A Femmegeek Speaks

January: This is the year, this is the year it all will happen!
February: Fuck.
March: (No entry, which I will take to mean "Copious amounts of sex")
April: Milestone?
May: (No entry = "FANIME & WEDDING WOO!")
June: Woo! Summer!
July: Someone bakes you a GODDAMN LEMON CAKE!!!! What the FUCK DO YOU DO?!?!?!!!
August: Fuck (Why Snooping Is Bad and Why I'm a Terrible, Terrible Person)
September: Boo.
October: (No entry = "October is when everything changes... and we have to be ready for it")
November: The Cavern of Rapture!
December: (No entry = "KILLMENOWOHGODFINALSAREEATINGMYBRAAAAAIIN")

Onward to 2010!

 

Chapter Seven - The Journey North

Ursa awoke in a strange place. The first thing she noticed was that she was still in a state of half-undress, much like she was at the theater! Did she faint? Ursa looked about her. She was in some kind of semi-spacious wooden contraption with hay on the ground. A small leather-bound satchel was in the far corner and another that seemed to contain food lay beside it. Ursa was famished... She crawled over to it and was pitched to the ground when the world suddenly shifted. The wagon, or whatever she was in, was moving! No one she knew owned a wagon or had anywhere to go in one. Her expression darkened.

Ursa considered not taking advantage of the food. It could be poisoned! Or worse! But it's placement among what seemed to be personal effects seemed to state otherwise. Ursa's stomach rumbled and she made her decision. Moving quietly, so to not alert the driver to her wakefulness, Ursa pulled out a small loaf of bread and some cheese wrapped in oilcloth.

Tearing into her small breakfast, Ursa evaluated her surroundings. There were no windows in the wagon, but there was a back door that was currently fastened closed. The roof was made of wood as well as the walls, which led the woman to believe that it was more of a caravan than a wagon. The hay on the ground looked fresh and none of it smelled of livestock. There was a slight odor Ursa could not place, but she quickly put it out of mind.

Moving quickly once more, she scrambled to the back of the caravan and slowly unhooked the latch that kept the back door closed. Opening it just a few inches, Ursa peered out and nearly gasped out loud at what she saw.

The desert was nearly gone! Somehow, she and her captor — for that is what Ursa had decided the driver was — had gone so far as to nearly leave the sand and sun of the desert behind. The climate seemed somewhat arid still, but there were trees and a river in the distance! Burak survived on underground springs and a small oasis to the south end of the city. Ursa had not seen an actual river in years!

Judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was nearing dusk. Ursa thought for a moment. She could jump out of the caravan now, risk breaking a limb or two and try to hurry back to Burak alone, in the dark, with the monsters and cold of the desert threatening her life at every turn... or she could wait. Ursa was both curious and fearful about the identity of her captor. It could not be the man who attacked the night before, could it?

She refastened the back door and crawled to the other end of the caravan. Upon inspecting the wood there, she found another latch! This one was harder to open than the first, but Ursa managed it with relative ease and silence.

Ursa had to slap one hand over her mouth when she looked through the long rectangular cubbyhole she opened. It was that terrible Master Svarog! She should have known... His back was to her as he drove what she assumed was a horse. How dare he abduct her? Had he no decency at all?

The woman closed the cubbyhole and sat back, pondering her options. She wanted nothing more to do with this barbarian, yet life kept throwing him in her path, time and time again. Ursa wished she had someone to talk to about her problems.

Just then, the caravan came to a halt. Ursa's heart nearly stopped beating as fear coursed through her veins instead of blood. What should she do? She could not hide beneath the hay! She felt helpless, small and terribly, terribly alone.

She could hear the man's footsteps as he hopped off the caravan and walked around to the back. A thump later, the back doors of the caravan were open and Ursa was staring Master Svarog in the eye for yet another time.

They merely stared at one another for several long moments. It seemed the barbarian did not expect her to be awake. Ursa was petrified.

Finally, she found her voice. "May... may I get out, please?" she asked meekly.

The man gave her a suspicious look, but slowly nodded. Ursa climbed out of the caravan and began to stretch her cramping legs. The barbarian never took his eyes off of her. It looked like they were stopped at some kind of small food-and-inn town that catered to travelers only. It probably did not have more than a dozen actual residents.

A man came out of the inn to speak to the barbarian. In the brief moment that the great and terrible Master Svarog turned his head away from her, Ursa took off running across the sand. She did not know which way she was going, but away was good enough for her.

There were a few seconds of pure freedom before she heard the barbarian's cry of outrage and his heavy footfalls behind her. Ursa willed her bare feet to move faster, to fly like the hawk on the winds of escape. She hardly registered her own breathing. Ursa's eyes were fixed on the horizon in front of her as her quarry came closer and closer.

Og's face was fixed in a scowl of irritation. He should have never let her get out! Not bothering to waste his breath on calling to her, Og quickened his pace. His tired muscles cried out in protest, but he ignored them for now. Nothing would get done if this wench got away, or worse, died in the harsh sands of the desert at night!

Ursa could almost feel the barbarian's breath on the back of her neck. Her mind started to cloud in that sensation that was quickly becoming familiar to her. No, no, no! she thought, her mind in a panic, trying desperately to stay lucid. She knew what happened last time her head did this. Last time, some one died and she woke up with blood on her hands. Never again, she vowed to herself and was about to let another burst of speed flow into her feet when a heavy form knocked her to the ground!

"No!" she shrieked, struggling for all she was worth. Her vision was beginning to blur now and that only increased her panic. The small calm part in the back of her mind wondered if killing this barbarian would really be so bad...

Then... the haziness faded, as quickly as it came. Her vision became clear once more and the buzzing in her ears vanished. Ursa blinked in confusion. She was no longer in the semi-desert. She was sitting on the steerman's bench of the caravan, except this time her hands and feet were bound! What in Þorir's name had happened?

The barbarian sat next to her, a wary look in his eye. Ursa's face was carved into an intense frown that had no intention of fading until she got some answers, her freedom or both!

"I demand that you tell me your intentions, you cur!" she shouted at her "companion."

The warrior gave a small, humorless chuckle. "I am delivering you back to your kingdom, your majesty," he said sarcastically and Ursa wrinkled her nose prettily at the thinly veiled insult.

"You have no reason to abduct me!" she told him. "I am of little to no value and I will die before I let you touch me!"

The man was silent for a moment before softly saying, "...So she thinks..."

Ursa's frown deepened then. "Let me go!" She began to struggle against her ties.

"I would not do that if I were you, princess," said the barbarian. "Start struggling and you will likely lose your balance, fall off the caravan and be crushed beneath the wheels. That would not be fun for either of us."

Ursa stilled and looked beneath her. True enough, it was a long fall and the large wheels looked like they would roll over her body as they would a pebble on the ground.

"What do you want with me then?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Why would you possibly want to kidnap me?"

"Apart from your... charms?"

Ursa began to struggle once more, thoroughly disgusted with the entire situation.

"You will see in time, Ursa," he said, a tone of truth in his voice. The woman ceased her struggling once more when he used her name.

"What kind of answer is that? That is no good reason for taking a woman from her home and carrying her off to Þorir knows where while she is tied up like... like an animal!"

"You tried to run," Og said matter-of-factly, as if that was the only explanation needed.

"Who would not?" Ursa charged. "I do not understand you. You... you save young women from attackers, then you do not save them from attackers, then you are naked and acting like a lunatic demanding Nantucket Roachweavers, then you demand that I follow you while you are carrying a corpse on your shoulders and do not seem to mind when I refuse, when suddenly you abduct me and will not explain why! Can you see why I am upset!"

Og merely quirked an eyebrow at her outburst. Her face flushed in a most attractive manner when she was angry. It brought out the brilliant blue of her eyes. Og felt a stirring in his loins as he looked at her. Quickly barring those thoughts, Og brought his mind back to the matter at hand: his revenge.

"You are needed in the north," the barbarian told her after a pause.

"Needed," Ursa repeated dumbly. "Needed. By whom?"

Og thought of all the innocents who died by his enemies' hands and responded, "More than you could possibly know."

They continued to ride in relative silence. Ursa subtly tested her bonds every once in a while and Og pretended not to notice her doing so.

"So..." Ursa said, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. "You are a mercenary."

Og nodded.

"You like to kill people then?"

"I have killed people, yes," Og replied harshly. "But I like it no more than you do, I imagine. You seemed quite... upset by that display you put on last night in the infirmary."

Red flashed in Ursa's vision. How... how dare he mock her pain in such a fashion!

Her voice was low and unnatural when she replied, "You do not know of what you speak, barbarian."

Og gave a jolt when he heard her. That did not sound like the sheltered little dancer he thought he knew! She sounded... dangerous. Og was not sure whether or not he liked it.

He was about to respond when four unsavory looking men rode up beside them on horses.

"Good evening," he ventured cautiously, peering over Ursa to look at them.

"Good evening, good sir!" said the one closest to him with a slight accent. "I see you have a most delectable concubine in your service." He gestured to Ursa and her state of undress. The woman in question gasped in outrage, her ire already piqued by the thoughtless comments of her captor.

"How dare you!" she cried and the men on horses laughed.

"You give her too much leeway, good sir!" the man continued. "We know how to handle a free spirit like her, though. Sell her to us! We are willing to pay enough to make you forget about all your worries, good sir."

Ursa gasped once more. Getting abducted by someone she knew a little was better than being sold to four men who obviously only wanted one thing!

"You are not going to sell me, barbarian!" she told Og fervently.

Og's first instict was to disagree, if only to irritate her, but looking at the men, he thought better of it.

"I am sorry, my good man," Og replied courteously, "but this woman is not my concubine and she is not for sale."

"But she is dressed like one! And she is even bound, ready for a quick exchange!"

"Circumstances, gentlemen," Og explained vaguely, hoping to dissuade them. "Again, I am sorry, but your money will do no good in this situation. She is not for sale."

The men's expressions darkened. "You cannot expect to flaunt a woman like that and not expect trouble, good sir."

Og's fingers flexed on the reins, ready to draw his sword at any moment.

"You cannot expect to try my patience and live to see another day, good sir," Og replied, his expression and countenance equally dark and dangerous.

