by J P Sayle
As he shifted away, the crowd swelled behind him, pushing him back towards the rising heat and smell while they hungered for more. He felt their emotions expand around, rising when Magnus’s dying screams rent the air, causing his blood to turn to ice, freezing him in place. The warmth radiated out was unable to penetrate and thaw the numbing cold that encased his body as the flames climbed higher in the night sky, displaying their ire at the injustice.
He understood the fury when he wanted to do the same thing. Only he couldn’t when the mind-numbing cold left him with nothing but an empty, hollowed husk for a heart. Nothing but emptiness filled his mind and his heart. He stood unmoving, his hooded eyes shielding his pain as he watched, memorising every blood-curdling scream his soulmate let escape as he took his final gurgling breaths.
Sniffing up, he tried to lock the tears inside, feeling a presence at the side of him. Looking down left him breathless. Bending, he lifted Maximillian, hugging him into his chest, nuzzling his wet nose into his fur, hoping to share the burden if only for a moment.
They watched together until the fire died. Óláfr purposefully disregarded the anger he felt coming from Arngrim instead turning towards his men, forcing himself to make eye contact with everyone that stood around the fire. He used Maximillian’s warmth as a protective shield. Hugging him closer, he willed his voice not to convey the utter distress sliding through his chest. Licking his lips, hesitating, he gathered his thoughts as he spoke forcefully.
“It is done. This will be the last time there will be mention of what happened here. No one will utter his name again, and if caught, then those found will befall the same fate. Is this understood?” His angry booming voice had all but one head nodding, even as confusion over his tone had some men give him a questioning look. Óláfr kept his face as neutral as possible when he glanced at the unmoving Arngrim who now stood by the bishop.
Óláfr straightened his spine, willing himself to hold it together for a few more minutes as he walked away from the dying fire closer to Arngrim. His gaze never wavered from Arngrim, ensuring he knew who was in charge. Grinding his teeth to stop the deluge of anger that wanted out, he took a calming breath, easing the ragged emptiness he felt shifting inside before speaking. “Am I understood, Arngrim? This matter is now closed.”
Releasing a hand from Maximillian’s fur, Óláfr stabbed at Arngrim’s flabby chest. “You should be pleased this was what you and the bishop wanted. Well, you got your wish, and I will have mine, or else there will be consequences.” He saw the resignation in both men’s eyes as they nodded in unison before he turned on his heel before stalking away, not looking at anyone else.
He hurried into the dark castle, making his way swiftly back to his chamber. Each step created puffs of smoke and ash to rise, making him relive what had just occurred. He clung to his sanity by a fraying thread, hoping against all hope that he would make it to his chamber before it broke.
Maximillian could hardly believe it. How had it come to this? He lost count of the times he’d asked himself and the universe that question. He’d still been hoping things would somehow miraculously change, and Christina would come with her magic and stop what was going to happen.
He shuffled dejectedly along the outskirts of the keep wall, struggling to come to terms with what was about to happen. When he had seen Óláfr standing in the passageway when the guards had dragged Magnus from his cell up the damp stairwell, it had given him hope. But no, the cretin had stood there doing nothing, letting them take Magnus away to his death.
He couldn’t watch. There was no way he could endure the torture that was about to occur, but his small paws seemed to have a mind of their own as he moved ever closer to the glowing fire that lit up the dark. The flames danced higher, drawing him in. He felt their magnetising pull, or was it Magnus that had him moving closer to watch this atrocity?
Stopping, he sniffed the salty air not covering the fragrant scent of Christina. He gazed into the darkness seeing nothing but shadows cast from the flames and the dark clouded sky. Could he be wrong? No. He shook his body, letting the hair that had lifted settle. He would know her scent anywhere. Allowing their link to open, he spoke, “Christina, Christina, are you there? Please answer. I can scent you for Goddess Freyja sake. Please.” Half expecting silence, he sagged in relief when she responded to his cries.
