The great hall was brimming with nemorti when David entered, his stomach churning with apprehension. He’d dressed hurriedly, securing his olive doublet with a belt that matched his riding boots, which he had donned in preparation for his travels. He shifted uncomfortably in his stockings, which he loathed wearing, never acclimating to the stifling clothing of modern custom. They never seemed to make them roomy enough for his muscular legs.
David could already hear the frantic thoughts of the distressed prisoners below, reminding him that being in a room filled full of dying humans was going to be unbearable. He promptly gathered what Lucius’s plans for the evening entailed, large wooden spikes that could hold a man’s weight lined the two main walls, empty iron vats waiting at each base. He wondered how long he would be able to withstand witnessing their slow, agonizing deaths, as hundreds of mindless nemorti drank to their misfortune.
The sight of the Morrigan calmed him, grateful to see she had yet to slip back into her Delicia aspect. An amused smirk slid across his face as he realized she’d barely wiped the smeared blood off her face, the warrior goddess thoroughly enjoying her war paint, regardless of dining formalities. She also left her hair flowing free without a hat to tame it, her skirts and sleeves poorly matched, and the deep V-neck of her gown revealing the complete lack of underdress. Her blood-streaked breasts threatened to fall from the plunging neckline as she leaned forward to greet him.
His presence drew several curious stares from the court as he moved towards the high table, assuming the place normally left empty in his absence. Morrigan’s azure eyes shimmered as he approached, her cheeks flushed with a liveliness he hadn’t seen in her for months. “I’m so glad you have decided to join us, Daghda,” she purred.
David squeezed her shoulder reassuringly as he slipped past her, taking his place to the right of Lucius’s throne.
From his seated position, he was able to observe Lucius’s court of animated death conversing amongst each other as they gazed approvingly at the pikes erected around them, eager for the festivities to begin. The women were pallid and rail thin, swallowed by wool gowns with intricate patterns of reds, greens, gold, and black. Their hats dwarfed them, the elongated cone shapes creating a rippling sea of color as their heads bobbed and weaved with animation. Men also wore the traditional colors, draped in layers of robes to hide their malnourishment, vests of fur plumping out their narrow chests. The room was aglow with torches set in sconces around the cavernous hall, causing the smooth, deeply stained wooden beams set in the ceiling above to shine. An ample fire roared in the vast fireplace at the southern end, the aroma of blistering oak flavoring the stale air.
David longed for the meal to be over, eager to be in the dense woods that surrounded the castle, even though he knew his leave was less about pleasure than it was purpose. His eyes flitted impatiently at the doorway, just as Lucius’s main servants waltzed through it to announce his presence.
The commotion dulled to a low hum as his subjects took their respective places in front of their chairs. Lucius appeared from behind the two revenants, vainglory incarnate, dripping in gold effects as his thick mane of polished black hair flowed regally behind him. His court hailed him as he entered, murmuring venerations as he proudly peacocked through them to his throne. He mirrored the portrait above him in grandiloquence, his fur lined robes matching the conspicuous red and amber hues of his velvet turban. His thin fingers were dominated by gold rings bearing precious stones, an extravagant garnet situated at his throat. He stood proudly, stretching his arms up and outwards towards the mass of denizens below.
“People of Wallachia!” he addressed them in their language, his voice ringing through the capacious chamber. “We come together tonight in celebration of the Dragon’s hold on the Wallachia throne!”
The crowd burst into cheers.
“As your deeply benevolent ruler, I have decided to throw a feast to surpass all who have come before it!”
Acclamation reverberated throughout the hall once more.
Lucius beamed, relishing in the open adulation before raising a slender hand to silence them. “But first, I offer my court a treat unlike any other. Before we dine, we shall enjoy a rare entertainment.” He looked down at David, who was inspecting him with an air of confusion. “Do you remember the balatrones of Rome, brother?”
David blanched at the archaic term for court jester. He knew that only tragedy would befall the unfortunate soul Lucius had targeted, quite the opposite of any merriment the title usually invoked. His trepidations were confirmed as the massive hall doors were thrown open once more, revealing a man weighed down by heavy chains. Two nemorti soldiers dragged him onward, their stocky arms and sturdy bodies revealing their status as Hunters. David’s mouth went dry, the room taking on a nauseating sway.
Although he had spent much time in Lucius’s damp and perilous dungeon, the man’s face was handsomely chiseled and youthful, even with the strange attribute of a full head and beard of silvered hair. He was both tall and broad, requiring the exerted strength of both his captors to pull him forward, even though he was closely chained and starved. He looked up with wild, dark blue eyes that pierced David’s own with their ferocity. It occurred to David that as close as he was to the man, he could not hear his thoughts, something he hadn’t encountered since his initial telepathic revelation.
“He has been raving in his cell for weeks, telling fantastical stories of giant wolves and mythical beasts,” Lucius elucidated to the nemorti who had already begun to buzz with excited anticipation. “I thought we could use a little laughter to begin our meal.”
The court offered sounds of approval.
The two soldiers threw the heavily bewhiskered man at the foot of the high table before Lucius, David now able to see the brightly colored fabrics they’d draped on him in mockery. He tried to empty his mind, but still he was unable to hear the prisoner’s thoughts.
“You do not hear me,” the captive man snarled at Lucius. “I am not human. If you do not allow me to find shelter before the moon peaks, I will tear this court apart limb from limb.”
Lucius roared laughter that dripped with derision, his assemblage following suit. “Oh sir, you do not have the slightest idea what sort of court this is,” he chortled. “You should have thought better than to try to break into our fortress.”
Suddenly, Morrigan bolted upright from her chair. “Lucius,” she forewarned in a low voice.
“Tell us more about what you think will happen at this court,” he continued to taunt the man crouched before him, seemingly unaware of her speaking. “Tell us more about how we will meet our doom at your hands.”
“Lucius,” she repeated, louder.
The court fell silent, all eyes upon her. David noticed her face was stricken with fear, causing him to rise up from his chair in concern.
“That man is not human,” she cautioned, her expression frozen in bewilderment as she stared.
Lucius’s face flushed with embarrassment, gesturing for David to remove her from the room. He complied, unnerved to see her wearing such an uncharacteristic expression.
No sooner did he reach her, did the man before them begin to scream in such a manner that the two knights holding him backed away in alarm. He gripped his skull as if something tried to burrow its way out, his rigid fingers pulling away tufts of his silver hair. His already substantial limbs appeared to grow larger, bursting through the confines of his clothing, his entire body convulsing as it slowly stretched itself beyond human proportion.
Before Lucius could react, there was a loud pop and a clank, and the iron chains that were wrapped around the man ruptured and fell, shattering as they hit the stone floor. Within moments, what stood before them was no longer a man, but a mammoth sized wolf, its wide, maniacal eyes glistening as its enormous mouth opened to reveal teeth dripping with saliva. The creature was so large, it dwarfed the nemorti who stared up at him in blatant consternation, its head grazing the wood beams that decorated the ceiling. It ripped away the tattered remains of his makeshift costume, letting out a roar so loud, it thundered throughout the chamber.
The room promptly erupted into chaos, nemorti forced to employ their unrefined power as the wolf began tearing its way through them. They were no match for its incredible strength, torn limbs and dismembered heads soaring across the room as rotten blood showered the hall in a fetid spray.
“Lucius, resolve this!” David cried out, as he shielded the weakened Morrigan from flying appendages and broken furnishings.
