by TW Knight
Sam sputtered not believing the warrior. "No fuckin' way! You're Odin?"
"I was for a time. But it was no more than a diversion." Hogart made a dismissive gesture.
"You know, most people play video games," Sam snarked.
"There was no such thing two thousand years ago."
"So you pretended to be Gods instead?"
"My kind were created to teach and mentor mankind as well as protect them. Depending on where you traveled, it was often easier to present one's self as a God rather than a Wiseman. I was but one in a long line. Humans created Gods from these wanderers. Gave them power." He sighed and his eyes took on a sad faraway haze. "Some took it too far, though."
"Hmm, I don't remember ever reading about Odin having half his face tattooed with a big black bird."
Hogart's mouth quirked in a brief shadow of a smile. "But he did have two large ravens that were his eyes, Huginn and Muninn. No better than flying rats who were terrible gossips." He tapped the ink on the side of his face. "At the time, I thought it would help keep Odin's power alive."
"Bree's always yapping about how there really were people, gods, like Odin, are they still around?"
Hogart shrugged. "Most now sleep the sleep of the forgotten."
"But—"
"That matters not." Hogart waved him off.
Realizing he wasn't going to get any further information, Sam settled back. "Well I don't need a teacher or a protector. I've been doing just fine taking care of myself and Bree."
"Yes, you have done very well for yourself."
"You think they'll let me keep fighting?" Sam doubted they would. But he was not going to the island without a fight.
Hogart shook his head. The little beads in his braids rattled. "That is not my choice. You are connected to your sister and will have to stay safe for her sake."
Sam jumped off the bed, pacing again. "I told you, I don't need your help or protection."
"But you do need guidance."
"That's fucking ridiculous. Where do you get off trying to act like my father?"
"If only I was."
"What?" Stunned, Sam took a step back.
Hogart gazed up from the floor. "I am not trying to take your father's place."
"Good, because you can't."
"What about a trade, then?"
Sam eyed him warily. "What kind of trade?"
"Just as you and your sister stayed out of the cities to protect the residents, I have lived in the wilds and away from people for a very long time. I wish now to join the modern age, and I think you can help me learn to survive in this new world. In trade, I will help you hone your skills."
Laughter exploded from Sam. "You want me to help you fit in while we hide out on a secret island!" He continued to laugh until he had to sit down. "I know what you're doing. Bree tries it all the time. Give me a job, a purpose, here do this and see life isn't so bad." Reaching under his mattress, Sam produced a Glock, checked the magazine, and snapped it back into place. He aimed the gun at the ancient calendar across the room. "My job is to kill demons. That's what I was made for."
"It comes so easy to you, the killing?"
"Yeah. So?"
"This troubles me." The big man pushed to his feet. "You like the killing?"
"Again, so what?"
"Have you killed a human?"
Sam felt the warrior's' gaze digging into his soul. "No! I'm not a murderer."
"For now. But how long before killing beasts is not enough?"
"You're crazy,"
"Yes." A nod rattled the beads. "I have been hanging on the verge of insanity, as you have observed, for a very long time. Although I am feeling better now. But never forget I am also a monster. You saw me fight against good men who came here to help. How long before you feel that I must also be destroyed?"
"I— I..." Sam staggered back until he hit the wall behind him. Hogart had a point. He'd been ready to kill them all despite the fact these strangers fought to protect him and his sister. He'd watched them change into monsters and back again, convinced their human appearance it was a trick to gain his trust. He wasn't sure what he thought.
"We will be here until the one called Bass returns from the Void. Take this time to think. You have the opportunity to be more than a boy with a sword chasing monsters. I think we need to help each other, Sam."
Sam continued to stare into space long after the office door shut, leaving him alone in his cold makeshift bedroom with his thoughts.
It wasn't a situation he'd ever considered. The idea of being locked away, hidden, removed from the world, terrified him.