“Yes, I am here, but not in body, my love, only in spirit. King Manannán would have a fit if he knew that I was even doing this. He has forbidden me to have any contact with you, but I could not leave you now. I just couldn’t. Not with what is coming.”
Her voice trailed off, leaving him bereft. He immediately sensed she had gone from his mind and started worrying at his whiskers.
What the heck was that about?
What did she know that he did not?
Hadn’t he already suffered, endured more than any other guardian?
The babbling voices at the back of his mind returned along with something else, fear. Fear for him and concern for themselves.
Sensing Morgana, he gave in to his better judgement and asked the one question he wasn’t sure he wanted to be answered. Not when he could almost feel a noose slipping around his neck. Swishing his paw up, he felt at his neck when the sense of foreboding spread inside him, making his hackles rise. “What has gotten you all so worried, Morgana?” There was a quaver in his voice not pleasing him at all. His palpable fear spread down his spine, lifting the tiny hairs in its wake. His patience snapped, “Morgana, what is it?”
“Don’t you shout at me, you whippersnapper. You may be King, but I am far older than you and therefore should be given the proper respect.” Her haughty voice grated on his nerves.
Rolling his eyes, he said nothing, waiting. He mentally slapped himself, knowing that now he’d rubbed her up the wrong way, she would make him wait longer.
He sighed as the time seemed to lengthen for forever. His fur was getting soaked by the thrashing sea. His mind drifted, and he listened to the sounds of the growing crowd on the other side of the castle. So lost in thought was he that when she finally spoke, he leapt in fright, spooked.
“There have been rumours coming from the otherworld that your purpose as a guardian is about to change. The rumours are rife as they tend to be, but no one has any solid information as to what this means for you or us.”
Her aggravated sigh told him she really had no clue as to what was about to happen.
“Thank you, Morgana. Accept my apology for the disrespect, for it was not intentional.” His teeth snapped at having to give an apology, but he didn’t want any more strife to bite him on the behind, so he went with it, smoothing her ruffled fur.
Sensing a change in the air, an excitement that felt unnatural, he moved cautiously across the rocky ground. Berating himself for what he was about to do, he clenched his body, holding still and opening both links simultaneously to Óláfr and Magnus. He didn’t notice how easy it was becoming to switch and change the way he used his mind, so lost was he under the strain of terror, anger, and love. They intertwined, swirling in a pit of misery that fired through his system, making his small legs give way as his back arched. As he plopped down, salty water splashed out of the puddle, coating his recently cleaned fur with salt and seaweed.
As he shook out his fur, his low grumbling growl got lost under the screams that rent the air. He froze in place for a second and the distress made him struggle to maintain his stance as emotions washed over him. He forced his body to move. Running, he panted. His full stomach threatened to revolt, and the food would make a return visit and soon if he continued to run.
Swallowing the bile, he rounded the side of the castle. His eyes widened in horror as Óláfr lifted Magnus’s torn, bloody body high, holding him close for a moment. Emotions from seconds ago rushed through him tenfold. The force had him leaping onto his hind legs, paws raised, trying to fight them away. His feelings blindsided him as he felt their connection inside him. Sorrow, fear, anger, and lastly love
, all locked together with a promise.
Óláfr’s words rang inside him like a bell tolling, sealing all their fates. He knew it even before the final promise was uttered. Óláfr had made an everlasting vow to find his soulmate. No matter what, or however many millenniums it took, he would right this terrible wrong.
Óláfr’s promise had the air charging and his fur lifting. His legs landed as he took off towards the heat of the fire. He went directly to Óláfr. The will of Magnus pulled at him and had him heaving a sigh. Nose wrinkling, Maximillian tried to hold his breath when the smell of burning flesh filled his nose, but he never wavered until he got to Óláfr.
Large, warm hands lifted him, making him ever so grateful when it allowed him to push his twitching nose into Óláfr’s neck, hoping his musky scent would mask the awfulness drifting on the air.