He caught sight of his sire, whose wide eyes betrayed his bewilderment as he stood, motionless, staring at hands that produced no fire, only tiny sparks that interrupted the tendrils of smoke diffusing from them like the cinders of an extinguished fire. His knights grabbed him by his arms, hoisting him out of the room for his own protection before he had time to object. David watched as they slammed shut the heavy arched doors against Lucius’s protestations, leaving whatever was left of the court to the mercy of the voracious beast.
David pulled Morrigan behind an upturned table, contemplating his next move. He hadn’t been in battle for many years, but he knew his body was still strong, even in the absence of his powers. He surmised that he could hold the beast off long enough for Lucius to convince his knight to let him back in to retrieve his beloved Morgana. His eyes caught sight of the hearty flames still alive in the fireplace, wondering how he might use them to his advantage.
Suddenly two small hands cupped his face, directing it downwards.
Morrigan’s eyes sparkled even though her lips were dry and bloodless. “Daghda, you must take me. It is the only way that my dormant powers can be used.”
David stared at her blankly before realizing the implications behind her words. He shook his head vehemently. “No.”
Her lips turned upwards, momentarily softening her expression. “I know your love for me is deep, but that is why you must honor my request. How many more times must I beg you to free me from this life? Lucius does not have the strength to do it. It must be you. If you do not take my powers through my blood, the wolf will be your end as well.”
Shrieks, howls, and the horrible sounds of tearing flesh created a lurid harmony around them.
“How do you know it will work?” David pointed out in desperation, searching her eyes for any bend in her resolve.
“I was once a very powerful god, my love, with many allies. I have known this was my gift to give you for some time now, one that I planned on offering you as my time on this earth came to a close. I didn’t realize it would happen so soon, but although I played along in Lucius’s presence, I know there is no cure that can rid me of Delicia.”
“You cannot ask this of me,” David repeated.
“I am not asking, I am demanding, and you would do well not to ignore me,” she warned, though her face was still soft. “I am done with this life, with this abominable body. Drink of my blood and use my power until I one day return. Follow the wolf until you find a woman named Hekate. She holds all the answers that you seek.”
“You want me to follow the wolf?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “This is madness.”
“I promise more shall be revealed to you, but our time is running out. Drink from me, Daghda, please.”
Although bedlam ensued all around them, the world grew still. He tried to comprehend her words, to truly understand their meaning, but flashes of Gaia on her deathbed danced morosely before his eyes, distracting him. He could barely distinguish the memory from the present, holding Morrigan in his arms as he had once held her, with the resolute knowledge that this moment would be their last. “Why must every woman I love end up dying?” he whispered, ashamed of his vulnerability.
“Oh, you shall see me again, my sweet, broken David,” she promised as her cold hands caressed the sides of his lightly whiskered face. “The bond between the Daghda and the Morrigan transcends all time. I will always find you.” Her last words were singed with resolve as she lifted herself up to press their mouths together, her lips tasting of smoke and rain-soaked earth. And then, she fell back, and in one ruthless gesture, tore the large vein in her neck with her taloned fingernails, pulling David against her.
The scent released into the air proved irresistible to him, her decayed but powerful blood a tantalizing elixir spilling down the smooth planes of her pale skin. David tried to resist, but her grasp on him was firm, and before he could stop himself, he drank.
Her secrets spilled into him as her body crumpled into his, visions of the archaic war goddess with her crow skull diadem and wild, matted hair, the violent sexual romps between Morgana and Lucius, covered in each other’s inky black ichor. David felt her fingers through his hair, pressing him harder against her flesh. He heard the immobilized Delicia screaming for him to stop, her own memories invading the Morrigan’s as she tried desperately to break free. He saw her life in flashes, the fawn-haired cherub raised by a monster, laughing as her father beat his slaves into submission, the genesis of her ritualistic bloodletting, the rise of her power in Rome.
And then, strangely enough, he saw Gaia, her radiant smile in the solstice sun and her olive eyes twinkling around the freckled bridge of her nose. Images of the three women danced together, the lines between them blurring until Delicia dissolved into nothingness, leaving Morrigan and Gaia linked together, as if they were one. He wasn’t given a moment more to consider these visions when an effusion of power released out of Morrigan and burrowed into him, crows shrieking disapproval inside his skull as they clawed irately at his insides. The sensation threw him back from her now unconscious body, his muscles trembling and his skin rippling with intensity. “Find the woman Hekate,” her voice echoed in his head.
The table that had been shielding them was suddenly upended, revealing the massive, snarling beast, its hoary fur drenched in the blood of dozens of slaughtered creatures. It roared at David, its rank breath hot on his face as it advanced, positioning its open jaws around his head, its claws stretched wide.
David’s body surrendered to the shuddering energy that was pulsating throughout it, his bones and tendons suddenly snapping and popping as his muscles expanded, pain threatening his consciousness. It was the antithesis of his avian transformation, the restrictive pressure he once felt replaced by the sensation of expansion, as if he was being pulled apart from all angles. He howled, defenseless against it, at the mercy of the excruciating metamorphosis. Fortunately, the agony passed, and soon he was standing near eye level with the beast, wolf to wolf.
Startled, the creature stepped back, and David discovered that at last, he could hear its thoughts.
“I warned the tyrant I would murder them all,” it said telepathically.
“What are you?” David asked him in the same manner of communication.
“I am the vargr Fenrir, killer of gods, son of Loki, who fused me to Baldur, son of Odin, the All-Father. I am varcolac!” the wolf declared with an air of pride.
David didn’t waste any time, his body humming with the essence of the Morrigan. “Can you take me to a woman named Hekate?”
The wolf looked surprised, but nodded. “I can.”
The sound of Lucius screeching orders behind the barricaded doors reaffirmed the warning. David heard clanging metal as the nemorti brigade scrambled to honor their prince’s request. It occurred to him that it would be in his best interest if he was not present when Lucius discovered the lifeless body of Morgana. He couldn’t bear to look back at it himself.
The varcolac abruptly leapt from where they stood, crashing through the only window in the hall. The shattered pane of sooted glass created a nightmarish mosaic on a floor already marred by the remains of dismembered creatures. The shards and pools of spilt blood sparkled in the freely exposed moonlight.
David leapt up after him, pleasantly surprised by his newfound canine agility. He followed the varcolac closely, appreciating how well his four legs worked together to propel him across the castle grounds. They also aided him as the two creatures scaled the castle walls, oblivious to the ineffective wooden arrows whizzing past them as nemorti guards scrambled to protect their fortress.
They landed easily in the surrounding green and within moments, were concealed by the vast coniferous woodland that enclosed the castle. The tightly packed spruces and firs obscured the radiant moonlit sky as the two wolves wove through their sturdy trunks, tearing up a floor dense with moss and layers of dried needles. David’s vaporous breath betrayed the frosty, pre-winter air, even though his coat of thick auburn fur prevented him from feeling its chill. Although the varcolac exceeded him in size, David was able to keep its pace, wondering how much farther down the mountain it would take them.
As soon as the depth of their descent ensured there would be no interruption from the stronghold above, the varcolac paused to snatch a wayward hare, killing it instantly in its oversized paw.
“Haven’t you eaten enough?” David thought before he could help himself.
The wolf grinned, exposing a mouth of ridged fangs unevenly crammed together. “I killed for you.” It threw the hare at him, which David caught and devoured before its blood had a chance to cool. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, and was grateful for the unexpected renewal of energy.
They continued deeper into the woods at a modified pace until the varcolac finally paused. David stiffened as well, his supernatural senses picking up aromas foreign to those of the Carpathian Mountains.
