-56-
He came to with a moan, his body alight and screaming with pain. Darkness surrounded him, save for a ring of light somewhere high above his head, and some part of him remembered the mine he'd stepped on in the world above. He'd been on a battlefield, he could remember that, leading a charge against the coalition force of demons and jotun who'd allied to invade a piece of Asgard. They were being led. A demon had done the impossible and united the scattered and war-like demon tribes across Niflheim and even gone a step further in acquiring allies in one of Asgard's oldest enemies. Some new demon... a woman... his father had named her 'battle', though Tyr himself had yet to spot her on the field. He'd... he'd been...
Yggdrasil, everything hurt so much...
He tried to move, to sit up, and instead paid for it with a sharp blast of unfathomable pain. A scream-more a wheeze than a scream-crawled out of his throat before he could stop it, and the strength fled his arms as he collapsed back to the floor once more.
My legs. He thought. I don't have my legs anymore. He tried to look down at himself, but his surroundings were too dark to allow him to see the nose on his face, let alone the rest of his body. It scared him. The man barely had the strength to sit up, and could he feel his legs? Or was that instead just the phantom pain of where his legs had been?
The man squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel sweat running down his face, though whether that was perspiration from fear, pain, or the trapped heat underground was a guess best left to Yggdrasil. The man sucked in a deep and wild breath, and it sounded frantic to Tyr's ears. Scared. Dying. He gritted his teeth, his eyes screwed shut against the overwhelming pain, and in the distance, far off above his head, heard the sounds of battle as his brothers and sisters fought against their enemies. Come on Tyr, he told himself. You need to get out of here or you'll die down here. He ignored the voice of doubt whispering sweet futilities in his ears. You're already dead. That voice whispered. You just haven't realized it.
You won't know until you get some light in here. Reason won out, and sucking in a deep breath, the man gathered his energy into his palm, igniting it with his mind. Fire exploded in a tight and controlled burst in his hand, and in the sudden light, Tyr saw several things: He saw his legs, whole but severely damaged. He saw the cave he was in, and the roots that lined the cave's innards and prevented the tunnel from collapsing.
And he saw the demon's eyes flashing a nocturnal green in the low illumination of his fire.
His concentration broke, and the fire went out, leaving him blind and in the dark once more. It'd been fast; a glimpse, yet the image had burned itself into his eyes. A demon, eyes half shut to hide the afterglow of its eyes, crawling towards him from amidst the fallen earth and sand. Get a light, Fool! His mind screamed at his inaction, and though his body protested the act a greater burst of flame emerged from his hand. The demon hadn't moved from its spot, and in fact recoiled this time, its lips curled back in a snarl as it looked away from the sudden and blinding light. It was a woman, he saw, her silver hair matted and dirty with soil, her dark skin smudged with earth. Her uniform was like those of the other demons, made of black leather from some kind of native beast and decorated with the claws and fangs of large predators. Bleached-white plant fiber had been laced through the collar, and the edges of the plant fiber had been dyed red with blood-not the demon's but the blood of gods. The rumors were wild that it came from the demons eating the Aesir, though Tyr had never seen the action personally. This one, he saw, was of some kind of high rank; years of watching the enemy had clued Tyr into their ranks, and the claws-like strange magatama almost, identified the woman as some sort of officer. The fingers interwoven between those claws-trophies of past kills-distinguished her as powerful. Only demons who killed high-ranking generals wore the fingers of gods threaded among the claws. Normally it was one, on occasion two.
This one had at least twenty.
Well, the a pessimistic voice whispered in his head, if you weren't dead now you will be soon. She'll tear your liver out and have it with a fine wine here under the earth, and no Valkyries will be coming to guide you back to Valhalla.
Another one, this one he was afraid to listen to, whispered, It's Her. The Demon Lord. The Daimakaicho.
Yet that was impossible. The Daimakaicho sat high up in her castle, watching the actions of her armies with her Jotun generals, directing her people under the guidance and experience of the Muspelheim Jotun who excelled in violence and lived for warfare. This had to be an assassin, or perhaps some kind of valor thief. Certainly not the Daimakaicho herself. He'd already be dead if that was the case.
Except...
The demon looked like she was injured.
It had taken him a moment to realize it. The woman hadn't been crawling towards him. She'd been resting; lying on the ground, much as he had, her injuries not as apparent in the light which even now she shied away from. But he could see it now that his eyes were adjusting. The demon was like him, injured, though her injuries were not limited to the legs as his were. Instead he spotted dark patches along her back, areas that could have been stains from past battles if not for the stained red earth beneath her or the muddy soil that clung to her uniform.
Ah.
So they were both condemned to a slow death then.
A shame. Of all the ways to die, it'd be through succumbing to his injuries with a demon who hadn't been responsible for them dying right next to him. What a depressing death. No dignity, no valor, no glory...
Just...pain, misery, and inevitable death. Possibly through starvation. More likely through dehydration, if neither of them fell to their injuries first. Tyr's eyes darted to the fingers around the woman's neck, then to the red plant fiber. Well...maybe she wouldn't die of starvation.
He looked back up at the hole he'd fallen through and winced. No, there was no way anyone would discover him here. Not from his side at least.
He looked back at the woman and caught her glowering at him. She hissed at him, then spat something out in her vile demon tongue.
Not for her either, Tyr suspected. A noise came from somewhere in the dark, strange and uninviting, like the crackle of a fire combined with hollow screech of dragging metal. Somewhere in the dark yet close enough to be on top of him, yet the light revealed nothing. He looked back at the demon, who watched him with a sneer, and then down at himself.
His left hand holding the flame erupted in pain, and it was so intense that he screamed. But why? His hand had been fine a moment ago. And now, Yggdrasil, he watched as the top of his hand split open, watched as his thumb snapped and broke, watched as his ring finger fell and rotted off and-
A static chirp from a radio woke Tyr from his rest. The man cracked one eye open, for a moment uncertain where he was or how he'd gotten there. Was I captured? The metal walls of the horse trailer certainly reminded him of a demon's cell, and by Yggdrasil, his body certainly hurt in a way that he would have attributed to a battle against a legion of demons. His body felt stiff and cold, and his hand throbbed painfully, pulsing alongside new aches and pains that engulfed his arms. The cloth that covered them was torn, the edges stained red with blood, and that not-quite-awake side of him wondered what demon he'd wrestled with that had left him so horribly shredded.