Ursa watched the exchange between the men and felt a heavy lump of fear form in her stomach. This could not end well...

As if on cue, one of the men suddenly rammed into the caravan, making Ursa lose her balance! She tumbled off the side and was caught by another one of the strange men.

"Svarog!" she cried, helpless against her new captors. Despite all her struggling, she could not get free!

Og cursed and directed the caravan after the quickly retreating horsemen. Setting the horse at a steady pace, Og drew his sword. The Blade of Destiny was glowing with a bright, unearthly light and the men looked on it with fear.

"You have messed with the wrong barbarian!" he shouted and lept off of the caravan and onto one of the men's horse. Og grabbed the man's head between his hands and twisted violently. The man fell forward, his head cocked at an unnatural angle; Og merely pushed him off the horse and onto the ground. The barbarian grabbed his sword once more and rode hard to gain ground.

His blade sliced through their light armor like butter. He felled one, then two! The only one left was the one that held Ursa. Steadying his arm, Og took careful aim, then flung his sword at them!

Ursa screamed as the steel flew past her head and into the last man's back! It came not two inches from her face!

The man's hold on Ursa loosened as the last bit of life slipped from him and she went tumbling to the ground. The horse gradually stopped running and Og caught up to them easily.

He dismounted and walked over to the last fallen man. Bracing his foot on the corpse's back, Og pulled his sword free and wiped it off on the man's clothing.

"Are you alright?" he asked Ursa and she nodded hesitantly. She was frightened, but she did not have any physical injuries.

"You..." Ursa started, but her voice cracked. Gathering her wits she continued with more strength. "You seem to have a habit of tying me up right before something dangerous happens."

Og could not help but smirk at this. "It seems so."

"Does your plan for me... whatever it is... involve me being harmed?"

Og sobered, wondering what she meant with this. "Not to my knowledge, no."

Ursa nodded, deep in thought. "Then... Then, if I promised not to run from you, would you promise not to harm me?"

The barbarian regarded this woman closely. She was quickly becoming the most remarkable female he had ever been acquainted with. "You would swear not to run?" he asked skeptically.

"I swear on my mother's grave," she said seriously. He did not need to know that her mother did not yet have a grave.

Og was surprised for yet another time. Someone who did not automatically swear by Þorir... perhaps this arrangement had some merit. After a long pause, Og extended his hand to the young woman.

"I, Svarog, son of Dazhdbog, swear on my ancestors' graves that I will not harm you," he vowed.

Ursa smiled and took his hand, ignoring the shock that traveled up her spine when their skin touched.

"Deal. Now would you kindly untie me?"

Chapter Seven - The Journey North

"Where is she?" Og had a small dark man pinned against the wall, his large, calloused hands holding handfuls of leather. His face was pale and drawn. Every muscled ached, yet he must find out where that wench went! Nothing was more important to him right now than finding out who was responsible for the slaughter of his people and exacting his revenge upon the guilty parties. It was his duty as former king of the Mountain Realms.

The smaller man was trembling in fear. He had closely cropped black hair and a large aquiline nose. The whites of his eyes showed brightly as his feet kicked at the air.

"Please!" the small man, Hafiz, begged. "Do not kill me! I beg of you! I will tell you anything, I swear!"

"Then tell me where she is!" Og growled, his patience wearing thin. This little man was the only one he knew of who could tell him where the wench, Ursa, was at the moment.

"I promise I will cooperate!" Hafiz babbled hysterically. "Just please, please do not harm me! This theater needs me! I beg of you, sir!"

Og let out a tortured sigh. Sensing it was his only option if he wanted to get any kind of useful information out of the man, he lowered his arms, setting him on his feet once more. The small man began to rattle off thanks and praise to Þorir and to this mysterious barbarian for being so merciful with a humble entertainer who really does not deserve a second look from anyone, but wants nothing more than to be useful to the great and powerful people of the world, like this awesome and mysterious warrior who happened to be toting around the corpse of a stallion, with good reason, Hafiz was sure.

Og tried to be gentle with the man, who was obviously not quite right in the head. "I want you to tell me where the — where Ursa is right now. Can you do that for me?" Hafiz nodded fervently. "Good!" Og said. "Because if you do not, I will be forced to draw my sword and bloody it upon your sorry, worthless body!"

Hafiz let out a high pitched peep of terror before collapsing onto the floor of the theater they were in. Og sighed. Why did he always find the difficult ones? The barbarian wearily kicked at the fallen man's limbs, but he was out cold.

Rolling his eyes, Og left the theater, stopping to pick up Yardis' cold, heavy body and gather it into his arms. He was far too tired to even register the glances people gave him on the street this time. It must have been nearing dawn, yet the roads were still at least somewhat busy. That was the great thing about this city: it never slept.

Og was beginning to feel as if he were becoming the same way. His mind warred with the possible routes for him to go down. On the one hand, he should find that wench as soon as possible so he could continue his quest for revenge. This could turn messy, but it was what his heart told him to do. On the other hand, Og's head was telling him that it was time to rest and recuperate. He could not be expected to deal with a flailing girl and his steed's dead body without getting any sleep.

Og's heavy eyelids were beginning to shape his decision when something in a vendor's stall caught his eye. It was a small, velvet pouch with golden runes embroidered along the brim. Og did not remember much from when he had to study them, but he recognized the one for sleep and the one that meant "suggestion".

"What is this?" Og asked the man behind the makeshift counter of the stall, gesturing with a nod of his head.

The man gave him a sidelong glance, but figured that business was business, regardless of whom it came from. He stroked his long, grey beard with one boney hand. "Ah... this is a rarity indeed! It is a sample of the ever elusive Deeprock Sleep Salt, my friend! Poor little children slave away on grinding wheels to create this out of stones brought out of the sea. You know the grand Pillars of Salt you see in the desert here?" Og nodded wearily. "They are not the only ones that exist in this world fo ours!" The man spoke this as if it were a great secret that he was deeming Og worthy to know.

"So what, old man?" Og asked, losing his already thinning patience.

"So what?" the man repeated, shocked. "There are other Pillars out there! Ones that bind the human and the divine realms! This pouch you see here contains Sleep Salt taken from the very deepest Pillars of the oceans. It is the most potent you will find anywhere!"

Og was unimpressed. "How much?" he asked flatly.

There was a tense pause. Then the older man said, "Fifteen gold, take it or leave it."

"Fifteen?" Og arched one tired eyebrow.

The vendor eyed the corpse on this man's back and his softly glowing blade. "Ten," he said. "Final offer."

Og eyed the pouch, trying to come to a decision. Finally, he reached into his coinpurse and dumped a small handful of coins onto the counter. He did not even bother to count them; he just grabbed the pouch and slung it around his neck. Og looked as if he were about to thank the man, but then he reconsidered and walked away.

The barbarian reached the tavern he was staying in shortly afterwards. After some careful maneuvering around the stairs, Og managed to get his steed's body up into his room with him. Og set Yardis down on the wooden floor and stretched his aching muscles. His shoulders felt like they were made of stone and even holding his head up was a heavy responsibility to ask of his exhausted neck. He unbuckled the strap holding his sword and coinpurse to his body, letting both fall to the floor unceremoniously. The warrior did not know when he had ever been so tired.

Og debated whether or not he wanted to bathe a little before getting into bed. Knowing he would regret it if he did not, he grumbled as he sluggishly walked over to the basin on a table at the north wall of the room. He dipped the provided cloth into the now cool water and proceeded to wash the muck and dirt off of his naked flesh. Going slowly and deliberately, he managed to get himself almost presentable in a reasonable amount of time. The grey light of morning was streaming in the single window of the room and Og felt the chill seep into his bones.

The hand that was holding the cloth slowed as Og began to wash his manhood. The friction of the fibers on his sensitive skin caused the most delicious sensations to run up his spine, making him feel languid and tense at the same time. His fingers let the cloth drop to the floor as they began exploring the much more interesting task of attending to his quickly hardening member. Og's hand tightened around his shaft, pumping up and down. A strangled moan escaped the warrior's lips. He could feel the tension building up inside him as his hand worked faster and faster. A sharp gasp and masculine grunt later, Og let his manroot spew it's white-hot eruption of molten crystal over his hand.

Og was breathing heavily. He clumsily picked up the dropped cloth and wiped his hand off. After giving his spent manhood a cleaning as well, Og stumbled over to the pallet and barely managed to slip underneath the bear furs before succumbing to a deep, much needed sleep.

Several hours later, Og awoke to the sound of the busy street below his window. He yawned, then stretched, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the issue of getting that wench, Ursa, to come with him to Zamura. She already said that she would never go with him, but he needed to change her mind. If she were the only thing that could guarantee his success, Og would do whatever it took to get her companionship, willing or no.

Og threw the covers off of his long form and quickly dressed. It was glorious to be in clean furs after an entire day of blood and grime and sand in the most unconvenient places. His eye then caught the form of the horse on the floor. The warrior sighed. In the light of day, it seemed a bit foolish to be carrying around a giant, heavy corpse, but Og's heart told him that the figure spoke the truth. He would find someone to revive it. He had to.

Og decided to leave Yardis where he was for now. The weather was not sweltering and the horse's body would keep for a few hours more. He just needed to find some kind of magical powder or concoction to keep it from turning bad before Og could save his steed from the clutches of eternal death. Nodding to himself, Og left the tavern for the busy streets of the city.

He had gotten nowhere last night with the small man who ran the theater Ursa worked at, so he would have to try alternate methods today. Heading towards the theater, Og tucked the soft pouch of Deeprock Sleep Salts into his leather tunic, concealing all but the cord around his neck.

Remembering his sword and what the dark figure in black had said, Og unsheathed his sword and inspected the blade. No light was imminating from the steel, but the warrior could not help but notice how the blade was not as dull as it used to be. It seemed... normal. Like it had been the day he received it, before anything happened to change the course of his life. Resheathing the weapon, Og wondered if there was any merit to what the figure said. If Ursa really was an essential part of his destiny, then it would only make sense that the Blade of Destiny would react to her presence in his life.

Og walked the dusty streets of Burak, feeling the muscles move in every part of his body. He already regretted taking such strenuous exercise the day before. The man was incredibly athletic and fit in every way, but the occurrences of yesterday were things that should not be asked of any mere mortal.

