by J. M. Barlog
Atreus scuttled about, gathering his bow and stuffing his quiver full of arrows, then adding his hunting knife and some cherished runestones that came from his mother. Seeing them in his palm brought such a debilitating sadness that he crumpled to his knees.
“What is this?” Kratos asked, clearly angered. “Are you ill?” His face softened when he realized the fragile emotion of the moment that had overcome his son.
Atreus shook his head. Inside, his heart was breaking. He was leaving the one place that still held his mother’s presence. All her memories were here. Everything he needed to cling to surrounded him.
“Will we be coming back?” he mustered the courage to ask.
“Take only what is most important,” Kratos responded.
Slinging his quiver and bow over his back brought Atreus back to the present, forcing those cherished memories of his mother deeper into the recesses of his mind. He needed to deal with what mattered immediately.
“Thought I wasn’t ready,” Atreus sniped, with a hard edge of sarcasm.
“You are not, but we no longer have a choice.”
Kratos lowered the trapdoor, returning the bearskin to its place to conceal their secret. “Prove me wrong then,” he said, almost to himself. Strapping his Leviathan axe across his back, he secured a leather pouch to his belt, afterward stuffing a sack full of all the dried venison, dried badger, unleavened bread and dried apricots left in the house. They could carry sufficient provisions for the first fortnight of their journey, if they consumed judiciously, replenishing along the way with whatever the land saw fit to provide them.
“Yes, sir,” Atreus replied. He almost allowed a smile to cross his lips.
What must he be ready for?
Kratos stole a moment to admire his son and the strength he projected, despite the loss he had suffered. The God of War permitted himself a slight smile then quickly wiped it away, turning his gaze back to that space below the floor. His vacant stare consumed him as he considered what he must do.
“I’m ready,” Atreus said at the door, jerking Kratos back to the present.
Outside, the lad surveyed the battle-scarred land and house.
“Whoa… How?” he muttered in amazement. It was impossible even to fathom the fight that must have occurred to cause such serious destruction.
Kratos offered nothing in his defense.
“Who was he?” Atreus said.
“I do not know,” Kratos snapped back, marching off resolutely toward the path that led into the surrounding forest.
Atreus scanned in a wide arc as he hurried to catch up with his father, trying to take in every nuance of what he saw. Some things seemed impossible for a man to have caused. Whoever had called at his door was no mere man. Atreus wondered for the first time in his life if a god had somehow presented himself to his father. His mother had spoken to him so much over the years about the gods, but he never dreamed he might ever get a chance to see one. Then a terrifying thought took root in his brain.
“You could have died. Never leave me alone, all right?”
“We must keep moving,” his father responded.
“What could he want with us? We are nobodies,” Atreus said. A silent Kratos marched deeper into the forest.
Then Atreus realized what he had failed to notice on their departure. “Hey, did you kill him?” he called out.
There was no broken, battered body cast aside, no pooled blood as would have been expected from what he heard while he hid, or by what he saw in the aftermath at the house.
“I did what I must,” Kratos said simply, as if speaking the words ended the need for further discussion.
Luckily, his answer satisfied Atreus, who trotted ahead as Kratos lingered for a moment to look back one last time at the rune symbol on their door. The symbol had meant so much to his wife. All he had tried to build, all he had hoped to gain, had now been taken from him. Steeling his resolve, Kratos turned his back on the life he once had and strode off to follow his son up the trail.
“Will Mother’s garden survive while we are gone? What of her falcon?” Atreus asked.
Kratos considered his response. Their garden was something special for his wife and son. It had represented their life, their future.
“It will be fine until we return. Do not worry,” Kratos said, seeking to comfort.
Atreus smiled. They were coming back. They would repair all the damage and keep his mother’s garden growing. She would be pleased with that.
But then Atreus thought about the softening in Kratos’ otherwise hard voice. How should he interpret those words? Was his father saying that only to appease him? Were they ever coming back to this place?
How could he ever feel like part of a family again? He had no mother, now no home, and a father who barely tolerated him.
“Okay,” he said.
As they trekked along a path leading up to a ridge on their left, Atreus stared at one of the leather pouches secured to his father’s belt. His mind drifted back to his father kneeling before the funeral pyre, carefully gathering up his mother’s ashes before funneling them through his calloused hand into the pouch. So intently was Atreus entangled in his memory of that terrible day that a sudden jerking hand had to yank him from the precarious edge of a steep drop along the ridge.
“Watch where you are going, boy,” his father grumbled, pulling him by his collar from the rocky ledge.
“Sorry. Can I carry her?” Atreus ventured.
“No!” Kratos shot back, with a bite so sharp that Atreus knew not to argue.
“Where are we going?” Atreus asked, after meandering in silence through the trees that now lined their path.
Kratos offered no answer.
They continued to ascend the ridge, following a jagged path. As they neared the summit, a snow-dabbled mountain peak jutted against a cloudless azure sky in the far distance.
“There is where we must go.” Kratos pointed.
“We are going to that mountain? How long will it take to reach it?”
“That I cannot say.” Kratos assumed the lead.
