by J. M. Barlog
“Here is where we rest,” he said.
In the thick of a leafy copse, the darkness that settled upon them was startling and complete as Kratos and Atreus slept after supping on meager rations. Kratos feigned eating, returning most to the sack. He calculated seven days’ worth remained if he reduced his rations by half.
Resuming their journey at first light, Kratos walked determinedly with the flow of the path, Atreus trailing by only a few steps. After many hours, they encountered a long rickety rope bridge stretching over a deep, waterless gully.
“There is someone up ahead,” Atreus whispered.
Kratos slowed, throwing an arm out to stop his son from passing him. In the middle of the bridge’s span stood a formidable gray pack animal with stubby ears and a long snout, loaded down with overstuffed sacks and a collection of metalworking gear, all secured with hemp ropes. It stood on muscular rear legs, maintaining its balance with the help of a thick tail that reached the ground, since its stunted forelegs seemed all but useless to the animal.
“Move your arse, or I’ll shove a boot up it,” a little man scowled, no taller than Atreus, whose skin was blue in color from head to toe. He tugged on the beast’s bridle to get it moving.
The beast, however, refused to budge.
As the bearded man came around to throw his full, albeit inadequate, weight into the animal’s rear, Kratos concluded he presented no threat. Rather than a knife or a sword, or any weapon for that matter, the little man sported a leather tool belt loaded with hammers and files and other metallurgy instruments. Neither of them had ever seen such an odd human before. He displayed all the markings of an ordinary man, yet wore the coloring of some mythological creature.
“What is he?” Atreus asked.
At the sound of the voice, the blue man diverted his attention from the beast, and with narrowed amber eyes, studied Kratos and Atreus. His hand went defensively to the hammer on his belt.
“Please, get up and move your arse!” Brok said, returning to his stubborn animal, after deeming the two strangers harmless. If they weren’t, they would have attacked without warning, or at the very least nailed him with an arrow from the bow the boy sported. He did, however, notice the axe slung across Kratos’ back.
Still the ornery beast refused to even shuffle its cloven hooves.
“C’moooooon!” Brok moaned, pounding his fists on the animal’s haunches.
“Perhaps you overloaded him,” Atreus offered, without moving.
“Can’t get this sloe-eyed cocklump to cross the bridge!” Brok moaned to Kratos, ignoring the boy’s comment.
Kratos considered the moment. As long as the formidable creature blocked their passage, no one was crossing the bridge. They would have to either find another way or force the animal to move.
Kratos scanned the woods beyond the bridge, while Atreus skirted his father to lean over the side of the bridge, clinging to a fist-thick rope to maintain his balance. He followed the beast’s gaze.
“She fears something in the trees over there,” Atreus said.
“There’s what now?” Brok said, condescension dripping into his voice. “How could you know that?”
Atreus stretched precariously over the rope handhold to point out a sprawling red-leafed elm just to the left of the trail.
“Father, throw your axe at that tree on the other side of the bridge. The one with the white-speckled trunk.”
Kratos located the tree and sought to determine what, if anything, his son detected. When he failed to see anything out of the ordinary, he wondered what Atreus was thinking. His axe remained slung over his back. They were blocked from passing on the bridge. If he threw his axe, he would be weaponless until he could recall it. Though he could recall his axe across any distance, it did consume precious time to return, during which he and his son remained vulnerable. Could this be a carefully orchestrated ambush? If concealed bandits waited to attack, they would take advantage of the moment when Kratos had only his son’s knife and bow for defense.
The God of War leveled a suspicious brow toward Brok. Could this all be an elaborate trick to disarm him?
“Can you trust me just this once. Please?” Atreus pleaded.
“What do you see?” Kratos asked.
“I… I just know,” Atreus replied.
Kratos struggled with the boy’s innocence. He would not have seen this situation the way his son did. Atreus saw nothing more than a man and his beast. Kratos, on the other hand, had to see beyond. Yet if he held back his trust, he would further cripple the bond he sought to nurture. He had to believe enough in himself, that in trusting his son he could still keep them safe from harm. He hesitated.