A voice piped up from the walkie-talkie that was at his side. "'Ey Odinson, we're coming into Dawson City." Aaja's voice was strange and alien over the radio. "You still up for some poutine?" Tyr stared at the black box, his mind still playing catch-up as he rubbed his eyes with his bandaged hand. He shifted his gaze, wincing as the trailer jostled and rattled over a rough patch of terrain. Next to him one of the twins-Pilip-roused against him, yawning mightily as the boy sat up. The youth grabbed the radio while Tyr continued to stare at it. Pressing down on one of the comm buttons, the child held up the radio for Tyr to speak.
Tyr sent the kid a small, grateful smile. "I would not object to food." He said, then looked at the boy. Pilip released the hold-to-talk button.
The line chirped again. "Okay, sounds good. We're gonna make a quick pit stop and then we'll go and get some food."
"A pit stop?" Tyr looked at Pilip with a furrowed brow. They boy shrugged but offered no comment. Aaja said nothing else, and awake now, Tyr turned his attention back to his daughter. Urd remained asleep, allowing the man time to re-examine her injuries. What he saw made him uneasy. The bite wound on Urd's stomach had worsened while he'd slept. The flesh surrounding the injury was swollen and inflamed with infection, and the pus that had started to gather was a sickly yellow. Red streaks were starting to appear against the surrounding hide, and though the infected area was small now, the possibility that it might spread further scared him. A look at the bite wound on Urd's left flank showed much the same.
The other injuries at least were uninfected; the arrow puncture on Urd's left brow had hardened into a black scab, and there was no sign of swelling in the flesh around it. The larger wound from Gungnir's strike looked deep, but similar to the arrow wound showed no signs of infection. The cut in her right haunch was shallow, but long, and though there was no infection here the wound had worsened over their travels with the tuuvak.
When the examination was complete, Tyr leaned back on his haunches and sighed. Infected injuries, refusal to eat, elemental exposure...at this point it's a miracle she's lasted this long, he thought, and felt a heated spike of anger curl in his gut. Here sat Tyr, the Daitenkaicho, Lord of the Gods, hand-picked as the Almighty Himself and the feller of opponents great and small. And what could he do for his daughter? Nothing.
Would that I was a healer rather than a warrior... A strange thought. All his life he'd found pride in his craft as a soldier, a warrior, a champion of the gods and a man with few equals. He could defend himself, defend his family, and bring honor and greatness to his family name through trials of combat and of strength. Yet here, in the presence of his injured daughter it all seemed so...useless. He had never had any interest in the healing arts, never held the practice with any kind of personal value to himself. Healers were for children, civilians, and the weak and dying. Not for warriors such as himself. Yet if he could suddenly trade it all...Sacrifice his knowledge, his skill, his prowess at killing for the lone opportunity to heal, if only for a moment so that his daughter might recover...
And to think I once thought there was no value in Urd's desire to become a Tic, while here I am centuries later wishing I was one. Tyr shook his head at his own frivolous thoughts. He didn't like the depression that came with those thoughts.
The trailer came to a slow stop, and Pilip sprang up, walking to one of the small windows and jumping to see what was outside. The window stood at twice the boy's height, and after watching him a moment, Tyr stood to join him, placing his thoughts to the side for a moment. "Need a boost?" Tyr asked.
They boy looked over his shoulder at the man in silence. Tyr watched the boy's eyes dart down to his bandaged left hand, then back to Tyr himself. "...It's okay." The boy said. "Akkaga said we were in Dawson City. I've been through here enough times to know what it looks like." He hesitated a moment longer, and then moved out of the way of the window. "...but this is new for you, right? You should look outside! It's, um..." The boy scowled. "The buildings are different. Akkaga likes to say they're a, a, 'snapshot in time'."
"Is that so?" Tyr raised a dark eyebrow, charmed by the little boy's kindness. He humored the boy, squinting outside the window, and frowned. Though the glass was dirty, the god was still able to make out some of their surroundings and was surprised by the sudden and distinct lack of snow in the area. "This is..."
"We're in Canada." Pilip supplied. "It's... different from where we picked you up. Um... Kishi can explain it better."
"Kishi?" Tyr looked down at the boy.
"My sister." Pilip said, "It's her nickname."
"Ah." Tyr looked back out the window. The 'City' was small, the buildings painted in bright and cheery reds and greens, blues and pinks. Wooden signs hung from roof shingles with business names carved out and painted in... reds, in yellows, in blacks painted on white painted boards. The buildings stood tall and blockish at two stories, some holding a balcony lined with a white-painted banister that occasionally boasted flags, blankets, or streamers. Cars and trucks were parked alongside the main road the horse trailer traversed, and on occasion a vehicle passed them going the opposite direction. At one point, a large truck passed them. A boy's face peered up at Tyr from the back window and smiled, and when Tyr blinked the boy was replaced with a large, wolf-like dog. He watched the vehicle vanish out of view before the trailer lurched back into motion.
Tyr almost lost his balance. Pilip grabbed his right arm and steadied him. "Did you see the Yukon River?" The boy asked.
"Just the hills in the background." Tyr replied. "No snow." Nothing but an ocean of dark evergreens populating the hillside in a manner that was so similar to home it hurt.
"No." Pilip agreed. "It's summertime, so the snow won't come here for a little while. It's why the town is so empty. Nobody really wants to come to Dawson City unless it's during dogsledding season. I know. My papa and my mama both compete in the race. We come down here to cheer them on every year."
Kshitija awoke soon after that. The little girl sat curled up near Urd's chest, humming softly and apparently unconcerned with her close proximity to the Tendee aspect that was Tyr's daughter. The little girl was digging around in her backpack, where she pulled out first a small thermos and then a rectangular case. The girl looked up at Tyr as she unscrewed the top of her thermos. "Would you like some tea?" She asked.
