn’t it—

You could be dead. Or worse. Gone.

Gone? Odin pondered. But where, if anywhere, could he be? He was obviously no longer within the cave, nor was he anywhere he had ever been before. For all he knew, he could be dead—or, like the voice so insidiously-implied, somewhere beyond the realms of life and death. If that were truly the case, then the man before him could be one of many things. A trick, a mirage—any number of things could have presented itself as Astlis, but for him to appear, like this, in this very place, made Odin think otherwise.

Astlis? Odin asked.

Yes? the fair-haired mage replied.

I’m dead, aren’t I?

You exist between the realms of life and death. You have not truly departed from this world.

What about you then? Why are you here?

The mage blinked.

Astlis? Odin asked.

You have been presented with a unique opportunity, the mage said, stepping forward. "You are not truly dead. You are…stuck, one would say, between the worlds. Why this has happened is up for anyone’s interpretation, but it need not matter what I or anyone else thinks. What matters is that you are, in the very sense of the world, alive."

I died back in that cave.

"You believed you died. You did not truly die."

Then why am I—

It does not matter why you are here. What matters is that you return and do what it is you are supposed to do.

What do you—

Now is not your time to die. There are people who depend on you now more than they have anyone in their entire lives. Your purpose has not yet been served.

I don’t—

A resisting pressure began to tug at Odin’s conscience. Drawn, like a moth would be to a flame, his thoughts began to peel back from the world until, around him, darkness began to swallow his vision. Near the end of it all he could only see Astlis’ form, and even then it was beginning to disappear, blinking out like stars come time for the sun to greet the morning dawn.

Astlis, Odin said, almost unable to believe what was happening.

What is it, my friend?

Are you dead?

His friend had no time to respond.

Odin’s hold on the world loosened until he could not feel, see, or hear a thing.

It began as a choir in which the angels would have sung high within the air. A sound, low and crackling; a presence, near and departed; a warmth, warm and holy—the sensation of peace, so enraptured that it could have been compared to something of a blessing, spread throughout his body as if he were being bathed within the most glorious of light. When this sensation departed, Odin realized, with full and utter clarity, that he was no longer lying within a cave, nor was he within a clearing in which there lay many dragons.

But where, he thought, then stopped before he could finish.

The blissful melancholy he’d existed in up until that moment began to fade. With it came the sensation of pain that he’d become so familiar with over the past few years of his life.

His hands balled into fists. His mouth opened in a slight moan. His eyes, struggling to open, flickered beneath their lids.

The echo of footsteps sounded from somewhere within the room.

You don’t know where you are, he thought, the panic that had remained dormant until that moment finally erupting. You could be anywhere and you have no way to defend yourself.

But what of Virgin? Had he not been the one who found him? And if that were the case, would he not have delivered him to safety?

Unless…

Odin swallowed a lump in his throat.

Unless, he imagined, it had not been Virgin who had found him, but someone else.

As the footsteps neared, creating within the air the staccato of a presence that could easily end his life, Odin resigned himself to the fact that he could do nothing to help himself.

If he were to die, it would be here—atop this bed and within the presence of someone he did not know.

He waited for something to happen.

Several moments passed without any action.

In that brief span of time in which Odin imagined his captor was deliberating just what to do with him, he sent out a brief prayer in the hopes that somehow, someway, his friends, his family, and, most importantly, his son, would be all right.

God, he thought. Please—

A hand touched his shoulder.

A breath passed from Odin’s chest.

Commander? a voice asked. Are you all right?

All worry ceased upon hearing the man’s voice.

Commander.

He was back in home territory—in Avalon, the very land he ruled.

I, he managed, then stopped, his parched throat screaming at the force of trying to talk. I’m—

The mouth of a horn touched his lips, followed by the sweet taste of water.

Odin drank.

He’d drained half the skin before he began to cough—violently.

Sir? he asked. Are you—

Where is the warden? Odin asked, sputtering the last of the water from his mouth. By God, where is—

Someone send for the warden! the man called out,. Tell him the Commander has woken!

Odin’s body fell slack.

His head fell back onto the pillow.

His hold on the world faded.

For an indeterminable period, he merely lay there, halfway between the realms of consciousness. There he dreamed of the bull that had attacked him, of its sickly black fur and its horrid grey eyes.

When it came time to awaken, Odin was pulled from dream by the touch of a hand upon his face.

Odin, a familiar voice said. Are you all right?

It was the sound of love that allowed him to see the world around him.

When his vision cleared—when the fog before his eyes lifted and the darkness around him rose to the height of bright firelight—Odin saw none other than Virgin standing above him.

