David found he was in no hurry to respond, letting the conversation rest as he recalled the events that led up to the current moment. The Council allowed him his moment of reflection, the crackling flames the only sound in the barren winter woods. He thought of Morrigan’s lifeless body abandoned by him on the stone floor of the castle, the image a dagger dragging over his chest. He remembered the vision of her and Gaia, his two lost loves, standing hand in hand, like sisters. “First, I must ask this question of you, since you are collectively all-knowing of the happenings in this world,” he said. “Are Gaia and the Morrigan the same soul?”
He was met with silence, the Council still.
It was Libraean who finally spoke, lifting his Sphinx mask away from his head to expose the same face David had met so many eons ago, framed by dirty blonde waves. He set the golden facade down on his chair and approached him, painted with an earnest expression supplemented by a kindly singular eye. “There are things we cannot tell you, David, things you must wait to learn. That story is not ours to impart—our only purpose is to steer you towards what we believe is the best path. While we control the balance, the creatures on earth are free to choose their destiny. The divine beings that work amongst us have their own choices too. Our job is simple—restore, guide, protect.”
David sighed, but accepted his words. He turned to look at the rest of the Council. “I want her back,” he stipulated firmly.
The eagle let out a sound of exasperation. “Why must it always be this way with them?”
“Enough, Scorpius,” the lion grumbled forcefully. “Your compliance in this matter will take you to Hekate. It is she who holds the key to the Morrigan’s return.”
“Then I wish to see her first before any talk of war.”
Taurus the Bull snorted with disdain, the sentiment echoed by Dragos. “Our world falls apart, yet he thinks only of love.”
“Our world would be nothing without it.” Anubis, the man wearing the jackal mask, finally broke his silence. He stood, his cloak falling away to reveal a sculpted, human chest of smooth ebony skin bearing a gold-plated choker set with brilliant lapis lazuli. David’s breath caught in his throat for the eyes that looked back at him were strangely familiar. The jackal seemed to grin as if pleased at David’s moment of fuzzy recollection. “I come from a time when the love between two beings shaped an entire civilization, when the broken heart of a goddess altered life forever.”
“I remember,” Libraean murmured.
“He shall visit the sorceress Hekate and have his questions answered,” Anubis dictated. “It is the only way we can ensure his absolute assistance. What say you, Aquariolus?”
“I agree,” the angel chimed.
Scorpius and Taurus looked visibly frustrated, but nodded.
“Leo?”
“I have no quarrel against these terms,” the lion replied, gruffly.
“Then the Council has spoken,” Libraean declared.
Dragos looked unhappy, but remained silent.
“You shall take him to see the witch,” Scorpius craned his head towards Danulf, who had been standing silently, his bulbous arms folded before him. “Dragos, you may return to your stronghold until they arrive.”
Both nodded their agreement.
The Council abruptly vanished, taking their mysterious knights with them. Libraean was the only member left, which revealed his bondage to the earthly plane still hadn’t been resolved, and he shifted back into his boar guise before turning back to look at David. His expression was mournful, his good eye filled with regret. I did not know everything when last we spoke, he lamented. I am sorry I cannot divulge more to you, but I can promise, you will not regret following the path we have asked you to follow. I will see you again soon, and we can speak freely. He glanced at the other two physical beings left standing, offering a silent farewell before disappearing into the throng of mountainous woodland.
Dragos whistled, and a horse emerged from behind a slew of shadowy trees. “Do not dawdle,” he warned Danulf as he hoisted himself up onto its back. “They anxiously await his arrival.”
Danulf scowled, but nodded, watching as Dragos gave the mare a swift kick and followed after Libraean. Danulf looked back at David. “I will be grateful to take my final leave of that fellow,” he remarked. He looked up at the sky, squinting to see through the crisscrossed ceiling of branches. “I’m afraid an overcast has obscured the moon past any helpfulness. We are going to have to embark on this journey by foot.”
“We had best get started then,” David suggested agreeably.
Danulf extended a sturdy, scarred arm. “I know we haven’t met formally, as is the custom. You can call me Dan if you like.”
David took his hand. “I prefer David over monster with a conscience,” he quipped.
“I bet,” Danulf snorted. He gestured forward into the woods. “Shall we?”
Light began to spill over the mountain, the thinly frosted evergreens glistening as a few robust birds began their morning melodies. What was a mere couple of hours as supernatural wolves felt like days on two legs. David was impressed by Danulf’s resilience, for although he was part creature, the man who accompanied him now was undoubtedly human. His own bones were growing tired as dawn crept into the skies. “We should rest,” he suggested, breaking what had been hours of silence.
Danulf looked surprised. “I assumed you were in a hurry to speak with our volva.”
David noted his unusual use of the archaic Norse term for female shaman, but decided not to comment. “While my body doesn’t require much rest, it is helpful in times of overexertion,” he explained to him. “I’m sure a reprieve might do the same for you.”
Danulf looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the moon will show her face tomorrow evening and cut our journey by half.”
Satisfied by this, the two began to search for shelter. It was Danulf who discovered a suitable copse, the fallen trees and wayward branches creating a natural thicket that was nestled against several mountainous boulders. It was most likely used by wildlife at one point, but its lack of scent assured it hadn’t been in quite some time.
The two burrowed inside just as a flurry of snow began to drift down from the skies. Danulf shivered, adjusting his cloak so that it draped over his chest, folding up his long legs so they were nearby.
“Shall we make a fire?” David asked, attempting to empathize with human frailty.
Danulf did not smile. “I have traveled the better portion of my life in much worse conditions than a gentle snowfall.”
“Still, I would rest better knowing I will not be waking up to a corpse,” David insisted pleasantly, as he stood to gather up kindling. The act of building a fire felt peculiar to him, one that hadn’t been required of him for years, partly since he was a creature and partly because he now belonged to the noble class. Watching the flames grow gifted him a sense of contentment, teasing him with a brief remembrance of what life was like as a human. He suddenly ached for the feral boy running barefoot in the green, with dirt in his gingery, unkempt hair and stories of Druid magic on his lips.
He returned to his corner of the thicket as the warmth filled the copse enough that Danulf could remove his furs and use them as a pillow to rest his head upon.
They sat in comfortable silence for several moments before David attempted conversation. “As a wolf, you alluded to me that you were a Norseman.”
Danulf gave a single nod. “My people were who they now call Vikings. I am a human, but I have been alive for several centuries, the last of my clan.”
David was shocked. “How can that be?”
