TW: Mention of suicide and sexual assault.
Thank you so much for your kudos and comments everyone. Also just reminding everyone that I have changed the chapter to an 'M' rating. I recently purchased the GOW Lore & Legends book which has so much many more delicious little details. I'm gonna try to work my story as close to the canon as possible!
Love,
Howler xo
KRATOS
NOW
The darkness was all consuming. Terrified screams of agony split Kratos' brain. Coming from everywhere and nowhere, all around him, and from within.
The temple was in the distance. The low glow of oil lamps inside were the only source of light amidst the endless gloom. Dread pulled in Kratos like a lead weight.
Athena's voice broke through the screams.
Do you remember that day, Spartan?
No, he did not want to go back to that place where his wife and daughter lay. The life drained from their eyes. He tried to run but his legs were slowed by waist high water. But it was thick and viscous. The stench of death and rot hung in the air. And Kratos realized that it was not water he waded through, but blood.
You cannot escape your destiny, Kratos.
The blood was rising around him, reaching up to his chest then to his collar, his neck. Unseen hands reached for him from beneath the surface.
"What have I become?" It was his own wretched voice. By the gods what had he become?
The hands were clawing at him, dragging him under the waves of blood. The screaming reached a fever pitch and he realized they were the same voices over and over again. His wife and daughter's. Calling his name, pleading for their lives.
This time, Pandora's voice wasn't there to guide him through the darkness. There was no one. No light to permeate the unending abyss inside him and he couldn't fight it any longer. What strength he had left to stand against the tides was all but gone. He plunged deeper, swept away in the undertow.
I am Death. The destroyer of worlds.
Kratos jerked awake, violently thrashing at invisible hands. He caught something in the darkness. Someone. He had his hands wrapped around the slender throat of a girl. Pale green eyes bulged wide with fear. She made a horrible choking sound.
For a moment, Kratos' mind was still in that abyss and the green of her eyes were so like Athena's. Kratos squeezed.
The girl's legs kicked and squirmed. Small, feeble hands were tearing at his forearms uselessly. The bandages were coming undone.
"Far-bauti," she grit from clenched teeth. And It was like Kratos had been suddenly dunked in the icy river Styx, alertness coming down on him like the hulking fist of a titan.
He released his grip, hands shaking. A few seconds longer and he would have killed her.
The girl stumbled back, clutching her throat and coughing. Strands of white-blond escaped her braids and stuck to her sweat-shined skin. Kratos himself was drenched in sweat and his body still shivered with the aftershocks of the nightmare.
"I-," his mind struggled to find purchase. Golden eyes darted around. It was still dark and Faye had not yet returned from her watch. Around him the forest was silent except for the girl whimpering on the ground beside his fire.
I am here, not there.
But the screams still lingered back of his mind. No matter where he went, they were always there just waiting beneath the surface.
Kratos jumped to his feet and recovered himself. Tears threatened at the girl's bloodshot eyes, bottom lip quivering. He listened to the forest for the sounds of battle, perhaps she'd come to warn him of an ambush. But he heard nothing of the sort.
"Please don't hurt me," she croaked. Recognition sparked in Kratos' reeling mind. She was one of the young women Faye had rescued from the reavers.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed and leveled a hard glare at the girl. She might have been looking for Faye but had found him instead. A mistake that almost cost the girl her life.
"Answer me, girl," Kratos demanded, his rage let loose from its restraints. He could have killed her if he had not come to his senses in time. Another terrified face to add to his nightly collection. She was lucky. If she had been a curious child he could have snapped their fragile neck. The bandage at his forearm fell loose and exposed his chain-link scars in the firelight. The girl's eyes shook between the scars to Kratos' rage-contorted face. The raw fear and panic in her young face made Kratos feel sick. Too much like Calliope.
The girl scrambled away from him, gulping for air like fish out of water. She stumbled to her feet and ran back toward the main camp. Kratos clenched his teeth and hoped that she wouldn't tell anyone about the encounter. He couldn't risk this all going sour when the hunter agreed to return his blades on the condition of this mission's success. What would he do then? Better yet, what would she do if she knew he'd nearly killed one of their charges?
