Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters (except the OC's) Percy Jackson & The Olympians, Heroes Of Olympus, or Trials of Apollo. All of that belongs to Rick Riordan.
3. Demoness Of The Forest
"You're really just going to read all day?"
Arya looked down at Sigurd, who had the Art of War sprawled open on his lap, about halfway through. She'd already seen him with it countless times before, it was rather thin, and Sigurd could read ten books on one day if he wanted to.
"Of course." He replied, without looking at her. His red hair was hiding his forehead and eyes, and for once, he was out of his body covering black cloak, and instead wearing a brown tunic. He sat inside Hannes's longhouse, in front of the warm fireplace, with his cutlass propped next to him, and yes, more books. Most of them written by some guy named Dostoyevsky.
Arya sighed, "You read all the time. I've finally got a day off, so..."
Sigurd looked up at her this time and raised an eyebrow, "So?"
Arya wanted to break the eye contact out of embarrassment. Either that or slap him. How and the world could he not see what she was trying to do here? They were only thirteen, but she knew she liked him. And as busy as they are, she wanted to spend some time with him while they were free.
He's the smartest boy in the world, yet he can't take a hint.
Arya boldened herself, "So...I was thinking we could do something fun."
"Reading's fun." Sigurd said, and gestured to the books next to him, "Here, take one. Or we could train. I need to work on a move Hannes showed me anyway."
"Sigurd we do that all the time. I meant something fun fun. Like take the wolves for a ride, or sneak out and go in Dead Man's Cavern, I don't know, just something different!"
Sigurd was about to protest, but Hannes opened the door loudly and poked his head in, earning the attention of the two teenagers.
Hannes was a big man. He stood nearly up to the top of the doorframe, and almost as wide too. He had broad shoulders, a stocky build, beefy arms, and something akin to the legs of an oxen. He wore a black, long sleeve tunic, matching pants, with boots. You could hardly see his face, due to the beard he sported, coming down to his chest, hints of gray mixed in. Whenever Sigurd asked how old he was, Hannes would always tap him on the forehead and say, "Older than you, kid." But if he had to guess, judging on the few wrinkles he had, and the storm gray in his hair, he was probably in his fifties.
Sigurd immediately knew from the look on Hannes's face, something was wrong. He was needed.
The Son of Odin put his book down and shot up, locking his good eye with Hannes's pair. His mentor gave a small motion with his head, signaling for him to follow. Arya looked between them and fought down a twinge of disappointment. If Hannes needed Sigurd for something, like he always did, it could range from five minutes to six hours.
Sigurd, despite his density, was able to recognize this. He put a hand on her arm and looked her in the eye, "We'll do something later, Arya. I promise."
She nodded, and forced a smile, "Okay."
Sigurd squeezed her arm and let go to walk past Hannes, exiting the longhouse.
When his mentor followed him, Sigurd immediately asked, "What is it?"
Hannes was right beside him, his eyes forward. "A lesson."
It was like a grunt. Hannes had a voice like a bull anyway, but Sigurd wasn't sure he heard it. "A lesson? On what?"
"You'll see for yourself."
Sigurd furrowed his eyebrows and tried to figure out what was going on. Judging by his tone, it was serious. Usually Hannes was jovial, and always had fun if he could. But now he was silent, and his spirit was grim. Something was wrong.
Hannes stepped in front and led outside of Camp. It was then that Sigurd knew. He was taking him to the dungeon.
It was one of the only landmarks one of the campers would ever go to outside of Camp. On the outside, it was rather hidden, a small wooden trapdoor that led down to a large stone room, with bars and chains for prisoners.
Hannes reached down and opened the door. When he did, the stench hit his nose, and the noise hit his ears. The stench of iron, which meant blood, and the noise of people whooping, while a different voice screams in agony.
"Get him, brother!"
"AGHHH!"
"What the hell's wrong with you? Hit him harder!"
Hannes grimaced and quickened his pace, "Those damn fools..."
He climbed in first, and Sigurd followed close behind, practically sliding down the ladder that led into the dim, torch lit dungeon.
When both of them hit the ground, they turned to see a horrible sight.
Two figures were hounding on another, beating him senseless. Blood flew in the air, splattered on the walls, the figure's head recoiled back and forth, moaned in pain, and did everything else under the sun to somehow relieve himself from all of it.
"STOP!" Hannes shouted, his voice booming like thunder. The two figures froze, and their heads turned back to look at the pair, their fists still raised.
When Sigurd saw and recognized them, he wanted to roll his eyes and groan. It was the sadist duo of Bjorn and Boris.
The Sons of Thor that joined Camp soon after Sigurd did. The powerful psychopaths that enjoyed bullying, fighting, and hearing their own mouths run. Sigurd doesn't like them one bit. They disagree and argue constantly, they target his best friend Rune, they disobey and laugh at Hannes behind his back. It makes Sigurd sick, and if he were a more impulsive person, he'd attack them and give them a taste of their own medicine. Separated, he could, but the two are always together, and even Sigurd has to admit that he could never hold both of them at the same time. Hannes could barely do it, and he could only beat the both of them out of experience.