"You have tea?" Holding his arms out for balance, Tyr carefully walked back to his daughter's resting form, then took a careful seat beside Urd's head. As if sensing him, Urd shifted in her sleep, pressing her head against Tyr's leg. Avoiding the horns that had ruined his left hand, Tyr rested the stump of his right against the Tendee's muzzle and felt Urd sigh deeply.
Pilip took a seat next to his sister, eyeing the long talons at the end of Urd's paws with awe. "Yeah..." He said, "Mama won't let us have coffee or chocolate, so Akkaga has to give us either soup or tea if we want something warm for the long travel."
"What kind of tea is it?" Tyr asked.
"Jasmine." Kshitija replied. "We have an auntie who lives down in the Lower Forty-Eight. She sends us tea as gifts." The girl poured a cup of clear liquid, the steam still rising from the cup, and then offered it to Tyr, forgetting the state of his hands.
Tyr accepted it all the same, ignoring the guilty look the girl passed him as he reached to take it with his bandaged hand. His fingers hurt trying to grip it. He ignored it and instead steadied the small cup with his right arm. "What is the 'Lower Forty-Eight'?" He asked, stopping the girl before she could make a fuss over her own carelessness.
"It's the lower forty-eight States." Pilip replied. "Alaska and Hawaii are the other two. Auntie lives in Seattle. She's part of the Army." There was some pride in his voice. "She's a Colonel."
"We've only seen her a couple of times." Kshitija continued, "She's always traveling. Mama said she goes down to The Desert a lot."
"Is that so?" Tyr asked, "What does she do?"
At this the twins shrugged. "Army Stuff." They said together. "She's like Captain America, but real."
Tyr hummed in soft agreement, then maneuvered the thermos cup to his lips. After several days of half-frozen water and tough, hard jerky meat, the tea was a welcome warmth. Jasmine. It reminded him of Belldandy. At least that's one daughter I no longer need to worry about. He thought.
It was another ten minutes before the trailer came to a complete stop. The twins perked up in interest, and the radio squawked once more, signaling Aaja's announcement. "Hey Odinson, hang tight and bundle up. I'm coming to open up the trailer. I gotta friend with me."
The twins tensed at the word 'friend', and before Tyr could react Kshitija had lurched forward and grabbed the radio. "Akkaja, it's not Doctor Hafez, is it?!" She exclaimed, and Pilip scooted closer to her. Both of them looked upset. "Akkaja, you said we were getting poutine! Not a shot!"
Tyr stared at the two children in bewilderment. At his side Urd stirred, awoken by the loud protest of the children. The radio chirped again, and Aaja's voice came across the other end, "I didn't lie to you. We are getting poutine. Right after you two get your booster shots and we get Odinson's daughter looked at."
The twins' loud and vocal cry of "Nooo!" was enough to cause Urd to raise her head, looking at them both in something as close to a glare as Tyr suspected she'd ever get in her current form.
"Easy, Urd." Tyr murmured. Urd's long neck curled around him as if seeking assurance.
The children kept complaining. "I don't want to get a shot!" Pilip cried. "It's gonna hurt! We're gonna get sick and then we won't be able to play anymore!"
"I don't want to go into Doctor Hafez's clinic!" Kshitija looked close to tears. "It smells funny and I don't like it!"
Tyr, for his part, could only thank Yggdrasil his youngest was past this stage in her life. "Hey now, hold on a minute!" He raised his voice just enough to gain the children's attention, and found two pairs of watery blue eyes staring up at him. "You need to be brave, okay?" He told them, his mind racing. A doctor? Wasn't that a TIC? They were going to see a doctor here? "My girl is hurt and sick too, and she's probably going to be getting a lot more shots than either of you. Are you going to scare her and cry when this doctor comes? Or are you going to be brave and fearless like..." He paused and thought for a moment, "Like your auntie in Seattle?"
"Auntie doesn't have to get shots." Pilip muttered, looking away with a scowl.
"I can almost guarantee you she does." Tyr replied, thinking back to his own days in the Aesir military. "Probably more than one at a time too." His own personal record had been five one day, all in the same arm. Not the worst thing he'd ever experienced, but also not something he ever wished to repeat. "Can you be brave like your auntie?" He continued, "Can you be brave for Urd?"
That seemed to grab their attention. "...For Nimiaiaq?" Kshitija asked, and Tyr nodded. He ignored the look Urd was giving him, which if he was reading right was along the lines of unamused exasperation.
The twins looked at each other, then craned their heads up to look at Urd. Pilip scrubbed at his eyes. Kshitija grabbed her brother's hand. Both appeared to steel themselves. "We-we can do that." Pilip said, and then in a softer voice whispered, "I guess..."
"Thank you." Tyr replied, and turned to look at the trailer door as the lock disengaged. With a metallic screech it pulled open, and Tyr heard Aaja's voice addressing another.
"...et ready, Haf. This ain't no horse."
"Wonderful." Another man spoke up, his voice light and musical and with an accent that Tyr couldn't quite place. "What have you brought to me this time? A bear? A wolverine? How about the upset moose mother you brought to me last winter with its calf that had a broken leg?"
"I didn't know she'd destroy your car, Haf."
"Your people eat those things! Why would you bring it to my clinic?" Tyr saw Aaja smiling nervously as he pulled open the doors to the trailer. He saw another man, dressed in a light sweater, blue jeans, and black rubber boots glaring at Aaja, and then the man turned to look into the trailer.
Tyr's eyes met the good Doctor Hafez ab-Rafal, the lone veterinarian of Dawson City and realized two things: The first, that the man he stared at was indeed that-a man, as mortal as the sun was old-and the second, that whatever Doctor Hafez saw in the trailer was not Tyr and Urd as Aaja saw them.
The words died in the doctor's throat. His jaw fell slack. His eyes widened. A weak and pitiful noise came from his throat as the man's skin, a complexion much like Urd's human form, paled. "Allah yarhamuni." The man wheezed, and to Tyr the words sounded like, "God take mercy on me."
And then the man screamed, "Ifrit!" wrestled the metal door from Aaja's grip, and slammed the trailer door shut.
Those inside the trailer winced at the screech. Pilip shared a look with his sister, then stared at Tyr. "I thought you were a god."
Tyr looked back at the child. "I thought I was too," he said in all honesty.
Kshitija bounced on her butt, the only person present smiling. "Does this mean we don't get a shot?" she asked excitedly.