Suddenly, a ring of torches roared to life around them. The varcolac bellowed in protest as a net barbed with silver ensnared him without warning. The beast cowered to the ground in easy defeat, wincing as the metal brushed against him. David realized that exactly twelve spears made of the same metal were aimed directly where he stood.
He shifted back into his human-like form, holding his arms up in surrender. “Hold your fire, I am no beast.”
“That is for us to decide,” a voice responded pleasantly, its syllables clinking together like melodious bells.
Behind each strategically pointed weapon stood a faceless knight clad in metal armor, situated between six men seated on thrones carved out of tree stumps. Each of them wore a different animal mask, their bodies entirely concealed by somber robes topped with corresponding furs or feathers. The neutered beast at their feet let out a whimper at the barbs holding him in place. Apparently, the enchanted metal Lucius had once warned him about affected all the unnatural creatures on earth.
“Do not worry about your friend,” the man assured him from behind the mask of an eagle. “He knows this is the only way to restrain him.”
The curious sensation of repetition prickled David’s skin as it occurred to him that five of the men seated around him were wearing masks in the likenesses of those he once met in a dream, many years ago: the angel, the lion, the eagle, and the bull. Flanking them was a figure wearing the mask of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the Underworld, and one dressed like a Sphinx, cloven hooves popping out from underneath the hem of his robes. “Libraean,” he whispered in astonished recognition.
“We will lower our weapons once we have your word that you will not harm the humans among us,” a low rumble came from the direction of the lion-masked man.
“You have my word,” David replied easily. “Your creature fed me on our journey here.”
“He is not ours,” the bull informed him, the hollow eyes of his mask offering an unsettling visual as he spoke. “He is borrowed, like you. A gift from the Norse goddess Frigg, who sent her beloved child to further our cause. Yet one of her own brethren cursed him, the chaos god they call Loki. Danulf is now part man, part wolf, powerless to the metamorphosis as the goddess moon rises replete in her dark skies.”
“You are getting ahead of yourself, Taurus,” a familiar voice interjected. Even from behind the mask of the Sphinx, Libraean’s one blue eye appraised him as he spoke. “David has fulfilled his destiny. His empathy has been restored. He will not harm a human among us.”
“Very well,” the eagle nodded, lifting a considerable wing. The encircling knights lowered their weapons at his command.
David felt a tug at his chest as the being’s umber feathers caught the glow of the torchlight as it moved, reminiscent of Morrigan’s oil slicked crows. “I must speak with a woman named Hekate,” he said. “I was told that if I followed the wolf, I would find her.”
“Do not worry, David,” a seraphic voice soothed him. Its owner’s mask appeared human, but lacked distinct features, glowing an iridescent white against the muted woodland colors that surrounded them. “Our Morrigan never stays away for too long. She always finds a way to be with the one who she eternally loves. You will meet Hekate when it is time.”
“Who are you? Why have I been brought here?” David demanded, feeling his frustration rise.
“Davius,” Libraean’s voice from behind the Sphinx mask implored. David blinked at his former name being used, as if just speaking it tugged at a time long passed. “Please listen to what we must tell you. There is much more for you to learn, but our time here is limited. The veil between realms cannot stay thin for too long. You have my word that you will speak with Hekate soon—and now you have learned you can trust it.”
David respected his point and allowed them to continue.
The angelic being spoke first. “We are the protectors of earthly affairs. All the gods and goddesses created in the collective minds of men answer to us, for we are the keepers of earth’s magic, a council formed out of her precious elements in the absence of the First Protector. We shift in image however we must so that men from all religions will hear us. Yet we are eternal, unchanged, and our duties remain forever the same.”
“The earth we now stand upon is the physical manifestation of the first magic, the Great She that existed at the beginning of time,” Taurus, the bull, continued. “Not only are we tasked with keeping it safe, but we work to maintain the earth’s precious balance, as Libraean once explained to you, for without it, this world would cease to be.”
“The dark god Lucius upsets this balance,” the lion said. “He has broken the sacred laws by which our realms follow, upsetting our natural order. His mere presence on this earth is an aberration, and now he threatens to destroy mankind, the very thing this world depends upon. He must be stopped. You are the only one who can do this, for you are the only creature that matches him in strength and power, but with a soul of a benevolent god.”
“So I am constantly told,” David sighed. “Though I do not recall any of it.”
“There is still more you will learn, more will remember,” the eagle reminded him. “But it is not time. A great war is approaching and Lucius has already begun to prepare. Unbeknownst to you, he has been teaching his nemorti how to fight, training them while you embark on your travels or remain isolated in your study.”
“Your omniscience is unnerving as always,” David remarked.
“David, he plans to strike soon,” Taurus interjected, ignoring the comment. “He intends to turn the world into blood drinkers, ridding the earth of the plague that is humanity while positioning himself as the reigning supreme. For a myriad of reasons, we cannot allow this to be.”
Wind picked up in the air, gently rustling the dome of leaves overhead. David crossed his arms across his chest. “I still do not understand what you are asking of me.”
A figure emerged from behind the circle of masked men, his face visible in the torchlight. David was surprised to discover he was a nemorti, but his body boasted the strength and resilience that emulated that of a true immortal. His skin was a tawny brown, his eyes a rich cocoa, rimmed with eyelashes so dark it looked as if he’d lined them with kohl. His hair was so unkempt that it stood away from his forehead, his absence of upper facial hair drawing attention to a wide mouth that tapered into a narrow chin and a pointed crop of chin hair. He wore the common clothing of peasantry, his embroidered linen shirt open at the neck, despite the chill in the air. “We need you on our side or it will prove to be a fight too great to win,” he asserted, his voice thick with Wallachian dialect.
“And who are you?” David raised an untrusting eyebrow.
“Forgive me,” the man bowed. “My name is Dragos. I am part of the resistance that has risen up against the Imposter Prince. We number the hundreds, creatures and humans alike. Our plan is to aid in the restoration of balance, allowing blood drinkers and humans to live freely amongst each other without interference in each other’s’ affairs.”
David snorted. “How can that be, if we must feed upon humans to survive?”
“I have just shown you,” a low voice broke in. The wolf had been restored to his human self, the formerly imprisoned jester staring at him from beneath his barbed net. His silvery beard was still streaked with nemorti blood, what was left of his clothing hanging off him in shreds. The knights wordlessly released him from the web. “Most of the blood drinkers in our army feed off animals, like humans do,” he continued, sweeping the dirt from his trousers as he stood. “Others feed off the sick and dying, some take samples without the act resulting in death, all from willing participants.”
David was taken aback by his brawn. He was taller than David’s own substantial height, his chest wide and muscular with broad legs like elder tree trunks. His ribboned clothes revealed a full body of tattoos David hadn’t noticed before, their markings and color similar to those drawn on the goddess Morrigan.
“Danulf is quite right,” Dragos chimed in as he threw the man a fur lined cloak that he’d retrieved for him whilst he spoke. “Blood drinkers do not need to kill men to survive. It is a preference of the Imposter, who grows more corrupt with each life he takes.”
“Surely, we do not need to explain all of this to the infamous monster with a conscience,” Danulf quipped, throwing a half smile at David before he secured the cloak around his body and laced up boots that had also been procured for him. As he bent forwards, David realized the back of his hair was quite long, braided into ropes that had grown matted over time.
Dragos ignored the remark and continued with his attestation. “I have not fed upon any human besides my sire, Vlad Tepes, for years, yet I am endowed with the strength of ten men. Human blood is an unnecessary luxury, nothing more.”