It was pretty much the only reason why Hannes kept them around. Their raw power and combat prowess. Sigurd thought they were vile, twisted, sneaky individuals that belonged in this very dungeon chained up, but he could definitely acknowledge their battle intelligence. They have an incredible knack for picking up techniques, great battle instinct, weapon use, abilities...you name it, they have it.
And that goes a long way when you're in a fight. Which...happens a lot, actually.
Bjorn was a beast of a boy. Towering over Sigurd and pretty much any other camper other than Ivan. He had short, blonde hair, arms as wide as Sigurd's head, and a war hammer that weighed over ninety kilograms.
Boris was his fraternal twin. The difference in their appearances were night and day, Boris had choppy red hair, a shorter, leaner build, and was covered in tattoos. His weapon of choice was a battle axe.
The brothers grinned at each other and nodded at Hannes, "Yo, Hannes. We roughed him up for ya."
Sigurd shook his head, while Hannes's face couldn't be more scrunched with anger. He knew what the brothers were doing, they were trying to get a rise out of them on purpose. They knew that they could do almost anything and not get thrown out of Camp, so they pushed it to the limit.
"I did not tell you two to rough him up..." Hannes growled, "I told you to keep GUARD!"
Bjorn and Boris made a mock surprised expression and slapped their foreheads, "Oh man! Our bad, sir. We got confused, sorry."
Sigurd couldn't believe the shit they pulled. "No, you just wanted to satisfy your sick urges." He turned to Hannes and mumbled, "How could you let them watch this man? Them. Really?"
Hannes just shook his head, "You two may take your leave. Do not cause any more trouble, or you'll be in for a rude awakening."
Bjorn and Boris stepped away from the poor, bloody man and feigned offense, "Oh, Sigurd...ya just hurt our feelings so much. Why do ya have to call us names? I thought we were friends."
As they walked toward him, he switched eye contact with both and tried to put as much hatred into his gaze as possible. "When hell freezes over, maybe. Now you heard Hannes, get out."
As they walked past him, he saw the bloodthirsty look in both of their eyes, and the wicked smirks on their faces. Both brothers bumped into Sigurd's shoulders, nearly knocking him off balance. Sigurd had to do his best to not floor both of them.
Under their breath, both whispered threats.
"Just wait till' later, golden boy."
"Yeah, we'll kill you."
That was it. Sigurd turned around sharply and put his hand on his cutlass to draw it. But Hannes grabbed him before he could do anything, while the brothers climbed up the ladder, laughing.
"How on Earth could you trust them for anything?!" Sigurd shouted.
Hannes shushed him, "Leave them, leave them, Sigurd. Leave those fools."
Sigurd pulled himself away from Hannes's grip. "Why, Hannes? Why can't we just banish them?"
Hannes looked down at him, "You know why. Besides, if we do, you know they'll come back to wreak havoc. That'll only put lives in danger."
Sigurd grumbled, "They already wreak havoc."
Hannes ignored him and instead, led him inside the small cell at the back of the room, where Bjorn and Boris had been.
Sitting on the floor, with his wrists shackled in chains attached to the wall, was a bloody, bruised, and downright beaten man. From what Sigurd could recognize, that was even left of the person, he was maybe mid twenties, with buzzed black hair, a trimmed beard, and once held a lean build. But now, he was thin, obviously lost weight due to decreased eating. He had been here for days.
But Sigurd noticed that the man had a few tattoos. Merit tattoos from combat. They were awarded to Vikings for various reasons.
He shook his head and took a deep breath, officially erasing the infuriating brothers from his mind for the moment. "Who is he?"
Hannes stared down at the man, his face unreadable. "This...is Erling."
Sigurd's eyes widened, his head darted up at Hannes. "Erling?!"
He nodded. Sigurd had to do multiple double takes. Erling's a son of Kvasir, a loyal former camper, who up until this point, Sigurd thought he taught poetry to the younglings. But now...he's locked up in the dungeon nearly dead.
He was hardly recognizable, but that hair...and the somewhat visible facial features...it was him.
"Why is he here?"
No response.
"Why is he here, Hannes?" Sigurd snarled, "Did those two put him in here?"
Hannes shook his head and held up a hand, "Calm yourself, Sigurd. He is in here because he broke the rules."
"What rule?"
Hannes locked eyes with his student, and his stare was deathly serious. "He betrayed us."
Sigurd's head reared back. What? He couldn't believe that. No. Not for one second. Erling was loyal. He loved this camp, he loved the campers. Every time Sigurd saw him teach poetry, he seemed so content and happy, he interacted well with the kids, he could fight, and had fought for the camp before. He was a good warrior when he was an active Viking.
"But that's...no, that can't be true. Erling was..."
"A good man? Yes, he was. A loyal Viking? He was that too." Hannes sighed, "But my scouts caught him with Ymir's men. They robbed Frey's food supply meant for our Camp, and he was with them."