Virgin, Odin whispered, reaching up to press a hand against his lover’s face.

You’re alive, Virgin said, leaning down to brace an arm around the uninjured side of Odin’s body. Thank the Gods. I thought you’d died.

I think I did.

Nothing was said in the moments that followed. Rather, Virgin merely held him, and Odin, in no position to say or do anything, merely allowed himself to be held. He saw briefly a series of male figures standing in the open doorway, soldiers and guards who had consigned themselves to Virgin’s duty, but they did little to distract him from the situation at hand.

When Virgin finally released hold on his body, Odin allowed his arm to fall to his side and took a long, deep breath.

The physician did his best to tend to your wounds, Virgin said, speaking through a voice so hoarse Odin imagined the man had to have been crying. He couldn’t do much, though. He cleaned and tended to the wound, but he fears infection. He’s no healer. He wished he could—

I’m fine, Virgin. It barely hurts.

What happened to you, Odin?

I was attacked by a bull.

What are you talking about?

Did you not see it?

What?

The bull?

Virgin blinked. His eyes—which, Odin could now see, had been reddened by tears—narrowed and shifted away for a slight moment before the older Halfling forced them to return to his face.

Virgin? Odin asked. Didn’t you—

I took you from the cave the moment I thought you—

You don’t have to say it.

"I don’t understand, Odin. What attacked you?"

A—

"I know. You said a bull, but that doesn’t—"

We should let him rest, the man who had spoken before, and the man that Odin assumed was the physician, said, drawing next to Virgin and placing an old, gnarled hand along his forearm. I know you’re concerned, but now’s not the time to be asking questions.

But I—

The doctor’s steely gaze stopped Virgin midsentence.

With a sigh, the Halfling turned and started for the door, but not before casting a look behind his shoulder. Odin, he said.

The little girl’s dead, Odin said. I couldn’t save her.

You did what you could.

The doctor ushered Virgin and the men standing near the infirmary away from the door.

The moment the door closed, Odin lost his hold on reality and fell into a deep sleep.

He slept for what felt like days, during which he dreamed of nothing except the head of the creature that had nearly killed him. It was during these instances that Odin, distraught, woke to the light of the fire-lit room, but always he returned to the dreams and nightmares and the things that dwelled in the night.

When he finally fully awoke, Odin opened his eyes to find the physician lifting the section of bandage that covered Odin’s gored right side.

Oh, the physician said, raising his head when Odin stirred beneath his grasp. Did I wake you?

No, sir. You didn’t.

Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?

Food, please. And water. If you have it.

The doctor disappeared out the door.

Odin closed his eyes.

A sigh escaped his lips as the past few days came back to him.

Did I really die, he thought, or did I just imagine it?

He had learned long ago that such a thing called shock existed—that, when near the edge of death, the mind could create unexplainable events to cope with the trauma inflicted upon the body. Some experienced grace, others angels, some the light they said came at the end of the tunnel. A choice few said that they went to some great place—Heaven, mostly, and sometimes Hell—but those who went to those places always came back without proof. To say that he had actually been in that clearing was preposterous, but to know that he had seen Astlis had completely turned the tables.

But does that mean he’s dead?

No. As he had already concluded, the body and mind could do many things when near the edge of death. For all he knew, Astlis’ memory could have acted as a savior to ensure that he would not stop fighting.

Before he could start to consider the implications of Astlis’ presence, the door opened to reveal the physician, carrying a plate of food and a skin of water. Roots, he said, and rolls. They’re a bit cold because you just missed breakfast, but they’re almost as fresh as they could be.

I could care less if the food was cold right now, Odin said, clumsily attempting to push himself into a sitting position by propping himself up on a multitude of pillows. Though pain flared along his side, he managed to do so and gave a stout nod when the doctor passed the tray over. Thank you.

There’s no need to thank me, commander. You brought us all here. If anything, we should be thanking you.

Has the warden been by to see me? Odin asked, shoving a bit of the roll in his mouth.

Oh, the warden’s been religious about checking in on you. Every hour, in fact.

How long was I out?

Three days at the most. I was concerned that you weren’t getting enough water, but you drank whenever I put the skin to your lips.

I did?

You must not’ve been fully awake when you did it. The physician frowned. Either way, it’s no matter. You’ve only just missed breakfast. The guards should be coming in for their morning meal any moment now.

Outside the infirmary, the door opened to allow the sound of men to drift inside.

Speak of the devil, the doctor said.

Is he with them? Odin asked.