There was a large crowd around the theater, waiting to get in for the matinee showing. Apparently it was past the time it was supposed to start at, so the customers were getting upset. Men shoved each other and slung insults back and forth. The small man Og threatened earlier was at the front, trying to calm everyone down.

"Please!" he was saying. "The show will start in just a few moments! There was an accident yesterday and it is unsure at this time whether or not the Shadow Dancer will be able to perform for you today."

Accident? Og smirked at the gloss the man cast over yesterday's events. Somehow tearing a man apart with what seemed to be her bare hands did not seem like an accident. Then Og's smirk turned into a frown, realizing what actually happened. She really did kill that man! He had no idea how, but the evidence he saw with his own eyes was enough to condemn any man or woman. And judging by how shaken she was when he left her he was not surprised that she did not want to dance today.

Then Og paused. Was Ursa the Shadow Dancer? He did not know for sure. He had never actually seen the famed woman perform; he had just heard stories from the locals. Perhaps there had been a more natural accident, such as a broken limb or a death in the family and the real Shadow Dancer was dealing with that. Just the same, Og decided that today would be a good day to take in a show.

The line of patrons started moving. Og stepped to one side and walked to the front with long strides. One look at Hafiz gained him unpaid entry and the cries of outrage the other men in line issued were silenced with a single look from the hard and dangerous barbarian. A small feeling of satisfaction bloomed in his chest at this. It never got old.

The theater was not the largest, but it was comfortable. Low tables sat in the front and taller ones stood in the back where foreigners were more comfortable. The stage itself was only a few feet off the ground and had two sets of stairs on either side for the performers to get up and down with ease.

Og took one of the front tables and slowly sat down on the plush cushions provided. Stretching gently, he almost groaned aloud at how good it felt. He would have let the sound go, but this was not the kind of theater that turned a blind eye to the actions of the patrons. There was no debauchery going on here, as much as the natives despised that, Og imagined. For all his cowardice when faced with excruciating pain, Og had to admit that the small Hafiz was a shrewd businessman.

The man in question hopped up on the stage and held up his hands, signaling the need for quiet. "Hello, hello," he greeting the audience. "We have a very special show for you today. As you know, there was a chance that the Shadow Dancer you all love might not have been able to entertain you all this fine afternoon. However, I have just spoken to her and she says that she will indeed be performing!" Cheers arose from the floor in front of the stage. Feeling it was only right, Og joined in. Hafiz smiled widely. "So with no further ado, I give you, the TROUPNAME dancers!"

The lights dimmed and drums began to play. Then, one by one, a line of girls undulated onto the stage. They were all attractive, Og noticed, and they all were excellent dancers. He did not see Ursa though. Granted, a theater like this must have employed two dozen girls or more and not all could fit on the stage at once.

So Og waited. And waited. Routine after routine made its way across the raised platform and not one involved the woman Og wanted to see. He was beginning to get annoyed. Then... the lights went black completely and the crowd went wild.

The cheers died down into a quiet, almost tangible sense of anticipation when a burst of blue light appeared on the stage. The light then came from several different angles, flooding the air with an unearthly glow.

The drums started once more and Og thought he saw something move amidst the light. Ever so slowly, the shadows began to move in time to the music. At first it was just vague gestures and the occasional flash of what looked like fire, but then, as the music reached a crecendo, the Shadow Dancer revealed herself.

Or, revealed what she was not, for the Shadow Dancer did not seem to have any earthly form. All Og could see was the shape of her clothes: The narrow swathe of fiery fabric that obviously enclosed her breasts caught his eye first. He could see where it dipped in and where the peaks pressed against the thin fabric. The warrior's eyes moved lower. Her stomach was invisible, but the curve of her hips were wrapped in the same fire-like cloth. Those hips swished and rocked mesmerizingly and Og had a difficult time taking his eyes off of them.

Somehow, he managed to move his eyes back up to try and discern a face in the darkness, but it was impossible. The Shadow Dancer truly was made of shadow. Then, she lowered herself into a backbend. A bell deep in Og's brain began to ring with a vengeance. Body or no, he had seen someone perform such a backbend before, but where?

Suddenly, he remembered! The warrior sat back with a satisfied smile on his handsome features. So this was the woman he was seeking! How clever to disguise her identity with magic. This cemented the idea in Og's mind that she was not totally what she seemed. No woman could put his loins under such a spell and seemingly kill a man with her bare hands and not be special in some way.

Og knew what he must do. Content with his plan, he sat back and continued to watch the show. When the final dancer had left the stage, Og flew into action.

He slipped past the leaving customers and insinuated himself into the backstage area. There were girls everywhere! Women in half-dress congratulated one another on another successful show and others were completely nude as they washed themselves by a bucket of water. None seemed to notice Og as he moved from shadow to shadow, searching for one in particular.

A ha! His eyes fell on the form he sought when he slipped past yet another curtain into what seemed to be a private dressing room. He stayed in the shadows, watching her as she removed one piece of ornamented cloth after another.

Og was about to make his move when a voice came from outside the curtains.

"Oh Ursa!" said a woman's voice and a dark-haired girl ran into his quarry's sanctum. "You were wonderful!"

Ursa smiled sadly. She was not completely comfortable with her life at the moment, but performing helped maintain a feeling of normalcy. "Thank you, Valeria," she said softly. "I think I prefer being the Shadow Dancer over being myself sometimes..."

Valeria sat next to her and put an arm about her shoulders. "Do not talk like that! You are wonderful. Yesterday was terrible, but it is over now. You are safe and you are the star of this theater. Men will be lining up to ask for your hand if you ever reveal yourself, you know." The shorter girl winked conspiratorially and Ursa could not help but laugh a bit.

"Your enthusiasm is infectious, Valeria," she said warmly, feeling a little bit better than she had.

"Good!" said her friend. "I was worried you would not want to dance anymore."

Ursa breathed in deeply. "I..." she started, then paused to collect her thoughts. "Yesterday was the most frightening day of my life. I have no idea who that Master Svarog really is, but if I never see him again it will be too soon!"

Valeria gave her a sympathetic smile. "And I certainly hope he stays gone! I am going to go change, but I will see you at dinner tonight?" Ursa nodded and the woman identified as Valeria left the room. Og must act quickly! There was no way she would go with him willingly now. Drastic times called for drastic measures.

He reached into his shirt with one hand and pulled out the pouch of Sleep Salts. Working the magicked drawstring open with his deft fingers, he pulled out a small handful. He did not want to put her in a coma, just knock her out for a few hours. More than enough time for them to be well on their way north towards Zamura.

Og flexed his fingers and tensed in preparation for action. Silently, he swooped down behind the woman and covered her mouth with his hand full of Deeprock Sleep Salts. Her eyes flew open wide and gasped in fear. When she breathed in, though, she only got a lungful of Sleep Salts!

Almost immediately, the magic powder took effect. The dancer slumped forward in a dead sleep. Pulling his hand away from her mouth, he saw there was hardly a single grain of the salts left on his palm. They automatically swarmed her insides, working their potent power on her helpless body. A smile graced Og's face when he saw how effective his purchase was. Now, he had to get her out of here...


Three hours later saw Og riding on the steerman's seat of a long, narrow caravan. A solid-looking mare with a dark tail and mane pulled it forward at a steady pace. He had bought the wooden contraption off of a vendor just outside the city limits. Fortunately enough, the vendor also had various magical charms and trinkets. Og also bought several that were supposed to ward off decay and the onset of rot. They were meant to be used for vegetables and flowers, but Og figured that half a dozen draped over his horse's dead body would keep it for a little bit, and that was really all he needed. Yardis was currently in the luggage hold of the caravan, the short, but long compartment underneath the living portion of the wagon.

Ursa was also asleep in the back of the caravan. Og worried that Yardis would not fit in the luggage hold, but did not want Ursa to wake up face to face with a dead horse. She would not understand. Thankfully, Yardis fit and Og was not forced to deal with those potentially unpleasant circumstances.

Chapter Six - The Figure in Black

    Og awoke to a pounding in his skull. He was disoriented and confused... then he remembered what had happened. He looked around quickly, trying to ignore the way his vision blurred when he turned his head. Og was on the floor of the infirmary still. Mariah — Murchadh — was nowhere to be seen... then Og noticed the little bits of flesh on the ground.

    Ursa was huddling in the corner of the room, the sheet he tied her in ripped to shreds and her hands stained red. Her hair stood on end around her head like a tortured halo. Og's brows knitted together when he saw her. He looked between her bloodied form and the torn pieces on the floor a few times...

    Og's stomach lurched. He managed to repress the unmanly urge, but only just. This was a scene of horror! What had that vile woman done? He could not deny the fact that she was a glorious sight to behold with her hair in disarray and her clothing torn. He could see the edge of one nipple peeking out from a cut in her rabbit fur breast enclosures. The currently stoked fire in his loins began to flare up again.

    But then he remembered why he was here in the first place! Yardis was in great mortal peril! Jumping to his feet, he ran to the shaken woman and grasped her shoulders.

    "How long has it been since... since..." Og had trouble finding words to describe what had happened here. "Since I arrived?" he finished demandingly.

    Ursa's face was the very image of fear. "I... I do not know what happened... He came at you and... Oh Þorir save me..." She began to cry softly into her bloodstained hands. Her shoulders shook with every quiet sob and something struck a chord in Og's stone heart. He suddenly wanted to protect this woman...

    But no! Yardis came first!

    He let out a frustrated sound that was close to a sigh but not quite. "Do you know where I would find any Nantucket Roachweavers then, you stupid wench?" he shouted into her ear, hoping to get the slightest bit of information from her before losing all patience.

    Ursa mumbled something into her crossed arms.

    "What was that?" Og demanded.

    "Lowest drawer on the right..." she mumbled again and Og flew into action. He tore the drawer open and the Nantucket Roachweavers he was looking for flew out at him. He grabbed a handful of the velvety black leaves and dashed out the door.     The night was incredibly cold now. Dancers and entertainers now wore intricate fur coverings so they could still stay outside and showcase their talents. Citizens who were not working at the moment bundled up to venture outdoors to sample the dancers' charms and the roasted chestnuts vendors were beginning to sell. Og's flesh exploded into goosebumps and he worried what people might think if they stopped to look at his retreating member. But that did not matter right now! Og would prove his virility later on, to the whole town if he needed to! Right now he needed to save his beloved steed!