"Did Frey tell you that? Or the scouts?"
"Both."
At that moment, Erling seemed to wake up from his comatose state, he looked up weakly at Sigurd, his eyes swollen and watery.
"S-Sigurd? Is that you?"
Sigurd closed his eyes and turned away. He couldn't face him like this.
Hannes nudged Sigurd, "Look at him. Face this, Sigurd."
"Help me." Erling pleaded, "Help me...please."
Sigurd turned around and walked away when he felt Erling's breath on his hand. Hannes came over and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Why am I down here, Hannes?"
Hannes exhaled deep through his nose, and his eyes were sympathetic. Sigurd was rarely uncomfortable in these situations, but this was the rarity of having it be a...friend. Someone Sigurd was fond of. The two would talk for hours about history and poetry all the time.
"I know it's bad." Hannes said, "I know this is hard, and uncomfortable, my boy. But this is one of the challenges of being a leader; making tough decisions, that could affect your friends, your people, your enemies, all of it. It's incredibly difficult. The pressure, the stakes. Every thought you have, every word you say, every action you take...has an aftereffect. It will manipulate the community you're in charge of, or even the world, at a higher level."
Sigurd had heard words like these before from him, and every time, he took them just as seriously. The way he saw it, he was absorbing wisdom from a master. He wouldn't take it for granted.
Still...that hardly makes it easier.
"I understand, sir. But...what does that entail for me in this situation?"
"I want you to decide his fate."
Day Seventy Nine - Entry Seventy Nine
Fate. Trust.
Two words that have an ocean of depth. Do I believe in fate? Yes, I do.
I believe that we are put here for a purpose. All of us. Whether that be good or bad. I don't confuse that with free thought or free will, though. I believe there isn't a plan for our birth, how we live our lives, or our death. We choose that path, we mold it.
But there is such a thing as fate. There is destiny. There are forces at work to steer people in certain directions, obstacles put in the way, and people meet each other, sometimes not by chance.
This can be supported by love and war. Both are constant and aren't as different as many can think. Wars have been started over love, and love can result from war.
Was I destined to lead Camp Asgard? Yes I was. But the work that I put in, the things that I learned, was not part of that. I struggled, and I had to fight to earn respect.
I was destined to keep Ymir dormant. I was destined to bring my group of friends together, my army, to defeat him. But the path towards that was anything but easy. We suffered casualties, we suffered losses, we could hardly see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hannes lost his life.
He lost his life. He's gone. We will meet again at the end, but that is later. Later than I want it to be.
There are many times where I would kill to have his advice, or just talk to him for one minute. I feel so lost sometimes without him. He was essentially my father, and certainly my mentor. I learned everything I know from him, and saying goodbye was the hardest thing I had to do. I felt an unbearable emptiness when the snow settled. When it was all over, and he wasn't there...
We talked about him being at mine and Arya's wedding.
I talked with Rune about him being my best man. He is gone as well.
But death works both ways. The deserved get their due as well. Bjorn and Boris are gone. It sickens me to know that I could've watched Matt and Malachi kill them, but I missed it. Part of me wishes I had dealt the killing blow, but I know it wouldn't make me feel better. Not about Rune.
I haven't been away from Camp like this in a long time. I miss Arya. I miss Ivan. I miss all of the campers, seeing their smiles, seeing peace.
Peace.
I want peace for the world. I want it for the Greeks, and for all the pantheons. But...I know I would've been happier had I not gotten involved.
I cherish the value of meeting these warriors. Of meeting someone like Matt or Diego. But in my soul, I want the fighting to end. I want to have years of nothing but a "boring" life. I've fought for so long, I want it to be over.
But I know that this is what I am meant to do. This is my destiny. I'm meant to lead, to unite, to fight.
Sigurd saw the piece of snow drop from the tree limb and onto his journal. He looked up in annoyance and brushed it off. He'd written enough for the day.
He closed the journal with a smacking noise and sighed. He wasn't sure why he even did it, after seventy-nine days, and seventy-nine entries, he was starting to lose the point.
Then the voice inside his head, that sounded oddly like his father, Odin, would speak back.
It's a reminder.
It's for the future generation. They can learn from it. Gather wisdom from it.
Wisdom, eh? Our motto. Sigurd thinks.
He remembered two weeks ago, when he had the little battle with Diego.
It started off as a misunderstanding but turned into a good meeting. Sigurd was surprised with how well it went, and how his camp was ran. Once Sigurd entered, he knew that Diego had loyal followers, and powerful warriors. The two talked more about the situation in depth, and the future of their little "alliance."
It's a working progress.
At the end of the meeting, Diego said he was interested, and would "keep in touch" but never gave a definite answer of giving his support and fighting with Sigurd against Ouranos. Which Sigurd understood. He never expected the man to immediately jump on board and be all for fighting an enemy he's never even met. Sigurd was just thankful Diego even considered it.