I don’t see why not. I—

A knock came outside the threshold.

Virgin peeked around the corner, eyes instantly seeking him out. Hey, he said.

Hey, Odin replied, sliding another piece of roll into his mouth.

Virgin waited a moment before stepping in the room. Shortly thereafter, the physician made his way out, then closed the door behind him, leaving Odin and Virgin to their own devices.

How are you feeling? Virgin asked.

All right, Odin said, accepting the kiss on his cheek before bowing his head to continue eating. What about you? Are you all right?

Don’t be concerned about me, Odin. You were the one who got hurt.

Stupidly, at that.

What do you mean?

Do you really want to tell him? he thought, the urge to eat suddenly gone.

Odin sighed, passed Virgin the tray so he could set it on the table next to the bed, then settled back down against the arrangement of pillows.

Tell me what you meant by that, Virgin said, seating himself at the edge of the bed.

When I said I got hurt in a stupid way, Odin began, I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.

I didn’t take it that way.

No, but… well… He paused, then shook his head.

Odin? Virgin asked.

He’s gone, Odin. What you say now can’t hurt him.

Would it hurt his memory though?

In the silence that followed, Virgin drew closer, leaned forward, and looked him directly in the eyes. Tell me what’s wrong, he said.

What most people assume about mages, Odin said, clearing his throat and then raising his eyes so he could look at Virgin’s face directly, especially royal mages, is that they’re well trained, able to handle anything, don’t get hurt on the field of battle, don’t have to worry about swords or spears or even stupid monsters. The only thing is, Virgin, is that…

What?

It hurts me to say it, because honestly, it makes me sound like I’m not qualified for what it is I’ve been doing, but Daughtry, the high mage of Ornala, only taught me basic magic—water and fire summoning, air manipulation, that sort of thing. And Miko—

Your father—

He… Odin sighed and shook his head.

What could he really say about what Miko had taught him in those three years? He’d not learned how to attack enemies beyond the normal conventions, had not learned how to manipulate power in ways to kill enemies with the least amount of energy. If he were to be honest, all Miko had taught him was how to conjure and shape light. He hadn’t even taught him how to heal. He’d learned more from friends than he ever had his knight master.

When he offered no further word in response, Virgin sighed. He made move to reach forward and touch Odin’s face, but stopped before he could do so. I’m not sure what to say, the Halfling said, allowing his hand to fall back to its place at his side.

There’s really nothing you can say, Virgin.

You can’t blame yourself for getting hurt.

"The only person I can blame is myself, Virgin. I overreacted. I didn’t think clearly. I let it get close and attack me. By God, I used my swords on it when I can use magic. What the hell does that say about me as a mage?"

You were scared.

A real mage shouldn’t be scared of anything, especially not some stupid old-world monster that can’t cast magic.

At this, Virgin had no reply. Instead, he merely continued to watch him.

With a shake of his head, Odin brought his left arm over his chest, then closed his eyes.

The fact of the matter is, Odin continued, I made a stupid mistake. I went into unexplored territory by myself in the middle of a rainstorm and got myself hurt. I couldn’t have sent a message even if I had wanted to. Hell, if you hadn’t’ve come after me, I’d probably be dead by now.

Don’t say that, Odin.

No one’s going to say it if I don’t. I fucked up and nearly died because of it.

After taking a moment to consider what had just been said, Virgin leaned forward, draped an arm around Odin’s shoulders, then bowed their temples together. Is there anything I can get you? he whispered.

I’d like to see my son, Odin said. After all I’ve been through the past few days, I’m starting to realize what’s important in my life.

What’s that?

You, my son, my friends, my people. I’ve been stupid, Virgin. I got in over my head and could’ve died all because I wanted to play the hero.

Rather than say anything, Virgin pressed a kiss against Odin’s brow and stood. I’ll see if Onlee is awake, he said. If so, I’ll see if she’ll let me have Arc for the day.

A few hours would be fine, Odin said. Thank you.

The moment Virgin left, Odin closed his eyes.

Deep down—where, he imagined, the finer recesses of his heart lay—a warmth began to spread.

His life had been saved.

He had a second chance.

Nestled in the space between his arm and chest lay the one thing Odin treasured more than anything in the world. Sleeping, blissfully, and chest rising and falling without a care in the world, was Arctimus Orion Karussa. To think that such innocence was still possible within a world so shattered by war was almost unimaginable, as in the past year alone Odin had seen far more atrocities than he could’ve ever dreamed of.