“Lucius created you?” David did not hide his surprise.
“Yes, I was created to be another nemorti slave, but instead, I serve as a spy for the Insurgence,” he explained with an air of high self-regard.
“We digress from our purpose,” the angelic man reminded them softly.
“You want me to be a part of your war,” David stated for them.
“Correct,” Dragos replied. “Danulf and I wish to take you to our stronghold, where you can see our army for yourself. That was our original purpose in Danulf infiltrating the castle, though we had not anticipated he would fail to reach you until after the full moon.”
“I had a plan,” Danulf growled defensively.
Dragos disregarded him once more. “Now that things are back in order, we have much to discuss with you.”
The bull lifted his hand to arrest the speedy arrangements. “Before you depart, David, we will need your word.”
David found he was in no hurry to respond, letting the conversation rest as he recalled the events that led up to the current moment. The Council allowed him his moment of reflection, the crackling flames the only sound in the barren winter woods. He thought of Morrigan’s lifeless body abandoned by him on the stone floor of the castle, the image a dagger dragging over his chest. He remembered the vision of her and Gaia, his two lost loves, standing hand in hand, like sisters. “First, I must ask this question of you, since you are collectively all-knowing of the happenings in this world,” he said. “Are Gaia and the Morrigan the same soul?”
He was met with silence, the Council still.
It was Libraean who finally spoke, lifting his Sphinx mask away from his head to expose the same face David had met so many eons ago, framed by dirty blonde waves. He set the golden facade down on his chair and approached him, painted with an earnest expression supplemented by a kindly singular eye. “There are things we cannot tell you, David, things you must wait to learn. That story is not ours to impart—our only purpose is to steer you towards what we believe is the best path. While we control the balance, the creatures on earth are free to choose their destiny. The divine beings that work amongst us have their own choices too. Our job is simple—restore, guide, protect.”
David sighed, but accepted his words. He turned to look at the rest of the Council. “I want her back,” he stipulated firmly.
The eagle let out a sound of exasperation. “Why must it always be this way with them?”
“Enough, Scorpius,” the lion grumbled forcefully. “Your compliance in this matter will take you to Hekate. It is she who holds the key to the Morrigan’s return.”
“Then I wish to see her first before any talk of war.”
Taurus the Bull snorted with disdain, the sentiment echoed by Dragos. “Our world falls apart, yet he thinks only of love.”
“Our world would be nothing without it.” Anubis, the man wearing the jackal mask, finally broke his silence. He stood, his cloak falling away to reveal a sculpted, human chest of smooth ebony skin bearing a gold-plated choker set with brilliant lapis lazuli. David’s breath caught in his throat for the eyes that looked back at him were strangely familiar. The jackal seemed to grin as if pleased at David’s moment of fuzzy recollection. “I come from a time when the love between two beings shaped an entire civilization, when the broken heart of a goddess altered life forever.”
“I remember,” Libraean murmured.
“He shall visit the sorceress Hekate and have his questions answered,” Anubis dictated. “It is the only way we can ensure his absolute assistance. What say you, Aquariolus?”
“I agree,” the angel chimed.
Scorpius and Taurus looked visibly frustrated, but nodded.
“Leo?”
“I have no quarrel against these terms,” the lion replied, gruffly.
“Then the Council has spoken,” Libraean declared.
Dragos looked unhappy, but remained silent.
“You shall take him to see the witch,” Scorpius craned his head towards Danulf, who had been standing silently, his bulbous arms folded before him. “Dragos, you may return to your stronghold until they arrive.”
Both nodded their agreement.
The Council abruptly vanished, taking their mysterious knights with them. Libraean was the only member left, which revealed his bondage to the earthly plane still hadn’t been resolved, and he shifted back into his boar guise before turning back to look at David. His expression was mournful, his good eye filled with regret. I did not know everything when last we spoke, he lamented. I am sorry I cannot divulge more to you, but I can promise, you will not regret following the path we have asked you to follow. I will see you again soon, and we can speak freely. He glanced at the other two physical beings left standing, offering a silent farewell before disappearing into the throng of mountainous woodland.
Dragos whistled, and a horse emerged from behind a slew of shadowy trees. “Do not dawdle,” he warned Danulf as he hoisted himself up onto its back. “They anxiously await his arrival.”
Danulf scowled, but nodded, watching as Dragos gave the mare a swift kick and followed after Libraean. Danulf looked back at David. “I will be grateful to take my final leave of that fellow,” he remarked. He looked up at the sky, squinting to see through the crisscrossed ceiling of branches. “I’m afraid an overcast has obscured the moon past any helpfulness. We are going to have to embark on this journey by foot.”
“We had best get started then,” David suggested agreeably.
Danulf extended a sturdy, scarred arm. “I know we haven’t met formally, as is the custom. You can call me Dan if you like.”
David took his hand. “I prefer David over monster with a conscience,” he quipped.
“I bet,” Danulf snorted. He gestured forward into the woods. “Shall we?”
* * *
Light began to spill over the mountain, the thinly frosted evergreens glistening as a few robust birds began their morning melodies. What was a mere couple of hours as supernatural wolves felt like days on two legs. David was impressed by Danulf’s resilience, for although he was part creature, the man who accompanied him now was undoubtedly human. His own bones were growing tired as dawn crept into the skies. “We should rest,” he suggested, breaking what had been hours of silence.
Danulf looked surprised. “I assumed you were in a hurry to speak with our volva.”
David noted his unusual use of the archaic Norse term for female shaman, but decided not to comment. “While my body doesn’t require much rest, it is helpful in times of overexertion,” he explained to him. “I’m sure a reprieve might do the same for you.”
Danulf looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the moon will show her face tomorrow evening and cut our journey by half.”
Satisfied by this, the two began to search for shelter. It was Danulf who discovered a suitable copse, the fallen trees and wayward branches creating a natural thicket that was nestled against several mountainous boulders. It was most likely used by wildlife at one point, but its lack of scent assured it hadn’t been in quite some time.
The two burrowed inside just as a flurry of snow began to drift down from the skies. Danulf shivered, adjusting his cloak so that it draped over his chest, folding up his long legs so they were nearby.
“Shall we make a fire?” David asked, attempting to empathize with human frailty.
Danulf did not smile. “I have traveled the better portion of my life in much worse conditions than a gentle snowfall.”
“Still, I would rest better knowing I will not be waking up to a corpse,” David insisted pleasantly, as he stood to gather up kindling. The act of building a fire felt peculiar to him, one that hadn’t been required of him for years, partly since he was a creature and partly because he now belonged to the noble class. Watching the flames grow gifted him a sense of contentment, teasing him with a brief remembrance of what life was like as a human. He suddenly ached for the feral boy running barefoot in the green, with dirt in his gingery, unkempt hair and stories of Druid magic on his lips.
He returned to his corner of the thicket as the warmth filled the copse enough that Danulf could remove his furs and use them as a pillow to rest his head upon.
They sat in comfortable silence for several moments before David attempted conversation. “As a wolf, you alluded to me that you were a Norseman.”
Danulf gave a single nod. “My people were who they now call Vikings. I am a human, but I have been alive for several centuries, the last of my clan.”
David was shocked. “How can that be?”
“As our quartet of elusive friends explained, I was born human with the soul of a reincarnated god. That god was named Baldr, the beloved son of Odin, who is the All-Father of my people, and his wife, Frigg.”