It was a success in his eyes. He just hoped the rest would be as well.
Sigurd's thoughts were broken by what he thought to be the sound of...a voice. He couldn't quite make out what it was, if it was even human, but something had definitely made a noise in the distance.
He was in the Ural Mountains of Russia, currently walking through a snow-covered forest, thick with leafless trees, tightly knit together. You had to twist your body every time you passed one. His goal had been to find the Slavic camp next, which he deduced to be somewhere in Russia. Somewhere, isn't exactly the most precise of directions. But the sad truth is, there aren't many Slavic myths, and information is rather dry, at least, in terms of texts. It often becomes overshadowed by Christianity, considering many of them adopted the religion over time.
But if it once existed, Sigurd had hope that at the very least, remnants of it were still around. Somewhere.
This was different though. His mind was thinking only about that noise. He walked around in different directions, trying to hear what was going on. When he could no longer catch any sound, he didn't assume it had been a trick of the wind, or he was just hearing things. He instead closed his eyes and used world sight.
In the radar of his mind, he saw a wide span of the forest. About a mile away, was a figure, a small figure with depleting life force.
It looked like it was a girl, and if Sigurd was seeing right, she was crawling on the ground, with only one leg. As in, the other leg from the knee down had been amputated.
Sigurd's entire body tensed up, he knew whoever that was, was in trouble. A child no less. He turned off his sight and immediately turned towards her direction. He wasted no time in running through the endless trees, he just bent down and covered the distance in one jump, bashing his shoulders into the trees along the way, destroying them instantly as he went through like glass.
He skidded to a stop behind the girl, putting up a telekinetic wall to shield her from the snow and the splinters of the destroyed bark. All of them bounced right back off and she remained unharmed.
His movement however, made an incredibly loud noise. The girl turned around and screamed continuously, which made Sigurd curse under his breath.
Okay, now's the time to practice calming a child down. Sigurd had thought about kids, of course, but not that much. I mean, he was only twenty-one, so he still had plenty of life ahead of him. However, it wasn't too young to start thinking about it. Sigurd considered himself good with kids, good at inspiring them, teaching them how to fight, about battle, life lessons, etcetera.
But comforting them when he scares them, hmm, he's unfamiliar there.
He immediately put his hands in front of him and shushed her, "I'm sorry! It's okay, it's okay, just calm down."
But the girl wouldn't, and Sigurd understood it was probably the most traumatizing thing she'd ever been through. So he cheated a little bit. He should've practiced calming a scared child without powers, but he couldn't help himself. This girl's leg was off, so cut him some slack.
He narrowed his good eye at her own, and when they locked, he put her in a semi-trance. He didn't want to do such a thing as mind control a kid, but he really had no other choice. He brushed his mind against hers and eased her emotions down. Quickly, it started taking effect, and she stopped crying, and just stared at Sigurd, confused.
Once he knew she was at ease, Sigurd let go of her mind and kneeled down next to her, taking in her injuries.
First, he looked at the amputated leg. It was in fact, cut off below the knee, and wrapped in thick gauze. But Sigurd noted that there were red splotches all over, nearly covering the white. That meant it was a fresh cut. This happened recently.
Other than that, nothing else seemed to be wrong with her. But she had been crawling in the snow for Odin knows how long, so she may be close to frostbite. She was obviously cold, her lips were turning blue, and she was shivering profusely.
The girl herself might've been eight or nine years old. Far, far too young to experience such a horrible thing. Sigurd felt hatred at whoever could do such a deed to anybody, let alone a child.
"S-S-So...c-cold..." The girl squeaked. She spoke in Russian, but Sigurd understood perfect. Russian was the fourth language he'd mastered.
So he spoke back in the same language, speaking as fluently as if he'd lived there his whole life. "It's okay, little one, you're safe now." He quickly undid the button holding his black cloak together and took it off, scooping up the girl in it and wrapping it around her. It was more than big enough to cover her twice over.
It was Hannes's old cloak, that he had given Sigurd several years ago. But Sigurd hardly cared right now. He wouldn't let this child's death be on his hands.
For double measure, he created a bubble of green spirit around her and trapped her inside. It was like a bubble, with a small air hole at the top. The energy that he produced was warm. It started out lukewarm, because Sigurd knew if he started out scalding it would send her into shock. So he let it gradually rise from room temperature to a hot summer day.
Sigurd didn't care if he was exposing his abilities in front of a mortal. Hell, the girl would probably put if off as a hallucination anyway.
Still, he put his face up to the bubble and asked, "Is that better?"
She nodded quickly. Sigurd could tell that she was warmer, but she was still scared.
"Who did this to you?"
The girl hesitated, and her eyes shut tight.
Sigurd gently placed his hand on the bubble, "You don't have to be afraid. Whoever, or whatever it was, won't come after you. They will not harm you; I'll make sure of it."
She looked at him, her eyes wide. Sigurd was trying his best to naturally tell her with his one good eye that he was serious. If he caught the person, he'd decide their fate. And it probably wouldn't be a good one.