Ignoring everything, Maximillian took his courage and lifted his tiny face towards the fire, sensing Magnus’s spirit leave his body. The colour of the flames danced together, bleeding into each other, creating deep blues that merged with reds, making a haze of purple burst up into the dark inky sky. The air moved with the colourful display swirling closer to Maximillian. They hovered before finally settling onto him.
He was not surprised when he felt Magnus’s essence move through him till it found his soul merging. His weight sagged against Óláfr’s chest before the soft voice of Christina whispered through the fog clouding his mind.
“This is your new purpose, Max. You are now a soul bearer. You shall not rest, and you will find no happiness of your own until Óláfr fulfils his promise. You must keep their souls safe and ensure they are returned to their rightful owners when the time is right.”
Sputtering, Maximillian asked, “What? … How… how will I know who they are?” The whine in his voice had him puffing out his chest.
“I am not privy to this information, Max, and neither are you. You must learn to trust your instincts and stick to the rules. Remember what I have taught you and seek the help of others when you need it. And, Max, that would include family members.” Her small chuckle made his eyes roll, and he hunched. Sniffing, he pointed his nose up in the air.
As if I would ask those meddling busybodies.
“Max, you need to learn to trust others and remember there is always more than the eye can see, the heart can feel, and the spirit can endure. Keep the faith, my beautiful friend. I shall miss you until such time we can be reunited. I must go now. I fear if caught, there will only be more retribution. Remember, life is for the living and stick to the rules, though I feel I may be flapping my lips in vain.” The fading words had him snorting as he felt Óláfr shift his weight.
He kept his head down, listening to Óláfr threaten violence on all those around him if they uttered Magnus’s name. His angry exchange with Arngrim had Maximillian worrying that there might be retribution anyway as he watched the silent exchange between Arngrim and the bishop when Óláfr walked off. He would speak of it when they returned to his chamber, though he wasn’t sure how much Óláfr could take when his heartbeat pounded faster than the horse’s hooves battering the hard ground.
He pushed his furry cheek to Óláfr’s, trying to calm him. Maximillian dug his nails into Óláfr’s blood-soaked pelt, holding tight when all he wanted to do was escape the stench and scent of lemongrass. Reminders of Magnus neither of them needed right at this moment.
Óláfr’s heavy footfall reverberated in the stone passageways as he almost ran back into the castle. He went directly to his chamber, and the resounding crash of the door shutting made Maximillian’s small body vibrate along with the room.
Óláfr’s arms were releasing him before the door shut. Maximillian jumped out of the way as he felt his massive body collapse against the wood, shaking. Tremors wracked him from head to toe. Tears flowed unheeded down Óláfr’s cheeks, soaking the hair that clung to his face. He landed in a heap on the hard floor with a resounding thud, making Maximillian wince in sympathy.
Unsure how to make it better, Maximillian threaded through Óláfr’s trembling legs. The dark stains on his clothing stood out against the light of the big fire sitting in the hearth. Pushing away his distaste at having to touch the sodden cloth and fur, he wound his way up his body, sidestepping the worst bits where he could.
His mind was trying hard to find a way to discuss what had happened outside without making matters worse.
Should I even be speaking to Óláfr about the soul inside me?
He wanted to meow in frustration, holding it in when he knew Óláfr wouldn’t understand and might question him. He groaned at the indecision he felt. He made a decision, hoping he was doing the right thing. Listening to his intuition, he spoke.
“Óláfr, come rest. There is nothing more that can be done now. I heard your promise to Magnus, and I hope you will find a way to keep it.” Avoiding making eye contact, he watched out the side of his eye the misery flash into the depths of Óláfr’s watery eyes. Red and bloodshot, they looked to him for reassurance as he sent the one question Maximillian could not answer. That he would at some point in the future make amends for what he had done.