It’s because of you that I still have faith, he thought, idly stroking his baby son’s ribcage. It’s because of you that I’m still fighting in this world.

To think that anyone other than his son would have suffered from his death was outrageous. Virgin would have gone on. He would, of course, mourn, and while the passing of his partner would be painful, it would not completely destroy him. Nova and Katarina, even Carmen, would cry, but not completely suffer. His father would also persist, likely in peace with the fact that his one mistaken was no longer there to burden him.

Arc, though—he would be haunted. Because what would he think of life under Virgin’s care, of a man he obviously did not resemble and, regardless of his affections, was not his real father; or of Onlee, who would likely be there but always distant? While Odin had no doubt his adoptive father would help raise the child, there would come a point in Arc’s life where he would begin to ask questions. With closed doors came the utmost curiosity, and most often than not, the answers behind them could tear a person apart.

But that doesn’t matter. Because you’re here. I’m here. I’m alive.

The baby slept soundly and without a care in the world. To hold Arc was to realize the fragility of it all, but to lie with him here, on this bed, while he was so horribly injured, was to acknowledge that this wound could easily change his life.

That doesn’t matter, he whispered. At least, not right now.

Odin closed his eyes and whispered to the sound of his son’s breathing.

A knock came at the door.

When Odin opened his eyes, Virgin stood in the threshold, a smile on his face and relief on his lips. Sleeping? he asked.

He’s been sleeping since you gave him to me, Odin smiled. I assume you’ve come to get him?

I hate to wake him, but Onlee’s getting worried.

It’s all right. She’s his caretaker, after all.

We’ll have our time with him, Odin. You know that.

I know.

We just have to wait until he’s done breastfeeding.

Virgin, can I ask you something?

What’s that?

"When I was sick—dying I guess you could say—did you and Onlee—"

Discuss Arc? he asked. Yes. We did.

What’d you talk about?

Who would care for him if you died, where I would go, what my position would be.

And?

I made it very clear that I love your little boy and would never abandon him even if something happened to you.

She told me that you were like a father to him. Staying up at night to get him to go to sleep, feeding him, playing with him. Odin paused. It means a lot to know that you were there for him when I couldn’t be.

He’s your flesh and blood. I was closer to you through him.

Closer to me through him, Odin thought.

With a slight nod, he sighed, then adjusted the baby on his arm. Go ahead and take him, Odin said. Tell Onlee I said thank you.

I will. Don’t worry.

Virgin pressed a brief kiss to Odin’s cheek before lifting the child and leaving the room.

You’re actually gonna try and walk? Nova asked, crossing his arms over his chest as Odin, sitting upright on his bed, shrugged a vest over his shoulders.

You might need to help me, Odin replied, grimacing as the fabric adjusted to his bruised skin.

Are you sure you should be walking around when you’re so banged up?

I can’t stay in the infirmary forever, Nova. There are other people who need it more than I do.

Who else around here has been gored by a bull?

No one, thank God, Odin thought, but chose not to voice his thoughts.

After taking a moment to prepare himself for what was to come, he eased his feet down to the ground and allowed his weight to settle into his legs. Once sure he wouldn’t fall over, he stood.

Old wounds sung. His inner thigh, his lower legs, his chest and arms and ribs and lungs. Even his hip, which had healed in years past, throbbed.

You okay? Nova asked, stepping forward.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

Take a few baby steps. Come on. Nova extended his arm. I won’t let you fall.

‘Baby steps’ proved to be nearly unbearable. His entire right side felt as though it’d just been crushed. His broken ribs, combined with his recent gore wound, was almost enough to force him to his knees.

Easier said than done, Odin grimaced.

"Can you walk though?"

Not without it hurting like hell.

You’ve got a few flights of stairs to go up. You think you can manage that?

I’m not sure, if you want me to be perfectly honest.

Nova frowned. He crossed his arms over his chest, then reached up to toy with the length of beard at his chin.

What’re you thinking? Odin asked.

You know, if you’re so banged up, it’s gonna kill your body to be going up and down those stairs all the time, especially for dinner or to see a doctor.

I know.

So why don’t you come stay with me and Katarina? We’ve got an extra room.

You mean the one under the stairs?

No. No! Nova said, paling instantaneously. We were only keeping Ketrak under the stairs because we wanted to keep a better eye on him, and because he was getting so weak we couldn’t hear him during the day. No. There’s an extra room in the house. I mean, yeah—there’s stairs, but there isn’t three flights of them.

I could always stay under the stairs, Odin offered. It’s no big deal.

The frown that crossed Nova’s face made him think otherwise.