Finally, she whispered, "Old...lady..."
"Old lady?"
"Mean...old lady." She nodded.
Mean old lady. At first, Sigurd furrowed his eyebrows. What on Earth? It's not impossible, but he doubted that an old woman would cut some child's leg off. An abusive grandmother?
But then it hit Sigurd, what was really going on. It was a good thing he studied the few Slavic myths there were before he began this journey, because he recognized this as a repeat of the most famous one.
Baba Yaga.
Sigurd used his world sight to find the closest authorities. About twenty miles away, he located police and put an officer to sleep. In a dream orchestrated by Sigurd, he came to him with projected spirit and told him to come to this location, bring his force, and quickly.
About thirty minutes later, they came. Several cars with flashing lights drifted in the snow. Sigurd released the green bubble when the officers piled out. He explained the situation, and when it came to his involvement, they were very suspicious that it was him. He was now a suspect.
Sigurd could understand their suspicion. A grown man like him could pose as the "rescuer" when really he was the perpetrator. They were just doing their job.
However, Sigurd had no time for it. None at all. He didn't want to get involved in an investigation in a foreign country, so he cheated yet again.
He figured since the situation was explained and the authorities were going to get the girl back to her family, he was free to slip out of any wrongful accusations. With a little mind control.
He looked the officers in the eye and spoke lowly, "You have no idea who I am. You will forget about me...now."
His words washed over the men like a river, and they instantly became blank. Until Sigurd broke eye contact. He walked away and they reformed to reality, looking around, puzzled as to what they were doing standing in one line.
Sigurd casually walked over to the ambulance, ruffled the girl's hair and said goodbye, grabbed his cloak, and left.
Walking through the woods again, he tried to retrace his steps back to the girl's trail. He intended to follow it back to the source of where she'd been captured and amputated.
He'd read the story of Baba Yaga many times, finding it infuriating, and fascinating. He was glad he did so, because had he not, he probably wouldn't regognize this for what it was.
Baba Yaga is the tale of an old demon, taking the form of an elderly woman. She lures children to her home, then traps them, and eats them. It's simple, yet sickening.
However, Sigurd was killing two birds with one stone here. Another part of the story he remembered, was that if you could evade and beat Baba Yaga, you would earn her respect. And she would help you with whatever you wanted.
So his plan now, was to find Baba Yaga, free any more children she'd kidnapped, then find out where the Slavic demigods are. He knew she would tell him, if he could find her.
He hadn't strayed too far from the spot he found her in when the police arrived, so it was quite easy to find it again.
As soon as Sigurd spotted the ditch of snow she'd laid in, he began to follow what was left in its wake. A trail.
It was like a giant slug had slithered along the ground. It was a continuous semi-circle that wrapped around the trees every so often, but for the most part, Sigurd only walked straight, keeping his eyes glued. He didn't look away for a second.
But when he finally did, he didn't see a house in sight. Just trees. Endless trees. Odin's beard, how far had she crawled?
Sigurd's mind began to race, as it always does when he's confused. Really, there was nothing to be confused about, but he was questioning the nuances of the myth. Had she gained the respect of Baba Yaga? And that's why she wasn't following the child? Were there more children? If so, why didn't the girl tell Sigurd?
Obviously, she was in shock. She could hardly think, let alone speak. Sigurd was going there for information. If more children happened to be trap, he would free them, and kill the demon that caused this chaos.
He felt like a cat walking through a valley of hungry dogs, like there were dozens of eyes watching him from the forest. Every time he checked his sight though, there was nothing. But still, he knows the feeling of being watched, and right now, that feeling is jabbing at his instincts with a spear.
Sigurd had been stalked before. He'd been hounded and outnumbered before. He'd been in situations just like this, where all he could hear was the eerie ambience of a quite forest, only the sound of the wind to keep you company.
But those situations had been on his turf. His homeland.
Sigurd shakes his head, honestly annoying his own self with the complaining. He's been at this for too long now, he might as well just accept that he has no idea what's coming around the corners now, and that's okay. He'll get out of it. If...he avoids making stupid decisions.
Decisions. Fate.
Almost like a kick, Sigurd sees his memory continue.
"Decide his fate?"
Hannes nodded, "Yes."
Sigurd looked nervously at Erling, who was staring at the boy, pleading silently. Sigurd had to turn away.
"W-What options do I have?" Sigurd hated stuttering, or showing any signs of nervousness, but this was an uncomfortable situation.
"Whatever comes to your mind." Hannes said, "You could set him free, you could have him killed...whatever you decide, happens."
Hannes had let Sigurd make decisions before. But they had been menial things, like the hunting route for the Lynx women, the training regiments, new crafting weapons, things like that. But this was a Viking's life. One of their own.
Erling's head brushed up against Sigurd's arm, and he whimpered. "S-Sigurd, please don't have me killed. I...I'm sorry for what I did, I truly am."