A linen-bound package beside the fire drew Kratos' attention. It was neither his nor Faye's, so the girl must have dropped it when he'd inadvertently attacked her. He stole a glance back at the direction of the main camp. The girl ventured well out of her way to pay him a visit, the camp far enough away that the fires were small orbs of light in the darkness. Kratos did not want to be distributed by curious children or other clanspeople, no matter how well meaning. He couldn't trust himself in their company for this exact reason. He barely trusted himself around Faye.
He nudged the bundle with his boot with the vague hope that the girl had brought some morsels of food. Hunting had been scarce in these parts of the woods. But the bundle was too heavy for food, and there was a light chime of metal against metal. He knew he should have declined Faye's offer to take the first watch. He didn't need sleep as much as he needed to escape that screaming abyss inside him. But he had the sense that Faye had demons of her own to escape, ones that sleep would not suffice to put to rest. Kratos knelt and unfurled the linen.
It was armor. A three-tiered leather pauldron lined with dark fur. It was well crafted, the leather was thick and sturdy enough to weather the dangers of the forest. It was supposed to have been a gift, he realized. He looked back out at the forest but the girl was long gone. Kratos could feel that dark tide rising up in him again. He didn't deserve their thanks. He turned the armor over in his still-shaking hands. At its back was a metal hook to holster the Leviathan. He thumbed the metal, jaw growing tight. It was the curved shape of a snake. But the symbol was strikingly similar to omega. The Greek symbol to mean the end of all things.
I am death. The destroyer of worlds.
A fitting reminder.
As he inspected the armor, Kratos noticed the loosened wrapping. Oozing chain-link marks met the open air with a razor sharp sting. As Kratos re-wound the bandage it felt as though he was lashing himself. He grit his teeth against the sharp burning sensations. Sometimes it helped to douse the inflamed nerves with the coldest water he could find. Other times it felt better to make fresh wounds whose new pain would distract him from the old. But no matter what he did, the pain was always just at the precipice of manageable. It was always there constantly gnawing at his self-control. Some days it felt like it took everything in him not to buckle under its oppressive weight. He tied off the bandage, gripped a tight fist then flexed his hand. There was a lingering numbness in the tips of his fingers and the faint itch for his blades.
Kratos relented and donned the armor. A gift like that shouldn't go to waste and Faye had no need for more armor. It fit him well. He called Leviathan from its resting place in a nearby stump and fixed the weapon to his back. For a moment, he considered going back to sleep until Faye returned. The thought made him shudder. He didn't want to face that place again. He'd hold off sleep for as long as he could bear it and as long as he could still fight effectively. As a soldier he had gone many sleepless nights in a row on campaign. He could do so again and again. As long as he needed to. As long as the screams and Athena's visions still haunted him.
Kratos marched off into the night. While he was awake he might as well relieve Faye's shift. It was still pitch black and there was nothing but the moon's shifting light among the tree branches to guide him. He used the tracking knowledge Faye'd equipped him with to trace her path. A footprint in the mud, the residual scent of her among the thick foliage. Walking among the stillness of the forest made room for images of his wife and daughter to return to him. He could still feel them as close as if they were walking beside him. The darkness was tricky like that, forming shapes and illusions from the unseen.
Kratos had never been able to give them a proper funeral. The best he'd been able to do was to bury the sapphire necklace and ring he'd gifted his daughter and wife. Before Kratos fled the shores of Greece he had dug a small grave in the red-clay earth for the heirlooms. He couldn't bring himself to speak any words but he wished now that he had. It felt unfinished, incomplete. But what words could he offer them that would help ease their souls into rest? Simple words would never make up for what he had done. He had nothing to offer them. There remained the persistent awareness that his beloveds would never truly find rest until Kratos too was interred in the earth.
He'd tried. Twice. At the first attempt he was rescued by Athena's hand. As for the second, well… Kratos felt an icy drop in his abdomen at the remembrance of the cold steel of the Blade of Olympus staked through him. Death just didn't seem to take.
He'd awoken on that lonely cliff side, healed but still broken. Kratos resolved himself to live out the rest of his remaining days wandering the realms until all of the pleasures of life lost their savor. And then, Kratos hoped, he would finally die. But even that didn't seem to work either, Kratos thought bitterly as he remembered the day he and Faye met.