Outside, Tyr could hear quite clearly the rising voice of the mortal. "Aaja, you ass! You-you shoe! Ya gazma yibn ig-gazma! You make an appointment to give your puppies their anti-rabies shots and instead you bring me an Ifritjinn and its familiar! What is wrong with you?!"
In the silence that followed, Tyr thought he heard Aaja's response. "A lot."
Urd huffed. To Tyr it was probably the closest thing to laughter he'd heard from Urd since her shift to Tendee.
Tyr offered the thermos cup back to Kshitija, who took it with a cheerful smile, still under the impression that she no longer had to get a shot. The god climbed to his feet, leaning against Urd to keep his balance. He then proceeded towards the trailer's door. As the man grew closer he caught more bits of dialogue from the two men outside. "I should beat you with the sole of my boot!" Doctor Hafez was working diligently to keep his voice quiet despite his anger. Tyr respected the man for that. It was by no means an easy feat to keep one's voice from raising in public when upset with another person.
"Hafez, they need help-" Aaja began.
"You need help for aiding Ifrit!" Hafez interrupted. "Has no one ever told you the dangers of IfritJinn? They will steal your soul!"
"Hafez..." Aaja sounded exasperated. "They aren't genies."
"This I know, you Son of a Boot! They are Ifrit! Ifrit are worse than genies-much worse!"
"Please Hafez, they need help." Aaja insisted. "Look, I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't believe you could help them."
Tyr observed the handle to the trailer's door, then pressed his right stump down on it and pushed it open. The door sailed open with another long screech, and Daitenkaicho Tyr Odinson stared down at the good doctor Hafez ab-Rafal and said, "My daughter is dying. Please help us."
XXX
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
Keiichi's eyes opened groggily to the sound of a woodpecker banging away at the trees above him. He noted the time when he glanced at his watch, then looked around and frowned as it seemed like it was darker than maybe it should be at almost eight o'clock in the morning. He yawned and stretched his arms, then smacked his lips a couple of times to try to alleviate the dryness in his mouth that had settled in. He looked over to where Belldandy had been lying and felt a split second of panic when he realized that she was not there. That subsided almost instantly when he recalled that she had woken him momentarily to let him know she was going to go out and sing.
That had been nearly two hours ago.
He had stayed awake after she left, figuring she would not go too far in the unfamiliar woods. He was rewarded for his patience when he heard her singing not too far off. For a moment, it almost seemed as if Urd were singing as well, but he had immediately pushed down that thought. No need for false hopes, he said to himself. It apparently had not been long after she started that he had fallen back to sleep.
Figuring she was probably sitting on the ground outside, Keiichi first stowed his Colt before slipping out of his sleeping bag. He rummaged around in his pack for some clean clothes, dressed himself, then zipped open the tent flap and crawled out. As he stood, he looked around.
No Belldandy.
Frowning to himself, he bent down and zipped up the tent. When he stood up again, he was confronted with the second oddity of the day, the first being Bell's absence. An intricate network of tree boughs and branches had been somehow woven together over the tent. It was dense enough that he could not even see through it when he inspected it from the underside. The top was still quite wet from the rain the previous night. "So that's why it stopped last night," he said to himself out loud.
Indeed, he had been too tired to notice last night, but the storm had continued on long after the rain had stopped pelting the tent. He had chalked it up to it being a small rain squall in a lightning storm. But that was not the case. He could see all around him the evidence that there had been more. A lot more. Many of the trees, especially those in the direction he assumed the storm came from had multiple broken branches, some as large as his arm. He quickly trotted off in the direction of where he had stashed their food in a tree to keep it away from bears, only to find the branch he had secured it to on the ground along with their bag. Fortunately, it did not look like any animals had found it.
He picked up the sack and threw it over his shoulder and trudged the forty yards or so back to their camp. As he approached, he contemplated what he had to do to track down Belldandy when he found said goddess standing next to the tent. "Oh, hey, where have you been?" he asked as he trotted up to her.
"Well," she said as she pursed her lips nervously. "I have been speaking to someone I met on the trail."
"Oh really? Whooo..."
They say that whether they be baseball strikes, poison ivy leaves, or celebrity deaths, things come in threes. Keiichi's eyes drifted skyward as the third odd thing that morning approached him. It was almost as if it had materialized out of the branches and foliage behind his girlfriend. One moment, dense impenetrable forest. The next, a reddish-brown bipedal creature almost ten feet tall was there, walking toward him on monstrously huge feet.
Keiichi's eyes went wide as his face paled. He fell down onto his back and started to crab walk away from it as fast as he could. "Ho-holy shit, you mean those things are real?!"
The Sasquatch stepped to Belldandy's left and stopped. It stood there for a moment regarding Keiichi, then fell back, landing on its rump. The impact shook the ground around it. It reached out its arms and turned it hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa there! It's all right! Didn't mean to scare ya!" it said in English.
The dark-haired man's mouth simply fell open in shock. He tore his gaze away from the creature for a moment to look at Belldandy. She only looked back with worried eyes. "Y-You mean that fucking thing can talk?!"
"Hey hey, now, no need to be break'in out the naughty words," the Sasquatch chided him.
Belldandy was less forgiving. "Keiichi, have some manners!" she scolded.
Not finding any help from her, he looked back to the beast. It almost reminded him of that huge guy that he took down when he was first transported to Japan to rescue Belldandy. Square shaped face with a huge unibrow. Barrel shaped chest with cannon arms, and monstrous legs.
Only bigger.
It turned to Belldandy and shook its head, an action that seemed to take considerable effort considering its size and lack of a neck due to how much musculature it had. "Nope nope, no worries there Miss Belldandy. I get's that all the time!" It then turned to look back to Keiichi, who just stared back, dumbfounded. "So to answer your question; yes, we are real, although not in a way you would expect. And to answer your next question, this is not a mushroom induced hallucination."
Keiichi frowned as he started to get up. Belldandy quickly stepped forward and offered a hand. "I didn't eat any mushrooms," he said as she hauled him to his feet.
"And good for you on that! Crazy things they is," said the creature as it gestured to Keiichi. "Gets your mind going all weird-o-wonk-a-donk. Like this one time, this heyokatricked me into eatin'…."
