CHAPTER 3
ACCEPTING FATE
Kratos knew the fates would not let him sit out this apparent conflict between the mortals and this great Other. They reminded him of Draugr, but he could be wrong given he was still relatively new to these lands. They could be something completely different for all he knew.
The spartan did not dwell on his lost peace, only time would be wasted in the endeavor, and he never wasted his time. Instead, he made way to his camp, there was something he needed if he was being made to take part in this fight.
He had made his camp near a small stream he came across. It was naught more than a fire with a spit over it for roasting his catches, a stump he used for sitting by the fire and a cot made of fur that he slept on. The natural elements did not much bother him and neither did he spend an abundance of time in any one place, so he had no need of a tent.
What he came for was at the base of the fire, the very source of the flames in the first place. The heat from them could not hurt him, so he knelt and reached into the fire to root up his tools. He removed them from the now dying fire and brushed them clean of any ash residue, his eyes narrowing as he resisted his body's urge to shudder at their twisted warmth.
The Blades of Chaos. His eternal curse. Kratos laid them by his feet and began to remove the fur around his forearms slowly but surely, his mind attempting to repress the emotions welling up inside his chest. The Ghost of Sparta knew he would never be free of these wretched blades, but he had hoped, foolishly and naively, it would have been longer still before he had to use them again. The immeasurable pain they had caused him in his life and even more pain to those who had opposed him was easy to underestimate, the sheer amount of blood spilt by their razor edge sickening to all but the most bloodthirsty of twisted creatures.
Regardless, Kratos was not one to wallow, time never stopped moving regardless of one's suffering, so neither would he. After removing the furs to reveal the scars spiraling around his arms, he spared them not a second look as he immediately got to work wrapping the chains from the blades around his forearms. A familiar action, they just fell back into old pathways akin to an old friend.
Finishing his task and re-strapping the furs in place, Kratos tied the blades to his waist and prepared himself for his journey. Wherever this large gathering was located was his destination. Plans needed to be made and actions needed to be taken if these mortals were to stand a chance at defying their fate. His divine instincts were telling him the danger was coming from the northernmost parts of the region and it was moving south, an unnatural corruption encroaching on these lands in a calm, methodical fashion.
A steady and thorough assimilation, denoting the caution and intelligence this enemy possessed.
They needed to move further down, as far away and as soon as possible. Not to escape the threat, for there was no escaping such an indiscriminate power, only in confrontation could the living hope to see a future beyond ice and fear. Time was needed to prepare, and only distance could gain them such. So, Kratos took off in a jog towards the direction the group from earlier was heading, which was southeast by his reckoning.
His stamina was by all accounts, endless, so his jog through the forest was never slowed. For days, he had been running in a general direction, until finally catching sight of a trail the group had left behind, one he followed with no delay. When he suspected he was close to the camp at least half a day's journey out, He came by a lake in search of game to hunt. Almost frozen over but not quite. At the edge of the lake, he saw two elks, drinking their fill and not at all being attentive to their surroundings. Easy prey for a pack of wolves, even easier prey for Kratos.
He would make use of their folly. Meat was always needed and if the gathering was as big as they said, then food would be a serious problem, especially given the harshness of the earth in the region. He slowly and quietly removed his bow and nocked an arrow. His aim was straight and true, as befitting a spartan soldier.
He released the arrow and caught the first elk in the side of its head, a little bit away from its eye. The other took notice, panicked, and tried to run off but Kratos' abilities were second to none, a fresh arrow already nocked before the other had even connected with its target. The second elk was hit through the neck, the arrow flying straight through and embedding itself in a tree. The animal didn't even realize it was dead, its body running for a while before reality caught up with it and it fell limply to the ground.
Kratos placed his bow around his torso and approached his downed quarries, his hands grasping their limbs and midsection before nodding. A good lot, mayhaps some luck was left with him yet. He said no prayers over the kills, who would he prey to? Himself? The former god of war tied their hind legs together with rope he had wrapped at his waist before setting back on his path towards his destination, pulling the animals behind him.
