Path of the King - Chapter 13 (Patreon)

Wasn't intending for these to all be released sequentially, but that's how the cookie crumbles. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me.

Baldr wasn’t quite what I’d expected, though in hindsight some of my expectations seemed deeply silly. Baldr was a son of Odin, a brother of Thor and god of the Norse. Gods were shaped by mortal myths and beliefs and changed over time, but core aspects of their being took centuries to alter unless the god was taking on an entirely new face or aspect. 

Baldr was shorter than I had expected, shorter than me by several inches, and built like a powerlifter. He had long blonde hair that shone like liquid gold in the sunlight and beaten bronze in the shade and a full beard braided with intricate patterns. His skin was pale, but with a honey-like tint, and he glowed with an inner light that drew the eye and made him look almost ethereal despite his bulk. 

He was also the most beautiful man, no, person, I’d ever seen. I’d never been attracted to a man before, not in this life nor the last, but apparently a god of beauty could transcend silly things like sexual preferences. Before, the most handsome man I’d ever met was Anet’s father, who made male models look plain. I could acknowledge that he looked good, but only on an intellectual level; like an art expert examining a marble statue. There was no attraction there as there was with Anet and even her mother. 

Now, I couldn’t take my eyes off Baldr, and each time I blinked I wished I could tear away my own eyelids so they would stop getting in the way. How could any mortal, man or woman, compare with this divine work of art? I’d always thought that Anet would look good in anything, even a potato sack, but Baldr made her look like a disfigured hag. 

He was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. There wasn’t a hair out of place, anything at all detracted from his splendor. His beauty drew the eye and filled the room, reflecting off every surface and amplifying the beauty around him as well as his own. Colors seemed brighter in his presence and minor flaws seemed insignificant. Even the crumbs in his beard and the drops of mead slowly staining his tunic only accentuated his splendor. 

I could’ve spent an eternity just watching him, drinking it all in. From the sun’s progression across the sky, it had taken nearly half an hour before I could do more than stammer and stare after the first time I saw his face, looking like a slack-jawed idiot and completely forgetting why I’d summoned him in the first place. Only when I’d wrapped my fingers around Gáe Bolg’s shaft—still hidden behind a tapestry—had I finally come to something resembling my senses. 

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my mind, but even then I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes off him.  I took a deep breath, trying to cycle out the magic I knew was clouding my thoughts, but all I could smell was Baldr—sweat and mead, roasting meat and freshly baked bread—and that single deep breath left me insentient for another ten timeless minutes. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispered that I might have miscalculated. My malformed circuits and the tiny bit of Mystery my origin represented gave me some resistance to mind-altering magics like hypnosis, but only as much as an unremarkable magus might have, and here I knelt faced with a heretic god. ‘What had I been thinking!’ it tried to scream. I was reminded of why exactly Campiones were sometimes called the bastard children of Epimetheus, Titan of hindsight: because only someone who acted without forethought would willingly fight a heretic god. 

I ignored it, instead struggling against the mindless awe threatening to overwhelm me for a third time. I tried to focus on something else, anything else, but I couldn’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from him. Whenever I tried my mind went vaguely blank and then I came too again moments or minutes later having found some other aspect of the god to admire; the play of light across his flowing hair, the curve of his ear down towards his neck, the way his jaw shifted beneath his skin as he loudly chewed the food I’d laid out for him.

Baldr tore a chunk out of one of the loaves of crusty bread with his pearly white teeth, accumulated crumbs cascading down his beard and onto his clothing. He chewed loudly, swallowed, then washed it down with a huge gulp from one of the large mugs, nearly draining the vessel in a single swallow. 

“Ahh,” he sighed contentedly, slamming the mug back down on the table and reclining in his seat. “That’s some good stuff.” He glanced over at the nearly cleared plates and the single remaining half-empty keg of mead, its empty brother lying in several pieces on the other side of the cave. “Shame it’s just a snack!” He burped explosively, an echoing, musical note that hung in the air and made my heart skip a beat. 

After a moment, he sat back up and dipped his mug into the keg, filling it to the brim before setting it down beside him on the table with a loud thump that sent some of the amber alcohol sloshing onto the table. He grabbed the half-eaten loaf beside him and used the heavy knife at his belt to cut it open, then spread it with a thick layer of pale red jam on one side and several spoonfuls of honey on the other, licking the serving spoons clean when he was done with them with loud sounds of appreciation. He eyed his makeshift sandwich, then plucked the last few pieces of smoked turkey from their platter and packed them into the slit in the loaf. 

He groaned when he bit into it, smacking his lips loudly as he chewed. “I’da broken free earlier if I’d known you mortals made food like this now!” He declared between swallows. “Bread white as snow and sweet as honey, even without the honey! Who’s ever heard of such a thing!” He laughed uproariously at his own words, and I instantly found myself laughing with him, whether I wanted to or not. 

He continued to eat, clearing the table of enough food and drink for a half-dozen normal men his size with gusto and obvious pleasure while paying me no more mind than a piece of furniture. I watched him eat in silence, a dopey smile that was only partially brought on by his beauty on my face as I fought to regain some measure of control over myself. 