No, Odin smiled, hoping to diffuse the situation. Really, I don’t mind being under the stairs. It’s not about whether or not that was where Ketrak died. It’s about you guys letting me stay in your home.

I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable if you’re going to stay with us.

I won’t feel uncomfortable, Nova. Really, don’t worry about it.

All right then. Should we go?

With a nod, Odin made move to follow.

They made their way out of the barracks and down the flight of stairs before they began to take the cobblestone street that led to the houses at the edge of the settlement. Along the way, they encountered the people of Avalon. Most came forward to offer Odin goodwill, to ask if he was well and if there were anything they could do to help him. Some shook his hand, several prayed. Many even offered personal goods like food or extra linen, which Odin was quick to turn aside for himself, but eager to offer his family.

Please offer it to lady Onlee in the barracks, Odin said, giving a short nod to each man and woman who stood around him and Nova. She is the mother of my child and could use it more than I.

Yes sir, they said. Thank you, Commander.

It was with that declaration that Nova continued to lead him toward his and Katarina’s home.

The people care for you, Nova offered.

I’m surprised, Odin replied.

Are you?

Yeah. I mean, I don’t exactly have the best reputation.

There were vigils for you when your boyfriend brought you back. People in the streets, candles. Hell, even the resident priest had the settlement praying for you.

It’s nice to know that people care about me.

They’re coming around, Odin. I mean, yeah, some people might never forgive you for what you did, but you’ve helped us. All of us. That you can’t deny.

No, Odin thought. I can’t.

When they stepped up to the door that led into the Eternity home, Nova reached into his pocket, fumbled through it, then retrieved a set of keys before unlocking and opening the door. Katarina! he called as they entered the home. We’re here!

Who’s we? Katarina asked.

Me and Odin.

Odin? Katarina asked, appearing from the kitchen with the baby in one arm. How’re you feeling? she asked.

I hurt like hell, but I’m alive.

There’s no way Odin’s gonna be able to go up and down those stairs in the barracks without hurting himself all the time, Nova said. So—if it’s all right with you—I thought he could stay here with us.

He’s more than welcome to, Katarina said, looking down at Konan. She flicked her eyes from the baby, to Odin, then back again before uttering a slight laugh. I must warn you, Odin—he’s been a bit cranky as of late.

He’s turning into a hellion, Nova laughed.

Much like his father.

The grin and wink Nova offered was enough to reduce Katarina to giggles, which instantly thrust the couple’s baby into joyous laughter.

I don’t mind a loud baby, Odin said, taking a step further into the house so Nova could close the door behind them. It doesn’t bother me.

We just want you to have your rest, Katarina said. That’s all.

Like I said, it doesn’t bother me. Besides, I doubt Konan is really as bad as the two of you are letting on.

The redheaded baby, the near spitting-image of his father, narrowed his eyes.

Odin couldn’t help but laugh.

If anything, at least his stay would be interesting.

Nova spent the afternoon cleaning and preparing the room under the stairs. While waiting for his friend to finish securing the place he would be spending his time in, Odin lay on the loveseat and stared at the ceiling, drifting in and out of consciousness as the day wore on. Occasionally he woke to the smells of Katarina’s cooking drifting into the room or a squeal from Konan mostly of happiness but sometimes of disgust. The peace was atmospheric in comparison to what he’d felt in the clinic..

Everything’s going to be just fine. You don’t have a thing to worry about.

Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep.

Later that night, after Nova had shaken him awake for dinner and the inklings of a storm began on the horizon, a knock came at the door just as Odin was beginning to push himself off the couch.

Who is it? Katarina called from the kitchen.

Virgin, Nova replied, opening the door. Hello, sir.

Hello, Virgin said, eyes instantly seeking Odin out in the room. I just wanted to come by and check on you before I retired for the evening.

You finally get off your shift? Odin asked, accepting the one-armed embrace his companion offered him.

Yeah. I did.

Go ahead and start eating without me, Odin said, turning his gaze on Nova.

You sure? the red-haired man asked.

I’m sure.

Odin waited until Nova disappeared into the kitchen before gesturing Virgin into the room. Once along the far wall, he took a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure they would not be overheard before he leaned forward and asked, Have you sent any men out yet?

To the cave?

Yeah.

They recovered the little girl’s body a few days ago. And…

Well, what?

"They found… it."

The bull?

Virgin nodded. Yeah, he said. It was covered in blood. The men said they weren’t sure if it was yours or not, but from what they told me, its head was soaked and its throat was cut open. I assume you did that? The Halfling waited for a nod before turning his head up to look into the kitchen. One of the men expressed interest in preserving the creature.