The snap of a branch stole Kratos' attention from his thoughts. It had been close. He sampled the air on his tongue and grimaced at the strange mix of Faye's comforting scent and rotting flesh. Kratos leaned into old instincts as he withdrew the Leviathan and directed himself toward the sound. He pulled slow, controlled breaths and stalked closer to its origin. There was a small clearing through the thick cluster of brambles and vegetation. Closer now, he was aware of the shuffle of feet. The fetid stench of death grew stronger, like a battlefield after long days stewing in the hot sun. Shapes moved further ahead, sluggish and lumbering. All of them too tall and broad to be Faye. Golden eyes raked the shadows for her, jaw clenched. She was close, he could feel it. He tightened his grip on Leviathan and with an unspoken command, frost bloomed along the blade's edge.
A tattooed hand shot from the shadows and yanked Kratos sharply to the side. Kratos grunted and he tumbled into Faye's body. In the tumble, he snaked his arm around her armor-clad waist and braced them against the trunk of a nearby tree. She clasped a cool hand over his mouth, her body flush against his.
"Quiet!" she whispered, "They'll hear you." Faye waited until he registered to pull her hand away.
"Who?" Kratos issued a low growl. Faye's warmth bled through her armor to Kratos' palm at the small of her back. Kratos' breath hitched in his throat as became keenly aware of Faye's heartbeat kicking against his chest. Kratos wrenched away from her and peeked around the tree trunk to get a better look. The shapes were still murky in the darkness but the foulness of them was closer than ever .
"Draugr," Faye murmured, "Stay low."
She ducked into the cover of the bushes and fern, Kratos followed as she led them to a safer outlook. She crouched in the tangled shadows made from the roots up an upturned tree and beckoned Kratos closer. Not far before them was a small hoard of undead soldiers. Rotting flesh hung from their bones loosely, peeling away in some places to reveal sun-bleached skeletons. Bony fingers clutched rusted weapons and shattered shields. An unearthly force brought some semblance of life back in them but they lumbered around in violent lurching movements.
"I've never seen this many gathered to one spot before," she said.
"What made them this way?" Kratos asked. He had encountered the undead before in Greece. Horrible shades reanimated by the worst kind of magic.
"They were too stubborn to die," Faye explained. Kratos was intimately familiar with that particular problem. "They rejected the afterlife and now they roam Midgard with a vengeance against all those who still live," Faye added.
The sky was beginning to color with a moody blue as dawn approached. It would be day soon and the camp would begin to teem with clanspeople as they emerged from their tents to mobilize.
"We should not linger," Kratos said, backing away. Faye took his wrist and he shuddered at the bolt of pain that shot through his arm at her touch.
"You want to turn tail?" she hissed. Kratos pulled in a breath and held it tight in his chest, clenching his fist. Faye's brow drew together, noticing his distress, and released him. The pain abated and Kratos could see there was another apology brewing on her lips.
"Not every battle must be invited," Kratos said, diverting Faye's attention. "There is time to get the clan moving before we cross the undead's path."
"Something is drawing them here," Faye said, "Do you not feel it?"
Kratos admitted to himself that he had felt a deep, unsettled wrongness in the forest since they made camp. Faye was clearly knowledgeable of this kind of enemy, and it would only serve their mission's purpose to ensure they were not pursued by larger threats. Kratos conceded with a heavy exhale.
"How are they defeated?"
There was a glimmer to the deep blue of Faye's eyes. She seemed pleased that it took less effort to convince him. At least he didn't have to chase her down like last time.
"Aim for the head and don't let them swarm you."
Faye shifted to a poised crouch and her vigilant gaze became fixed on the undead soldiers. It reminded him of the Olympic athletes of Greece ready to burst into a sprint. He drew a hand in front of her, guiding her back.
"This is my fight alone. Go back and ensure no one ventures this way." She couldn't possibly think that he would allow her to fight in her condition.
"Who would come this way?"
"Go." Kratos grunted, thinking of the young girl who could have gotten lost in the dark and stumbled into these creatures instead of him.
"I'm staying," Faye insisted. The woman was stubborn, determined, and he knew better than to argue with her. She'd do what she wished regardless of what he said. Kratos gave another glance at the Draugr with their drunken steps and meatless arms wielding weapons that looked too heavy for their withered frames.
"They will not be able to give chase. If you are overwhelmed - run. Do not engage." Kratos punctuated his last words with a hard glare. Any other time he could appreciate her battle-eagerness but this was no time to prove oneself.
"I can manage," Faye said, pulling the reaver's dagger from her belt. Kratos threw his hand over hers.