“Yes, I have read tales of the Northern men and their pagan religion. I grew up in the old ways myself, as part of a Druid tribe. Baldr was murdered by Odin’s brother, correct?”
“Yes,” Danulf’s austere expression brightened for the first time since they’d met, openly pleased to meet someone knowledgeable of his culture, a fellow pagan in a rapidly Christianizing world. “After a volva foreshadowed Baldr’s death to Frigg, the goddess searched the world to ensure that no object on earth would harm her child. They all agreed, except for a single branch of mistletoe that she had forgotten to include in her travels. Learning of this loophole, the diabolical god, Loki, tricked Bladr’s blind brother, Hodr, into using a dart made from mistletoe for a game between brethren. He threw it at his brother during their play, accidentally killing him.” He shifted, stretching his legs out before him. They exceeded the length of the gnarled woodland cove, catching snowflakes on the tips of his exposed boots.
“Desperate to bring him back,” he continued, “Frigg petitioned the Council and it was agreed that since Baldr was killed by a god, he would eventually reincarnate human, as are the laws of the earth. However, a dark god named Lucius had cursed the land years before, preventing any god from reincarnating as a human unless he explicitly allowed it. Odin forced Loki to have Lucius lift the curse, yet Loki knew he could only do so by trickery. He asked Lucius to bring back his own son, Fenrir the vargr, or great wolf, and the dark god agreed, eager to potentially have Fenrir’s servitude in this realm. Then Loki fused the souls of Fenrir and Baldr together with his magics, waiting for the day a human would be born to house them.
“Meanwhile, the Council discovered that the two souls were braided, one now belonging to Lucius. They made Frigg promise Baldr to them in order to combat the Lucius and Loki alliance. She agreed, and so here I am, half-human, half-vargr, parts of me promised to opposing sides. Fenrir has given me immortality, yet I have no extra strength in my human form, nor any powers, unless it is within the three-night phase of the full moon.”
David considered his story. “Do you recall anything from either past life?”
“No,” Danulf admitted. “These things were revealed to me many years ago while I was still a young man. I grew up a strong warrior, as my father hoped I would be, until one day when the wolf emerged, slaughtering my entire village … including my kin.” He grew quiet, staring blankly into the flames. A drift of snow blew in, causing them to flicker.
“I lost my clan as a child, too,” David offered. “It is a special sort of suffering one must bear to lose an entire family.”
“That it is,” Danulf agreed, breaking from his trance. “And it was I who murdered them. Afterwards, I did the only thing I could do—I ran. I became a frightened hermit, hidden away in the hills, content to spend the rest of my life traveling under their protection, lest the wolf come out to slaughter more innocent people. It was a volva who told me my true nature, binding me with one of her spells. She is the one who taught me to hide away during the full moon. I stayed far away from humans, but I inevitably grew mad with the isolation, shadowing villages but never venturing close enough to interact with their townspeople. Years went on in this way. As they passed, I realized I’d stopped aging, though my hair had turned a brilliant grey. The Age of Vikings had long ended, leaving me behind to live out my days as the last of my kind. Then one day, Libraean and the Council approached me, telling me that if I chose to align myself with their cause, they would help me be rid of the wolf for good. And that brings us current.”
“Amazing,” David commented. “I was told something similar, that I am also a reincarnated god, yet I remember nothing, even though I have become a supernatural being.”
Danulf peered at him, his deep blue eyes catching the flicker of the flames. “What does it feel like, to be what you are?”
David sighed, considering how to respond. “At first, I felt invincible, a strength unlike any I have ever known coursing through my veins. I lived to hunt, my body the perfect construct of a predator—fast, spry, cunning, ferocious. I was rid of any human inclinations for empathy and compassion, until, like you, I was approached by Libraean and the Council, and through a series of actions, my humanity slowly returned. Now I’m an outlier, an outcast with the heart of a human and the body of a killing machine. I cannot say that I enjoy it much.”
“I know the feeling,” Danulf sympathized bitterly, drawing his fur around his ears as the fire started to dwindle. They returned to comfortable silence, the icy breeze bringing with it various aromas of pine.
“I never knew Lucius forbade gods from reincarnating without his consent,” David reflected quietly.
“Apparently your friend is quite the trickster in his own right. I honestly understand very little of this secret war between gods,” Danulf confessed. “What was the line—there is more you will learn, more you will remember?” he mimicked.
David couldn’t help but laugh. It was another abandoned pleasure he realized he’d long forgotten.
Danulf smiled behind his thicket of beard before resuming his signature stoicism. “I’m sorry you lost your lover,” he said, after a pause.
David looked away. “She was not my lover in this life, but claims that we were in lives long passed. I cannot help but believe it, for I do care deeply for her in a way that seems to transcend common love. She gifted me her power before she died, which is how I was able to turn into a wolf.”
“A shape-shifting goddess,” Danulf nodded, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“She prefers wolves and crows.”
“Ah, much like the All-Father. Crows are the wisest of birds, though they are mainly seen as harbingers of death. Yet their power runs much deeper than that. If you are kind to one crow, they will remember your face, passing the knowledge to their kin. The same if you cross them.”
“That sounds like her,” David remarked with a hint of melancholy.
“Do not fret, we shall get her back. There is no more powerful witch in all the land than my sister, Hekate.”
“Sister?”
“Not by blood,” he explained. “After the Council told me where I was needed, I made the long trek down to this region. I may be half immortal wolf, but the traveling took its toll on me. I lost track of the phases of the moon, fell asleep one night, and forgot to secure myself against the transformation. I cannot recall exactly what happened, but I was caught in a fight with a mountain beast and left broken, bloodied, and barely conscious. Young human Dragos found me and brought me to Hekate. That is when I discovered they were orphaned twins, dedicated to protecting and healing all of earth's creatures, even the deadly ones like me. And healed me she did, tending to my wounds until I was like new. I have lived with them ever since, in service to she who selflessly restored me to health. In fact, it was Hekate who gave me my name, adding a name common to her people, Dan- to my moniker, Ulf… which, I assume you can guess the meaning.”
“The wolf,” David said. “So, her powers are great?”
Danulf gave him a wide grin, revealing an assortment of silver capped teeth beneath the shelf of his peppered whiskers. “Her story is not mine to tell. I will let you decide for yourself.”
The snow continued to fall throughout their short respite, Danulf floating in and out of consciousness while David kept vigil over their simple camp. The cold, crisp air brought him comfort, as tiny flakes stubbornly broke through their shelter, landing on his arms and legs and remaining intact without internal heat to melt them away. He’d never experienced snow as a human, and he wondered if he would enjoy the experience nearly as much if warm blood coursed through his veins.
The stillness around him allowed his mind to settle, pangs of painful longing for the Morrigan breaking through, pulling at his chest as her loss became more real. He closed his eyes to reimagine the vision he had of her and Gaia as one, trying to interpret its meaning. It had to mean something, of all the secrets for her blood to spill, it was the most vivid. He hoped Hekate had answers, as he was assured, for he was beginning to grow weary of otherworldly beings demanding compliance without disclosure.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar scent reached his nostrils and his eyelids snapped open. Danulf snored next to him behind the remnants of their fire, oblivious to the world around him. The complete absence of light let David know the sun had fully descended behind the clouds, the soft hum of crepuscular animals foreshadowing the snowstorm’s completion. He realized the moon’s rays would soon be upon them, pulling his companion back to his previous feral state. He decided to quietly scan the darkness a few moments longer before waking him, unnerved that he was unable to place the unusual smell.
And that was when he saw it.