And you said?

I didn’t say anything. I told him it was up to you to decide whether or not the body was returned the settlement.

"I don’t know if I want it to be brought back here, if you want to know the truth."

Are you worried that the creature’s corpse will cause a panic?

I don’t know what it would do, Virgin. I mean, in a way, it could be a good thing, stuffing it and putting it on display, because it’s a piece of history that’s going to rot and die out anyway. On another hand though, it might just make a mountain out of a molehill.

Do you know if it was the only one in there?

I should be asking you that question.

Pardon?

Didn’t your men explore the cave system?

We were able to navigate the labyrinth because of the fleece that was there. Virgin paused, then frowned. That was how you found your way back, wasn’t it?

Yeah. It was.

Well, thank you for having the mind to keep it intact. That’s the only way we were able to recover the little girl and find the bull.

"You didn’t answer my question. Did your men explore the caves?"

No. They merely went to recover the girl’s body. Nothing more.

Maybe you should send another team in to make sure there aren’t any more, Odin sighed, reaching up to cross his arms over his chest, but grimacing and stopping before he could do so. Like I said: I don’t think there are any more in there, but we can’t be too sure. Besides, there might be resources in there.

Metals, Virgin nodded. Perfect for weapons.

And anything else we might need, Odin said. He reached down to squeeze Virgin’s hand before sighing. They’re waiting for me. I should go.

I just wanted to check in and see how you were. After the healer told me you left, I had to make sure you were all right. Virgin turned toward the door. A moment thereafter, he turned his head, and said, Send for me if you need anything. I can be here in an instant.

I know.

With a short embrace, Virgin took his leave.

Once sure the door was locked, Odin made his way into the kitchen.

Everything all right? Nova asked.

Yeah, Odin said, settling into his seat as carefully as he could. Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong.

With that, the family, and Odin, began to eat.

He lay awake that night with an arm over his brow and his thoughts in the air. The sound of the rain a steady staccato, the rumble of thunder somewhat peaceful but also foreboding, he listened to the sounds of the outside world and tried desperately to fall asleep, to no avail.

What’s wrong with me? he dared to question.

His first instinct was to think that he was missing Virgin—that he was unaccustomed to not sharing another person’s body warmth.

Maybe it’s because you’re getting used to it, he thought. Because you’re getting used to being home.

With him, he whispered.

The crash of thunder was so harsh and deafening it shook the walls. Unsettled, Odin tucked himself further into bed and even deeper under the covers.

To think that his first true night of rest was wrought with such turmoil was almost ironic.

Odin closed his eyes.

In the back of his mind, he silently hoped and prayed that this wasn’t a foreshadowing of things to come.

The following morning, Odin gave the man who wished to retrieve and acquisition the bull permission to return the creature’s corpse to the settlement of Avalon.

By that afternoon, its body was laid naked to the world.

It was carried on a large wooden stretcher atop the shoulders of four. Long, epic in proportion, and free of the bloat of decomposition, the massive creature who no more than a few days ago had tried to kill Odin appeared ugly as ever. Though it did not smell, its grievous wounds were testament to the battle it had experienced with the commander of Avalon. Its neck was cut to ribbons, and its body bore bruising upon its human physique.

So, Virgin said, drawing Odin from the horror that was the bull. Is that it?

That’s it, Odin nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as the men drew closer with the creature.

It’s not going to hurt you, he thought. It’s just a body.

Still, it did little to reassure him when the creature hovered no more than a few feet away, poised atop what could be consider its silver platter. To look into its eyes was to see Hell, and in that Hell Odin saw many things—little boys and girls, skulls cracked and clohing torn; grown men and women, their corpses gone, replaced with bones. Even animals had dwelled there, and while bones had been broken and the marrow sucked out, Odin heard their cries regardless.

Trembling, Odin stepped back against Virgin’s chest.

The older Halfling wrapped an arm around Odin’s waist.

Instantly, Odin felt as though he were trapped. Let me go, he whispered.

It’s okay, Virgin whispered, setting his other hand atop his arm. Don’t worry, Odin. It’s dead.

How do you know?

You cut its neck open. It’s been dead for days.

I see you, Odin Karussa.

No you don’t, Odin said, trying his hardest to stand his ground. You may have almost killed me, but you didn’t. I won. I’m the one who’s still alive.

Commander Karussa, the taxidermist said. Where would you like us to put the creature?

Where can we put it? Odin frowned.