"I am in no need of your assistance," He growled, his anger beginning to slip his control. The hunter seemed to forget exactly who and what he was. He was a god and these feeble looking undead were no comparison to the enemies he had faced in the past. Besides that fact, he couldn't split his attention to defend both himself and Faye in the height of battle. Her presence would only serve to distract him. Faye's expression hardened and she sheathed the reaver blade.
"Fine," she bit.
"Only move when I have drawn their attention."
"I understand," Faye shot back, anger roiling in her tone. He could understand her frustration. Her injury left her in a position of helplessness and a soldier that could not fight was of no use at all. Kratos gave a stiff nod and crept back from their hiding place.
He crouched low and circled around the horde through the tangle of brambles and moss covered stones. Kratos could see that Faye's instincts had been correct, the undead were gathered around a central point. A layer of mist covered the ground inside the rocky clearing, seeming to spread out from that unseen central point. The mist only grew thicker and soured the air as Kratos neared the undead's periphery. The stench was slightly acidic, burning the inside of Kratos' nostrils. Poison.
Kratos narrowed his stinging eyes, peering into the thickened smog. There was a tall figure that reached up from the center but the details were muddied. He could make out an elongated head and the curved shapes of horns. Behind Kratos, the clearing became more treacherous and rocky, lichen covered stones and boulders jutting out from the earth. He'd lead the draugr that way. Bottleneck their numbers and narrow the field so he could cut them down without becoming swarmed. The noise and commotion of the fray should be enough to keep the draugr distracted and allow Faye time to discern what had rallied the undead.
Kratos stepped from shadows and drew the Leviathan from its place at his back. Obediently, frost blossomed along the blade's runic edge. The icy power vibrated in Kratos' hands and he sensed some connection between him and the weapon snapping in place. God and weapon became one. Kratos spared a last moment to scour the shadows for Faye's nimble shape, the rusted color of her hair. For her own sake, he hoped that she'd heed his instruction. Kratos put aside all thought of the hunter and sharpened his resolve. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted. But even as he formed the thought, Kratos could feel something else within the axe. Another will besides his own. It tugged in opposition to him like the resistance of a fish on a hook. This push and pull, he knew it had to be Faye.
A few of the undead instantly caught his pale shape and began shambling toward him. Garbled noises raked up their rotted throats. He stood firm, old instincts taking hold as he struck the axe against a stone with three hard 'clangs'. As if Kratos ringing the dinner bell, the horde whirled in his direction.
A collective screech rose up from the horde. Opaque eyes shot to the tattooed god. Broken teeth gnashed. Fleshless jaws clacked together. Their shattered movements became frenzied with vicious hunger. The ones that could, with fresher looking bodies and more intact musculature, began running. Rusted hatchets and broadswords raised. Kratos' heartbeat thundered in his ears. Adrenaline rushed in cold rivers through his bloodstream. There was a damn inside Kratos that demanded to be freed.
Kratos let loose a roar as he engaged the first wave. He surged forward and swung Leviathan in a wide sweep. He cleaved the decomposing heads from the first Draugrs' shoulders. They fell like puppets cut from their strings. Kratos moved with the momentum of the axe, spinning and striking across the body of another draugr. It fell in two pieces yet the top half continued struggling toward him. Bony fingers clawing the earth. Kratos growled and stomped its skull into the earth.
The rage in Kratos slipped free as he fought. This is what he'd been looking for all those nights he disappeared into the forest. It wasn't enough to topple a few trees. This was what he really needed. A moving target. Something he could tear apart. Blood splashing his face with every strike. His only disappointment was that these draugr did not seem to feel pain. They felt no fear, no hesitation. But it was enough for Kratos to stand above that dark tide inside him. It was enough to release from that constant agony he felt tearing at him.
Kratos lost himself to his bloodlust as he cut through the bodies with frightening ease, the axe becoming an extension of himself. His only challenge was the sheer number of undead as the rest of the horde began pulling in his direction. They continued their disarrayed charge, clamoring toward him with unholy battle-cries.
Kratos shuffled back a few steps into the shelter of the rock formation. The Leviathan sang in his grip with an urging for more.
More.
Kratos showed his teeth in a satisfied snarl. There would be no way but through for the Draugr.