If he wasn't fighting, what good was he? What contribution to the world could he make? He liked being a hero, saving the world from monsters. Would these strangers let him continue to fight?
Grumbling, he lay on the cot and pulled a threadbare blanket over his head. Maybe if he slept for a few hours, his mind would stop spinning and he'd wake with an idea of what to do.
***
Hogart shut the door behind him not sure what, if anything, was resolved.
Ah well, it was in the hands of Fate.
He hadn't lied to the boy. Even tucked safely away, Sam could help. This was a new time and one didn't have to be on the battlefield to contribute to the cause. At least, according to Cassidy. Who was he to say otherwise?
Personally, Hogart felt a kinship with the boy. He hadn't lied when he'd said he would trade Sam's help for training.
A cold breeze shook his braids.
Out in the hanger, Rail and Boomer set up tents around the burning oil drum. The hole in the roof was roughly covered with some old tarps to keep out the snow, and the broken door was jerry-rigged to keep it closed, but neither repair did anything to keep out the cold. While everyone was occupied, Hogart headed for the exit.
"Hogart," Cassidy called. "Since Bass is in Bree's room, we have a tent you can use."
"Thank you, no. My supplies are not far from here. I'll go pick them up and then take first watch." He was out the door before anyone Cassidy argued.
As he stomped through the snow drifts, Hogart contemplated what he'd told Sam about joining the world. The interaction might be good for both of them. He'd spent so much time alone, both in the past and present. It was the Golden Age of Mycenae the last time he had a student. Maybe teaching again would help him wake from the fog which clouded his mind for so long.
Maybe working with the Knights in the battle against the demons would help as well.
A whisper on the wind questioned him. Why did he need to change? He was older, wiser, and stronger. He did not need the others to be a successful warrior.
By the time Hogart reached the spot where he'd hidden his gear, his thoughts were dark and slippery, difficult to grasp. More whispers. Voices jumbled together, contradicting each other. The loudest urged him to kill, but gave no direction for the order. Others pleaded mercy.
Why did he ever think joining these so-called Knights would be a good idea? They were weak and would make him weak.
"No," the wind whispered. "You have no need for them. Look how well you've done on your own."
Sam didn't need the warriors either, Hogart decided, and his sister would hold him back. With his training, the boy could be a great warrior.
Satisfied with his decision, Hogart hefted his pack onto shoulder and set off for the hanger.
The wind pushed him along.
The whispers argued in his head.
Hogart ignored the ones insisting he kill the twins, kill them all and move on to better hunting.
Within site of the hanger, he set down his gear and formulated a plan for getting Sam out of the building. If the weather held, they could make it to his previous campsite a few miles to the south by dawn. From there, they could cut east into the land of Canada and lose themselves amongst the mountains and forests. Once the boy adjusted to no longer serving as his sister's protector, they could begin training.
Focusing on the door to Sam's room, Hogart was hal
fway across the hanger when Rail stopped him.
"I thought you were going to take the first watch?"
Hogart blinked a few times. A great trembling filled his body as if the building were caught in an earthquake. The voices screamed as they were swept away. "Was I? I am. I—I—" He dropped to his knees.
"What's wrong?"
"I think I'm going mad again." He panted. "I felt compelled to... I was going to steal the boy and run." Looking up, he met Rail's dark eyes. "I feel better now."
Before he knew it, he was wrapped in a blanket and sitting next to the fire, nursing a mug of strong coffee. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. The voices kept whispering, but they urged him to run.
"Why did you want to take Sam, again," Breanna asked warily, sitting next to him.
"I don't know. We talked about my teaching him to fight. After that... it's as if my thoughts left me. In the darkness, the voices came back. I felt compelled to take him from here. But I don't know why."
"You were fine a few hours ago." The girl wrapped her arms around her knees. She watched him as one might watch a sick animal. Full of sympathy, but ready to run at the first sign of trouble.