He ignored the question he couldn’t answer. Feeling his superstitious nature rise, Maximillian crossed his paws, hoping he had made the right choice for both of them. He hoped against all hope that they would fulfil the promise sooner rather than later because now their future happiness was infinitely tied to Óláfr’s promise.
August 1998
Max stirred, feeling Aaden’s mind start to waken. The memories of the night before still hung between them. Max took a hard look at Aaden, praying that this would be the final time, that he could put an end to the hundreds of years of failure.
Am I trying to convince myself something is different this time? The time he’d spent stewing overnight on the past made him wonder if he’d really felt a difference this time. No, I did. By the God Njord and the Goddess Freyja, I did. It was different this time. He may not know why, but his senses alerted him to something that had him anticipating the coming years when Aaden would become a man.
Feeling warm hands stroke down his back, digging in just hard enough to make him purr in pleasure, he arched under Aaden’s large hands, forgetting his worries.
He recognised it was time for their conversation, for him to explain some of his purposes. Shifting under the warm hands, he looked directly into Aaden’s dark eyes that reminded him so much of Óláfr’s. The urge to tell him everything, as he’d never done with Óláfr or the others, hit him right in the solar plexus and made him mewl in distress.
Aaden’s large body started. Sitting up far too quickly, he dislodged the warm duvet under Max, propelling him towards the floor. He landed in an unexpected heap, and the loud disgruntled meow had laughing dark eyes peer over the side of the bed, just as giggles erupted from across the room.
Disgruntled, Max got up, shaking off the stinky T-shirt covered in semen now stuck to his behind, shuddering in disgust when the scent clung to his fur. He glowered up at Aaden’s broad-grinning face, purposely ignoring Nick in the opposite bed.
“You need to be mindful, young man, if you don’t want me dragging that dirty T-shirt over to your brother.” Max stuck his nose in the air with a happy smirk when Aaden gave him an alarmed look a second before he cast a wary look at Nick. Max felt like patting himself on his back when he noticed that Aaden’s thoughts were calm and he had no urge to go running from the room screaming for his parents.
He took all this as a positive sign. He jumped back up on the bed next to Aaden, gracefully curling into a comfortable position so he could clean his fur. Hoping he was acting nonchalantly so as not freak out Aaden, Max spoke softly.
“When Nick goes to school, we can talk privately. I’m sure you have the urge to speak out loud. That happens a lot to begin with, but don’t worry. It wears off pretty quickly. I’ll answer all your questions and remember you are not going mad. I promise.” Keeping his gaze on Aaden, he watched for any
signs of a freak-out, not entirely convinced it wouldn’t happen at any moment.
“Okay.” Aaden’s broad shoulders shrugged. “I’ll try not to talk out loud. But you gotta promise to answer all my questions.”
He gave a nod in acquiescence, though he wasn’t sure Aaden would be quite ready for everything, even when he could sense the excitement leaking through their link. Max couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, making his whiskers twitch with his own delight.
Yes, yes, he felt it again as he watched Aaden busy himself getting dressed and play-fight with his brother. It was different, and by the Goddess Freyja, he hoped this would be the last time he would have to endure failure.
2017
The Isle of Mann
Max strained to contain his yowl at being kept caged inside the van, but it would appear these cretins on the boat did not allow cats to roam, only foolish dogs. Meowing loudly, he opened his link and was tempted to teleport but still feeling the after-effects from the other week, he changed his mind.
A picture popped past the barrier he thought he’d secured in place after seeing a specific little black cat. He shook off his thoughts when images of a little black swaying bottom pushed to the forefront of his mind.
He’d known instantly she was one of his kin. Though as far as he could tell, she was far removed from him and more connected to Morgana’s side of the family, thank the Goddess Freyja. He couldn’t be having unsavoury thoughts about close family members. His fur lifted, hackles rising at the very thought.
No, that wouldn’t do at all.
He searched through his link with Morgana accessing her memories. Grinning like a fool when the name popped into his head, Princess. Yes, she totally was!