As the creature spoke, the story became more and more unintelligible. Keiichi turned to the goddess. "Um, Belldandy?"
Without having to say any more, Belldandy could tell that he was in search of an explanation. "He's a tree spirit, they watch over the forests."
Some recognition came to Keiichi's face. "Do they protect them like the Ents from Lord of the Rings?"
"Uhh..." Belldandy thought for a moment as the Sasquatch continued.
"…and the stars went WHOOOSH, and the ground came up and…"
"I have not seen this, Lord of the Rings," replied Belldandy quietly as the monologue continued. "But if they lived and communed with the forests, then yes."
"So he protects it as well?" asked Keiichi.
"Maybe not as actively as you might think," replied the almond haired goddess. "Unlike most terrestrial spirits, tree spirits' lives are finite. They are born and die just like mortals. However, unlike most mortals, when they die, they are immediately reincarnated with their previous knowledge intact. I am told that the process can be very painful to endure, so they tend to be very reclusive and…" She glanced over at the Sasquatch.
"…that was some strong gas com'in outah my butt that day. Then there was…"
As it continued, Belldandy searched for the right word. "Eccentric," she said finally.
"You mean batshit crazy?" replied Keiichi with a smile.
Belldandy frowned at Keiichi but could not disagree. "Umm, you could say that?" The goddess conceded. She then turned back to the Sasquatch. "Umm, sir?"
"…needless to say, he's not mah friend anymore." The creature blinked as if coming out of a trance, then looked down at Belldandy. "Oh, sorry, yes?"
"What was it that you said we should call you?" She asked.
"Well..." The creature paused to think for a moment. "You can call me George."
"George?" Replied Keiichi with a frown. "That's a pretty... common name. I thought you would have a name that was a little more… exotic?"
George smiled, a big toothy grin that showed his huge, yellowing teeth. "Oh, I gots one of those too!"
Keiichi mulled that over for a moment before he asked, "Lemme guess, I cannot pronounce it?"
"No, no, you could pronounce it," replied the huge creature. He then shrugged his shoulders in a way that almost seemed human. "I just prefer George!"
Keiichi opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it for fear of starting George off on another monologue. This caused an awkward silence to settle on the trio that wore on a lot longer than Keiichi would have liked. As he looked to George, the creature seemed to be looking back expectantly, but about what, the dark-haired man could not fathom. As the seconds wore on, though, George's gaze became unfocused, as if he were looking off into some netherworld that neither Keiichi or Belldandy were privy to. As this happened, his entire body seemed to cloak itself.
Maybe cloak is not the right word, thought Keiichi. It wasn't that George was becoming invisible, it was more that the hair on his body began to change. Instead of brown, matted fur, it morphed into the shape of leaves or took on the consistency of the bark on trees. In some cases, the colors changed in such a way as to almost be invisible. It took Keiichi a moment to realize it wasn't that, more that it was taking on the same hues of what was behind it since some of the colors and even the shape resembled that of Keima's tent. After a few moments, the effect was so pronounced that the Sasquatch was almost invisible.
Like a chameleon, Keiichi thought. Or a cuttlefish. No wonder no one has seen one up close.
Belldandy was the one who put an end to it. "George?"
All at once, the Sasquatch's coloration returned to the brownish-red color it was before. His attention immediately snapped to Belldandy. "Oh, sorry, that kind-a just happens," he said sheepishly. "I actually has to think about how I look, otherwise I go all Predator on ya."
"I think Keiichi understands," replied the goddess with a smile. "I believe you had something to ask him about?"
"Right, right!" George scooted a little closer to Keiichi. He cupped his hand and whispered. "I sometimes have issues talking to humans, you know, because of those Bigfoot Hunter shows where the guys run out into the woods and make all these obnoxious sounds like they think that's what I sound like and all." He chuckled and smiled. "You know, there was this one time I messed with them by-"
"George!" Belldandy snapped.
The Sasquatch blinked and diverted its attention to the goddess. "Yes?"
"Focus."
"Right," George replied and looked back to Keiichi. "So as I was saying," it said louder this time, "that I have this issue that I need help with."
Keiichi frowned. "You need help from me?"
"Well, normally the goddess would be able to do it all, but since she's without her powers and all, and she did vouch for you that you were good people and..."
Chalk up my first entry in the Big Book of Weird Norn Shit, Volume 2, Keiichi thought to himself as George rambled on. "What do you need help with?"
"Oh, you'll help! Good deal!" Exclaimed George happily as he shifted and started to get up. "It's a great day for human-sasquatch relations," he continued as he reached his feet. From where he was standing, Keiichi again marveled at the Sasquatch's size as he towered over the man. George reached down and gently patted Keiichi on his head, his hand engulfing the dark haired man's entire scalp. "Right, let's get going then, chop chop!"
Keiichi frantically looked at Belldandy, then back to George. "Wait, we need to break camp!"
"Oh, don't worry about that," replied George as he started to walk towards the tree line. "Thom and Geri will watch over things. You should be back before sundown."
It took a moment for Keiichi to realize George was talking about two of the trees that they had happened to camp under. He also realized something very important that the Sasquatch had neglected to tell him. "WAIT! You didn't say what you needed help with?" In spite of the fact George was still relatively close, Keiichi felt the need to raise his voice partially due to frustration at getting drafted into this, as well as the fact he already was having trouble keeping track of George. The creature's camouflage went active immediately upon reaching the trees. Keiichi could only just barely make out his outline as he walked, and that was only because he knew the Sasquatch was there.
And he got no answer to his question.
Quickly, he looked to Belldandy. "Can you see him any better than I can?"
"Yes," replied the goddess. "I can see him clearly in spite of the fact I have no powers."
"Great, go on and I will catch up," he said as he trotted to the tent. "I need to get a few things."
"Ok," replied the goddess as she followed George into the undergrowth as Keiichi unzipped the tent and started rummaging through it for the items he needed.