I think the dead gardens would be suitable for the time being, Virgin replied, tightening his hold on Odin’s waist.

How will we preserve the creature, High Warden, sir?

You’ll have to start the process soon, otherwise it’s going to rot.

Besides, Odin said. We don’t want the birds coming in.

What birds, sir? a man asked.

Any birds. We don’t need rotten flesh infecting the people of this settlement. Odin turned his attention to the man. Start the process as soon as you can. Dispose of the meat. I don’t want it here.

Yes sir, Commander sir.

The men shuffled past.

Are you sure you’re comfortable with letting them preserve it? Virgin asked, releasing hold on Odin a short moment later.

Why? Do you think I’m not comfortable?

Odin, the older Halfling laughed. Look at yourself. You’re a wreck.

It’s not often you have to see the thing that nearly killed you a second time.

Virgin frowned. He made move to speak, but stopped as the developing crowd began to make their way toward the barracks—likely, Odin guessed, for the noontime meal.

Don’t worry about it, Odin said as he turned to make his way toward Nova and Katarina’s home.

Would you like me to bring you anything from the barracks?

You don’t have to.

I’ll bring something anyway. Besides, it’ll keep Katarina from having to cook.

Thank you.

The two parted with little more than a wave.

Three days and a horrendous stench later, the creature stood within the empty circle where a fountain might have once been placed.

It was tall and imposing. With its head held high, its hands balled into thick fists, and its hooved feet balanced carefully, the creature was an immaculate work of art whereupon there were no bruises or flesh wounds. Even its broken horn—which, Odin had imagined, would have never be cleansed of the marks that once marred it—appeared perfect.

It looks so, he thought, then began to tremble. Alive.

In staring at it, he couldn’t help but wonder just how he would sleep at night.

Or how I’ll ever pass this in the dark.

The gathering crowd began to whisper as the men who had created the taxidermy came forward. He took questions. The most particular question that was asked was how they had preserved the human anatomy so well. When questioned with this, the taxidermist merely laughed and said, Skill, my friend.

It takes more than skill to do something like that, Odin thought.

He could see no cut along the thing’s torso, and given that there was little hair to hide mistakes, it seemed highly unlikely that such work had gone unaided by some kind of supernatural treatment. Maybe there were more than just simple mages in their midst

Stepping forward, Odin hobbled through the crowd.

Commander, the man who had asked to retrieve the corpse said. I didn’t know you were here.

I didn’t catch your name, Odin said, pushing out his hand.

Markus. Markus Gethery.

Why didn’t you tell me you were Gifted?

Markus Gethery narrowed his eyes. I didn’t feel it was important at the time, the man said, releasing his hold on Odin’s hand when his gaze faltered.

Why were you not enlisted in the military? You are Gifted, after all, and there was—

A magical draft. I know.

Odin crossed his arms.

Gethery shook his head, sighed, then reached up to comb a hand through his short black hair. Okay, I’ll admit: I hid it. I didn’t want to serve the military. Hell, I don’t know how to fight.

But you’re armed.

Just because I have a sword doesn’t mean I can defend myself with it.

I won’t question it or your motives, Odin said, looking past Gethery to lay eyes on the bull’s corpse. Tell me, though—how did you make it so perfect?

I fancy myself a bit of a taxidermist, I guess you can say. I’ve been doing this kind of thing for years, but never on an animal like this.

Would you call it an animal, sir?

I don’t know what you’d call it. Whatever it is, it’s dead now, and preserved.

He does have a point, Odin thought.

Nodding, he sunk his teeth into his lower lip, surveyed the preserved monstrosity, then took a brief step back. Will it need upkeep? Odin asked.

It’s been covered in a glaze, so no, it shouldn’t.

I guess my question is: will it rot?

No. It won’t.

Okay. I’ll let you keep it here then, so long as it doesn’t start causing trouble.

You think it would cause trouble, Commander?

I don’t know, sir. I trust you’ll ensure it won’t.

Though Odin’s comment was not a question, Gethery gave a slight nod, then looked over his shoulder at the bull. Don’t worry, sir, he said. I’ll make sure everything is all right.

It’s called a minotaur, Virgin said later that night when he brought dinner to Nova and Katarina’s house, and according to the documents written in Elvish, there were more of them at one point.

Seated at the dining room table with a fork in his hand and part of a roll in his mouth, Odin raised his eyes to look at his partner. Eyes soft, lips pursed with patience, he watched as Virgin began to round the table after setting the last of the food he’d brought from the barracks’ down.

A minotaur? Odin frowned.