FAYE
Long minutes passed since Farbauti had faded into the misty cluster of brown, leafy foliage. She'd waited in a poise crouch under the cover of the twisted roots. She let the silence pool around her as she sharpened her focus on the draugr ahead. For a long time there was nothing but the lazy shuffle of their feet, the idle snap of their jaws searching for something new to sink their teeth into. She felt the rhythmic pulse of seiðr magic in the earth beneath her fingertips. It came in waves and seemed to ripple outward from the center of the horde. She'd have to reach that point in order to dispel the conjuring.
The longer Faye waited the more her heartbeat rose in her throat until it pounded in her brain like a dwarf striking an anvil.
Then she'd head three sharp clangs ring out from the dark. Then came the roar of the undead, or had it been Farbauti?
The draugr turned their attention to the sound, even those at the furthest edge of their throng began stumbling toward it. Faye wondered if Kratos could handle such a vast number of enemies at once on his own. He seemed confident enough. Faye had to trust his intuition, as he had trusted hers.
With the draugr distracted, the moment for thought dispersed. Faye sprang into action. She drove herself forward at a sprint in the direction of that magic hum. She felt it pulsating beneath her swift steps. Mist gathered around her ankles and the cold morning air burned her lungs and throat.
Faye slid to the cover of a small rock formation not far from the center. In the distance came the sounds of battle. The clash of weapons against shields and the wet slap of an axe hacking through limbs. She was sure Farbauti was making quick work of the draugr but she could see nothing through the mist. It had grown more thick the closer to the center, now becoming an waist-high fog across the clearing.
Further in, where Faye sensed the origin of the magic, the fog grew to an impassable cloud. Her face twisted in a grimace. Poison magic. Faye knew it from the acrid, sulfuric odor. She could see now the shapes of fallen animals littering the earth in various stages of decomposition. Badgers, wolves, deer, birds. They had not escaped the poisonous mist.
Faye fumbled with the edge of her tunic and ripped a strip of cloth wide enough to cover her nose and mouth. It would not protect her for long, but she hoped it would shield her from the brunt of the magic's power. Faye fastened the cloth around her face and braced herself at the edge of the rock formation. Faye's heartbeat reached all the way down through her fingertips and she wasn't sure what was the thrum of magic and what was her. It felt like both.
Not far through the mist, she could make out the unmistakable shape of a scorn pole. A horned skull fixed to a towering stalk made of pale ash wood.
Of course. The draugr would have been drawn to corruption - it was kindred to the twisted magic that brought the abominations to life.
"Vindr," Faye called a small column of wind to her aid, carving a path through the thick fog toward the scorn pole. Faye gulped down as big a breath she could manage but her healing ribs gave protest at the harsh expansion of her lungs. She choked down a breath then pushed herself from the rock. Surging forward into the mist.
Instantly, as she stepped forward her eyes blurred with the sharp sting of the poison. Thick fog curled around her body as she ran through. Tears clouded her vision but she could still feel the path forward. Her lungs ached for air but she could not release yet. She scrambled to the base of the scorn pole and tore at the earth with her hands. Magic like this needed to be ripped out root and step then set ablaze. Through bleary eyes she could see that the skull was canine and a ram's horns had been affixed to it with twine.
Dirt embedded deep under her nails as she burrowed with frantic speed. The pole's base went far beneath the surface. She needed to take a breath. She needed air. But if she opened her mouth now the poison would fill her lungs. She'd be dead in moments. Faye pinched her stinging eyes shut, closed her airways, and dug and dug.
A sudden stabbing chill anchored in her chest at the touch of another pair of hands digging beside her. Small, child sized.
"Let me help," she heard the boy's voice as if he were at her side. She could feel the feverish warmth of his body against hers. Fear tore at her heart.
Not this, Faye whined. Not now.
She was getting closer to the base, she could feel the pulse of corrupted energy grow more potent. Her head swirled with dizziness. Her body fought her, lungs trembling with the desperate need for air.
There.
Her hands found the bottom of the pole where something fleshy and cold pulsed. The scorn pole's heart was an organ taken from the still living body of a sacrifice and cursed with horrifying seiðr magic. Faye drew the reaver's dagger and blindly stabbed at the thing. She was striking at dirt until she felt the blade meet the soft resistance of flesh. The heart hissed and shrieked. With a final beat, the mist evaporated.