XXX
Hafez ab-Rafal had seen a lot in his life. He'd lived under the rule of the Haqqani Network until he was thirteen, when one of the Haqqani brothers had been taken out by foreign soldiers near the Afghani-Pakistani border. He'd seen his father, uncles, and cousins load trucks with fertilizer and had fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots rattling off in the far distance. He'd seen women disappear, men disappear, and whole families extinguished by improvised explosive devices left unmarked in the road frequented by the United States military, and had sat and listened with his brothers and sisters as the local Imam filled their ears with hate towards the 'Western Devils' who desecrated their land.
Yet he'd seen more than just the violence.
Hafez ab-Rafal, though he would never speak it to anyone, even his own children, and seen jinn. At the well in which his childhood self would go and draw water, he had seen one at the bottom, swimming along like a fish with scales that cast rainbows against the stone walls. It had looked at him-five at the time-with eyes like a cat before smiling at him with teeth like a wolf's and dipping beneath the surface. When he'd run back to his father to pass on the news, he had scared everyone in the village, and the well had been sealed for the protection of everyone involved. The Imam was brought forth to cast the creature out, and when later a group of foreign military came-these ones British instead of the typical American-the well was uncovered once more.
The soldiers had gotten sick on the well water, and when they returned with more men to investigate, they found a dead dog in the well. Only Hafez had not seen a dead dog, no, not he. What Hafez had seen on that day was the dead jinn, its body bloated and rotting, its ribs exposed, its tongue, almost serpentine in nature, black and swollen in its head. The soldiers said it must have fallen in there and drowned, then contaminated the water when it began to decompose.
But Hafez knew the truth.
The jinn, trapped beneath the wood and stone and attacked by the spirit of the Imam, had died. And with its death, so too had the good water gone bad.
Hafez learned a hard lesson that day. One that haunted him from his childhood onward, roaming his dreamscape with such persistence that no amount of prayer seemed capable of vanquishing it. The boy of that time feared he was cursed; cursed for speaking of the jinn's home and cursed by its death, where the creature, of the Second Race and a force of nature itself, had died because of his poor choices.
That was just the start.
He'd begun to see more jinn after that: on the wind as a sandstorm began to kick up, their appearance like that of great Rocs merged with men. In the billowing smoke following another explosion somewhere along the roads near the village, the big, black plumes forming faces that sneered down at him before vanishing. In the winter's snow, where he would follow his father into the mountains and see eyes peering at him when the world was still and silent.
Even, on the rare occasion, riding on the large Humvees of foreign soldiers heading to their local Eff-oh-be's.
And as the Haqqani Network recruited more and more of the village's men, as the Imam grew more and more radicalized, as the explosions grew ever closer to his village and fewer and fewer people returned to their homes, Hafez learned silence. He learned to keep his head down, and to not draw the eye of his peers as he grew.
When he was fifteen the violence became too much, and his father took him and his mother and his sisters and fled the country, seeking shelter first in Pakistan before migrating to Canada as refugees.
For the teenage Hafez, it came as a relief, for surely such a strange and foreign place as Canada had no jinn which could haunt him.
May he be granted Allah's mercy, how wrong he was.
Canada, as it turned out, had its own brand of jinn; great beasts which resembled wolf and man, gigantic rocs which blew in storms, terrifying badgers made of the earth itself, moose whose antlers held the stars, seals who removed their skin and became like men, and most terrifying of all the bears who walked like men, dragging their meals off to dens on two legs instead of four. It terrified him, knowing he was surrounded by so many beasts, and for many, many years afterwards he lived in constant fear that his secret-that he could see the Second Race-would be discovered.
It was not until, through much caution and twice as much discretion, he broached the subject to a kind Mullah who'd fled Libya during the Arab Spring. A Mullah with a very...different outlook on life, and one who perhaps even held a similar sensitivity to Hafez himself. It was from the Mullah that the possibility arose that he was not cursed, but rather gifted; granted a rare and unique ability by Allah Himself to see those jinn who controlled the natural world, and to put his gift to use by aiding the invisible Second Race.
He became a veterinarian after much trial and error, and opened a small clinic in Dawson City where he could practice his craft. He never forgot the jinn that had died in his well, and so it should have been no surprise to him that his first patient was a spirit in a similar body: a jinn adorned in the coat of a sled dog, a husky who, from what his adopted family claimed, had been found in the aftermath of a storm, and had been with them ever since.
The jinn had been grateful, and surprisingly tolerant of Hafez's poking and prodding when the man explained his intent. It was perhaps the first time in since the jinn in the well that Hafez found peace. And as his business grew... as he obtained more clients, so too did he learn more about the native jinn. He even befriended one, a tundra jinn with a love of horses who became a frequent visitor and who oftentimes brought him spirits in need of aid.
Yet this...
He'd never handled an Ifrit jinn before.
Before him, the eyes of the Ifrit flared and danced, twin torches of flames cast from within the depths of the jinn's skull. "Please," The Ifrit's voice was deep and foreboding, and more frightening still, it spoke Pashtun, the native language of his home village. "She needs help." Horns sprouted from the Ifrit's head, his coal-black flesh broken by veins of seething red power. "Anything you can do will be repaid. I promise you, you will be rewarded." Black plumes of smoke poured from the orifices of the spirit's face: the mouth, the nose, the ears and the eyes. The djin stepped forward.
Hafez stumbled backwards, and almost fell to the wet and muddy ground beneath him. He was caught by the tundra jinn whom he'd befriended years earlier, a creature with a brown hide and a caribou's head. "'Ey, easy Hafez. Abn'Awdyn's a good guy. His girl's hurting pretty bad."
Abn'? 'Son of'? There was an Ifrit even greater than the one before him now?! If anything, the jinn's name awoke only further anxiety, and as the spirit raised its hands Hafez feared he might scream. One of its hands was a broken, crystalline shard, its tip ending in a vicious spike that looked more than capable of skewering Hafez, the moose jinn Aaja, and the trailer's steel walls with little effort. There were signs of similar crystallization on the spirit's other hand.
The Ifrit paused midstep, as though sensing the vet's distress. To Hafez, this was of little surprise; the Ifrit were of the most powerful of jinn and were renowned for their magical prowess. That the entity could sense his emotions made him dangerous, for the Ifrit was, like many other jinn, a Trickster above all else, and would go out of its way to look and act in a particular fashion if it meant getting what it wanted.