Sigurd had to look at him now. His red eyebrows were furrowed sadly. He bent down and tried to reason with the supposed traitor.
"Erling, what were you thinking?" He scolded gently, quietly, like someone was eavesdropping outside. "Ymir? Why would you help him? He's our enemy."
Erling's body racked a sob, and he started crying. "He was going to kill me! He was going to kill everyone! I had to!"
"Did you kill one of us?"
His swollen eyes widened as far as they could go, "No! Of course not, no! I would never!"
"But you robbed from our food supply, right? What else have you done?"
Erling sniffled, "I...did. I'm so sorry, Sigurd, but I had to. I never meant to harm any of you, I never meant to..." He trailed off, and sobbed again, "I'm sorry."
Sigurd tried his best to detach his emotions from the situation. But it was...very hard. If this was truly his decision, he needed to make a reasonable choice, and offer a reasonable sentence.
Hannes waited patiently for Sigurd's verdict. The Son of Odin lowered his head and winced. "I believe he made a mistake, Hannes. I think he's being truthful in that he didn't want to hurt us."
Erling's mouth upturned in a relieved smile, while Hannes was unreadable.
"This is his first offense. As far as we know, he didn't murder one of our own, so we aren't executing him. But we aren't setting him free."
"So what do you propose?"
Sigurd thought about it, "I think...we should keep him under supervision, in the Camp. If he proves he can be trustworthy, we'll lessen the supervision, and maybe things can go back to normal."
"And if he tries to escape? If he commits another crime?"
"Banish him. If we meet and kill him in battle...so be it."
Erling gulped, and looked fearful, but at the same time, was just glad to be left alive for now.
Sigurd looked up at Hannes, "Is that satisfactory?"
Hannes nodded, "If you think so. It will be done."
He stood up and tried his best to enact some kind of emotion from his teacher, but Hannes was completely stone faced. Sigurd didn't like it.
"Is it a good decision? Hannes, talk to me."
"It doesn't matter what I think, Sigurd. This is a lesson to you. One of these days, you will be leader of this Camp, perhaps even leader of our entire world, if Odin wills it, and you'll need to be prepared for backlash. You'll need to be prepared to stick to a choice, even if others disagree. Now, that's not to say don't listen to council, but if you truly think it's right, don't crumble."
"Okay...I understand."
Hannes pointed a big finger at Erling, "And let this be a lesson about loyalty and trust. Even your friends can betray you. People you trusted, can break that trust in an instant. Never underestimate the power of a silver tongue."
Sigurd never forgot that. He also never forgot the day that Erling was reported to have escaped. He never forgot when they met him on battle and was killed a traitor.
He learned a lot about trust from that. Never take anything at face value. Don't judge based on appearance. That means when he faces this old lady, he needs to look past the exterior and look inside, at the true demon that resides there. He's not confronting a mortal; he's confronting a monster.
After walking for what felt like miles, he sees it. There, at the end of the long stretch of trees, in a small clearing, sat an old wooden house. It might've been big enough to fit maybe...four rooms, bathroom included. It was quaint, with few windows, but the windows that it offered glowed with orange light, telling Sigurd that someone was home, and had a fire lit.
His eyes narrowed and his body tensed up. One look at the ground and he knew that the girl had crawled straight out that building. Baba Yaga didn't even bother covering up the blood off the ground, or the dug-in body trail with fresh snow. Not that it would've mattered, but still.
Sigurd prepared himself. "Okay...here we go."
He tucked his cloak in tighter so it would cover his entire body. He decided to put his hood up to. If he was going to stall long enough to find those kids, he needed to play a part first. He decided to go with the cold, weary traveler.
So Sigurd picked up a clump of snow and dumped it on his cloaked head, letting the white clumps scatter across the black cloth. Made him look like he was extra cold.
When he felt he looked ready, he knocked on the door. Three firm knocks that could be heard clearly.
A few seconds passed before the door creaked slowly. Sigurd noted that Baba Yaga didn't even look through the window before opening, she just blindly trusted that it would be a kid or something outside.
Well, she's a demon, so what does she have to be cautious about?
Me. Sigurd thought.
Once the warmth of the inside fire and the dim light greeted him, Sigurd had to look down to face her. Baba Yaga was short, plump, and old. If she were a mortal, she would pass as maybe...eighty years old. She had wrinkly skin, flabby arms, and curly gray hair, with a classic grandmother smile to boot.
Sigurd was almost fooled for one moment that she was normal. Sigurd was. In that moment, he took her as seriously as any other threat he'd faced, old demoness or not, she was dangerously persuasive and convincing. He could see how a child would be easily lured into her home.
Sigurd turned his acting mode on. He wasn't cold, but he pretended to shiver vigorously, teeth chattering and rubbing his hands together under his cloak. Her eyes widened and she spoke first.
"Well, hello sir!" She said, in Russian, of course.
Sigurd spoke shakily, "S-Sorry to bother you, ma'am...but my car broke down and I just need someplace to get warm while I call my friend to pick me up. C-Could I come inside for just a moment, please?"