It didn't take long for him to reach what he believed to be the edge of the forest. He could see movements of people beyond the trees. He broke the tree line and took stock of the camp. It was indeed large, tents and people as far back as the horizon. Sprawled out at the mouth of a bay, which on one side held a plateau, steep and stark. A good position defensively. It was bordered, roughly, by a wall of wooden posts, not very high and it did not surround the entire camp. Still under construction then, and rather poorly constructed at that.
People started to take notice of him, and a crowd was gathering at the edge of the camp. A smaller group of people stood to the front, apart from the rest and was watching his approach. As he got closer, he saw a man coming to stand by them and surveyed their faces before looking in his direction and going completely still.
Kratos stopped some ways from them, not far enough that they could hear him and not close enough to be perceived as threatening, but they all tensed, nonetheless. The former general took a good look at them. The one he suspected to be the leader was wearing all black leathers and furs and had on a multicolored cloak. He had plain features, no beard, straight black hair that reached his shoulders and looked to be in his mid-forties. There was nothing striking about him, save for the way he held himself, with the weight of authority.
The man closest to him, however, stuck out like a sore thumb. He was as tall as Kratos himself and was dressed in gray fur, wolf mayhaps. His hair red or, orange rather, same as his beard, he would be hard to miss even in a crowd of people. The man had a look of slight awe in his eyes, surprise, and wonder.
'So, the group made it here then.' Kratos suspected. They must have been singing his praises no doubt, a frown appearing on Kratos's face as he could already feel a headache making itself known. 'Tch, no matter.' No point in caring, it might make his work here easier.
Beside the red headed man stood a woman, tall as well and wrapped in pure white furs. Long blonde hair, pink lips, straight nose, and eyes so blue he would mistake her for an Other if he hadn't seen the flush of blood in her high cheeks. It didn't require a priestess of Aphrodite to tell she was beautiful, but beauty alone meant little to Kratos. He could not decipher the look she was giving him; it was somewhere between hopeful and distrustful.
Next to her, with a hard look on her face stood another woman, this one dark of hair and brown of eyes. Her furs were a mix of brown, black and white. She was also a beauty, but her somber expression tells that she was also a warrior. Good, warriors are what is needed for the coming days.
There was a man next to her. A weasley looking man, with a crow's nest for hair and pale, wild eyes as he twitched erratically and kept stealing glances to his surroundings while the others focused on Kratos, more concentrated on an escape path than a possible ambush. A coward, and Kratos did not waste his time with cowards, immediately ignoring him in favor of others in his field of vision.
The last person in the lineup was the most ridiculous. Kratos could not get a good look at his face or his eyes for they were hidden by a mask made of the top half of a human skull. He wore dirty gray furs which had human bones strapped all over them, akin to poor armor, with a posture more befitting of a feral dog than man. A savage then. The spartan was not impressed, if anything he debated whether it would be better to deal with such an eyesore right now, the mere sight of him bringing back bad memories.
He asked for their commander, and just as he thought, it was the man at the front who answered. He stated his intent to have a conversation, but the man looked unsure.
"Excuse my untowardness, but I don't just let dangerous looking men into my camp, and you certainly look plenty dangerous." The man said pointedly. Kratos was never one for diplomacy, but he supposed he could try to ease their worries, if only a bit.
"As I said, I brought an offering of meat and-…"
"And we are thankful for that but-…"
"The solution…" Kratos continued as if he were never interrupted, his deep voice overcoming the man's own with ease. "...would be to offer me guest rights. It should afford you some comfort. Harming one's hosts under guest rights would be highly dishonorable and vice versa."
The man looked surprised for the briefest moment before he schooled his features and called for someone out of the crowd behind him.
"Toregg! Come here lad."
A young boy who looked to be in his late teens, with unkempt reddish hair, stepped away from the crowd and came to the man.
"Fetch bread and salt boy, with haste." The young man stared at Kratos with wide, wondrous eyes for a while then nodded his head and ran off into the camp proper as fast as his legs could take him.
"While we wait, would you mind telling us your name, stranger?…and where exactly you're from?" The man asked, not unkindly.
"My name…is Kratos, and I am a spartan." There were some mumblings coming from the crowd at his statement, their faces filled with confusion and wonder. He couldn't make out any words, but it did not matter much to him.
"Spartan? I've never heard of any place by that name."
"Hmmm." Kratos hummed, completely uncaring about the man's remark. Their interest in him mattered little to the spartan, his goal taking precedence over the curiosities of mortals.