    Og slid across the cobblestones as he skidded into the stables once more. Gautstafr was there with his horse, keeping him company in his final few minutes. Then he was not too late! There was still time!

    Og shoved the large leaves into Gautstafr's hands and shouted, "Hurry, old man! Fix him! Heal my steed so that he may ride through the fields of enemy soldiers once more!"

    Gautstafr's eyes were sad. Og did not understand. He... he was in time. He had brought the leaves.

    "Why are you just sitting there?" he yelled angrily. He began to feel that painful constricting in his chest once more and wondered if someone had bewitched his heart to feel unnatural things.

    "Yardis is gone, Master Svarog," Gautstafr said quietly, his face downcast. Og's stare shifted to his noble horse. He was still. Yardis did not even twitch a little.

    "No..." Og breathed, not believing what his eyes told him was true. "NO!"

    "You must accept it, Master Svarog!" Gautstafr told him sagely. "Animals come and go. You did your best to save this one, but no one is perfect. It is with Þorir and his herd now in the great afterlife!"

    Og's eyes narrowed dangerously. His teeth gritted together as his face became a sea of rage!

    Suddenly he burst out, "You and your vile god can go to hell!" And with that he stormed into the stall where his horse lie motionless. Gruntly masculinely, he grabbed the animal's carcass by the legs and, muscles bulging, he swung the horse onto his shoulders.

    "What are you doing, you barbarian?" Gautstafr shouted, outraged. "That poor animal needs to be sent to the priests at the cemetery!"

    Og's expression was dangerously cold. "Do not tell me what to do, old man," he said, his voice low and thick with untold emotion. "I will find my own way to bring Yardis back!" Without looking back, he strode out of the stable and into the streets of Burak.

    Gautstafr sighed. That man was trouble, he knew. The older man could not fathom the amount of pain Svarog must have gone through to become so hard, so... cold. Something truly terrible must have happened. Gautstafr debated going after him, but he knew that Svarog would not listen to an old man who let his beloved horse die. Yardis had been a good steed, Gautstafr knew. Og was foolish to go riding in the desert without proper preparation. If he had only asked before tearing off into the abyss of the sandy wasteland! Gautstafr put one hand to his heart in sympathy for the younger, angry man.

    Og stormed down the streets of Burak, shoving people out of his way. The native citizens in the street were more concerned with the bloody, dead corpse of a horse on his back rather than his bronzed, naked form. A fierce, dangerous expression clouded his face. Dark thoughts filled his tortured mind. He would find a way to bring Yardis back! He would! No other horse would do. No other animal could possibly take Yardis' place between his hard, muscular thighs.

    Og stomped back to the infirmary where he left the cowering form of the girl just a few minutes earlier. Not even thoughts of her firm, alabaster breasts with their pink-tipped sweetmeats could distract him from his agenda right now. Ursa was still in the corner, albeit standing. Her heavy breathing had mostly subsided and her bosom was no longer heaving. Og considered this a good thing for the moment. He would give her bosoms ample cause to heave later on.

    "Come with me," he grunted gruffly and walked out again, not even looking back to see if she heeded his order. There was only one place left to go. There was only one person who might know anything about the nature of the netherworld. Þorir did not care about Og's fate, so Yardis' soul was definitely not in the god's keeping. If it were still in limbo, Og knew of one person who had the slightest chance of bringing his steed back.

    Ursa gasped when she saw Og. He had something huge on his shoulders and it made his muscles bulge dramatically. Despite her fear and trauma, she felt a surge of desire in her loins. That man was something else... Still shaking on her feet, Ursa slowly began to follow the barbarian who set a fire of burning, fiery passion ablaze inside her.

    She was halfway out the door when her senses came back to her. What was she doing? This man was naked, streaked with blood and carrying the corpse of a beast on his manly shoulders! He was the one who tied her up and got her attacked a second time! He left her when she was exhausted and afraid!

    "Never!" she shouted at Og's retreating form. "I will never follow you! From here on out, you barbarian, we are mortal enemies!" With that, Ursa unsteadily ran in the opposite direction, back towards her small, humble home.

    She threw the door open when she got there. Her housemate Samiya was there with their mutual friend Darina. Samiya had skin the color of Andellian coffee and bright green eyes. Her hair was long and pulled into many long, thin braids. She was an acrobat, not a dancer, so her form was all tone and muscle. Her clothing was less revealing of her bosom, but more so of her legs. And what legs they were! They were long and toned, the kind of legs that men followed with hunger in their eyes.

    Darina had lighter skin, but she was still darker than Ursa. Her hair was short and curly, the color a warm golden brown. Her hips were full and she knew how to move them. Darina was a dancer in Ursa's troupe. She was relatively new, but was moving up quickly in the ranks of the theater. 

    When Ursa walked in the door, the two other women gasped at the sight of her. Their hands flew to their mouths and they rushed to her side.

    "Ursa!" they cried simultaneously.

    "What happened to you?" Samiya's face was the very picture of worry. The two girls helped her to the small table that sat in the front room. 

    Ursa did not want to imagine the image she made at the moment. She could feel the tangles matting her luscious dark hair and it took all of her strength not to heave when she caught a glimpse of her stained hands. ...It would take days to get all of it off...

    "I..." Ursa started, but then hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "I do not remember much..."

    Darina brought a wet handcloth over to her and began wiping the quickly drying blood off of her fingers. Ursa could tell that she was being purposefully gentle, but Ursa knew that gentleness was not going to get her clean.

    "It is going to be alright, Ursa," Samiya told her, hugging her shoulders. "We're going to find the person that did this to you!"

    Ursa shook her head fervently, not speaking a word. The girls were confused. Why did she not want vengeance for whomever did this terrible thing to her? Then a thought crossed Darina's bright mind.

    "Is..." She faltered, unsure whether or not to ask the question dancing on the tip of her tongue. It was a terrible thing to suggest, yet... What would it mean if it were true? "Is the blood yours, Ursa?" she finally asked.

    Ursa took in a shuddering breath before replying in a voice as quiet as death, "No."

    The two other women gasped!  

    "Were... were you trying to save someone?" Samiya floundered for a reason why her friend's hands would be stained with someone else's blood.

    Ursa merely shook her head once more and shut her eyes.

    "Who was it?" Darina finally asked, ignoring the dark look Samiya sent her.

    "A..." Ursa said slowly. "A man. He... he attacked us."

    "Us?" Darina repeated.

    "The great Master Svarog," Ursa said coldly, an unexpected burst of anger flooding her smooth voice.

    The girls shared a confused and worried glance.

    "Master Svarog is the man, the great man," said Samiya, "who saved us, is that not so, Ursa?"

    "It is so," the woman replied.

    "What happened when you were attacked?" Darina prompted and continued wiping the blood off of Ursa's hands. It was mostly dried on and hard to remove, but the repetitive actions soothed Darina's frightened spirit.

    "The man came at him," Ursa continued hesitantly. "Master Svarog had... He did not want me to leave. He tied me with a bedsheet. I... I could not move!" Ursa's shoulders gave a harsh shudder then, and her eyes became glassy, filled with unshed tears.

    "But Master Svarog is good! He rescued us!" cried Samiya. "Why would he do that to you?"

    "After we were attacked — the first time," Ursa corrected herself as she continued her story, "Master Svarog took me to the Dead Elm infirmary. You know, then one about half a dozen houses down the street?" The girls nodded. "He set his lapdog to watch me, to make sure I did not get away. I do not know what he wanted, but his intentions could not have been good! He tied me, then the same man from the alley attacked us again!"

    Samiya gasped. "No!"

    "Yes!" Ursa cried pitifully. "He attacked and there was nothing I could do! I was helpless! He disarmed that terrible barbarian like... like a mother taking a toy away from an infant! It was child's play!"

    "I do not believe it!" Samiya shook her head, her expression shocked.

    "Well, this is what happened, Samiya, like it or not," Ursa shot back. "Your beloved Master Svarog is not here to save or to rescue you. He was sent here to kill that man and he failed. Because he failed, he almost got me killed!"

    "How did you escape?" Darina asked, trying to diffuse the situation between the two other women. "Did this Master Svarog get his blade back? Did you untie yourself?"

    Ursa sighed shakily and continued, "All I remember is... All I remember is the world going black. My head was not clear and I could hear my heart beating like a drum. When I awoke, I was untied."

    "Did Master Svarog save you again?" Samiya asked hopefully.

    "No," Ursa replied angrily. "He did not. When I awoke I was huddled in the corner of the room, covered in that evil man's blood and Master Svarog was asleep on the floor!"

    Both women gasped again. "You have absolutely no memory of what happened?" Darina said, her brows knitted in worry.

    "None."

    There was nothing more to be said by any of the women, for not one of them could possibly understand what happened that night. They were silent.

    Then, after several long minutes of quiet, Ursa spoke. "I believe... I would like to go wash up now," she said and standing slowly, she left the room.

    On the other side of the city, Og carried Yardis' dead body back the way he came. The poor guard stationed at the gate remembered him from not a half an hour previously and quickly opened the heavy wood and metal gates for him without question. Og said nothing.

    He walked, slowly and heavily, out into the desert once more, but this time, he followed the dirt path carved out of the sand. It was enchanted periodically to keep it safe from sandstorms and the monsters of the desert. Further down this road is where his answers were sure to be held. Og gritted his straight, white teeth and continued down the path, grunting with every step of the way.

    The night was dark and cold, but Og did not care. He had one purpose and that was to find the figure in black. The figure knew things about him that he had never told anyone. Og never would have accepted the money to kill that man if the figure had not piqued his interest. Now that mysterious figure would have to prove himself once more, or else he would receive Og's sword through his heart.

    The trek was long. Og was beginning to tire, even though he would never admit it. It had been a very long day for the barbarian. He was unused to this climate and carrying however many pounds of horseflesh on his back tested even his awesome strength and endurance.

    But then... at first he thought it was a mirage, but the shadow he saw in the distance, darker than any of the shadows around it cuased by the darkness of the night, was the figure he sought. Og walked towards him with a new purpose.

