God of War--The Official Novelization

by J. M. Barlog

  A panicked Atreus shifted his arrow this way and that, trying to maintain his focus on the target. He figured he would get one shot at best. He had to make it count.

  “Now!” Kratos yelled, while the dragon turned away.

  Atreus sucked in a breath, exhaled, and fired without a second’s hesitation.

  The deadly shaft whipped silently through the air, true to its mark. The tip punctured the dragon’s right eye, sending it reeling in agony and slashing its head from side to side in a vain attempt to knock the arrow out. When that failed, the dragon lowered its head, using its right front claws to rip the shaft free. In that moment of the dragon’s vulnerability, Kratos charged, hacking at the beast’s head now hovering at his height above the ground.

  The great beast collapsed, unmoving.

  After a few moments of inertia, Sindri mustered the courage to creep out from behind the protection of the rocks. Seconds later, Atreus jumped down to join his father. They stood over the dead dragon, while Sindri dashed over clutching a bag.

  “Wow. We actually did it! Sindri!” Atreus said. He went to hug Sindri, but the little man would have none of that, jerking away, preventing any contact with the boy.

  “But, but, but, no one has killed a dragon for hundreds of years. Not since the grand culling of the Wyrms!” an astonished Sindri uttered. “And unless I am mistaken, you did all that for me!”

  “You are mistaken, small one. The dragon was simply blocking our path… nothing more,” Kratos said.

  “Ha! Deny it if you wish, but you have saved me. And that,” Sindri said, reaching deep into his small bag—his entire arm disappearing while he rummaged about, “deserves compensation.”

  Noticing Atreus’ quiver was nearly empty, Sindri removed a bundle of arrows that could never have fit into such a small space, presenting them to the boy.

  “How did you… These are not just arrows, are they?” the lad asked, sizing them up.

  “Braided mistletoe arrows. Straighter than Heimdall and perfectly weighted,” Sindri said proudly.

  “Oh. Thanks?” Atreus said, disappointed.

  “Oh, okay… Hold on… uh,” Sindri added. Returning to his magical bag, this time he withdrew a Dark Elf’s spear. “Ew, not that. Umm.”

  He continued, withdrawing an ornate horn, then a pickaxe, followed by a large stirring spoon, all of which he spread around him. After looking them over and rejecting them, he piled them back into the bag.

  “Have you seen my brother again?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yeah! He said you lost your talent.”

  Kratos snorted.

  “Oh, and that I am selfish, I am sure. That I also value a weapon’s look over its purpose. That I am pretentious and uptight. Fussy. I know what he thinks. But he cannot hurt me any…” Sindri continued, rejecting the unwanted items he had extracted.

  Next, he pulled a dead fish from the magical bag. “Ah! This could be your next dinner,” he said. Then he dropped it.

  “I do not have time for this,” Kratos said, marching off impatiently.

  “No! No, no, no, wait, wait, wait, wait… I have a better idea,” Sindri said.

  Kratos turned back, albeit reluctantly. “What?”

  “I just need one tooth. I promise you are going to like this.”

  Kratos took hold of the dead dragon’s snout.

  “Watch where you grab—oh, never mind. So unclean. So, so unclean,” Sindri said.

  Kratos twisted the head sideways to pry open the mouth, yanking out the first incisor presenting itself.

  “Perfect. That should do.”

  “Why do you need the tooth?” Atreus asked. Sindri only smiled.

  Kratos offered the tooth to Sindri, who, of course, recoiled with palms downs, preventing the God of War from setting it in his hands.

  “I’m not touching that. Just break it open,” Sindri grumbled. He scurried about, assembling a makeshift workbench that he extracted in parts from his packs.

  Annoyed that the little man refused to handle the tooth, Kratos only grunted a response. Slapping the tooth onto the plank to crack it open sent a fluorescent, bluish powder spilling out.

  “Is that magic?” Atreus asked.

  Sindri offered a wry smile.