Rail dumped some wood and smashed cardboard into the oil drum. Embers exploded upward as the wood shifted. The revived flames sent shadows dancing around the hanger like demented souls.
Hogart let out a long, slow breath. "The further I got from here, the louder the voices became. The deeper the darkness. But I feel better now," he insisted.
Breanna glanced across the space to Cassidy and then back to Rail. "Do you think his reaction has something to do with what happened earlier? You know the whole being of light thing?"
Rail shrugged, looking directly at the other warrior. "It's as good an explanation as any. All I know is that you seemed better until you left us."
Hogart stood and shook off the blanket. The conversation made him uncomfortable. "You said there was a tent I could use?"
"Sure." Warily, Rail guided him to a tent set outside the circle of heat cast by the fire. "Hey, Boomer. You take first patrol."
The Knight grumbled, "Just as I was getting comfortable," but grabbed his broadsword, parka, and a length of licorice from his pack and headed for the door.
"Well if you don't need me..." Breanna gave an exaggerated yawn. "I'm going to get some sleep, too." She didn't wait for a response before ducking back into her room.
Hogart couldn't blame her. At the moment, he wished he could leave himself behind.
"You sure you're okay," Rail asked for the hundredth time.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Hey, I have no problem with beating you senseless and chaining you up if I even think you're going to be a problem. My first duty is to everyone's safety. Do you understand me?"
He responded with a curt nod and ducked inside the tent. As he stretched out on the sleeping bag and pulled his furs around him, Hogart considered maybe he should have requested Rail get the chains.
Chapter Nine
Normally Bree was a patient person. She'd had to be to keep from killing her brother over the years. Curiosity ate at her. According to Rail, she had about another forty–eight hours before Bass returned from the dead. She wanted him awake now. She had questions.
Lots of questions. Like were they going to live together at the island compound Cassidy talked about or would she be locked away like a fairytale princess? Would she be able to continue her schooling? Rail mentioned computers suggesting they must have some sort of internet access. Did Bass feel the same connection she did?
What kind of relationship would they have?
Sighing, she pulled on an extra pair of socks and snuggled further into the sleeping bag. The cardboard she'd laid down for insulation crunched until she settled, but she'd slept on worse. At least, unlike the open area of the hanger, her little space had heat. Well, for as long as the generator held out.
Rolling over, Bree put her back to the sleeping giant on her cot, and placed her hand on the wall separating her from her brother. "Good night, Sam," she whispered. "Everything will be alright."
***
Bass woke slowly, picking his way through the mental cobwebs, slogging through the thick blackness coating him like cold tar. With a grunt, he sat up and opened his eyes. Wherever he was, it was dark. His eyes adjusted slowly. A sliver of light along the floor caught his attention. Momentary confusion stirred the cobwebs again until he remembered he'd died.
Rolling his shoulders, he stretched and cracked his neck, smiling at the irony. Last time he'd broken his neck, he'd been stiff for days. This time, not even a twinge' or a hint of the usual lingering effects from being dead. No aches or fatigue. Maybe because someone laid him out on...what was he on? It would be a few more hours before his true night vision would be back online. In the dim light, he inspected his resting place and found it to be an old army cot about a foot too short. At least he was still dressed and warm. Not like the time when the guys stripped him and redressed him in a silky pink thong before laying his lifeless body in a snow drift. Where had they been? The Himalayas? With a shrug, Bass decided he didn't care. Swinging his legs around, they tangled in the blankets. He fell. His rather ungraceful landing deposited him on something soft which screeched like a surprised cat.
Pulling back, he stared into wide caramel-colored eyes, ringed in topaz and highlighted with gold flecks. He also found a knife blade against his neck.
"Hey. Sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping down here."
"Bass?" Breanna pushed him off, fumbling with the sleeping bag as she tossed the knife aside. "Oh my God! You're alive!"
"I told you I'd be back."
"But they said it would be at least three days."