    Finally, he came close enough to speak. Og gently put Yardis' heavy corpse on the ground in front of him. Standing upright, his image powerful, Og stared at the figure.

    The figure's face was covered except for a small rectangle where the eyes could be seen. His entire body was shrouded in black as well, down to the fingertips and toes. The person was not short, nor tall. He was of medium build and if Og had to venture a guess, he would say it was a male, but he could not be completely certain. If this figure was a woman, she was probably the only woman Og did not affect.

    "You have returned," said the figure. His or her voice was low and silky, like honey. It sounded like the howl of the wind in the desert on a winter's day.

    "You sent me on a fool's errand!" Og shouted at the mystery in black clothing before him.

    "I offered you a chance to earn some money and you took it," corrected the figure. "The fact that it was part of your destiny was a happy coincidence, I am sure."

    Og growled. "Do not talk to me about destiny, you fool! Because of you I was almost killed! My last resource was almost killed! My faithful steed actually was killed! How is this part of my thrice cursed destiny?"

    The figure gave a noncommittal, yet wise shrug. "I would not know about that. All I can see is that your magnificent sword is glowing."

    Og stomped over to the figure. "I lost my clothing trying to save my horse! You leave my 'sword' out of this!" He wondered if this actually was a woman after all...

    The figure gave a small chuckle. "I meant your actual sword, Svarog, son of Dazhdbog."

    Og's eyebrows flew up and his angry expression melted into one of shock, ignoring the glowing blade strapped to his back. "How..." he fumbled. "How do you know the name of my father?" The anger was back with a vengeance. "Tell me, fool!" Og shouted and pressed a forearm to the figure's throat, effectively choking him.

    The figure did not seem to be upset by the fact that he was being threatened by a wild barbarian. He simply slipped out of Og's grasp and stood a few feet away, a seemingly safe distance.

    "How in Þor—" Og caught himself. "How did you do that?" 

    "Many things are possible when you distance yourself from this world, Svarog," said the figure. "I know many things about this world as well as the others we encounter on the journey through life. That is why you are here, is it not? You are not here for the money or to wonder who I am... You are here because you seek knowledge about the netherworld."

    "Once again, you are correct," Og said darkly, too tired and too enraged to resort to sarcasm.

    "Then answer me this, barbarian..." the figure said slowly. "What will you do with this knowledge?"

    "With this knowledge I would be able to bring Yardis back!" Og shouted. "I would be able to fight against those warriors with purple fire! The ones that cannot die!"

    "So the one I commissioned you to dispatch is not dead?"

    Og growled once more, deep in his throat. "He... he is dead."

    "How is that possible? You, yourself, said that the men with purple fire cannot die."

    Og buried his face in his hands and let out a sound of frustration. "I do not know what happened!" he yelled at the figure, confusion making his anger all the worse. "That... that wench had something to do with it!"

    "You mean the dancer?" asked the figure.

    "How did you know that?" demanded Og, but he received no answer. Og sighed. "...Yes. Yes, it was the dancer."

    "She will be good for you, you know."

    Og laughed bitterly. That woman was nothing but trouble. He was certain of that.

    "She will be the key to your success in your quest, barbarian!"

    Og looked at him sharply and said vehemently, "Women never bring anything good, you fool! They bring pain and heartache and... and..." Og could not finish. He was not strong enough and that made his pride burn with the rage of a hundred fiery volcanoes.

    The figure's voice was soft then. "Freyja did not cause your pain, Svarog."

    The warrior's fallen head snapped up. "What did you say?" Og's words were calm, but the tone was dangerous and menacing.

    "I cannot divulge secrets of the netherworld to you, Svarog, son of Dazhdbog," said the figure. "But I can give you some much-needed aid on your journey. You already know that you must travel north to Zamura, but what you do not know is that you will not succeed in exacting your revenge if you do not have the woman with you. The gods have spoken, Svarog. If you follow my advice, I promise that you will soon find one who can revive your faithful steed."

    The sound of Og's teeth grinding together was sharp and painful. He wanted to succeed in his revenge more than anything. It was worth his own life. It was worth Yardis' life. But was it worth suffering the company of that confusing wench?

    As if he could read Og's thoughts, the figure then said, "She is not what you think, barbarian. Start anew with her and you will see what I tell you is true."

    Without another word, Og spun around on his heel and stormed off back towards the town, his horse's corpse in tow.

    "Wait, Svarog!" the figure called after him. "There is more you must know! Svarog!" But Og did not look back. He did not turn around. He did not stop. He was a man on a mission, and no one would get in his way this time.

Chapter Five - The Attack of the Beast

    Og cursed inwardly as he rode Yardis back to Burak. He left the pallet and Mariah's body in the sand, feeling he did not deserve a proper burial or any kind of last rites. He was a murderer and did not get such luxuries. His lungs burned with the intensity of his breathing and the eyes of his steed were wild and bloodshot. He needed to get back to Burak. That woman he left in Kavel's care may be the only resource he had left.

    "We can do it!" he cried to his horse who let out a kearning whinney in reply. "Come on, Yardis, just a little bit more!"

    Man and steed rode on through the desert. The temperature had dropped dramatically and the wind was picking up. Og cursed again. He knew taking that man out here so late was a foolish plan, but he had no other choice. Og remembered horror stories of creatures that came out of their caves in the desert at night. Some killed with teeth and claws, others with slow poison. Some had both.

    Og tensed his rippling muscles, trying to releave some of the discomfort that came from riding hard for so long. He did not remember the ride back to town taking so long... He let out a whoop and spurred Yardis on to greater speeds. The horse's glistening black body moved like fluid, all muscle and sinew... much like Og himself. His own muscles bulged with the force of his riding and sweat covered his hard frame.    

    All of a sudden, Og was pitched forward! His face scraped the harsh desert sand and his feet flew to the other side of his body, turning him around in the air. He let out a grunt as his chest hit the ground with great force and for a moment, he gasped for air. The wind was completely knocked out of his manly, muscular chest and his well-defined abdominals fluttered with exertion.

    Gasping for breath, Og managed to raise his head enough to check on his horse. Yardis was on his side, wailing in pain and spasming wildly. His legs kicked at the air and he tossed his head from side to side, trying in vain to find a route of escape.

    "Yardis!" Og breathed hoarsely. He struggled to stand, lungs fighting his efforts for every moment. His hands clutched at the ground, fingers filling with soft, white sand. His feet sank into it as he tried to put his weight on them. The force of his fall had dislodged enough of the terrain to make the once sturdy, compact ground shift beneath him.

    Og finally managed to crawl over to his brave horse. Inspecting his frame, Og's heart filled with panic when he was unable to locate the source of his steed's anxiety and pain. The noble animal's spasms had worsened and Og feared for both of their lives. Then... slowly... Og realized that Yardis' movements were slowing in his hind legs. In fact, one of his horse's legs was completely still...

    Then Og saw it. The dim light of the mostly set sun and the slowly rising moon did not show him much, but he could see enough. The steed's leg was covered in blood. Og looked around, trying to find a rock or an indentation in the sand indicating the beast had slipped or broken his leg, or some other natural cause of his present condition... but there was none.

    Og looked back at Yardis, tears pricking his eyes. No! he thought. It does not do to get attached to anything, human or beast. If Yardis were to perish, there would be another horse to replace him soon enough. Og did not want for money and there was little that money could not buy that he actually wanted or had need of. The warrior shook his head to clear it of any of these overly emotional thoughts and went back to inspecting his horse.

    "You cannot die on me, Yardis!" he whispered fiercely. "How am I supposed to get back to Burak and exact my revenge without a mode of transportation?"

    The horse was unphased by Og's cruel plea. His head continued thrashing about. Og leant over the animal's still limb and ran a finger through the blood. Among the natural divets and curves of the horse's bone, muscle and tendons were two holes... unnatural ones. Og quickly removed his hand and wiped the blood from it on his loincloth.

    He stood and looked around more closely this time. Yardis was not in pain from a broken leg. He had been bitten by something! And if that something had not approached the horse to feast upon it yet, it killed using poison. And waiting. Yes, beasts like this could move as fast as lightning, yet they only used this skill to bite their prey the first time. The poison would slowly enter the victim's veins, killing it from the inside out. The monster would lurk... waiting patiently for his prey to collapse. And it would defend his right to it to the death.    

    Og realized with sudden panic that he was truly in mortal danger. Little scared the fierce warrior. He could fight anything that he could see or touch. These creatures, however, were made for the darkness. They blended in like smoke, never in the same place twice. Og drew his sword, still bloody from the night's previous killing, and held it at the ready.

    He turned around slowly, blade poised. The creature may be coming for him, but he would not go down without a fight. He had already put Yardis' wellbeing out of mind. His own survival was more important right now. If he could make it past this creature and out of the desert, he would mourn his loyal steed.

    The cries emminating from the dying animal were becoming more frantic now. The creature must be close... Og closed his eyes and quieted his breathing. His heart still beat ferociously in his ears, though. He took a deep breath, feeling the sensation as the cool desert air rushed in through his nostrils. Letting it out slowly, he could feel the pumping in his ears subsiding. All distractions gone, Og listened for the monster.

    Suddenly, there was movement. A scuttling across the sand and a small puff of air alerted Og to the creature's presence.

    "Come out and face me, you vile monstrosity!" Og shouted into the night, hoping to taunt the monster into revealing its position. Grinning when he heard a foul hiss from his far left, Og whirled around and stabbed wildly in that general direction. His face was distorted with the strain and he let out a grunt of frustration when he heard his sword enter sand instead of flesh. The creature hissed again, but this time it came from the opposite side!

    Og growled in anger. It was a low, deep sound that spoke of unspeakable anguish and pain. This was not a man to mess with. This was not a man who would answer a cry for mercy. But the creature was not asking for any.

    The scurrying across the sand and the hiss came once more! Og held his sword in front of his chest, vaguely at the angle he hoped the monster would come at him from. A brunt force hit his body and he felt a splash of wetness on his flesh. The creature hissed again, but this time it was a sound of fury and pain. He had wounded it!

    Og gasped and hurriedly wiped the blood off of his skin when he felt it start to burn. Acidic blood! This creature was more fearsome than he originally believed. But that was the challenge he took and would succeed in, or it would be his life on the line.