Sigurd mentally nodded at his performance. Seemed convincing enough.
And it appeared to fool her. Baba Yaga smiled widely and nodded, "Well, of course! Goodness, you look like you're freezing! Come on in, come on in!"
She put a light hand on Sigurd's back and led him inside, shutting the door gently behind him.
Sigurd immediately took a look at his surroundings. It looked completely normal at first glance, and much more well-kept than outside. Primed dark oak wood, a stone fireplace, a large dining room, kitchen, and comfortable furniture. Quite cozy. A bit like Sigurd's own house at home.
Uh, no. Don't think that.
Baba Yaga lumbered around him, "Have a seat, sir!"
Sigurd nodded, and pulled out one of the wooden dining room chairs, plopping down on it as slowly as possible. He felt like an animal about to be put in the back of a van.
"So what were you doing all the way out here..."
It hit him that she was indirectly asking for his name, "Oh, Nikita, ma'am."
He wanted to cringe at his choice. A very common name, almost too common. But he hoped his fluidity in the language would be enough to convince her that he was from the homeland.
Gauging her reaction, he didn't see any sign of suspicion. "Ah, well what brings you out here, Nikita?"
"Oh, well...things have been tough right now. You see, my brother just committed suicide, and I wanted to go for a drive after work."
He said that to get a reaction out of her, to see her range of emotions. Besides, it was a somewhat believable story. It was quite odd for him to be out this far in the snowy mountains for casual reasons.
He wanted to see how human she would act, and she didn't disappoint. She turned around, looking shocked and genuinely sympathetic. "Oh my...I'm so sorry. All of that on top of your car breaking down?"
So she paid attention to that? Interesting. She was very human-like.
"It's okay. Just bad luck, I suppose."
"Could I fix you something to eat? I don't mind at all." She smiled warmly.
Sigurd almost shook his head, but then remembered that he could use it as a distraction. If she was occupied, he could say he needed to call his friend. It would be layers of distraction, while he went to find those other kids. Because he had no doubt that there were others.
So he nodded, "Yes, if you don't mind. I'm starving. Um...whatever works for you, I'm not picky."
"Oh, alright! It's my pleasure!"
Sigurd smiled back at her, gesturing to another room, "Please excuse me for a moment, I'm going to call my friend."
He expected a flinch, or some sort of reaction that indicated she knew what he was doing. But instead, she kept up the facade. "Okay! Use any room you like! Do you need to use my phone?"
Oh, she was good. If that girl's trail hadn't led straight to this house, he might begin to question if she was really Baba Yaga or not.
"Oh no, that won't be necessary, I've got my cell."
Sigurd excused himself and feigned reaching into his cloak for a cell phone. Sigurd, in reality, had never owned a cell phone. But he acted like he started talking to someone by greeting thin air, going the extra mile to fool her.
When he thought he was out of earshot, he stopped talking, and started looking.
He acted as quickly and quietly as possible, searching every room upstairs and in between. The house was certainly bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. He walked through guest rooms, closets, bedrooms, bathrooms, and still, nothing.
But then he tried to put himself in her shoes. If he were hiding children, where would he put them?
What's the most secretive part of a house? When he asked that question, Sigurd immediately thought of the dungeon back at Camp. Somewhere underground...like a cellar, or a basement.
Sigurd knew he had a time limit here. Only so long he could be talking to his "friend" without it being suspicious. He shuffled quickly down the steps and to the foremost side of the house, where a wall of doors sat.
Sigurd stared at the one at the end, his gaze piercing through it and sinking to the other side. He saw a set of stairs leading down into something unknown, with a railing on the side for someone to hold on to. That could be it...
Sigurd turned the knob as slowly as possible and opened the door, earning several creaks. Looking closer at it, he could see that the door was old, older looking than the other doors in fact.
Once he opened it, the stench hit his nose. And he knew right there that he'd found the right room.
It was a rotten smell. Dried blood, flesh, bodily fluids...just some horrible mixture that he couldn't quite describe. But it was bad, bad enough to make the stone-faced son of Odin cringe and turn away.
But he knew that there were kids down there that needed to get out of here, so he held his breath and forced his way down the steps.
The creaking was loud now. But at this point, he was already in the lion's den, so he might as well make all the noise he can. If he finds these kids, then that's a clear shot to engage against Baba Yaga. Drop the weary traveler act and everything.
Just as Sigurd began to think the stairs were endless, he made it to the end. Since it was pitch black, he had to ignite his hand with green aura. Instantly, it illuminated the cold cellar, and it showed Sigurd the truth.
He was right.
All in front of him, were children, about a dozen of them, both boys and girls, in chains. They looked thin and starved, dazed and hopeless. The most horrifying part...some of them had limbs missing, just like the girl before.
Sigurd's eyes widened, then his mouth clamped with anger.
The children's eyes had been closed, but all of them opened when they saw the green light. And it went from quiet to loud in about half a second.