“Will we see others on the road?” Atreus asked after a few more minutes of walking. He had never had the occasion to encounter other people. Friendless and isolated in their forest, Atreus had never spoken to anyone except his mother and father; and mostly to his mother, since his father was absent for long periods of time.
“Yes.”
“Will they be friendly?”
“No.”
“Will they try to rob us?” Atreus pressed. “Mother told me there would be men who will seek to take everything we have.”
“Possibly. Yes,” Kratos said, opting for honesty.
“Oh.”
“On our journey, expect to face many dangers. You must be prepared for them.”
Reaching the top of the hill, Atreus turned back to view their progress. Below was the Iðunn forest valley. Within the forest surrounding their house, a string of magical golden trees with glowing foliage stood side by side, forming the enormous shape of a rune amid the crown canopy. For a long moment Atreus stared at the shape the vibrant trees outlined. Their distinct pattern formed the same runic symbol of protection that was carved on their front door, and on the trapdoor in Kratos’ home—except on a massive scale—forming a protective perimeter around the forest. Kratos had traveled this way hundreds of times over the years and never once noticed that the pattern formed the rune. It simply seemed unimportant to him until that moment.
“Look,” Atreus said, outlining the shape with his finger in the air. He turned a perplexed face toward his father. “How can this be? Where did it come from?”
Kratos had no answers to quiet the boy’s curiosity. His wife could have known of this the entire time and never revealed to him the true nature of their serene life in those woods.
“All this time… there has been a protection stave around our woods,” Atreus said.
Then something troubling caught his attention. His face turne
d into a contemplative frown. “The stave is broken there,” he pointed out.
A trio of missing magical trees formed a gap in the runic stave, severing the continuity of the stave’s line.
“Those were the trees your mother wished me to use for her funeral pyre. Her handprint had marked each of them.”
“Wait. She told you to cut those exact trees? Could she have known they were part of the protection rune?”
Kratos swallowed hard. Anger drenched his mind. He had no idea what he had done at the time. He had no idea of the meaning of the golden trees surrounding their life. His wife never told him… if she even knew. But she had to have known. She insisted they build their cabin in that precise location. She countered his every argument to build high on the ridge, rather than in the valley. She never spoke the words, but she knew. Who was she protecting with her knowledge of this place? Was it him? Or maybe Atreus? Or was it herself?
Sadness and grief backed up into Kratos’ throat. He choked the emotions down quickly, knowing that dwelling in the past brought only suffering. Giving the forest they called home one last look, Kratos turned abruptly toward the north to continue up the path.
“Come, boy. There is no looking back,” Kratos delivered with an eerie tone of finality.
But Atreus needed one more look at everything his life had been. He wondered if they would ever come back to this place, or if their destiny would send them somewhere far from what he had always known as home. Scolding himself inside for the tears that seeped out, Atreus spun around to follow his father up the path.
The monotony of travel clawed at Atreus’ brain. He viewed their surroundings as nothing more than rock and trees and meandering pathways. He wondered how long it might take to reach their destination. Asking too many questions, he knew, would only anger his father, so he remained dutifully silent. There were so many things he wanted to learn, wanted to know about his mother’s life. He had always thought he would have the time to ask her about the things that mattered most. They had lived in peace for all his eleven winters. He never imagined their lives could turn so bad so quickly.
Kratos stopped suddenly, taking a knee while motioning for Atreus to follow suit.
Atreus scanned for danger. He saw nothing, felt nothing. Then he listened for anything out of the ordinary. At first, he detected nothing.
His father drew his axe, triggering a domino effect as Atreus took up his bow and quiver, quickly and clumsily notching an arrow.
Seconds passed with no discernible changes to their surroundings. Kratos returned to his feet, motioning for Atreus to follow. But when Atreus came up beside his father, Kratos forced him back a few paces.
“Remain ready behind me,” Kratos whispered harshly.
Ahead, the clusters of towering birch and pine grew sparse, yielding to a wide sun-drenched clearing. As they approached, the vile stench of rotting flesh permeated the cold air, raising Kratos’ alarm.
Draugr. The scourge of the realm.
“What’s that awful smell?” Atreus asked, needing to suppress his gag reflex.
“Stay close. Be silent. Draugr.”
“Draugr? What are—”
Kratos tugged Atreus into the midst of a densely wooded thicket capable of concealing them. They crouched battle-ready on the forest floor.
The first three draugr, carrying shields and spears, breached the clearing. Warped and distorted husks of decomposing human form, a fire burned within each of them, with an ocherous magma in what were once their veins. Faye had explained these were warriors too stubborn to die, who fought off the Valkyries that came to collect them and reanimated their bodies with their own burning rage. Now they lived only for destruction and indiscriminate vengeance on the living.
They had failed to detect Kratos and Atreus, who remained stone-still amongst the entangled dwarf willow undergrowth.
“Are they… dead?”
“Undead soldiers, very dangerous,” Kratos whispered.
“They don’t see us. Should I fire?” Atreus queried, his voice a terrified, restrained whisper. How exactly do I kill something that’s already dead?