    Just then, Yardis let out a high pitched wail. Og flailed for his steed! The monster was dragging him off! It seemed the lizard-like creature had decided to make off with his prey instead of dealing with the brute force that was Og the warrior.

    Og felt something twinge in the strings of his heart. What was that? he thought. He could not place it but it felt very familiar somehow... like a sensation from a lifetime ago that had been lost a lifetime ago. Og could not place this feeling, but all he knew was that he could not let this monster feast upon his loyal, noble steed!

    Clenching his teeth and letting out a wild roar, Og rushed the lizard monster. He barreled into the large body of the creature, feeling its scaly skin tense beneath his strong hands. It thrashed this way and that, trying to dislodge the warrior from his long body. But Og would not let it. This creature was going to die by his hands.

    Abandoning the still twitching body of the horse, the vile monster twisted around and his jaws snapped but two hairs from Og's head. His long, lustrous hair barely missed getting caught in the creature's sharp, dripping teeth. Og could see the light of the lizard's eyes glinting wildly in the non-brightness of the dim moon.

    This is what he needed! Og reared back his strong fist and clenched his fingers into a rock of unstoppable force. Putting all of his potent strength into the blow, Og felled the beast with one hit of his muscular hand. It was forced onto its back, twitching with great speed. The barbarian could feel the blood from the wound on the creatures head and side spilling into the sand, making it mushy like the floor of the ocean. Og had been to the ocean once in his travels and the sudden comparison unsettled his memories of the beauteous beach. 

    Og quickly grabbed his sword once more and steadied the tip on the creatures soft underbelly. Poising himself before the final blow, he took in a deep breath. Then, with amazing force, he thrust his blade into the creature's howling body as if he were thrusting into a particularly wild woman. He impaled it on his sword, grunting as it slid in to the hilt. Og withdrew, then thrust again! His muscles were bulging, his head thrown back in ecstasy. He loved the kill. His hair flowed in the quickening desert wind in soft, yet masculine, waves. Og impaled the animal once more and shuddered with it as it gave its final moans of life slipping away.

    The monster was dead. Og was streaked in its blood and his loincloth was ripped in several spots, but he did not pay these things any mind. He withdrew his sword a final time from the corpse on the sand and ran over to his horse. Yardis was wounded badly, but thankfully Og knew the poison was slow to enter the heart and there was still time to save him! Og did not know how he would get Yardis back to town in time though... Then he had an idea.

    Og's biceps and quads rippled under his tanned flesh as he grasped the handles of the makeshift leather sling he fashioned and pulled his horse across the desert floor. Og had used every last bit of his clothing, including his loincloth, to make this sling and Yardis was going to live if he had to shed every last drop of blood to do it. This animal depended on him and Og was not so heartless as to leave it to die slowly in the desert.

    The exertion caused him to sweat heavily, his entire body filled with heat. This was good as the desert was getting very cold very quickly. He gritted his teeth and got a better hold on the sling. Yardis was a heavy animal. Og's hands were sure to be raw by the time they got back to Burak. Og's member was soft at the moment, but still large enough to cause him annoyance as he tried to move his legs forcefully against the constantly shifting terrain. Without anything to hold it in, it swung about like an impetuous monkey always wanting to touch its surroundings.

    Almost there... Og could see the lights of the city in the distance. The night had been long and hard and Og wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep slumber. He doubted if he even had strength to have his fun with that dancer wench he ordered Kalev to watch. She had such a gorgeous body, Og couldn't help but think of undressing her and having his wicked way between her thighs.

    Just then, Og's manhood decided to stand at attention. Finding that the new state of affairs eased his movement dramatically, Og continued to think of the dancer. Ursa, the other woman said her name was... He had sent the other woman home after saving them both from the killer he recently dispatched, but he needed to keep this Ursa for his own reasons.

    He had seen the late killer and the woman talking before she had fainted. He wanted to know what was said. What could a woman have to say to a man who wielded purple fire? Og must know and Ursa was his only link to the purple fire anymore. He would get the information he needed, then take her like he knew she wanted.

    Og's manhood was now full and erect, a proper beacon shining towards the heavens. The warrior imagined the feel of the woman's skin, the taste of her nether lips... Oh how he wanted to bury his face between her creamy legs and inhale her scent. Women loved that. Maybe, if she were willing, he would tie her arms and legs to the legs of the pallet they shared.

    Yes, he thought. That would be perfect. Og loved it when a woman was willing to submit to him completely. He imagined teasing her luscious breasts... those surely pink-tipped mounds of soft flesh and nerves. She would cry out when he squeezed them, when he flicked his thumbnails over the sensitive peaks. If she were tied, he could spank them as if she had been misbehaving. Perhaps she would misbehave.

    Og gave a feral grin then and quickened his pace, his tiredness forgotten. All he could think about was sliding between her creamy thighs and thrusting into her slick wetness. She would scream and cry and beg for more. Her wrists would strain against the ropes, but he would give her no quarter. She would become his. She would want for no other. He would own and possess her completely, her womanhood upon his erection. He would thrust into her until she begged him to fill her with his potent manseed and he would shoot it far inside her warm, willing body. It would sear her inside walls, marking her as his for all time.

    They were almost upon the city gates, Og's powerful legs moving at a pace near a sprint. Yardis was still moaning in pain, but Og's imagination just translated these into Ursa's sure to be soon moans of delight and carnal bliss.

    "Open the gates!" he shouted at the gatekeeper on the other side of the wall of the city. A small, yet strong man peered over the wall to see who was demanding entrance. His eyes widened dramatically when he saw an impressively aroused man wearing only a sword strapped to his back on the ground. The man's member pointed directly at him and seemed to be challenging him to defy this man's order.

    "Right away, sir!" the man shouted down and, thouroughly shaken, he started turning the crank to open the gates.

    Og wasted no time or breath with thanks and began dragging Yardis inside the city. He knew exactly where to take the injured animal. Some in the city would advocate a witch doctor or shaman, but Og knew better. Those types only brought pain and trouble. It was much better to find a man of science to cure his poor wounded steed.

    People darted out of his way as he quickly dragged the horse through the streets of Burak, upsetting the occasional fruit stand or dancing circle. Gasps and cries of surprise and frustration followed behind him, but Og paid them no mind. He had one purpose here. After what seemed an eternity, Og reached the stable where he had kept Yardis before this evening's journey outside the city walls.

    "Gautstafr!" he called the owner of the stable. "Gautstafr! Get your thrice-damned sorry body out here!" He dragged Yardis into the largest of the stalls in the stable and quickly and masculinely fluffed the hay for the animal. "Gautstafr!" he shouted once more and was about to go in to find the man himself when Gautstafr appeared in the doorway.

    Gautstafr was an old man of about four and sixty. His hair was a grizzled grey and he had a long face with a strong jaw. His body was rock hard from years of work and he knew everything there was to know about horses and their care.

    "What is wrong, Master Svarog?" Gautstafr asked worriedly as he straightened his leather tunic and ran towards the stable stall. Og must have woken him up.

    "It is Yardis!" Og cried. "We were attacked in the desert by some kind of reptile. You would know the local wildlife better than I. It bit Yardis' ankle then attacked me!"

    Gautstafr's eyes grew to the size of grapefruit. "You did not get bitten, did you?" Og shook his head to indicate a negative response and the older man let out a giant sigh of relief. "You do not know what fate you have avoided, my boy," said the man. "That was a Einschlager! They evolved to feast on animals like your horse here, but due to horses being so much heavier than the average human, it takes longer for the vile poison to reach their hearts. If it had bitten you, your heart would have stopped in mere seconds!" Og did not let his fear show on his face. He was a warrior. He never admitted to feeling the emotion.

    "Are you going to heal Yardis or not?" Og's voice was hard and to the point.  Gautstafr's face looked grim. "Well?"

    The older man held up one finger to silence the coarse barbarian. "There is a way," he said slowly.

    "Then do it, gods curse it!" Og shouted, spittle flying from his lips and his naked form glistening with perspiration.

    Gautstafr nodded briskly. He then quickly went about gathering ingredients from inside the interior part of the stable and muttering to himself about spells and potions and equations. Og's look darkened as he felt his beloved horse's life slipping away with every breath.

    "Og," came the older man's voice from inside the building.

    "What is it?" Og got to his feet with an impressive leap.

    "I have bad tidings," said the other man. "I am out of Nantucket Roachweavers. They are necessary to extract the poison from your steed's veins. Without it, he is sure to perish within the hour."

    Og's heart sank. "Where can I get some of these Nantucket Roachweavers?" he asked, surprised at how controlled his voice was. "And how long exactly does Yardis have?"

    Gautstafr sighed and ran one hand over his grizzled grey beard. The thought for a moment and Og thought he would strangle him if he did not answer. "Any medical facility should carry a small supply of Nantucket Roachweavers. Ideally, I would need a double handful, but the procedure has been known to work with as little as three  in tact leaves. As for the time... I would say that your animal does not have more than twenty minutes."

    Og did not even bother to say goodbye to the older man. He simply rushed out of the stable and down the street towards the nearest medical facility. He did not give Gautstafr the time to warn Og not to get too attached to this animal for he was not likely to live. If Og had any say in the matter, Yardis was going to survive!

    The nude barbarian sprinted down the street, startling passers-by once more. The nearest medical facility... A ha! Og knew exactly where to go. It was the small infirmary where he had left Ursa in young Kalev's care. He would have no time to devote to his pleasure with the beautiful woman, but he could at least tell them to remain put as he tended to this life or death emergency.

    The building he thought of came up quickly. Og burst through the door and rushed immediately to the medical supply cabinets at the back of the room Ursa was in. But when he threw open the door, the woman was on her feet, tying an unconcscious Kalev to his chair with rope! Her eyes flew open wide and a gasp escaped her full lips when she saw him, but she did not stop tying the young, foolish man to the chair.

    "You are not going to keep me here, barbarian!" she shouted at him defiantly. Og growled. He did not have time to deal with this. Yardis could be dead in less than twenty minutes and no wench was going to stand in his way.

    Without a word, he spun her around and locked her hands behind her. He forced her to bend over the bed and tried not to get aroused at the feel of her firm buttocks pressed against his manhood. He was only moderately successful and the woman began to struggle even more when she felt the hardness growing at her backside.