Faye ripped down her mask and gasped for air. She panted in huge wheezing breaths, clearing her eyes of the poison. Air had never tasted sweeter. With her eyes clear, Faye whipped around to search for the boy but the vision, like the mist, had dissipated. Still gasping for air, Faye felt around her for some flint-stones. The work was only half done.
Faye struck the stones together, aiming for the scorn pole's heart.
"Edlur," she whispered. Fire.
A generous spark leapt from the stones and latched to the deflated, blackened heart. The abomination gave one last howling shriek as flames climbed from the heart, reaching up the pole to its skull. The earth shook beneath her as the polluted magic extinguished under the heat of the flames. Faye stood back and tossed the flintstones to the earth.
Faye spotted the pale god across the clearing. Farbauti was still engaged with the remaining draugr. The bodies of the fallen were lying in piles and pieces scattered across the rocky clearing. He was surrounded by undead, bloodlust burning in his golden eyes. They were the most fresh looking of the draugr, bodies still clad with thick bands muscles and weapons in near pristine condition.
Kratos heaved the Leviathan into a draugr's shoulder. Frost consumed the draugr and with a debilitating kick, it exploded into a thousand frozen pieces. A large draugr threw its entire weight at Kratos from behind. Thick arms enveloped Kratos' torso, holding him in place while the others advanced. Kratos flung the axe at an advancing draugr then heaved forward, hurling the one behind him to the earth. Kratos held its arm and with a roar, drove his boot into its skull.
But even after it was dead he kept smashing its skull in. Faye's only seem him like this once before with the stag the day they'd met. There was a fire raging in his eyes and a sickening grin pulled at his lips. All his stoicism and control peeled away leaving the animal-rage underneath. And he was enjoying it.
Movement pulled Faye's attention. Her heart skipped a nervous beat.
Kratos wasn't going to catch the last one in time.
The last draugr was smaller and faster than the others. It tore through the clearing with inhuman speed toward Kratos, blade drawn and aimed for the abdomen. Faye's mind scrambled as she measured the steps it would take to reach the draugr.
She was too far and the draugr too fast.
Faye seized the dagger from her belt.
"Satt markmið!" she cried and threw the dagger with all her strength.
Kratos half-turned in her direction just in time for the dagger to split through the draugr's skull. It fell in a lifeless heap at Kratos' feet. Relief dumped down Faye's spine. She didn't think she'd saved his life, he was still a god and he had weathered worse wounds. But she'd done something.
Faye's legs wobbled and buckled beneath her. Her knees met earth before she'd realized she'd fallen. As the adrenaline melted away, she was aware of the crippling ache in her calves.
The god scowled at the corpse, nostrils flaring with his panting breaths. Kratos' eyes flashed to Faye before he stooped down and wrenched the dagger from the draugr's skull. His face stern and imposing as ever. Faye was still breathing chaotically as cut across the clearing toward her.
"Farbauti. Draugr's-Bane," she teased through wheezing breaths, then clutched her ribs. The bones were healing well but the day's agitation had brought her to her limit. Farbauti didn't seem so pleased.
He hooked Leviathan at his back and wordlessly offered her his hand. With the enemy put down, his usual composure settled over him again but that raging fire was still burning in his unyielding gaze.
Faye gripped his forearm and he pulled her up as if she weighed nothing. Standing close now, she could feel his unnatural heat rolling off him in waves. There was even a bit of steam rising from the top of his head.
He kept a steadying hold on her forearm and passed the dagger back. She took it, eyes meeting his molten gaze, and he gave her arm a firm shake. It was as much of a thank-you as she would get from the laconic god. She acknowledged his thanks then noticed his armor.
"That's new." She tilted her gaze to get a better look.
Kratos gave his usual terse grunt of a reply then stalked past her to the scorn pole engulfed in flames.
"This was the source?" he asked, giving the burning structure an appraising look. "What made this?"
"Where there's a scorn pole there's a witch," Faye said.
"What purpose do witches have with it?"
"They are meant to be a warning," Faye said, "We should be more careful going forward. I suspect that the undead will be the least of our worries."
The sky turned an enamel blue with daybreak as Faye and Kratos ventured back to the camp. For the first time since they'd crossed into the Wildwoods, Faye noticed the birds were singing. She sensed the whisper among the trees, the delicate communication between their entwined root systems. Creatures were teeming in the undergrowth with the promise of a good hunt later.