  Extracting a red powder from a container in his bag, the little man blew the powder across the exposed tooth root, resulting in blue arcs and white sparks.

  “What’s it doing?” Atreus watched with fascination.

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “My mother said that was how I would learn.”

  “So, it is her I should blame,” Sindri retorted with a dour expression.

  Kratos shot Sindri a scornful glare, which Sindri shrugged off with a smirk.

  “What? My brother could never do this,” he responded finally. “It is part of why we split up, truth be told. He wanted to stick with what we knew best: weapons. Change or die, I say. Learned this in Vanaheim. It is the least I can do to repay you.” He gestured to Atreus, “Now, run the tooth along the string of your son’s bow.”

  Sindri leaned in while Kratos complied with his request. “Two passes should do it. Let’s see that blue bastard do that,” the little man boasted, with a smile and a wink for the boy.

  The Bifröst on Kratos’ arm extinguished its glow.

  “So, now how do I explain this? The powder added a new vibrating pattern to the crystal’s lattice. Aiming it at crystals will vibrate their patterns to their fracture point,” he explained, more like a wizard trying to impress than a teacher working to instruct.

  “What does that mean?” Atreus said.

  Sindri stared down his nose, as if the lad were stupid.

  “Makes crystals go BOOM! Trust me, you will love it.”

  “We leave now,” Kratos called back.

  “Before you go: I’m thinking there may be something Odin has taken a special interest in, up there on that peak. Just a warning.”

  * * *

  Atreus shook his head in disbelief as Kratos started his climb. After a boost, Atreus dashed ahead of his father, his quiver flapping loosely around. Regardless of how he repositioned it, it kept sliding off his shoulder.

  “What is wrong with this thing?” he stammered.

  “What is happening with your quiver?”

  “Strap broke fighting the dragon. Lucky that’s all that broke. It is all right, I can hold it,” Atreus said.

  “Stop,” Kratos ordered. Exasperation peppered his voice.

  He lowered to a knee to get on eye level with his son and inspect the damage.

  “Your weapons are what keep you alive. Even something as simple as a broken quiver slows your draw. Pain we endure, faulty weaponry we cannot.”

  The strap had split at the center, with the remaining attached overstretched fibers creating the loose fit. Kratos gathered the split ends tightly to hold them with one hand, while pulling out a mistletoe arrow with the other. He jammed the tip through the leather strap and the quiver body to stitch it together, breaking off the unneeded feathered end of the shaft.

  “This will do for now. Good?” Kratos said.

  Atreus tugged the strap, at the same time rotating his shoulders forward. “Good.”

  “Go,” Kratos said.

  They resumed their climb toward the apex of the mountain, surrounded by the sound of a swirling wind. Then a more distinct pattern of sounds emerged in the air. As they neared the summit, the sounds became a flurry of grumbling words.

  “You hear those voices too, right?” Atreus asked.

  “Yes. Be silent.”

  “You know why we’re here. Did my last visit manage to loosen your tongue?” a voice said.

  The stranger. Kratos immediately recognized the voice.

  “That sounds like the man from our house. You said you killed him,” Atreus whispered in a breathless voice a moment later.

  Kratos shushed Atreus to silence.

  As they inched nearer the summit, they caught
sight of three men milling about, questioning someone beyond their view.

  “I see you brought your companions this time. Must be important if the sons of Thor deign to grace me with their presence. Tell me, you two still tripping over yourselves to impress your da?” the unseen voice delivered, without so much as a tinge of fear.

  “The tattooed man. Tracks show he travels with a child. Where would they go next?” the stranger pressed with an intimidating snarl.

  Kratos froze, clinging to a rocky cliff, forcing Atreus to remain out of sight.

  “Why in Odin’s name would I even know that?” the voice offered innocently in response.

  “You are the smartest man alive, aren’t you?” another voice shot in.

  “Smarter than all the dead ones, too.”

  A tense pause clung to the chilled air.

  “Look. You help me; I help you. Tell me where they are, and I speak on your behalf to Odin,” the stranger said.

