Chapter 3 #2
“How do we know we’re going the right way?” I ask as Thorian turns, gesturing for us to follow him through the woods.
Thorian strides along, not stopping as he takes a drink from his canteen, and admits, “I can tell. It’s like…a sense. That spire is my true north.”
Fenric says, off-handedly, “Suppose it’s from the connection to your father?”
“I have no connection to my father,” Thorian snaps, but Fenric doesn’t seem to notice the change in the demi-god’s tone, because he’s too busy having procured another rock, lining himself up to kick it further along with us.
“Thorian?”
“My father and I are very different people,” he says curtly, then works his jaw.
I decide not to push it further.
"That's something else I've been wondering," Fenric says, his head tipped down, his focus on the rock.
I try to catch his eye, to communicate the obvious here.
That Thorian does not, and has never wanted to, talk about his father.
But Fenric isn't paying attention, so he goes on, "If you're a demi-god, why is it that you have no special ability?
Or magic? I thought every demi-god had a special ability. "
He's not wrong. Every demi-god I've ever heard of carries a part of their divine parent with them.
Serafine, daughter of Aqualis, is the goddess of the waves.
They say she can pummel the land with vicious waves, or let them crash gently against the shore, all with little more than a thought.
Draven, son of Terranis, is god of trees.
He grows forests from bare earth and speaks to the roots beneath our feet like old friends.
Cassia, Soryn's daughter, who sees by starlight in absolute darkness and brightens or darkens the stars on a whim, with nothing but an outstretched hand, is goddess of starlight.
Even the minor demi-gods, the ones born of lesser divines, carry some thread of the power that made them.
Thorian carries nothing. Or at least nothing visible. I’d never thought much about that, but maybe I should have.
Obviously Thorian is much faster and stronger than us, as demi-gods are.
Fenric is right, though. From what I’ve read in my father’s books, demi-gods typically have some power, some trickling down of whatever they inherited from their divine parentage.
For Thorian, this could mean anything, since Valtor is the god of all realms: sky, sea, and earth.
The children of Aqualis are more limited in what they inherit: control over water, tides, or currents.
Some of them inherit her temper, too, finding it impossible to control their emotions.
Some have even gone mad, faced with the virulence of the sea but only a fraction of the power the true divine holds.
I once read an account of a demi-god whose human parent moved away from the sea after their experience with Aqualis, and that demi-god didn’t even know of their heritage until they fell into a lake on a camping trip and discovered they had no trouble breathing under water.
Soryn’s human spawn are beautiful, ethereal, like her.
They’re all women, and they possess powers to read the future in the stars, or to light up even the darkest of spaces.
They tend to gather with one another, and it’s said that Soryn watches over them with the loving, tender gaze of a real mother.
It’s unknown how many humans have birthed Terranis’s children. He visits our realm often and doesn’t care about what happens when he leaves. Many of his children become farmers or gardeners, not realizing their green thumb is more than a fluke.
Eryndor is the only god who doesn’t procreate with humans. It’s said that he cares too much about our kind, and wants to protect us from our own deviance.
Valtor approaches humans much the same way as Terranis, but with more interest in the children that come from his unions.
I imagine it has to do with him being a narcissist, much the same reason my mother's rejection was a slight he couldn’t confront.
It was truly unfathomable to him that anyone might not want to indulge in a night with a divine.
Most say his presence is felt largely through the massive storms in the sky, the pressure the heavens apply down onto mortals, but my father’s books theorized that Valtor’s power was mostly unchecked.
That, unlike the other major gods, he had a sort of unmatched dominance and reach in what he could affect.
Demi-god children exhibit varying levels of power, depending on their sires and unpredictable countenance.
A handful of Valtor’s demi-god children have been known, through history, to be powerful beyond what even a demi-god should be.
To show the power of their sire through their magical abilities, their strength, their lifespan.
I’m so deep in my thoughts about the gods and given Thorian’s record so far with freely discussing his father, I expected him to say nothing in response. So when he speaks, breaking through the silence around us, it shocks me.
It also chills me to my bones, the simmering, virulent rage in his voice.
“I have no idea,” he fumes, “but it plagued my father. He went to all efforts, both cruel and awful, to try and encourage the development of a power in me. He believed I would be the strongest of his children, and once told me that I would likely take a place among the gods.”
My heart seems to beat quieter, as though wanting to avoid attracting Thorian’s furious glare. He stares straight ahead, and I look to the trees, thinking he might actually be cutting a line through them with his gaze alone.
Fenric has abandoned his rock. His focus is entirely on Thorian.
“Of course, that was wrong,” the demi-god snarls. “Valtor was wrong, and I’m not even powerful enough to win this absurd competition, let alone take a place among the divines through natural talent alone.”
When I look up, Fenric catches my eye. Of course, there’s a tinge of apprehension there, in his gaze, but what surprises me is the compassion. It’s clear from the slant of his brow, the turn of his mouth, that it doesn’t just bother him that Thorian is angry. It bothers him that Thorian is hurting.
And that’s how I feel, too. His anger is something I want to take in my hand, pull away from him, so it no longer strangles him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out and putting a hand on Thorian’s arm.
He stiffens for a moment, then stops walking, turning to look at me.
Perhaps I should be scared, but I’m not.
Even as a demi-god, he’s apparently been scorned by his father and divine heritage.
There isn’t a part of me that believes Thorian would ever hurt me.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a father as awful as that. You don’t deserve it, Thorian.”
Thorian sighs and claps his other hand over mine, taking a deep breath that is strong enough to rattle my own chest. It’s both comforting and exciting, the feeling of my hand closed between his bicep and his larger palm.
Fenric leans in, putting his hand on Thorian’s and my hand shooting him a shit-eating grin.
The demi-god scowls, though the edges of his lips turn up. He shakes Fenric’s hand off and steps away, turning his gaze back toward the forest in front of us. “We’re wasting time.”
Dusk is starting to settle in, and I can’t tell whether a full day has truly passed, or if this is, once again, a trick of the forest. I look up in order to see the sky clearly through the trees, but what I can make out of it is a dusty lavender.
There are a few bright rays of orange sunlight fracturing through the trees and spilling across the path, but it's fading fast. I suspect it won't be long before we'll be walking in full dark.
“Maybe we should find somewhere to make camp for the night,” Fenric says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, playful mood gone. Something has shifted in the air around us, and I find myself missing that playfulness.
“Yeah… I wish things could be that easy,” Thorian says, his head raised, gaze fixed in the distance on something Fenric and I can’t see or sense. “But that’s not going to happen. Seems the gods are in need of amusement right about now.”
Amusement? Damn it.