A monstrous creature lumbered towards him, one that looked like a giant, charred rat. Beady black eyes bulged from patchy, seared flesh above a mouth filled with jagged teeth, pus oozing from the cracks in its skin. It wiggled its elongated claws as it sped up its pace, thundering forward on its hind legs so that the entire forest shook with impact.
“Dan,” he hissed urgently as he kept fixated on the monster, his reflexes stiffening his muscles in preparation for an attack.
The rat snarled as it grew closer, the revolting stench reaching its magnitude, gagging David. He hadn’t been so repulsed by a creature since … “Nirus,” he whispered.
The rat opened its mouth, freeing a fat, lolling tongue that lapped around a jaw that had long been broken. David immediately recalled his wolf guise, lifting himself on his hind legs as he braced himself for the assault. Yet the rat dodged him completely, aiming instead for his sleeping companion.
David cried out, but in an instant, the rat was on top of Danulf, clawing his flesh to ribbons with unnatural speed. David leapt forward, grabbing the neck of the vile creature with his own piercing jaws. He flung it across the forest floor like easy prey, bounding to where it landed and pinning it to the ground.
How are you still alive? David demanded of the weakened lump brought to submission below him.
The Great Lucius brought me back to life—he saved me! Nirus the Rat squeaked in response.
A bolt of fury livened David. He glanced back at the unconscious, heavily wounded Danulf, noticing the traveling sack laying at his feet. Shifting back into his standard form, he tore it open, revealing the silver barbed tent that had been kept in Danulf’s close possession.
Nirus squeaked in frantic recognition as David braced himself for the impending onslaught of pain, wrapping the painful webbing around his fist before pummeling what was left of the rat’s face. The creature died just as pitiful as it had once before, David now committed to the completion of the task. He tore the creature from limb to limb, until the wretch that was formally Nirus was truly deceased, pieces of dead rodent scattering the frosted forest floor. He stopped to catch his breath, letting the tangled net fall from his grievously burned hand. He winced as his body attempted to regenerate his skin, his fingers severely debilitated by the caustic metal, before remembering his wounded friend. He rushed to his side.
It was hard to distinguish Danulf’s features through the copious ichor that coated them, his wounds oozing out what was left of his life. His chest still rose and fell with labored breath, but it was shallow and strained.
David was at a loss. Even with supernatural speed, it would take too long to reach town, and even then, who could he turn to for help? Danulf hadn’t revealed Hekate’s whereabouts before the attack and the otherworldly beings who visited him earlier seemed to have returned to the ether from whence they came.
A deep crimson pool spread out beneath him, defiling the blanket of white. The woods were soundless, save for the gentle tap of trickling snowflakes on their skin, as David watched the man below him slowly die. His mind was a mess of tangled, conflicting thoughts, knowing he’d seen countless men die, many by his own hand, and that watching one more shouldn’t matter to him. Yet, he was unable to shake the feeling that this one should be saved.
He crouched down to where Danulf lay, turning him onto his back. The angry gashes that tore him open were slowing their steady hemorrhage, his chest no longer rising. David could tell he was moments away from death. He tried to steady his trembling voice as he spoke, “I can save you the only way I know how, but you must tell me that you approve—I cannot forcefully do to you what has been done to me.”
Danulf did not respond, but David felt his finger twitch, brushing ever so slightly against David’s folded leg. It would have to do.
“Forgive me,” David whispered above to whoever was listening, and released the veins on his wrist so that black liquid poured from them onto Danulf’s battered face. The syrupy trickle found its way to his open mouth, choking him before he swallowed. David swooped down to fasten his mouth onto one of his open wounds.
The taste of human blood jolted him as Danulf’s memories assaulted his consciousness, visions of Viking war ships and battle axes drenched in gore. The earth-shattering screams of Fenrir pierced his ears, but it was not the first time an attached soul protested its demise, and he ignored them, drinking harder.
The hoot of an owl finally jarred him out of his feeding haze, and he threw himself off Danulf, landing next to him on the snow, breathless and exhilarated from consuming human blood. He pulled himself to his feet, watching as the Norseman began to writhe in pain as the transformation took hold. Guilt and remorse quickly followed any lingering delectation as he observed Danulf’s agonizing rebirth. “Please forgive me,” he repeated, unable to tear his eyes away.
And then, mercifully, the excruciating process ceased. The lacerations that had ribboned Danulf’s tattooed skin sealed, as color crept back into his lips and brightened his wild, silver hair. He gasped as he bolted upright, his sapphire eyes wide with new life. He cursed in shock.
David watched in silence as his friend took in his surroundings through new eyes, wiggling nimble fingers and stretching limbs that now surged with immeasurable power. He knew the gift would be strong in another reincarnated god, but he feared the wolf attached to Danulf, and he wasn’t looking forward to discovering how it would fare with immortal power.
But before he could speak, what felt like a whip lashed his back, forcing him to his knees. They were surrounded by nemorti, all bearing Lucius’s black and red dragon insignia. He caught Danulf’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the daunting realization hit him—the moon was finally exposed again in the night sky.
The soldiers had noticed as well. “Hurry, before the beast turns!” one of them cried out.
David tried to transform back into his own canine form, but he was soon trapped under a net much like the one used earlier on Danulf, heavy silver planks burning holes into his skin. He growled in frustration as they hoisted him up onto one of their horses, fleeing as fast as they were able.
He watched as Danulf was left to the agony of a double metamorphosis, powerless to help him. As the horses increased their speed to a rapid gallop, he realized the whiplike sensation he’d felt earlier was actually a spear, one that had settled painfully between his ribs. He tried to remove it, but the net that held him was so cruelly constructed that any move he made encouraged a jolt of searing pain. He was growing lightheaded from the loss of blood, and though he knew it would take more than that to kill him, he was not immune to a loss of consciousness. He fought against it regardless, knowing he would need every ounce of strength he had to deal with Lucius. Yet the amount of blood he lost in Danulf’s transformation and his current wounds proved to be too much. He groaned, and before long, gave in to the merciful darkness.
* * *
“How can you ever forgive me?” A woman’s voice broke through oblivion.
“You have not done wrong by me, sister,” a benevolent voice replied. “How could I ever hold ill will against the other part of my soul?”
Two women materialized, one seated on a throne of polished gold, layers of jade and lapis lazuli crawling up each arm. The other was crouched down before her, contorted by her despair as she looked up with doleful eyes. Both women were aesthetically stunning, their skin the color of the earth, their hair waterfalls of obsidian splendor. Paint darkened their eyes and rouged their lips, their limbs and chests dressed in sparkling gold jewelry and precious gems. Their skin seemed too smooth to be human, their bodies too hard, as if they had been exquisitely carved out of marble. Their faces mirrored each other in perfect symmetry, yet one kept the hair beneath her jewel encrusted crown in billowing waves around her emerald eyes, the other cropped short with eyes that rivaled the summer sky.
The green-eyed sister stood, pulling the other to her feet. “How could I understand this love that you speak of? I do not feel such things. My love is for humanity, Osiris my counterpart. He is my partner in the creation of humans, but I do not possess him as my own.”
The blue-eyed sister wiped away a befallen tear. “It was when the humans started to create life amongst themselves without your aid. That is when I felt it—a yearning, a longing for him. The acts I perform with Set fill me with pleasure, but they pale in comparison to real love. My heart began to beat only for the man who was meant for my sister.”
“No,” the other corrected her firmly. “We are the broken She, and they are the broken He. No one among us possesses the other. Your prolonged time spent amongst the humans is turning you into one, but you must trust that I have not been affected in this way. I still see things clear.”