"Do you feel this?" Faye asked, admiring the forest. Kratos glanced around, eyes scanning the trees, then shook his head.
"You see with different eyes than I."
"I only see with wide-open eyes," Faye said. "You could too if you tried."
Kratos looked at her doubtfully. Even if he didn't see it, they had done a good thing. The poison that had defiled the forest was gone, leaving room for life to flourish again. Perhaps he was simply not used to seeing the good that could come of his actions. Like how he had not seen the incredible change he'd helped to make in the clan by returning the lost family. That made Faye a bit sad for him.
They approached the edge of camp.
"The armor. It suits you," she said. "Reidun worked up the courage to give it to you, eh?"
Kratos' expression turned morose at the mention of the girl.
"You knew?" There was agitation in his tone, as if Faye should have warned him about it. Maybe she would have if she thought the god was intimidated by teenagers.
"I know a lot about many things," Faye said, "You being the exception."
Well, it wasn't exactly true. There were some things she knew. She knew about the way his eyes settled on her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. The look had been that of greedy hunger. Like he wanted all of her at once or none at all. The reminder brought a swarming flutter to Faye's stomach.
"Hm," Kratos grunted. "It is best that way."
Faye suddenly found her new dagger very interesting to hide the hot flush to her cheeks. Other clansmen gave her similar desirous gazes but it was Farbauti's sharp attention that had left Faye feeling exposed. It was a look that roused something long dormant in Faye that she could no longer recognize it. So she took the flattery for what it was and nothing more.
"Does it bother you that I would like to know more?" she asked, feeling emboldened. Even while Faye had an innate sense of the feelings of everything around her, his emotions were still so inaccessible to her.
When they arrived, she and Kratos got to work disassembling the camp. Faye rolled up their bedrolls and hefted them over her shoulders, still waiting for his reply. Kratos kicked dirt over the cooling embers of their fire and Faye could see that he was stewing in his thoughts. Thinking over his answer.
"No," he finally said, pensive. "But you would not like what you find."
Faye reached out with her mind but she only felt a vast coldness within the god before her. Silence commanded the space between them.
"I can decide for myself," Faye said, and left before Kratos could reply. She didn't look back but she could feel him watching her go.
There were times when those walls fell and she could really see him. The sadness, the grief, the pain, even fleeting moments of joy. She'd only seen him smile once when she made some mention of hope. A saddened smile, but one nonetheless. Faye sensed in him the multitudes that made up a soul, whether he believed he possessed one or not.
There was still the other side of him that had been frightening. The part that lost all sense and control, turning himself over to his rage and bloodlust. She could admit to herself that she too had lost control on more than one occasion, but nothing like that. His violence had been indiscriminate. What would happen if she got in the way of his war path? Faye wasn't sure if she could stop him if it came to that. Maybe he was right. Maybe there were things that she was better off not knowing.
KRATOS
Kratos couldn't muster a reply.
"I can decide for myself," she had said. He didn't doubt it. Kratos had thought once before about telling her everything. At first, there would be the relief that he had put words to the swirling tempest inside him. He'd tell her everything, every gruesome detail. And the release from the chains of his past, he could only imagine, would be exquisite. But then would come her horror, her disgust and resentment.
Monster, she would call him as so many had done before. She would more than likely fight him, she wasn't the kind to leave a threat unchallenged. And he would be forced to defend himself. It was a fight Kratos didn't want but knew he would win. Another face to haunt his nightmares. Kratos didn't know if he could bear it.
He watched Faye leave until she disappeared into the verdant foliage toward the main camp. He thought about what she said of seeing things with wide-open eyes and wondered if she would extend that same sentiment to him.
Kratos flexed his fists, shaking out the numbness that had accumulated in his fingertips. The encounter with the shades, draugr rather, had agitated his wounds and yellowing pus seeped through his bandages. He closed his fist, jaw growing tight, and went to the riverside.
Kratos unwound the wrappings then crouched and submerged his hands and forearms up to his elbows in the cold, rushing water. He scowled at the first moment of intense discomfort but then eased as the water cooled the inflamed chain-link marks.
He'd lost control today, he scolded himself. He'd indulged too much in the violence and it nearly cost him. While the draugr wouldn't have killed him, what if the undead had turned on Faye instead?