The locals were afraid of them when they initially migrated to the island, Virgin said, waiting for a nod from Odin before he settled down next to him.

"You mean that… thing, out there, Katarina said. There used to be more of them?"

I still haven’t uncovered why this place was abandoned. The Elvish only goes so far, and as I’ve said before, we’ll need Carmen to translate the Dwarven runic writings before we get the full history of the place.

But they were terrified, Odin said, stating his words rather than asking a question.

With a sigh, Virgin nodded. He plucked a roll from the center of the table and took a chunk out of it, chewing with less fervor than usual.

Are you all right? Odin asked.

I’m fine, Virgin replied. Why?

You don’t seem well.

Oh. That. Don’t worry it’s just a bug.

You’ve been spending too much time outside at night, Virgin.

I have to, Odin. I’m the warden.

Can’t you train more guards?

I’ll take up guard duty if it’ll help you guys out, Nova offered, clearing his throat after wiping crumbs from his lips and beard. I don’t feel like I contribute enough anyway.

You’ve helped the farmers tend their land, Virgin said. That’s more than most here have done.

Still, if you’re getting worn out, I can help. It’s no big deal.

Odin’s just overestimating the situation. I’m fine. There’s nothing to be concerned about.

All right, Odin thought, but sighed. The look Virgin offered in response seemed dismissive.

After finishing his roll and sipping the last of his wine, Virgin rose. Thank you for having me, Katarina, Nova. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be retiring for the night.

Goodnight, Katarina and Nova said. Virgin kissed Odin’s cheek before departing.

He seems a bit overwhelmed, Nova offered when the sound of Virgin’s footsteps faded up the road.

That’s why I’m worried about him, Odin said, his appetite suddenly gone. He, too, rose, and made move to start gathering his dishes, but stopped when Nova grasped his wrist. Nova?

Go get some rest, Odin. Me and Katarina will clean up.

Are you sure?

You’ll just end up hurting yourself by bending over anyway, Katarina said. Really, Odin, go. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest.

Thank you. Both of you.

Odin bade both of them a brief goodnight before departing for his room under the stairs.

Torn from sleep by thirst, Odin hobbled out of his bedroom in just his trousers and nightshirt. A blanket wrapped around him, his hair hanging in his face, he wandered into the kitchen and was about to lift a glass to pour himself water when he saw what appeared to be a light shining outside.

What in the world? he thought.

Leaning forward, he narrowed his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness.

A short moment later, horror struck him.

Fire! he cried out. "Fire! Fire!"

Despite the footsteps that came from upstairs, Odin could not tear his eyes away from the sight.

So, he thought. It’s begun.

The first crime on Avalon.

The screams in the streets drew whispers of lantern light in the houses across from them.

Footsteps came down the stairs. What’s going on? Nova asked.

Odin pointed. It took less than a moment for Nova, half-undressed, to come forward, lift his hand over his eyes, and look out the window. Oh fuck.

Oh fuck is right, Odin said, turning and starting for the door.

What’re you doing? Nova cried. You don’t even have shoes on!

Odin ignored him.

He stepped into the night.

Chaos ruled supreme.

From the walls and streets came guards bearing buckets full of water. In the distance the barracks’ doors were open, pooling from their depths men disoriented from sleep, and in the sky the smoke blotted out the stars, shattering any hope the natural world could offer.

It seemed, at that moment, that their haven had been thrust into darkness—that their utopia, so grand, had just been reduced to ash.

Stepping forward, Odin raised his hand.

Moisture began to slick his palm.

Odin! a voice cried. Odin!

He didn’t bother to turn. Instead, he hobbled forward and gathered about him the memory of rain.

Beads of sweat began to run down the windows. Miniature rivers appeared in the streets. Mist blanketed the ground at his feet.

The fire, now revealed in all its horrible glory, reared its ugly head.

Someone burned the bull, Odin thought, unable to control his laughter as he advanced toward the source of the chaos. They set the fucking thing on fire.

In this light, it still stood—menacing, harrowing, a devil in the night. From its back sprouted wings hellfire, and in its eyes burned an epiphany. Already burnt flesh stained the air—some fur, some the gross memory of bare skin—and from its shoulders smoke appeared and lifted to the sky. The fires raged, the people drew forward, and the flames, as if sensing their plight, heightened.

Time to deal with this, he thought.

Get back! Odin cried.

The people recoiled.

The droplets of moisture from the streets, cobblestone, buckets and windows came forward.

The gelatinous mass Odin formed with magic drifted forward.

It touched the fire.

The flames screeched.

It took but a moment