They began screaming and begging him to rescue them, not even assuming that he was here to eat them as well. It made Sigurd feel sick. They were so desperate, they would've begged anyone for help.
Before he could say anything to them, he heard the door creak open all the way upstairs, and then a single, stomping footstep. When Sigurd looked to his side, he saw that the light from the doorway had been filled up by a shadowy figure. Baba Yaga had found him.
Sigurd put his finger up to his lips, and the children all shut their mouths, save for a few whimpers.
He took a single step to the bottom of the stairway and looked up. There she was, staring back down at him. The light behind her made her front look like a shadow, but Sigurd could see her eyes. They were haunting. No longer friendly and warm like the neighborhood grandma, but cold and dead.
"Nikita..." She said, in a whisper-growl sort of way, "...What are you doing down here? I thought you were calling your friend."
Sigurd was silent. He didn't really know what to say, the moment was eerie and intense. They both just stared at each other, with no background noise.
"These your grandchildren?" Sigurd said, his tone laced with venom. He could see the recognition in Baba Yaga's eyes, she was slowly realizing that he too, was not normal either.
"No...they're not."
Silence. Sigurd waited for her to say something else. Give up the rouse and threaten him, or even attack...but nothing came.
So Sigurd figured he would initiate the real conversation. With caution, but an unwavering glare, he walked up the stairs, trying his best to ignore the whimpering pleas of the children for him to come back.
And the whole time, Baba Yaga just stared blankly at him, like she had somehow fallen asleep with her eyes open.
Finally, when Sigurd made it to the top of the stairs, she stepped back to allow him room.
"I've caught you, Baba Yaga. Let's talk for real now."
The old demoness had her mouth open slightly, with disgusting drool coming out of it. Was she trying to play dumb?
But then, she closed her mouth and straightened, as if she hadn't done anything strange thus far.
"Very well. Follow me."
Sigurd followed her, a bit surprised that the act was up, and she didn't protest any further, maybe try to hide her identity; But then again, how could she? The cat was sort of out of the bag now. Way out of the bag.
They found themselves back in the dining room, like before. Nobody sat. They faced each other.
"I want to hear you admit that you are Baba Yaga."
She began to show her true colors with a devilish smirk, "Would a regular old woman keep her livestock in the basement?"
Livestock? Sigurd felt his insides churn at the disgusting comment. "Perhaps. But still, I want to hear it from your mouth, demoness."
She cocked her head, like she was getting annoyed with his pestering. Finally, she sighed, "Yes, I am Baba Yaga."
Sigurd nodded. Okay, it was official. He would get information, kill her, and not think twice about it.
"Okay. And do you know who I am?"
"Well, at first I thought you were a lost man...but now I'm guessing you're something else."
"Let's go with that." Sigurd decided not to reveal his true identity. He didn't know if the demoness could haunt, or how the afterlife worked here for monsters. He guessed they all went to the same place, but he didn't have enough knowledge to determine it. "I outsmarted you. And according to legend, if you outsmart Baba Yaga, she'll help you."
"You tricked me." She snarled, "And kept me from my meal."
Sigurd wanted to reach forward and stab her, "Vile creature, I outsmarted you. Now you'll tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave."
Baba Yaga lifted her chin, "What do you want to know?"
Sigurd wasted no time, "The location of the Slavic demigods. If there are any left, that is."
Baba Yaga chuckled and let out several snorts that sounded like a litter of pigs, "Oh, there are some left alright. Out of everything you could've asked, you say that? What interest do you have with them?"
"That's none of your concern. I just want to know where they are."
She shrugged, "I have not seen them since their leader killed me when he was a child. But there have been some strange happenings in the mountains."
Sigurd nodded vigorously. He didn't expect to get the information this easily out of her, or this quickly. But he wasn't about to complain. "Which mountain?"
"The tallest one."
And that was all Sigurd needed to know. "Very well."
Baba Yaga gestured to the door, smiling with excitement that she would get to continue dinner. "You'll be leaving now?"
Sigurd shook his head and couldn't help the smirk that grew on his lips. "Oh I'll be leaving...an empty house."
It took her half a second to realize what he meant. She made a loud, horrible screeching noise, and tried to jump out of the window, but Sigurd was too fast. In a flash, he reached behind his back, yanked his cutlass out, and stabbed the old demoness in the spine. The blade went through her easily, and she yelped in pain, then disappeared to nothing.
After Sigurd killed Baba Yaga, he immediately repeated his action earlier with the child he found in the woods, and summoned officers to the house.
As they were on the way, Sigurd consoled the children and tried to keep them calm the best he could. His heart hurt at the sight of children in pain, it was something he never, ever wanted to see. He believes that yes, pain can be a good teacher, but children shouldn't have to go through something as horrific as this. This is vile.
When he saw the flashing lights, he said his goodbyes and slipped out of the back end of the house. But didn't leave the area completely until he made sure the officers had rescued all the children.
With that out of his head, it was time to find these demigods.
(000)