Taking a seat on the floor next to her, Bass studied the girl. She had intelligent eyes and openness about her he found uncharacteristically attractive. "Um, how long has it been?"
Bree searched for her watch under the gloves, tapping it until the face glowed. "Less than thirty hours."
Bass nearly fell over. "No way. You miscalculated. It's never taken less than three days— well, except that time Cassidy pulled Rail back from the Void. But we don't think he was really dead." The words rushed from him like a babbling idiot, and he didn't care. Maybe running off at the mouth would help him get his thoughts in order. Talk it out. "Wait. Where are we?"
"We're still in the hanger. The others wanted to wait till you came back before leaving. This is my room." She pointed toward the light he'd spotted earlier. "Can you find the light switch? It's next to the door."
"Do you mind if we stay in the dark? My eyes are usually a bit sensitive after, you know." God, he hated admitting a weakness. Although, truthfully, he'd prefer to stay in the dark where his gifts would allow him to see Bree clearly, but keep him hidden from her searching eyes.
"Oh. Well, sure, but I'm liable to kill myself." With a snap, she turned on a camp lantern near her pillow, creating a yellow ball of light about the size of a basketball next to them. "Is that okay?"
Bass nodded slightly, not able to take his eyes off the golden halo lighting Bree's face. "This doesn't make sense. I shouldn't be back yet."
Leaning forward, Bree flicked a strand of hair out of his face. "Where do you go, you know, when you die? I mean, Cassidy said I have your soul—"
"Did you get sick," he asked, cutting her off.
Bree looked away, confusion clouding her features. "I haven't felt well the last few hours, but then I've been through a lot. I always get an upset stomach when I'm really stressed out. How do you feel?"
How did he feel? God, he felt like he was going to implode, or explode...or something equally inappropriate.
"I need some whiskey." Bass shot to his feet, stumbled on the cardboard under Bree's sleeping bag, but righted himself before he hit the floor.
"Well, unless you or your friends brought some, we're dry."
He was pretty sure Boomer had a flask, but there would be questions if Breanna aske
d for it. "Coffee," he asked hopefully. If he couldn't get alcohol, then caffeine would to have to do. "Strong?"
"That I can do."
Her smile made his heart jump and do a cartwheel in his chest.
No. Bass squashed the idea like a bug. No, he was so not getting hooked. He was not going to fall for this. He was not going to fall for her. Not going to... He watched her shimmy from the nylon sleeping bag like some exotic dancer shedding a costume and forgot what he'd wanted to convince himself not to do.
Breanna moved toward the door. Bass stopped her. "Wait. Can you get the coffee without anyone seeing you?"
"I guess. Why?"
"I don't want to talk to them yet. They'll ask questions and I'm just not ready." He took her hand and turned it until he could see the watch face. "Two o'clock. They should still be asleep. Who's on patrol?"
"When I went to bed, it was your friend Boomer. Hogart had said he would take first watch, but something happened." She scuffed her foot and the hesitation created an ice ball in Bass' stomach.
"What? What did that crazy bastard do?" A growl rumbled in his chest.
"He went out to get his stuff and came back all nuts again."
"Again? He was nuts before," he scoffed.
"No." Bree shook her head, sending her hair dancing around her jaw line. "He's been fine most of the day. Standoffish, but not crazy. I think it had to do with whatever happened with Cassidy and Rail."
Bass grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her close. "What happened?"
"Bass. You're hurting me."
He let go as if burned and stepped back. "Sorry. I just—" He breathed through the panic clawing its way up his chest, forked his hand through his hair, then rubbed his face. "What, what happened?"
Thankfully, Bree didn't notice how bad he shook.
"Nothing bad. Just weird." Bree rubbed her arms. "Let me get your coffee, and then I'll tell you everything. Okay?"
"Yeah. Sure." Bass returned to the cot as Bree slipped out the door.
What had happened while I was gone? He sucked in a deep breath and willed his body to stop the little quakes running through him.