"How did you come to be beyond the wall?" Undeterred, the man calmly prodded further. Trying his best to walk the fine line between respect and authority.
"It is where I appeared."
That piece of information got the crowd more excited than they were initially. The mumbling doubled and people had even more awe and wonder in their gazes. He did not let it bother him, though, awe and wonder were not the emotions he was used to people feeling when they looked at him. He did not know what to expect, readying himself for any hostility.
"Wh- "
"Save your questions. After guest rights are observed, we may have this inquisition privately." The man seemed to have caught his meaning and nodded his ascent as he stood back in silence awaiting the bread and salt he requested.
They stood there for another minute before Kratos spotted the boy running out of the crowd again, this time carrying a bundle wrapped up in his hands.
"What ye asked fer Mance." The boy said breathlessly, wiping his face with his forearm as took deep breaths.
"Thank you, lad. Return to your post." The man took the bundle from the boy, who glanced at Kratos again quickly before running off, and unwrapped it. The leader cautiously approached and presented the contents to Kratos. Bread and salt, plain and simple. He took the bread and broke off a small piece slowly so as not to startle anyone, before dabbing at the salt and consuming it.
There, guest rights were observed. Now they could get down to matters of import, the people around him visibly relaxing. The man had watched him consume the bread and nodded in relief before motioning Kratos to follow him as they headed into the camp. His captains, for that was what Kratos knew they were, did not wait to be invited as they silently followed along.
The crowd easily parted for them as they walked on. All were quiet, various expressions of hope, wonder and outright joy on their faces. In passing them by, some began to touch him, as if to make sure he was real. It started small at first as they were timid, but the deeper into the crowd he went the bolder they became. Soon everyone was clambering for a touch of him. He ignored it best he could, perfectly schooling his features and pushing down the building irritation inside him. The trek to the tent was longer than he expected, but he supposed the commander would have wanted it to be in the center of the camp. Smart and dependable.
They eventually came upon a large tent, and he suspected the quarters of the figurehead would be. Three people were standing outside the tent, an old woman, a young one and a child. Once he got close, he recognized them as three of the people from the group he saved previously. The little girl was grinning joyfully and bouncing excitedly, the young woman smiling slightly as she tried and failed to contain her while the old woman had a knowing smirk on her wizened face.
"You came, you came!" Exclaimed the little girl, secretly overjoyed now that her wish came true.
"Of course, he did. Just like I said he would, child. The southerner did not believe me, did not prepare adequately much to our shame." The elder lamented, still with the content grin on her face.
The commander sighed. "Aye, I didn't. But he's here now, and I would like a chance to speak with privately. Best be on your way."
"He is my way. It is him we all follow now, even those who don' know i' yet."
"Be quick with your words, woman. We have important matters to discuss." Growled Kratos, sensing something much different about the elderly one in front of him compared to the other mortals here.
"Yes, oh lord." Unaffected by his harsh voice, she answered and tried to usher the others away, with neither protests nor arguments.
The commander gave him a strange look but didn't say a word. While the woman was ushering them away the little girl turned around and asked if she would see him again, trying her best to hold her ground despite the older woman's ushering. Kratos walked up to her and knelt before her, his eyes staring directly at hers before he put his hand on her shoulder, a soft reassurance.
"What is your name, girl?"
"Ma Maa call me Atrea." She answered, looking down at her feet in silence.
Kratos's heart squeezed in grief at her words, but he did not let it show. He held her under her chin and raised her head.
"I will not be leaving this camp, Atrea. So yes, you shall see me again. Be certain of that." She smiled wide before hugging him and thanking him for saving her, before joining the others once more. Kratos watched them leave before turning back towards his group, most of which were looking at him strangely. The blue eyed woman especially was as unreadable as ever, although he could tell her caution was somewhat appeased as her posture became less tense.
He stepped around the commander and entered the tent, the rest of them following right after. The ghost of Sparta was about to state his piece when one of them, the red haired one, asked a question.
"Are you an Old God?"
Although Kratos couldn't see it, the commander masterfully held back the curse he was about to throw at his lieutenant, instead choosing to mutter incoherently about a prayer not being answered.
It looks like he has a lot of work in front of him.