"Aaja," Hafez's voice was a whisper. "You have been spirited away by the Ifrit." What had the entity promised Aaja that would have the caribou-man bring the Ifrit to the vet's clinic? The man's eyes drifted past the terrible figment, coming to rest on the jinn behind it. Though its body was large, the aura that housed it was weak when compared to the Ifrit. It was serpentine in nature, its body long and somehow soft, as if the creature was not solid and whole but something else entirely. To the vet, it brought to mind the strange phenomenon of virga, where rain evaporated before hitting the ground, or fog dissipating beneath the rising sun. Its eyes danced like lightning, and bolts of white electricity formed a mane of wild hair down the length of its long neck. Some kind of storm jinn then. A storm serpent-another new spirit Hafez had never encountered before.
It looked ill.
No... 'ill' was a bad choice in wording. 'Lessened' was better; it was as if the creature was some how not as tangible as Aaja, or the Ifrit, or the puppies next to it or even Hafez himself. It seemed almost as though the creature was fading in a very literal sense before the man's eyes, as if the strange virga-like consistency of its being was consuming more and more of its form, until there would be nothing left of the creature.
The man remembered the jinn in the well and felt a wave of old guilt and shame crash down upon his shoulders. He glanced back at the Ifrit, who observed him in silence. "You say it is your daughter?" He asked slowly. The fiery entity nodded. An Ifrit that could produce children? That saw in the creation of this familiar, this...lesser jinn, as one of its own? A preposterous thought if ever there was one, but by Allah's grace here was one before him now.
"She was attacked." The Ifrit continued. "My own power was unable to protect her, and I hold little knowledge of the healing arts. She needs help. I fear her condition is worsening."
"C'mon Hafez." Aaja placed a hand on his shoulder. It was covered in short, tan hair. "I wouldn't have brought 'em to you if I thought they'd hurt you, and I know you got some crazy healing touch. You'd be doing a good thing." Hafez looked back at the creature, meeting his friend's watery brown eyes.
Was it not Allah Himself who created the three races? He thought to himself, The Angels first out of light, and then the second race, of smokeless fire, the jinn? Were we not created last and were all three of our races not designed to serve Allah?
The man looked back to the serpentine jinn. It rested calmly on its stomach, observing its audience with a gaze like vicious lightning yet with an almost peaceful composition. Did not Allah create you to soothe the wounds of the Second Race? He thought. "What is your name?" He asked it.
"Her name is Al Khabir." The Ifrit rumbled.
"Her name is what?" Hafez jumped, startled to hear one of the Nintey-nine names of Allah emplaced on the form of a djinn. Al Khabir. The All-Aware.
"I said her name is Urd." The Ifrit repeated. "And I am-"
'Tyr' was what the name Hafez heard with his ears, however his mind translated it into Al Fattaah. Another familiar Name. The Ultimate Judge. The Giver of Victories.
The Opener of Portals.
Hafez smiled nervously, growing more and more uncomfortable the longer he stayed in the presence of the jinn. It was sacrilegious to use the names of Allah as a personal title, and a trait he would associate with those non-Muslim jinn who were so often labeled as 'devils'. Not like Aaja, who was ignorant of the Qur'an, but of those who know the word of Allah and chose instead to ignore it. The Ifrit were often associated with such devils, though on a rare occasion they could be seen as good.
This one though...
"Tell me, do you know the voice of Allah, Abn'Awdyn?" Hafez asked, and decided to base his decision on the Ifrit's answer. If Abn'Awdyn-Hafez was uncomfortable with the name Tyr after its association to one of the Ninty-Nine Names of Allah-answered honestly, and was a good Muslim jinn, then he would help. Yet if there was any hint of dishonesty, any sign that Hafez was being tricked...
"I know the voice of Allah." Abn'Awdyn said. He sounded cautious, a strange emotion to hear from such a terrible being, and what was worse was the strange echo in its voice, as if again Hafez was hearing two words at the same time. "I know (the Daitenkaicho's) Allah's voice very well. I have always been close to it, and taken the words of (the Daitenkaicho) Allah very seriously."
Hafez stared at the Ifrit for a long, long time, uncertain of what to believe and incapable of making sense of the secondary words he was hearing. He missed completely when the storm jinn climbed to its feet and crept forward, followed on either side by a puppy that barely came up to the man's calves. Its talons, long and silver, tapped against the steel floor of the trailer, and Hafez yelped when the jinn appeared next to the Ifrit, pressing against the entity with a curious care as it observed the man with white-violet eyes.
This close, the wounds upon its body, before unnoticed in the vet's fear of the Ifrit, were laid bare in front of Hafez. Here he saw the smoldering wound on the brow, the split temple, the infected injury along her stomach, the infected bite on the left flank, and the slice, as though cut by a knife, along the right haunch. It stared at him, stared down at him, an intimidating, battle-scarred monstrosity that could end his life if it wanted to.
Then it did something Hafez had never seen a jinn, in all his life, do before. It presented to him a paw-a hand-the claws splayed open, the palm facing up, and bowed its head. It was a strange gesture, holding an air of such intelligent design that Hafez shivered. He stepped back, disturbed by the action, and was stopped by Aaja, who remained at his back. The Ifrit stepped forward, and rested its broken hand gently against the djinn's shoulder. The creature's expression was kind, and something in its face was reminiscent of Hafez's own father, of Hafez himself, whenever he interacted with his own children.
"Urd is asking for your hand." The Ifrit clarified. "And we are both asking for peace. Aaja has brought us here in peace, and by your leave we would keep that peace, for we have escaped violence born of tragedy to fulfill a promise made to one of Aaja's kin." Hafez stared at the palm. The Ifrit continued. "Urd was attacked while she was fleeing, and I am now watching my eldest daughter waste away before my very eyes because I am incapable of healing the injuries she sustained. If Aaja, whose own sister is dying in his truck, believes this is a detour worthy of pursuing, then I beseech you: please help my daughter."
The words struck a chord in Hafez, a prior refugee who'd fled his own country due to violence and mayhem. The man pursed his lips, and with caution brought his hand up to the open paw. The talons alone were larger than his longest fingers, and his hand looked small and childlike against the jinn's. The creature's paw then curled around his, engulfing it utterly with a gentleness that Hafez would have thought impossible five minutes ago.