Only when there was nothing left to eat and he’d scraped out the last jar of jam with one thick finger did Baldr finally deign to look at me, still kneeling on the ground by the wall where he’d thoughtlessly waved for me to wait. He sat slouched in his seat, the last half-mug of mead cradled in his hands and a golden splotch of honey under one eye like a beauty mark. I was struck with indecision, half of me demanding that I prostrate myself before him while the other refused to look away from his face. 

“So you’re the one that called me, eh? Thought at first you must have tarred yourself, or some kinda tattoo, but now I’ve got a good look at you, I see you’re just like that.” He shrugged and took a sip of mead. “See something new every day I guess. You must be one of them Africans. Met a few of your gods in the Netherworld back in the day; nice blokes.”

He fell silent, looking around the cave with idle curiosity, his gaze lingering on some of the finer rugs and tapestries, before turning back towards me. “So what'd you call me for? I appreciate the food and the drink, but can't say I was expecting to see a charcoal man dancing around in my old sunbathing spot. Felt more like a load of pretty girlies, though that must have been the blood.” He burped again, slightly quieter this time, and let go of his mug with one hand so he could rub his protruding belly. 

“Anyways, no one goes through all the trouble of poking a god without a damn good reason, and you don’t look like an idiot to me. Don’t look much like my old followers either, but I guess it has been a few centuries since I last broke out. You look like a big strong fellow, rich or smart too to put this all together and have it work. What is it you’re looking for? Girl doesn’t like you back? Need someone dead? A crew to join?” He took another drink, then waved his hand towards me, “come on, come on, you don’t have forever. Spit it out.”

It didn’t even occur to me in the moment that I should try to lie. I wasn’t sure if that was because Baldr was a god of truth, or if I had truly been so struck dumb by his beauty, but I felt compelled to be truthful with him, no matter how stupid that was. I looked up into the god’s smiling face and smiled back twice as widely. “I was going to kill you so I could become a Campione.”

Baldr looked dumbfounded for a moment, then roared with laughter, spilling what was left of his drink all over himself as he slapped his palm against his thigh repeatedly. “Oh, Odin all knowing, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. You fancy yourself a little god slayer, do you? You! Ahh ha ha! You might be a big, brawny lad, but it takes a lot more than that to take down a god.”

I knelt there smiling as he kept laughing and laughing. His laughter was as beautiful as the rest of him, like crystal bells and the pounding gongs. Eventually, he regained control of himself and waved for me to go on. “So, what was the plan? What made you think that you, a big baby mortal, could hurt me, Baldr the Invincible!”

This time the time he’d given me paid off. Mostly. I thought I might have managed to stop myself from spilling all the details at least, not that Baldr gave me a chance. “Mistletoe––” I began, then froze as Baldr scowled, going from laughing to furious in an instant.

“Mistletoe! You thought you could defeat me, a god, just because you got yourself a little mistletoe!” He slammed his fist down on the edge of the table and it shattered, spraying jagged splinters in all directions and sending the rest of the table crashing into the wall. “Damn Loki for spreading that story around! You think a little bit of mistletoe is going to let someone like you kill a son of Odin? You think a little bit of mistletoe is going to save you?”

He rose to his feet, the glow around him intensifying until it was painful to look at, but I still couldn’t pull my eyes away from his face. He picked up the chair, broke off one leg, and threw the rest at the wall above my head where it too shattered, the pieces raining down on top of me and some slicing through my clothing to bite into dark skin. 

He brandished the chair leg in my direction. “You thought Mistletoe would save you? Think again!” And then he stabbed the jagged, broken part of the chair into his chest where it splintered and slid off without doing any damage. “I am a god! Even without an Authority, my skin is hard as steel and proof against whatever petty magic with which you think to face me!”

He turned his back to me, stalking across the room in obvious agitation, and I suddenly noticed just how hot it was getting in the room. Sweat was running down my skin in rivulets and the sun shining down through the opening in the cave and trickling in from the other entrance were both considerably brighter than they had been…however long ago it had been since Baldr had appeared.

And how long had it been? Half an hour? An hour? Two? Even longer? I’d completely lost track multiple times and the searing column of light and heat pouring into the cave made it impossible to accurately judge the sun’s progression across the sky—not that I would put it past a sun god to make the sun shine long after sunset.

My little ritual had not gone unnoticed, I was certain of it. The descent of a heretic god was one of the ‘loudest’ magical events I knew of, detectable from halfway around the world, and every mage organization worth its salt maintained mystic codes or other sensors specifically tuned to listen for them. Norway was not officially the territory of any of the currently active Campiones and I’d conducted the ritual far from any inhabited areas, but Voban, Alec, or Doni would be here very soon, possibly more than one of them, and that would be an utter disaster. 

Baldr’s back was still beautiful, but either his anger, his inattention, or maybe the sharp pains of dozens of splinters digging into my back and arms had finally cleared my mind enough to think.

I needed to end this, and soon. 