“And if you are wrong?”
“I am not wrong.” Atreus swallowed the guilt that rose into his throat from the words. A memory of him saying those exact same words to his mother, and then having to admit he was indeed wrong, swept through his brain. Yet she forgave him and allowed his errors of judgment to fade silently away.
Throwing a leg out to kick the animal’s hindquarters, the blue man missed, toppling over instead.
“I am going to grind you into fodder,” he growled at the beast.
“Aim for the tree with the white-speckled trunk and red leaves. The one on the left, just after the bridge,” Atreus insisted, pointing to the target.
Kratos withdrew his axe, measured the distance and direction, then fired the blade with all his might. Two black ravens erupted from the leaves to scatter skyward. Seeing the cawing birds brought a sudden unsettling feeling to Atreus, though he was confused as to why.
Making certain no threat materialized behind them, Kratos recalled the axe. “You were right,” he said, a little too much surprise in his voice.
The pack animal chuffed, stirring nervously on the bridge.
“Look at that! You must be smart or somethin’, boy. You are a boy, right? Hyaa!” Brok said, slapping the animal’s backside to get the beast moving.
Puzzled, Atreus scanned the sky. Why would harmless ravens so frighten the beast?
“She have a name?” Atreus asked, squeezing around when the beast shifted, to get beside the animal when it took its first steps. Now he could look her in the eye and allow her to see him as they walked together.
“Dunno. Rude bastard ain’t ever asked mine, so I ain’t ever asked hers. Hyaa!” Brok said, and slapped her rear even harder. She recoiled but moved no faster.
“What’s your name?” Atreus asked.
“Brok.”
“Mine’s Atreus.”
“Oh, and you think I care? Sounds like a girl’s name, anyway. You a girl in disguise?” he muttered.
Atreus ignored the comment while gently stroking the beast along its shabby mane. “Vera logn,” Atreus said kindly.
“What does that mean?” Kratos asked.
“I told her to remain calm; the danger has passed,” Atreus said.
As if the beast somehow understood what Atreus had told it, and trusted him, the animal took that first slow step toward the end of the bridge. Atreus led the way beside Brok, with Kratos following a few paces behind the animal.
Brok slowed so he could lean closer to Kratos, to sneak a better look at the axe now slung across the God of War’s back.
“Huh? Say, you probably ain’t gonna believe me. But that axe you got, it was me what made her; well, me and my brother. One of our best. So don’t let nobody work on her but us two. You gotta handle her special, or she’ll wreck beyond fixing. I can enhance her for you right now if it so pleases, you sonofabitch,” Brok said.
Kratos ruminated over the little man’s offer. How could he be certain the dwarf would not intentionally wreck it beyond fixing?
They cleared the bridge, following the path into the woodland where, after a short walk, they reached a disheveled campsite with a crude lean-to at its core. Brok gestured to it grandly like it was home.
“What say you?” Brok asked, raising a brow.
“You are right.
I do not believe you,” Kratos replied. His axe remained across his back.
“How ’bout this? There’s a rune in the shape of a fork under the grip,” Brok offered with a glinting smile.
Curiosity got the best of Kratos. While the God of War pulled out his axe to examine the rune located under the grip, Brok removed implements from his pack animal to assemble a makeshift work area.
“That was our brand, my brother and me, before we split. I got half of it. See here?” Brok explained to Kratos, seeing him looking at the rune. He extracted a branding iron from one of the beast’s packs. He swung it up into place beside the rune on the grip. They matched perfectly, but only on one side.
“Look, you want I should upgrade her or not?”
Kratos leveled his stare, delving into the very depths of Brok’s soul, deciding whether to trust him. Breaking into a slight smile, Kratos laid the axe gingerly across Brok’s outstretched hands.