    "Let me go, you brute!" she cried, wiggling wildly. "You will not take my innocence! I will not let you!" Her struggles almost won her freedom, but Og was stronger than she was and he tied the bedsheets around her torso, effectively binding her arms behind her. He left her like that then and ran to the cabinets he originally came for.

    Ursa's heart was pounding against her ample bosom. What a man! She did know whether to be aroused or afraid of him. He was unlike any man she had ever seen. His physical appearance caused waves of tingles to flow through her body, always ending in the secret spot between her thighs. She had heard stories of what men and women do behind closed doors, but she had never experienced it before. Now she was wondering what it would be like to experience it with this barbarian!

    Og cursed when the Nantucket Roachweavers he so desperately searched for were nowhere to be found. He did not know where the next nearest medical facility was, so he turned to the girl he had just tied up.

    "You!" he shouted masculinely. "You are a native here, no?"

    Ursa tried not to look at his hard, turgid manhood but she could not resist. A small bead of liquid had formed at the tip and was slowly dripping its way down the shaft. She licked her lips.

    Og filed this moment away for later. He could not take advantage of her until Yardis was safe! "Answer me, woman!"

    Ursa snapped her head up, the spell broken. "Native enough," she replied. She may have been desperately attracted to this man, but his abrasive personality was enough to make her pause once she was reminded of it. How could she think of giving her innocence to such a man! He was all force and no grace. He probably made love as if he were in a sword fight. All thrusting and attacking and no gentleness or thought to his partner.

    "Where is the nearest medical facility?" he demanded. "I need Nantucket Roachweavers! Now!" Veins strained against his skin and Ursa knew that this man was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. That did not forgive the fact that he was shouting at her though.

    She knew for a fact that there were Nantucket Roachweavers in the medical facility they were standing in, but she was not about to inform him of that. So, she bargained. "I will tell you if you untie me!" Her eyes flashed a brilliant blue and Og's manhood twitched once more.

    "Do not toy with me, wench!" he retorted. "This is a matter of life and death and I need to know now!" This gave Ursa pause. She did not want anyone to die because she was being difficult. But how did she know this barbarian was not just trying to manipulate her to get what he wanted?

    She did not back down. "If this truly is a matter of life and death then you would have no qualms about untying me! I give you my word that I will not run if you do," Ursa lied. She had no intention of staying close to this infuriating, dangerous, hopelessly erotic man. 

    Og paused. "You swear it?" he said slowly.

    "I would swear on Þorir's altar if there were one handy!" Ursa told him cheekily, but apparently this was the wrong thing to say. The barbarian's temporary calm disappated like water on a hot skillet.

    "Tell me where it is!" he yelled in her face, a note of true danger in his voice. Ursa was actually frightened for a moment. She did not know why mentioning Þorir's altar made him fly into such a rage, but she was surely not going to make the same mistake twice.

    She was about to reply, when all of a sudden, something crashed through the window, sending bits of glass everywhere! Both her and the barbarian looked up in surprise. For a brief moment, Og and Ursa were united in their confusion and hesitant fear of the unknown. But then they saw... Standing in front of the shattered window was a figure... a man. A man they both knew and hated. Mariah stood in front of them, dual swords drawn and a large gaping wound in his chest.

    Ursa's heart gripped with terror and she felt that same lightheaded feeling she experienced in the alley before she blacked out. "No!" she gasped.

    Og's face was dark. He had killed this man. Accidentally, yes, but Og knew when he killed a man. When Og slew someone, they stayed dead. They never returned. How dare this man defy all odds!

    "Hello, princess," said the man who was not dead. "And Svarog! How pleasant to see you again. You will find me a much more worthy adversary this time around." And with that, he flew at them, swords blazing with purple fire.

    Og drew his sword just as quickly and blocked the man's attack, his tanned flesh showing every shift of his powerful muscles. The man's face was contorted with rage and a small dribble of blood leaked from the hole in his chest where Og's sword had rested recently.

    Ursa screamed as the swords clashed above her. "Let me go, you brute!" she shouted to Og. "I will not be any use to you if I am dead, you know!"

    The men paid no heed to her cries as the battle continued intensifying with every passing moment. Og was already exhausted from his previous emotional duel with this cur, and his body was burning with exertion. He did not have time for this!

    "Why won't you die!" Og shouted angrily and swung his blade at the man's neck.

    The man caught Og's swords between his and twisted forcefully, disarming the larger warrior. Og was shocked! This man was not the fighter he remembered from previous battles!

    "My name is Murchadh!" the smaller man yelled, flailing wildly. "You have impugned my dignity for the last time, barbarian!" With that, he raised his arms to deliver the final blow to Og's tired, yet muscular body.

    "No!" Ursa shrieked. Something began to glow in the corner of her eye, but her vision would not focus. Her head was hazy and she could feel her lungs pumping frantically. "No!" she kept repeating, the word a mantra of fear and panic.

    A swirling roar of bestial power filled her head and then... the world turned dark.

Chapter Four: The Man with Purple Fire

    Ursa awoke to someone sharpening their knife. The soft, repetitive scraping sound gently brought her to her senses. He head was pounding and every muscle ached. What had happened? The last she remembered was feeling more upset, more... dangerous than she ever had before. Then nothing. That man was going to kill her, she realized. Then why wasn't she dead? And why had he called her "princess"? Her mind had never been filled with so many questions.

    She sat up abruptly, looking around herself. She was in some kind of room. It looked like some kind of crude medical facility... Then she noticed a man sitting at the foot of the pallet, watching her. Ursa gasped and drew the blankets up around her scantily clad form.

    "Who are you?" she demanded and the man, more of a boy really, flushed and looked away.

    "Kalev, ma'am," he replied nervously. "Master Svarog asked that I look after you and keep you here until he can return."

    Ursa frowned. "Who is this Master Svarog?" Her head was pounding and she was in no mood for games. "And who is he to say where I can and cannot go?" She attempted to put her feet on the floor, but her knees gave out as soon as she tried to stand. Kalev was quickly up and by her side, helping her back into bed.

    "I haven't known him long, ma'am," said the boy, "but he keeps his word. He said he'll be back for you, and I trust that."

    Ursa sighed. It was obvious that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She wondered how Kalev would take it at the theater. She had never needed to take any time off before... maybe he would be lenient because of that.

    "What kind of man is your Master Svarog, Kalev, apart from amazingly trustworthy, then?" she asked, defeated. If she could learn something about the Svarog before meeting him, she could better hold her own against him.

    Kalev thought for a moment. "Like I said, I haven't known him all that long... but he is a very good, very troubled man." Ursa quirked one eyebrow at him. "I think he went through a lot of pain a long time ago. He doesn't open up to anyone."

    "Sounds like a typical man," Ursa quipped. "But go on."

    Kalev returned to his chair and fidgeted a bit nervously. "I don't really know what to tell you, ma'am..."

    "Ursa," she interjected. "My name is Ursa."

    "Ursa," Kalev repeated obediently.

    "How long has he been in Burak?" she asked, trying to get the boy to divulge more information.

    Kalev thought for a bit. "No more than a month, ma-- er, Ursa," he corrected himself quickly. "Yes, that's right. He rode into town about a month ago, said he was here on business of some kind."

    "Hmm... Interesting," Ursa murmured.

    "Extremely so! He's so mysterious, my master is." Kalev's enthusiasm was almost catching. "He didn't like me at first, oh no, but I got around that. He won't let me call him 'master' to his face, but I do anyway when he's not around, out of respect, you see." It seemed Kalev had finally let the floodgates open. "I've heard folks say he kills people, but I highly doubt that he would attack anyone who didn't truly deserve it. He's a good judge of character, you know?"
    "Kills people?" Ursa repeated slowly, shocked. "He's a murderer?" A sinking feeling filled the pit of her stomach. She was being held captive by a murderer!
    "Oh no!" Kalev protested vehemently. "I guess he could be a mercenary, if you want to get technical about it, but he is very particular about the people he associates with, so I do not think that he would get mixed up in that kind of mercenery business."
    Ursa shut her eyes and prayed to Þordis for patience and strength. She was trapped! Physically, she was helpless and could do nothing but wait for this Master Svarog to return and carry out his plans with her... whatever they may be.
 
    The desert landscape flew past as Og rode his horse hard and fast across the sand. Slung on a pallet behind him was the serial killer from Burak. It bounced and grinded against the rocks of the terrain, but held fast. Night was approaching quickly and Og needed to make this quick. The man was badly wounded, but Og did not care. He used purple fire. That's all that mattered now.

    They rode in between two of the fabled Pillars of Salt the desert was so famed for. They were large, towering edifices that shone a brilliant white in the daytime, but now were light-sucking monoliths that looked down on all. Og decided that he had gone far enough and stopped his horse behind one of the Pillars. Yardis, his steed, was barely out of breath and shook his head with joy. Og patted his flank and murmured some words of encouragement. He knew Yardis didn't like to be cooped up in a stable like he had been this past month. Perhaps he should take prisoners out into the desert more often...

    Og left Yardis and walked towards the man tied to the pallet. The murderer's hands were tied above his head and his feet attached to either bottom corner of the wooden frame. In his mouth was a dirty rag that Og had torn off of his old tunic that was past repair anyway. Og ignored the man's wild eyes as he set about laying the pallet in a prime position for questioning. He could hear the muffled curses and obscenities from the killer's lips, but he merely smiled and went about his business.

    Leaning the pallet against the side of the Pillar so that the man was nearly upright, Og took out the gag. A flurry of expletatives burst out at him with such a force as to blow Og's hair away from his face.

    "Let me go, you bastard!" the man cried, struggling against the ties.

    Og ignored him. "Tell me your name," said Og patiently.

    The man merely spit in his face. Calmly, Og wiped it off and asked again.

    "What's it matter to you, you pig-spawn!" shouted the man. Og shrugged in response and slowly paced in front of the pallet.

    "Well, for one," he replied, "I would like to know what to refer to you as. Since you will not provide me a name, I will simply call you Mariah. Is that acceptable, Mariah?" The fury in the man's eyes burned with the strength of a thousand suns.

    "I'll die before you get any information out of me!" Mariah spat violently.