  A breathless laugh came in response.

  “Your father will never let me go, Baldur, and he will never let you kill me. So we are at an impasse. You have nothing to offer me. So take your questions, take your threats, take your two worthless wankers, and piss off.”

  “When no one’s looking… we will be back for that other eye,” the third man said.

  “Do not forget, we are everywhere,” the second voice chimed in.

  “We really are.”

  “Shut up, you idiots. Let’s go,” Baldur said.

  Kratos and Atreus breached the summit, turning the corner in time to watch Baldur and his two companions retreat down a path on the opposite side of the apex.

  Nearby, the older man, still with his back to them, faced a stone henge. Encased up to his neck in crystalline gnarled roots, only his head and one arm remained exposed. The man was chuckling to himself when Kratos entered his view.

  Surprise flashed on his face when he saw Kratos, rather than Odin, coming before him. “Ah, the very topic of our conversation. A pale, red-tattooed man traveling with child.”

  “Boy, check their path; make certain we are alone.”

  “But we just saw them leave.”

  “Do as I say,” Kratos fired back.

  The man—with goat-like horns protruding from a hairless head and entwined with hemp—watched with curiosity as a confused Atreus wandered off to the other side of the ridge. His long gray beard displayed a collection of food scraps. Once the lad had moved out of range, Kratos spoke.

  “Oh, I see. He does not know what you are, does he?”

  “And I expect you to keep it that way. Who are you?”

  “Me? Why, I am Mimir, the greatest ambassador to the gods, the giants, and all the creatures of the nine realms. I know every corner of these lands, every language spoken, every war waged, every deal struck. They call me the smartest man alive, and I have the answer to your every question.”

  “Good. Then why does the son of Odin hunt us?”

  Mimir looked him over with a blank face and a single white eye, his other eye socket vacant. He blinked after a few moments, clearly stumped.

  “Fine. So there are a few gaps in my knowledge. But Odin’s had me imprisoned here for a hundred and nine winters. However, I am a clever lad. I can piece it together, I promise. Just give me time.”

  “Nobody there, just like I said,” Atreus complained on his return.

  “The boy’s mother is dead. She wished that we—” Kratos began.

  “She requested her ashes be spread from the highest peak in all the realms,” Atreus interrupted.

  “Well then, you’ve come to the wrong place, little brother. The highest peak in all the realms is not in Midgard. It is in Jötunheim, in the realm of the giants.”

  Kratos and Atreus gazed around the open vista with a growing sense of defeat. “No,” Atreus said.

  “That could not be what she meant,” Kratos said.

  “Take a look,” Mimir said, trying to move his arm to indicate where they should turn.

  Mimir’s eye suddenly glowed with a golden light. The light striking the nearby henge projected what appeared to be a tall, unframed window that revealed another realm. In the distance, a craggy three-fingered peak rose majestically.

  “That is the last known bridge to Jötunheim in all the realms. See that mountain that looks like a giant’s fingers scraping the sky? That is the highest peak in all the realms. Not here.”

  “Then can we just take that bridge? We have a Bifröst,” Atreus said.

  “When the giants destroyed all the other bridges to their realm, they locked this one up with a secret rune. If it still exists, only a giant would know it.”

  “And all of them left Midgard a long time ago,” Atreus added.

  “True. But today the Winds of Fate have kicked up a strange vortex of coincidence. Fact is, there is only one person alive who can get you where you need to go… and lucky for you, my schedule is wide open.”

  Thinking, Kratos stared at the pouch of ashes on his belt, then at the henge, then at his son, who looked on uneasily, fearing his father might be considering spreading her ashes right there.

  “We are going to Jötunheim, right?” Atreus said.

  “Tell us what we have to do,” Kratos said.

  “Yes!” Atreus chimed in.

  “First, you need to cut off my head,” Mimir said.

  “Wait? What?” Atreus said.