The snap of a branch displaced all thought. Kratos shot up, water dripping down his arms, and withdrew Leviathan. He didn't even have to command the axe to frost, it seemed to anticipate his order before he even gave it. Blood surged in his veins and he strained to listen to the forest over the pounding of his heart. But as he scanned the forest, he saw no threats.
He spotted movement from behind a tree. A foot retreating behind the cover of the wide trunk. He tensed, aware of who his visitor was.
"You should know better than to disturb me, girl," Kratos growled. "Reveal yourself."
The girl, Reidun, stepped out from behind the tree. She kept her dejected gaze to the ground, shifting uncomfortably. Kratos sighed and snatched up his wrappings.
"You should not be here," he chided, winding the linen up his forearms. He stepped toward her and she startled back a step.
She is only a child, he reminded himself. Kratos fixed the Leviathan to his back and held out his hands.
She crossed her arms over herself when he was close and he could hear the frantic rise of her heartbeat. He only meant to look her over for injury from her previous visit. She was wearing a thick woolen cowl that hid her neck from view.
Kratos reached out to her and she flinched away from his hand.
"I do not mean you harm," he muttered, attempting to reassure the girl as he reached out again. He hooked a finger in her cowl and pulled it gently to the side, exposing her pale throat. With his other hand he tilted her chin to the side to get a better look. A pang of disgust tore through him at the sight of the hand-print bruise blossoming on her milky skin.
Kratos reeled away from her, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw creaked. He ran a hand over his mouth, trying to find a way to apologize to the girl for what he'd done. She'd given him a gift and he'd given her bruises.
"I-" Kratos fought for the words.
"Teach me to fight," Reidun spoke up, pulling her cowl back in place.
Kratos' brow drew together. Did she not want an retribution? But then he noticed the injuries on her face that were not made from him. A fat lip, bruised jaw, and various cuts and scrapes across her face. The distant look in her eyes.
"I cannot be your teacher," Kratos said. "I-I am sorry." He trudged past her toward the main camp. It was still the early morning and the clan would be moving out soon.
"Please," she called after him.
The miserable plea in her voice compounded the disgust Kratos felt for himself. He knew what she was asking of him and he knew what she'd suffered at the reaver's hands without her having to say it. She was still years from womanhood, only a few years older than his Calliope had been. So young, and already she'd suffered more than some soldiers have in entire lifetimes. If he had not helped Faye aid in their escape then that suffering would have only been prolonged. And he would have let it happen.
Kratos looked back at her and saw that she had sunk to a crouch at the river side, knees pulled to her chest. Shoulders shaking with small quiet sobs. He gulped down a breath over the lump in his throat. Even as he wanted to help ease her pain he wasn't fit to teach anyone anything. He could barely reign in his own impulses. There would be someone else to teach her, someone better. Why did she not ask Faye? Anyone.
Anyone but him.
There are some miseries you must close your heart to, he had said. But looking at her now, he could not say those words again. She wasn't the faceless horde of pleading humans. She was just a girl in pain.
"I am sorry," he said again, low and only for him to hear.
ELSEWHERE
Svana sensed the destruction of her scorn pole the moment its heart stopped beating. She shreiked and doubled over, clutching her own chest. In the moments before its complete destruction, the witch reached through the aether to peer through eyes elsewhere in the Midgard.
From the great height of the scorn pole, Svana saw the pale tattooed man and the woman with hair like red autumn leaves. The same ones who had killed her soldiers and who she had seen from Halvar's memories. Watching the pale one now, she was sure, more than ever, that he was indeed a god. So much rage, so much power. She could accomplish so much more with god's blood than the simple mortals she usually dealt with. Closer now than Halvar had been when he encountered the two, Svana could see the finer details. It was the dagger that drew the witch's attention. That was her dagger, a gift she had awarded her lieutenant for his many fruitful hunts. She could still feel a connection to the object that had once been hers. Faint, but it was there.
Svana blinked and retreated from the depths of the aether. A smile, more like a wolfish snarl, pulled at her lips. The witch stepped out from her longhouse and into the forest. She placed her fingers to her lips and whistled a hollow, somber call that alerted her vigilant sentry. A large raven swooped in from the shadowy tree line.
Svana held out a pale arm for the raven to perch itself. Its talons folded around her thin forearm and it croaked affectionately at her touch.
She leaned close, petting the bird.
"Veiða," the witch whispered to the raven. The bird obeyed, leaping from her arm and soaring into the sky.
Hunt.