Thankfully, Baldr had played right into my hands even without me needing to direct him. Like he’d said, stabbing him with a little bit of mistletoe wasn’t going to do the trick, but hopefully ingesting an entire feast of food and drink prepared with poisonous mistletoe berries, dried leaves, sawdust, and smoke would weaken him enough for my other surprised to get the job done. 

I’d done my research. Like Campiones, most gods were immune to external magic and damage unless it came from an existence on their level. But just like a Campione could be healed via an orally delivered spell, I hoped a god could be poisoned in the same way. Especially a god with a legendary weakness for a single plant that was already poisonous to humans. And like I’d hoped, add enough sugar and unfamiliar spices, and even a god doesn’t notice one more addition. It was impressive just how much finely-ground plant matter you could mix into a loaf of bread before it became unappetizing.

Baldr was still ignoring me, mumbling what sounded like curses in some old Germanic language. I watched the ground in front of him, doing my best to focus on his boots and not the radiant creature who wore them. As he stepped onto a particularly gaudy rug—bright yellow and patterned with suns and vines—I moved, ducking as much as I could behind the tapestry and shielding my face with one hand. The other brushed against a tiny, inconspicuous detonator clipped onto Gáe Bolg’s shaft, and the world erupted into light and sound.

It had taken a lot more effort to figure out how to convert a landmine into a mistletoe delivery device than I had expected—very not user friendly—but I’d tested the end result extensively. I could understand why Baldr’s mother hadn’t been too worried. Even with the best modern technology money could buy, it was really hard to turn any part of the plant into an effective projectile, but I persevered. 

Nineteen such devices, hidden behind tapestries and under rugs, went off simultaneously, shredding their coverings and filling fully half the room with deadly shrapnel. Wet blood trickled from my left ear and dripped down the side of my neck, and I couldn’t hear myself cry out in pain as several off target pieces struck me, leaving welts and cuts on my exposed skin and tearing through both the tapestry in front of me and my clothing. I slumped forward and, dazed, couldn’t quite catch myself before my face hit the ground, saved from a broken nose or worse only by the shag of the nearest carpet.

But Baldr had it much worse. 

I pushed myself upright and squinted to see thousands of bleeding marks covering his body. His clothing was tattered and there was an inch-long piece of hardened mistletoe stem sticking out of his left eye, blood dripping out from under the other eyelid as well. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and elation bloomed inside me.

And then Baldr turned slowly towards me, completely unhindered by his apparent blindness. He spit out a wad of blood and saliva mixed with bits of splintered stems onto the ground and the air around him warped with light and heat “You. Dare,” he hissed, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder that I could barely make out through the ringing in my one good ear.

I didn’t answer, clutching my no longer hidden spear and holding my breath as I tried to stay perfectly still. Baldr was facing subtly in the wrong direction. He couldn’t see me! As long as I didn’t move or make a sound, he wouldn’t know where exactly I was. If he got just a little closer…

He didn’t.

Baldr snarled like a wolf, then straightened to his full height and spread his arms out to the sides. He seemed to suddenly fill the room, his light and the light of the sun bending to become a spotlight shining down on him. The heat was rapidly becoming unbearable, like fire crawling over my skin, and I was acutely aware of the staccato pounding of my heartbeat.

Baldr took a breath and the whole world stilled, waiting. “I am the Sun!” he began, and the shredded fabric under his feat ignited suddenly, tongues of flame licking his boots and oily smoke rising around him in dark tongues.

I choked on my own tongue. An Authority. I was out of time.

“I am the light of dawn that beats back the night!” The wave of light that poured off him was the most intense one yet, burning itself into my retinas even through my instinctively closed eyelids.

I inhaled, feeling like I was cooking my throat as I did, but dragging in a gulp of air and the hot, sharp magic it carried. My unconscious shaking stilled and Gáe Bolg came up and my hands slid into their places.

“I am the fire that burns through winter and brings the spring!” This time heat bursts from him, so intense that all the bits of mistletoe and torn carpet in a circle around him simply vanish and the ground around his boots looks like it's starting to melt. He was too bright to look at, even as beautiful and captivating as he was. My eyes and skin were so dry I thought I might crack open like an egg if I tried to move.

I took a half step forward, guided by pure instinct as I adjusted my footing, and then I lunged. 

“Gaze upon my radiance and weep for me!”

My hair and clothing caught fire, my skin burned and blistered, and I had the unique pleasure of feeling it as my eyes burst in their sockets in flares of steam. Every inch of me was fire and pain, needles stabbing individually into every nerve and scrap of flesh as cleansing light erupted from Baldr, a comparably dark spot in an ocean of brilliance. 

I thought I must have screamed, but I couldn’t hear it, nor remember doing it after.

And then there was a wet, meaty shlick that echoed loudly in my skull even though I was pretty sure I no longer had ears, followed by a pained, uncomprehending gasp as Gáe Bolg struck true. I tried to whisper its name, but no sound emerged from my lipless mouth. 

It didn’t matter. That was enough.

My knees hit stone and I grinned at the heavens, knowing in my heart of hearts that I had done it. And then I knew no more.