  “Odin made certain no weapon, not even Thor’s hammer, could free my body from these bonds. But fortunately for you, you do not need my body. The trick is, we need to find someone who can reanimate my head, using the old magic,” Mimir explained, as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

  “Old magic… We met a witch in the woods, she is knowing of the old ways,” Kratos said.

  “And she will help? Yes, she just might do. It is worth a try!” Mimir said.

  Atreus felt the need to interject. “Wait. If she fails, you will be dead.”

  “Your concern is admirable, young one. But misplaced. I am willing to chance it.”

  “There is no guarantee you can live,” Kratos said.

  “He tortures me, you know, every day, brother. Odin himself sees to it personally, and believe me, there is no end to his creativity. Every—single—day. This… this is not living.”

  “Very well,” Kratos said. Without any hesitation, he drew his axe.

  “Wait!” said Atreus, reaching out his arms. “We do not even know if the witch is still alive. What if she did not survive what happened to her back there?”

  “What happened to her?” Mimir asked. Both ignored his question.

  “We must take that chance,” Kratos argued.

  “Fine. I cannot watch this,” Atreus said, walking away until he was out of sight. Kratos raised the axe overhead.

  “Are you certain of this?”

  “Just be sure to locate a witch capable of performing the old magic.”

  “I will.”

  In a tense moment, neither of them spoke.

  “Brother, in case you fail to resurrect me, there is something you must know. The boy…”

  Kratos lowered the axe.

  “The longer you delay telling him his true nature, the more damage you do. He will resent you, and you may lose him forever. Are you willing to risk that?”

  “There is much about me I would rather he never know.”

  “Aye… so you value your privacy more than your flesh and blood?”

  “It is more than privacy. I am going to cut off your head now, so you will be silent.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Kratos lifted his axe. From afar, Atreus watched, unable to look away from the sight. However, he turned away at the very last moment and only heard the guttural chopping sound of the head leaving the body in a single clean swipe of the axe.

  Atreus rejoined his father while Kratos placed the fallen head into a sack on his hip. Then they began the long return to the witch’s house.

  �
�Jötunheim. We are going to Jötunheim, the long-lost realm of the giants. That’s…” Atreus said, with exhilaration pumping in his chest. The thought of seeing the witch once more made him feel good. Each time they were together, he felt like he became more capable of dealing with the loss of his mother. The witch could never replace her, he accepted that, but being around her gave him a sense of family, of being wanted by someone.

  “Inconvenient?” Kratos finished.

  “That’s what I was going to say…”

  “Do you remember the way back to the witch’s house?”

  “Of course. The woods with the blood-red leaves, south of the bay. I know just where to go,” Atreus replied.

  Silence swelled between them as Kratos thought about what he must do, and Atreus thought about a decapitated head slung on his father’s hip.

  “Hope she made it back from Alfheim, and can bring him back. He seemed nice… before you cut off his head. What if no witch can bring him back from the dead?” Atreus asked.

  “Worry more about what is… not about what might be.”

  “Makes sense. Maybe Odin will not even notice that his head is gone.”

  They continued for several hours in silence. As night fell, they left the traveled way to favor a hollow in a sprawling thicket in which to sleep for the night. They consumed the last of their dried badger and the remaining dried apricots, along with what the witch had provided them.

  “How long will it take to reach the witch?” Atreus asked, from his place on the ground.

  “Maybe a day or longer,” Kratos said.

  “We are out of food.”

  “I know. We will hunt for something on the morrow if we do not reach the witch.”

  Then Atreus blurted out, “I still cannot believe the god Baldur came to our house. And you fought him and won!”

  “Yes,” Kratos said.

  “Odin’s son. Thor’s brother. And now he hunts us with his nephews. Why is this happening?”

  “If the witch can bring the head back, we will ask him.”

  Silence grew between them, Atreus looking over at the sack with the head every few minutes, still in disbelief. His mother never talked about anything powerful enough to bring a head back to life.

  “I had secretly hoped we might find a giant somewhere back on this mountain. I guess they really did leave Midgard… except for the World Serpent. He may be the last of his kind…”