“Wait for my mark. Aim for the head.”
“Do we attack?” Atreus pressed. He had never been this close to a confrontation before. His heart banged against his chest. His fingers ached from holding the bowstring taut for so long. He focused his mind on his closest target without wavering.
“Be silent. Do not question me,” Kratos shot back in a stern command.
Their safe concealment evaporated when a draugr shifted its attention in their direction. It had detected Kratos’ pale skin amongst the leafy brown foliage. The draugr raised a bony, rotted arm to aim its spear.
“Fire!” Kratos commanded, leveling his axe as he charged into the clearing.
Atreus released his first arrow to whiz past his charging father. It stabbed the closest draugr in its neck. The draugr faltered, but it regained its footing to continue advancing, angling its spear at Atreus.
While Atreus fumbled for his next arrow, Kratos sliced the charging draugr with a wide swipe of his axe, severing it at waist height. Coming around in a backswing, he cleaved another draugr’s head from its rotting shoulders. The move provided Atreus with the time necessary to reload.
Atreus’ next arrow sailed wide of its target, quivering into the bole of a nearby linden tree. His fear kept him from concentrating on their enemies.
“Focus, boy!” Kratos scowled, while he attacked the next two who breached the clearing. Panic flooded in. Atreus fumbled to extract another arrow from his quiver.
Two more draugr, who now understood the threat the lad posed, altered their charge toward him rather than Kratos, skirting the axe-wielding God of War, who became entangled fighting off two more himself.
“Boy, guard your flank,” Kratos barked, realizing his son was incapable of fighting both off at once.
Atreus tumbled away to escape the closest draugr, notching his arrow before firing it quickly, to take the first draugr down with a shot into its forehead. As the second charged Atreus, Kratos retreated from his attackers to fire his axe into the draugr’s neck from behind. The corpse faltered to its knees, staring vacantly at Atreus while he loaded another arrow, just in time to launch it into a headshot that dropped the draugr poised to jab its spear into his father.
The lone standing draugr turned around to dash clumsily into the safety of the nearest undergrowth.
Silence unfurled over the clearing.
Atreus rose with an arrow still notched in his bow and joined his father, who recalled his fallen axe.
“How was that? Did I help?”
Kratos said nothing. In battle, one needed to focus on staying alive. Having to concern himself with his son’s safety now meant he must worry about two people in every confrontation. Splitting his concentration could cause him to fall to one of his enemies. He needed to know that Atreus could defend himself, at least sufficiently to allow him the ability to fight and not worry about him.
Kratos was unprepared to undertake the road ahead. Could he keep either or both of them from being killed before they reached their destination? Perhaps facing his enemies head on was no longer a viable strategy. They needed to improvise ways of skirting their foes to avoid a fight.
“If you wish to help, distract them. Whoever is not my focus, should be yours. But only when it is safe to do so,” Kratos offered. He searched his son for understanding. Instead, he caught glimpses of his wife’s empathy in the lad. The image tore at his heart, and in that moment Kratos considered himself solely responsible for keeping Atreus safe from then on.
“I can do that,” Atreus said confidently.
Kratos didn’t hear his response. He had allowed his grief to infiltrate his mind. So many things flashed across his brain that it brought only confusion and anger.
“I said, I can do that,” Atreus repeated, pulling an unwilling Kratos out of his vacant stare.
“Good.” Kratos returned his axe
to his back.
“Which way now?” Atreus said, noticing a thin crack running up the length of the sheer rock face stretching ahead.
Kratos took a moment sizing up what lay before them, after which he knelt down, gesturing Atreus onto his back.
“We go up,” Kratos said.
“I can handle that myself,” Atreus said.
Kratos remained kneeling.
“I can,” the boy insisted.
Kratos leveled a glare at him.
“Fine.” Atreus clambered onto his father’s back, clinging to his shoulders while Kratos ascended the rock face. Hand over hand Kratos picked his way, choosing from many suitable handholds. The climb proved none too difficult, and Atreus was convinced he could have made the ascent himself, if his father had just given him the chance to try.
“Anything else?” Atreus said.
“Anything else what?” Kratos responded, perplexed.
“Anything else I should know if we encounter those things on the road again?”
“Time your shots. Speed costs accuracy.”
“Got it.”
Kratos pulled them over the summit, then swung Atreus down beside him on the ground. A part of him wanted to smile, looking at his son, but the god in him kept that part in check.
“And think. Think before you act. Know what you must do before you do it.”
“How can I know what I must do before I do it, if I don’t know what to do?”
Removing his sack, Kratos sat as he doled out their supper. The jagged rock formations around them would provide safe haven for the night.
“What now?” Atreus asked.
“Sleep.”
A bevy of chirping larks fluttered about in the overhead branches.
“Did your mother speak to you about the gods?”
“Yes.” Atreus’ response seemed guarded.
“Did she ever speak of a man who felt no pain, who could not be killed?”
“That would be Baldur. Son of Odin.”
“What did she tell you about Odin?”
“He’s the ruler of the Aesir gods. He lives in Asgard.”
A soundless night returned for many minutes.