And then he Saw.
He Saw the Abomination in all its wretchedness, and was afraid. He heard the words of the Devil and learned its name was Hagall, and Saw the Abomination it left without care in his homeland. He Saw the Abomination in all its wretchedness, and Saw the great battle conducted by Jinn and Angel together. He Saw the First Race and the Second Race battle together against the mighty enemy for the sake of the Third Race of Man, despite the Abomination feeding on the First Race, despite the Abomination's procreation within the Second Race. He Saw their victory. He Saw their defeat.
He Saw the Madness that followed them both to the world of jinn, and the tragedy that befell the jinn even as its-as her-father tried to intervene.
Hafez was released with a parting thought-not so much a thought as an image, a series of emotions, scared and desperate and above all in pain. Please... And the image was not of Urd Al Khabir Herself but of the Unspoken, Al Mani, the Withholder, the Shielder, the Defender, whose name was of the Tundra and who Aaja was bringing home for her Rites of Funeral.
So it was he understood.
"I will help." Hafez said, and behind him he was unaware of Aaja's smile. "Bring your daughter to my clinic, Abn'Awdyn, in a form that does not draw the eye."
"Thank you."
Hafez stepped to the side, and the Ifrit hopped out of the trailer, no longer a blazing force of nature but a tall, pale man with long black hair. His outfit looked ill-suited to Canada's weather, or even for the outdoors to begin with, yet the sun brought warmth and the day was remarkably fair for that summer season. Disguised as a man, Hafez saw that the Ifrit had in fact lost a hand, though the wound was old and scarred over, his more recent injuries appearing as the bandages over what would have been a whole left hand, if not for the gap at the missing finger. Yet if the Ifrit was in any pain, he hid it well, ignoring it as instead he turned back to the trailer, holding his arms out in front of him as he gestured to the remaining jinn within. Aaja's puppies leapt out of the trailer without prompting, their yips playful and young as they raced to their owner's side.
Last came Urd Al Khabir. She appeared as a snake, a large, black python with iridescent scales. Rainbows traveled up and down her hide from where the sun struck her, creating a stunning effect that took Hafez's breath away. Allah smiles on me today. Hafez thought, watching as Abn'Awdyn stepped forward with his arms still open, where the great serpent coiled up his arms. The snake was large, and of a species Hafez had even cared for at one point in his career-a white-lipped python, though Urd's form, well over ten feet in length, was much larger then the smaller four-foot long python a young man had brought in one day.
The serpent was gorgeous, but Hafez was all too aware of the open wounds that marred her beauty. The scales were faded and the injuries along the head and body held broken sores that made all too notable. Even so, the storm jinn settled easily along her father's shoulders, and appeared comfortable and relaxed to Hafez-a good sign, given the amount of pain she must have been in.
With snake in hand, the Ifrit followed Aaja towards the clinic, and for a moment Hafez watched them go, marveling at the strangeness of his life and wondering why it was Allah deemed him fit to aid the Second Race.
Then Hafez turned and walked towards the truck, ignoring his clinic, and his new clients, altogether.
He needed to see The Unspoken One.
If what he'd Seen had been any indication then... he could help. While he'd never brought back someone so close to death-especially not a jinn of all things-he still had the capability. He had a sterile surgery room. He had the technology, tools, and medication necessary to heal her.
The man approached the bed of the truck, walking towards the rear passenger seat.
He wasn't about to just let an innocent die. He wasn't a doctor, true, but that did not make him any less a healer.
A whimper made him stop three feet from the rear passenger door.
The man paused and looked behind him. The puppies had followed him towards the truck rather than Aaja. They were cute things. Little puppies closer in resemblance to large fluffy black-and-white clouds then actual dogs. One of them whimpered. The other barked with such demand that it bounced on its feet.
"What is it little ones?" He asked them. "Are you guarding the truck?"
Two whimpers now, and for a moment Hafez mistook the puppies for children. Human children, a pair of twins, and as the man's eyes widened he heard their voices, still young but filled with terror. "Nanuk."
"Nanuk?" He'd heard that word before. Aaja would drop it on occasion when they spoke, or one of the Natives that would bring him their dogs for shots. 'Nanuk'. Polar Bear.
And then he could hear it behind him. Its breath was deep and heavy. Its breath was hot and moist. It smelled of meat and fish and the sea, and as Hafez watched a shadow, large and expansive, devoured his own on the summer ground. He saw the puppies give one last yip of defiance, and then, their courage expended, watched them run off towards the clinic.
It will rip my head off when I turn. Hafez thought. Allah grant me mercy, is this how You wish me to die? Allah had given Hafez much in his life. A home. A caring family. A refuge from the violence that devoured his homeland. A loving wife and two wonderful sons, both of which promised a bright future with high grades and their good behavior. Though he had experienced much suffering in his life, the vet had still managed to find meaning and charity in his actions, and was a good Muslim who followed the laws of the Qu'ran without question.
If it was Allah's will that he die to Nanuk, then so be it.
The vet turned, and came face to face with his second Ifrit of the day.
It was massive, even when compared against Abn'Awdyn, towering over Hafez at well over ten feet. Its hide was transparent, almost blue, like a clean, unsoiled glacier that had yet to be contaminated with the pollutants of the world. It stood upright like a man, dressed in a light caribou parka. It held a spear in one paw, and a bola made of tendon and stone lay wrapped around the belt at its waist. Its eyes were coal black, its body immense.
It wore the skin of a man.
Hafez sucked in a sharp breath.
So too did Nanuk. "Leave!" It roared, and without a second though, Hafez turned and ran, forgetting about The Unspoken One in the car, forgetting about his own efforts to aid her, and instead fleeing for the safety of the clinic.
The spirit watched him go, its lips peeled back in a vicious snarl. Its haunting gaze did not leave the retreating figure of the man until he had run into his clinic, and then it turned to regard the lone, forgotten passenger in the rear seat. Its head was larger than the window. Its breath steamed the glass. "Soon..." And as the Yakone began its dance within the heavens in broad daylight, the spirit was gone.
Comments of a Madwoman: Perception is reality.