“Very well. But I expect an improvement,” Kratos said, although some last shreds of suspicion remained in his mind.
“Where’s the other half of the brand?” Atreus asked.
“My dumb dobber of a brother got it. But I got all the talent.”
Pulling a looped rope hanging from a wooden box strapped to the side of his animal, Brok released a rickety workbench that unfolded like an accordion before him. It allowed him to work his magic anywhere, at any time. Strapping on a leather full-body apron, Brok drew out a blacksmith’s hammer twice the size of his hand, using it to bang away at the axe blade. The determined pounding reverberated through the surrounding trees.
“Brok,” Atreus said softly.
“Fuck you want?” he shot back.
“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat in those packs?” The lad’s empty stomach rumbled.
“Where are your manners?” Brok said, scolding himself. “Nope. Nothing to eat in those packs.” He returned to the axe.
Dejected, Atreus retreated to sit near the smoldering remains of an abandoned campfire.
“Course I got somethin’ to eat. Grab you some out of that pack there,” Brok offered with a grin after a few moments.
Atreus smiled at the little man’s infectious nature while rummaging through the pack Brok had indicated, finding small flat rolls of hard-crust unleavened bread, which he shared with his father. Next, he located apples larger than his fist and a water pouch in another pack. They drank their fill before settling into the clearing to chomp on the apples.
“Got some dried badger ifn’ you’re still hungry,” Brok added, without looking at them.
“Really, I’m full. Can’t eat another bite,” Atreus lied. The only thing worse than eating charred badger was grinding down dried badger enough to swallow it. He would rather chew bark from a lichen tree.
Kratos said nothing.
“It is some gooood eatin’. You sure?”
After a series of carefully planned and executed taps, Brok laid his hammer on the workbench and raised the axe in such a way that he might examine the blade closely, after which he ran his eye down the length of the handle.
“That’s gonna do it.” A proud smile consumed his face.
He returned the axe to Kratos as if presenting him with the finest sword in all the realms.
“Feast them eyes,” he said, like a proud father admiring a newborn baby.
Kratos accepted the axe, swinging it to test its heft. Happy with the new feel, he laid it across his hands to scrutinize the blade.
“Acceptable,” Kratos grunted. His lips remained tight across his face after a protracted pause, which held the little man on tenterhooks.
“Oh, acceptable, huh?” Brok rattled back, annoyed.
“We are going,” Kratos announced to his son.
No sooner had they set out than three draugr emerged from the forest trees, hurtling toward them with swords flailing.
“They’re coming for us,” Brok yelled, cowering behind his workshop and his beast.
“Got room for one more?” Atreus asked, scurrying behind the beast to join him.
“So long as you don’t break nothin’.”
Kratos advanced, whipping his axe through the air to evaluate the improvements made to his weapon. He smiled at what he felt. The dwarf had indeed enhanced his weapon. With three well-placed slashes, Kratos dispatched the undead, decapitating two with a single swipe and finishing off the third with both a forward and a backward slash, leaving them littered across the path.
“You can come out now,” he said, turning back to Brok.
The little man slid from his hiding place, stopping beside Atreus. “Ya see what my touch brung!” Brok boasted with a broad smile.
“Adequate,” said Kratos.
“Adequate, he says…”
“Thanks, Brok,” Atreus said. “Oh, and I’ll be thinking of a name for your beast,” he called over his shoulder.
“How ’bout I name her Fuckin’ Gratitude?” Brok screamed. “Hey! Fuckin’ Gratitude, come over here!” he continued, directing his anger toward the innocent animal. “And take care of that axe. It needs regular care from an expert if you want it to keep you alive!”
The sound of Brok faded into the distance as Kratos and Atreus followed the winding trail around a bend in the woodland, until it stopped before another sheer cliff.
“Dead end,” Atreus said, disappointed. “What now?”
With no other way to proceed but up, Kratos ascended the sheer cliff with Atreus on his back.