“You speak these words to me, yet I still feel ashamed, Isis,” the blue-eyed sister’s voice dropped to a sullen whisper.
Isis took her hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. “We are the First,” she reminded her. “We are everything. When they fall away, there will be nothing left but you and I again, as one. Nothing, no He, no god, no man will ever come between us.”
The blue-eyed sister responded by a swift kiss. “Thank you.”
The green-eyed Isis smiled as her hands moved down to rest on her sister’s stomach. “The most important thing we must do now is to figure out what to do with the child. No god has ever created life in this way, like the humans do. My intuition tells me that you have created another god, and if Set were to find out…”
“He cannot find out. He will kill Osiris’s son.”
The green-eyed sister turned away suddenly, as if swept up by a wave of sadness. “I have an idea, but the thought itself destroys me.”
The blue-eyed sister nodded with immediate understanding, another tear escaping from her eye. She spoke for her, “You will take him and raise him as your own, under your protection. No one can ever know he was created of me and Osiris.”
It was now the green-eyed woman’s turn to weep, gathering her sister into her arms. The twins held each other, in sorrowful silence.
“It is the only way,” they whispered, in unison.
* * *
David jolted awake, the dream vanishing immediately as it was replaced by terror. It didn’t take him long to discover he was shackled to the outer wall of the castle in the yard Lucius used to put deceitful nemorti subjects to death. The enclosure was empty of spectators this morning, however, David facing the harrowing rise of the sun alone.
He pulled at his chains, although he had the sinking sensation Lucius made sure they were sturdy enough to withstand his strength. Lucius also had the foresight to keep Davius drained of blood, ferocious hunger now biting his stomach as he hung weakly from his bounds. The scent of daybreak was reaching a suffocating peak, his instincts screaming at him to find shelter, yet he found he could not shape-shift as he had done before.
From behind an adjacent row of stones, Lucius emerged, several guards trailing him at a distance. He had abandoned his signature gold and crimson costume for robes of violet, a flowing midnight cloak catching the wind as he walked. He carried a parasol made with darkly dyed animal skin, equally dark tinted glasses shading the sun from his eyes. David knew that behind the opaque lenses, fiery coals of hatred smoldered in his direction. Lucius’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a line as he stood silently before him, enjoying the sight of David’s weakness.
“I did not want to kill her,” David croaked through parched lips.
Lucius waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter. You may have freed the spirit of the Morrigan, but her vessel still lives. Delicia is immobilized by unconsciousness, but I will retrieve Morrigan’s soul and animate them once again.”
“Then why?” David asked. “Why have you sentenced me to death?” He struggled to speak, realizing the spear had been carelessly removed from his back, leaving his lung punctured in such a way that each word proved excruciating to create.
Lucius removed his glasses, keeping the parasol positioned to prevent a single wayward ray of sunlight from reaching his exposed skin. His face was obscured by its shadow, yet his eyes still burned, an image that brought back the memory of their first meeting, so many centuries ago. “Our arrangement is no longer working, Davius,” he explained, surprising him by using his former name. “Somewhere along the way, our priorities shifted in opposing directions, driving a wedge between us.”
“Your priority to destroy humanity?” David scoffed.
Lucius looked surprised. “Whatever gave you that impression?” He began to pace, twirling the handle of his parasol with a casualness incongruous to the severity of what currently transpired. “I want to save humans, Davius. I want to protect them from destroying themselves. They are deeply stupid animals unable to advance in this world without direction. I was given life on this earthly realm unlike any god before me. I can create others in my image simply by sharing my blood. It is my destiny to promote the evolution of mankind—with or without your assistance.”
“Your displays of hubris never cease to surprise me,” David deadpanned.
“I have never been anything other than who I am now,” Lucius pointed out. “I told you from the start that I desired power above all else. It was you who chose to see the different sides of me, to ignore what was laid out right before you. How many battles did you fight to advance my cause, how many times did you assist me in my endeavors?”
David was silent.
Lucius edged closer to him. “The only one who has changed is you. You and your newfound conscience have become my greatest obstacle, but you have gifted me with an easy way to remove you. The court believes you murdered Morgana and their hatred for you grows with each hour she lies comatose in her tower. They have agreed to let you burn under the sun’s rays so that you will suffer before we execute you properly, in front of them all, by beheading.” He grinned with satisfaction, revealing the tapered point of his smooth ivory teeth.
David heard his words, but struggled to accept them. He had long felt the animosity steadily growing between them, but a part of him had always hoped there would be a way to repair their former bond, a sliver of brotherhood still lingering between them. “You once told me immortality robs us of our emotions, but I beg to differ,” he said. “We never truly lose them, otherwise how could we feel rage or love? We become distracted by the killing and the carnage, but we still are not beasts. I know there is still goodness left in you, despite what you’ve become. Do you really think you could put your own brother to death, the one who has spent centuries at your side?”
Lucius did not respond, his expression impassive, his eyes still cold.
David shook his head in disbelief. “Then what is it truly, Lucius? Is it because my existence threatens you? You enjoy having creatures look up to you, following you around as submissive minions, but the moment I evolved into something more, something strong enough to challenge your ultimate authority, that was when you decided I was your enemy.”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Lucius chuckled. “Do not fear, your blood is so old, you should bear the sun easily. It’s only a day of hanging out here, then a swift and merciful execution. At least I have not sentenced you to death by impaling.”
“Even if you kill me, Lucius, she still will never love you.”
“What did you say?” Lucius’s expression darkened as heat began to rise visibly from his skin.
David met his eyes with an unwavering severity. “You will never possess her, no matter what scheme you devise. I freed her from her prison and she is not coming back. Your powers were taken from you, just as mine were, and what you don’t know is that there are forces working behind the scenes who will ensure you never have magic powerful enough to bring her back. But even then, even if you found a way to do so and managed to bring her to life, she will never love you in return.”
Lucius’s collected demeanor nearly crumbled, his knuckles whitening around the stem of the parasol. “You speak of things of which you have no idea,” he spat. “I am the power in this world, I have made it that way. Isis may have been the only one strong enough to bring me to life initially, but her daughters are mine too, meaning any magic left on this earth belongs to me. Hekate will bring back the Morrigan and restore Morgana, and neither you nor her has any say in the matter.”
David’s eyes nearly betrayed his recognition as he silently pieced things together. Hekate was exactly what he was promised, now confirmed to be the most powerful witch on earth.
Lucius gave him a sardonic smirk. “I cannot say the same about your Gaia, however,” he continued his derisive taunt. “Whatever ties she may have had, she was born and died unquestionably human. At first, it caused me great pain arranging her death, knowing you would be shattered, especially when I discovered she would never reincarnate. Yet you proved to be such a disappointment, I’m glad you will never be reunited again. Why should you deserve a happy reunion when you consistently ruin mine?”
The fury that gripped David was unlike any he had ever known, his insides beginning to shake. “Somewhere deep inside, I have always known it was you who killed her,” he snarled.
“I didn’t need to, I simply arranged things to my liking and let life take its natural course. Don’t take it so personally—your lover needed to die so that you would come to me willingly. I assumed Libraean’s flaw lay in the fact that I turned him against his will, so I wanted you to choose this path of your own volition. Unfortunately for us both, my theory proved incorrect. I also hoped that by avenging her death, you would forget the girl for good and recommit yourself to our cause. But the act proved to be your undoing. Just like Libraean, you are a complete and utter failure.”
“You would allow a woman with a child inside of her to die?”
“Nonsense. That was another inaccurate story told to you by that poor sap, Libraean, his gullible mind warped by his obsession with that angel lover of his. You cannot believe one word of what those creatures and their God impart, they are masterful liars. I never corrected you because it suited my agenda. Your thirst for vengeance was thoroughly enjoyable to me and it brought the Morrigan into my life.”
“You are so consumed by selfishness that it will one day be your undoing.”
Lucius bellowed with laughter, nearly losing the grip on his parasol. He paused before offering a retort, suddenly understanding what David was doing. “Ah, very clever to engage me in conversation so that I may perish along with you. Unfortunately, it will take much more than a little sunlight to harm me. I am a god after all.” He placed his sunglasses back on the bridge of his long, narrow nose, before nodding curtly. “Goodbye, brother.”
He started to retreat back down the pathway to the castle before he paused. Without turning around, he added, “And even if you are right—if there was some part of me that still feels emotion, who misses the days of camaraderie and conversation— you threw it all away the moment you took her from me.” Then he disappeared behind the castle walls in a swoop of rippling fabric, the sun so close that smoke drifted off his cloak as he abandoned him in the yard.
David tried to break free of his bounds once more, pulling at the double wound chains with all the effort he could muster. The way they stung his skin let him know they were silver, the answer to why he was unable to shift out of his human form. He looked up towards the sky in desperation, only to observe that it was devastatingly clear of any clouds that might yield a winter storm. He yearned for his magical gifts of yore, trying to will the wind as he had once before. But there was nothing, only the still air and the unwavering copper sunrise.
He slackened in defeat, wondering what it would be like to feel the sun’s rays against his skin, a sensation lost to his early days in Ancient Rome. His swollen lips uplifted slightly as he recalled his life before immortality, one that was filled with vivid colors and the warmth of summer. Perhaps he might see it again as Hēlios melted his body away. Would he feel like Icarus in that horrific moment when he realized he had flown too close, his wings dripping melted wax into the sea? Would it be as terrifying as it was to the poor souls trapped inside the Wickerman, sacrificed to gods they’d never heard of nor seen?
Rivulets of oily black sweat poured down from his forehead as his body succumbed to instinctual quaking, acutely aware that death was near. He relented any further struggle against his bounds, weakened by the impending dawn, the chains biting at his flesh from his weight as he hung against the Traitor’s Wall.
I began my life in chains and now it will end that way, he thought bitterly, his vision blurring as delirium crept in. He squinted back up at the sky, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of celestial blue spotted with bright white before his eyes melted away.
The pressure at his wrists unexpectedly brought forth the memory of a man he’d met long ago, years before the fall of Rome. His followers referred to him as the Christ, believing he was the son of the Hebrew god, Yahweh, and the long-promised savior of the Jewish people. Lucius had written him off as just another overzealous prophet, but David had been intrigued. He’d wondered if he was a reincarnated god like himself, finding his interest piqued when he overheard tales of miraculous healing.
Eventually the man’s followers turned on him, as it happens when a man threatens to shift the balance of power. He was given to the Romans to hang on a cross, a common method for putting thieves and murderers to death. David was curious why they judged him so harshly, keeping to the shadows as he made his way to his public execution under the dome of grey sky.
Women sobbed at his feet as the man hung slackly against the wooden monstrosity, a crown of gnarled thorns stabbing the flesh of his forehead while cruel nails tore his hands and feet. His skin was ripped and flayed, cascades of blood streaming down his half-naked form. A rumbling storm had settled upon the land as the sounds of wailing reached a fevered pitch, provoking the sky to bellow in response. David wondered if the man also bore the same power as he, Potestatem Caeli, the way the wind howled to reflect his affliction. Soon the swollen clouds above burst, spilling onto the mass of spectators below.
The fully darkened skies allowed David to leave his shelter, drenching him as he edged closer to where the man hung. Why didn’t he use his powers to escape, he wondered, to show his people the truth of his power?
It was in that reflective moment that David understood why he had become so fascinated by the man. He represented everything David wanted to be—compassionate and kind, filled with a true, altruistic empathy that David would never feel again for the rest of his immortal life. He suddenly yearned to help the man, to lift him down from his cross so that his grieving wife and mother could have him back in their arms, so he could continue his work on earth. He moved in closer, weaving through the crowd as he debated how it could be arranged.
You do not have to save me, Davius, this was my choice, my gift to them, a voice abruptly invaded his mind.
David stopped in his tracks, connecting eyes with the man. They were a soft ebony that swirled with emotion.
“Death is not a gift, it is giving up,” he argued.
If you only knew who you once were and from where you came. His voice seemed warm and kind although the man hung limply, gaunt and mere moments from death. You have fallen away from who you are meant to be, but it is never too late to remember.
“Is your god the one my friend Libraean spoke of, the god of light?” David asked him.
My Father was not a benevolent god, but He has decided to become one, relinquishing much of His power to me. My death will create a new following, pulling them away from archaic religious practices into a new way of life. He will not abandon His people, for He loves them most of all, and I will look after the others.
“So, you plan on converting your following, tearing them away from their prior beliefs? Is that not the antithesis of what you preached in the streets?”
I simply wanted to inspire, hoping that others would learn kindness and compassion by my example. I do not want to be hailed as a god, though my Father insists it shall be that way.
David peered at the dying man. “It is hard for me not to aid you with any power,” he admitted.
That is another gift for me to give. There are levels of divinity that interact in the ethereal realms, some working together, some trapped in conflict. They have been watching the devolution of the dark god Lucius and your willingness to transcend your curse, determined to follow your own path. We know you cannot feel true compassion or empathy for humans, but I want to change that.
“Wait ...”
Suddenly, the skies shuddered as lightning cracked down from above. And then, for the first time, David heard the thoughts of the entire crowd surrounding him, a frenzied uproar of voices that seized control of his mind. He fell to his knees as the power of telepathy surged through him, frantically trying to push through the near deafening cacophony before the Christ’s voice cut through them all. My Father and I will take care of things on our end. We realize the fight between your pantheon is your own. But this is our gift to you, our aid in the Great Fight ahead. Use it wisely.
And then, with a final crack of thunder in the sky, the man took his last breath, and died.
“What does that mean?” David cried out, but it was too late to receive a response. He watched as the boundaries between realms fractured above them, angels descending from bright, heavenly skies to collect the soul of their king.
“Davius,” a voice broke through the memory.
Was it an angel? Coming to collect him, to take him to the heavenly realms? Or was it a daemon who arrived, prepared to drag his soul to the depths of Tartarus, where the abandoned gods and sinners go?
“Davius.”
His nose filled with jasmine.
“Gaia?”
The sun had now fully risen, reaching its crescendo, flooding the death yard with malignant light. The pain was unbearable, his skin bubbling as he choked on the smoke that rose from his blistering skin.
Suddenly a male voice reached his ears, one that tried to hide its alarm behind a facade of dry annoyance. “I see they did not hold back on you.”
David could not reply, his consciousness wavering.
He heard Danulf grunt as he pulled the chains from the wall with impossible strength, reminding David of what had transpired hours before his capture. He tried to speak, but his mouth was desiccated from the heat.
“Come, we have only minutes before true daylight and not even this cloak will shield us.” David felt himself being hoisted up on his friend’s shoulders and draped in fabric. Although it provided merciful shelter from the scorching sun, as soon as Danulf broke into a run, David found he could no longer fight off death, and he capitulated willingly to its call.