“Back at the blue man’s camp, you left me alone to fight those draugr,” Kratos said after a while.
“I did,” Atreus admitted, ashamed now that he hid with the dwarf.
“People are one thing. Everything else you fight, until I say stop, or we are dead. Understand? Pull your weight or we go home.”
“I understand.”
After cresting the summit, Kratos surveyed the surrounding terrain, and spotted the flickering flames of a meager campfire in the distance near a wharf on the river. But he spied no boat at the quay. Tracing along the river’s shore, he picked out entrances to numerous caves before settling on an upper pathway of makeshift rope bridges. Further off loomed the mountain peak—their mountain peak.
They slogged their way through dense groves of dwarf juniper and bog myrtle until they reached a rusted iron portcullis set in a vaulted stone tower, meant to prevent entry to the land beyond. Overgrown downy willow wound through the portcullis openings.
Kratos inspected the gears controlling the gate. A forged iron counterweight hung from a chain just inside the gate, routed through a series of gears. Tracing the gears, Kratos identified the lever holding the counterweight suspended. After commanding the frost, he calculated the throw he needed to make. On his fling, his frost axe slammed the gears, freezing them instantly, which cracked the attached lever. The counterweight released, but only fell a few feet due to the rust, and the portcullis rose the same distance off the ground.
Atreus slithered beneath the portcullis spikes first. Once he had safely passed under, Kratos slid on his back under the portcullis. Afterward, Kratos recalled his axe.
The portcullis protected the entrance into a wide room, and once inside they paused to assess the situation. The low ceiling struck a nervous chord in Kratos, but he spied a spiked door at the opposite end.
“Looks like the only way out,” Atreus said.
Kratos studied every aspect of the door for a long moment.
“How do we get through?” his son asked.
Something still felt wrong with the room. Without advancing, Kratos launched his axe at the door. The blade contacted an iron spike, falling harmlessly to the floor. He recalled his axe to try again. The second time the axe found bare wood, splintering the door. Crossing the room, they forced the door open.
“This way,” Kratos said, with a glint of a smile.
A narrow, unlit passageway led to yet another room.
“Machinery?” Atreus said, amazed and intrigued, as th
ey wandered amongst interconnecting gears and levers. Never having seen such complicated and large machinery in his life, he paused to admire the entire breadth of the contraption. He traced along the intricate metal until it met the room’s spiked ceiling, then returned his gaze to the point where the gears began. A crude crank presented a way to control the machinery.
Atreus attempted to rotate the crank. It refused to budge. Abandoning his effort, he retreated behind Kratos, who threw his axe into the crank, causing it to turn clockwise. As the crank spun, the floor rose, elevating them toward the spiked ceiling.
“Oh,” was all Atreus said, realizing how the machinery worked. Then things turned bad, real bad. Gears began clanking and shuttering as they rotated under heavy strain. A series of jarring thuds from unseen large beams slamming into something resounded around them. A rock panel slid down, preventing their retreat.
“This can’t be good,” Atreus said.
The ceiling shuttered out of its resting place to begin a slow descent.
Atreus’ blood ran cold. He needed to force himself to breathe. What had they done?
Kratos fired his axe harder this time, which made the ceiling reverse and ascend; but a moment later, it resumed its descent.
“It’s sinking again!” Atreus yelled, spinning every which way in search of an exit.
Kratos lobbed the axe into the crank, halting the ceiling’s descent once more. However, a moment later it resumed its slow, ominous downward creep.
The descending spikes forced Kratos to his knees and Atreus into a squat close to the floor. “It is getting a little close in here,” Atreus said, trying to constrain his panic.
Kratos launched his axe once more, this time causing the spikes to retreat until both could stand upright.
“Wasn’t sure we were getting out of here,” Atreus said.
“Trust that I will not let us die,” Kratos said.
As the ceiling continued up, Kratos used his axe to point to a tunnel that the rising ceiling revealed, high on the far wall.