    "That can quite possibly be arranged." Og's voice was low and dark, seething with untapped danger.    

    "Now," said Og, "I would like for you to tell me, man to man, where you come from. To whom do you pledge alligiance?"

    The man just gave him a look that spoke volumes. Mariah was truly willing to die before divulging any information.

    Og paused for a moment to examine his captive. The man's clothing was worn, but he could tell that it once held great value. It still might on the right market and with proper care and cleaning. His hair was long and uncombed; his teeth were filthy. This was a man who had been traveling for a long time, never stopping to rest or eat. He only had one goal in mind.

    "I can tell by your accent, Mariah," Og said conversationally, "that you are from much farther north." No response. "Haldur, perhaps? No? Well then, maybe Liepthor or Zamura." He felt a thrill of satisfaction when Mariah's eyes narrowed at the mention of the northern metropolis of Zamura. It was a giant city of white marble and ornate columns and art. Hardly anyone left, and hardly anyone who went to live there managed to be successful. There was a staggering divide between the poor and the wealthy in Zamura. Legends said that in the days of the gods, Zamura was the capital of the world. The Barren Lands and the Mountain Realms were united as one whole nation and they were led by a beautiful and just queen. Last Og heard, the city was being ruled by a tyrant, of which gender he could not say.

    "Zamura then?" Og repeated, just to make sure.

    Mariah struggled against his bonds and shouted, "Go to hell!"

    Og smiled wryly. "It might be a nice change from this, my friend. Now tell me: who do you work for?"

    Mariah began to snigger. "You want to face my master?" he asked and Og nodded. "You want to go against the greatest ruler of all time? The Nemesis of the Free Lands?" Mariah barked a sharp, hoarse laugh. "You mercenary men are all the same. Even if you could find her, you would fall before you knew what hit you. She has an army of tens of thousands at her command! We would gladly die for her and in return, she has granted us powers beyond your imagination!"

    A chll settled over Og's body. This is what he wanted to hear, but for some reason, he felt a deep unsettling in his very bones. So his master was a woman... How typical, thought Og. Women loved to play with men like toys.

    "I don't suppose I could get a name to go with the wonderful description of your queen, could I?" Og grinned menacingly.

    The man cursed as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much! Og supposed that this queen did not hire her lackies for their intelligence. Og did not react to Mariah's cursing.

    "You've already given your queen away," Og said. "Why not just tell me your real name? Mariah really doesn't suit you. It's too soft, too..." Og struggled for the proper word. "Too... pretty. And you, Mariah, are not a pretty man."    

    Mariah burned with fury. Og could practically see his face turning red in the dim light of the setting sun.

    "Never!" the man burst out, pulling against the ropes.

    "I really wish I didn't have to do this, Mariah, I really do..." Og whirled around to face the tied man, his blade in his hand and the tip pressed underneath Mariah's chin. His voice became low and dangerously controlled. "Tell me who your queen is and why you wield the purple fire."

    Mariah suddenly stilled. His arms stopped straining against his bounds and his face became serious.

    "The purple fire matters to you, barbarian?" he asked quietly, his voice matching Og's in intensity. "You wish to know about my queen? About my powers?"

    Og thrust his sword slightly closer to his prisoner's throat. "You will tell me everything."

    Mariah smirked and threw his head back, not caring that the action caused Og's blade to bite into his neck, drawing a small amount of blood. His eyes went pale all of a sudden and his body siezed. A deep, black feeling settled inside Og's heart. He had seen this kind of magic before... when Asbjorn conducted the coronation ceremony on his mate...

    Swirling light erupted from the man's form, enclosing him in a cucoon of magic. Og's sword fell to the ground as he quickly covered his face with his arms to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

    "Stop it!" Og shouted, unadulturated anger in his face and voice. He did not want to see this. He wanted nothing more to do with magic!

    Then, the man spoke, his voice distant and ethereal and cold as ice. "You tried to stop it, didn't you? You tried to save your people... your woman..."

    Og's vision clouded with red. "Shut up!" he shouted and tried to strike the man in the face. His fist merely went through the light, though... like mist.

    "Did you ever get to sample her delights, barbarian?" the man continued. "I did... Do you remember that day? We dragged her into that pathetic excuse for a temple and laid her on the altar. Such a pretty sacrifice..."

    A brutal, broken scream tore from Og's throat as he fell to his knees in pain.

    "I took her then." The fallen warrior tried to cover his ears with his hands, but the man's seeping voice seemed to be inside his head. "I took her on that altar... I plunged my hard manhood into her again and again. She was so wet... She wanted me, you know. Tears on her face don't matter if her box is wet for you. Your mate wanted more of me. She begged me to stop, but I knew what she was saying. She wanted what you could never give her. She wanted me to fuck her!"

    A ferocious roar filled the air as Og's fingers found the hilt of his sword and plunged the blade into the chest of his enemy. The light shuddered violently and a second scream resounded through the night as the bright mist was sucked into the steel of Og's blade.

    And then the air was still. Og panted heavily, still clutching the leather-bound hilt of his sword. His heart beat wildly against the walls of his chest and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. Hesitantly looking up, Og saw his blade buried in the bound man's heart.

    Og shuddered and slowly pulled himself onto both feet. He felt for a pulse... but there was nothing. The man was dead and would tell him no more. Og was back where he started.

Chapter Three - The Shadow Dancer


    One year later...


Burak, Pleasure Capital of the Barren Lands


    Og lay in bed thinking of that night so long ago... It seemed like a whole lifetime had passed since that fateful day he almost received his father's crown. He was a different person now, though. Harder, sterner. Life was no longer a thing to be enjoyed, but merely a passage between realms.

     He sighed and the young woman currently between his legs raised her head. "What's wrong, my love?" she asked.

    Og growled. "What have I told you about calling me that, wench?"

    The girl winced. "I'm sorry, dear," she corrected. "You seem... distant today."

    Og shrugged. "You may just not be doing a good enough job down there." He gave her a pointed look and she flushed with anger. Instead of storming off though, she merely put her lips and tongue back to work with a renewed fervor.

    That was the good thing about these young girls in big cities. They never knew what they wanted or how to stand up for themselves. Og was through with strong women. They only led to trouble. He had almost passed this current girl by when the tavernmaster introduced them the previous night. She had red hair. Not quite the same shade as the only woman he ever loved, but close enough.

    The anger in his heart hadn't faded over the past year. If anything, it had grown worse. His face automatically pulled into a sneer when the girl said, "Oh, Ϸorir... you are so big!" He forcefully pushed her off of him.

    "Alright, what aren't you telling me?" she demanded. "I give myself to you freely, something any man would kill for, and you push me aside!"

    "You try my patience, Jarda," he said gruffly as he pulled his loincloth around his waist.

    "Janna!" the girl yelled. "My name is Janna, not Jarda! You don't even remember my name!"

    Og raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully in time, my dear, I will not remember this entire experience." Tears of outrage filled Janna's eyes and she fled the room, furs in hand, not even bothering to wrap them around her slender body.

    Sitting back on his pallet, Og sighed. He knew he was cruel, but she reminded him of someone else... someone more important. Laying back, Og remembered the aftermath of his home's destruction. He spent the entire night of Freyja's death burying his kin and friends. Grave after grave in the cold, hard snow. His hands were ripe with blisters by the time the sun came up, but still he worked. It took him two whole days to bury every man, woman and child in the snow and to perform Last Rites on them. He figured that it would bring comfort to the souls of the deceased even if Og himself wanted nothing to do with the gods. Morana, the goddess of the dead, was more forgiving than Ϸorir.

    And then, a year later, here he was: a mercenary traveler always on the road, going from town to town in the Barren Lands hunting for the slightest hint of information on the warriors who wield purple fire. A whole year and hardly any closer to exacting his revenge...

    Og sighed once more, then stood and finished dressing. No woman had satisfied him since that night before his failed coronation. He had a different young wench in his bed almost every night, but none of them were her. Og strapped his sword to his back and left his room at the tavern. He had changed the Blade of Destiny as well. If it weren't such a good weapon and so well suited to him, he might have sold it, but it truly was the best blade for him. Instead, Og had covered the ornate hilt in crude, but effective leather, making it look like a much more humble weapon. It hadn't glowed since that day and Og did not care. It could stay dim forever for all he cared.

    Walking down to the main room of the tavern, Og nodded to the tavernmaster and made his way to the kitchen. He swiped a stuffed roll and a small hunk of cheese from the table there and walked out the side door into the bright, bustling city. The roll was soft and still warm, the inside bursting with shredded pork and berries and the cheese was deliciously sharp. It was a good breakfast. Og wondered if he could perhaps steal an apple from the more upscale inn a few streets down.

    The city came alive at night. It was a town of trade and commerce during the day, but during the night, it was one big celebration of light and laughter and food. Dancers came out of their theaters to show off in the streets, trying to tempt passersby to watch a while and perhaps come spend their coin. Torches were lit along every street, illuminating all but the darkest back alleys... which is why Og was in Burak in the first place.

    He was approached on the road a few weeks before about a series of mysterious deaths in Burak at night. A tall, shapeless figure with a face covered by a swathe of black cloth told him of a killer who was terrorizing the city. Dancers were afraid to perform on the streets or in the late hours of the night. Children were hurried home from school, escorted by the largest, toughest members of their families. The killer did not discriminate between man, woman or child. When Og asked for a name, the figure only told him, "Frigg." This "Frigg" gave him a sack of gold coins and promised another when the serial killer was caught or dead, whichever came first.

    So here he was, searching the streets and alleyways of Burak for any signs of suspicious characters. He walked along the main street of town, observing the people and events going on. Dark-skinned men swallowed everything from long, curved swords to fiery embers; women danced, some with weapons, some with snakes draped around their bodies. He moved along the houses and storefronts, gradually entering the seedier part of town.

    There were fewer torches here. The ones that were lit sputtered sporadically, sending billowing waves of smoke into the air. Og's lungs constricted for a moment, before he forced them to relax. The entertainers were less reputable too. The women wore fewer garments and the men sold random oddities and valuables from dingy, once colorful rugs on the ground. Og instinctively put a protective hand on his coinpurse. Pickpockets abounded here and he did not want to get distracted by having to chase one down.

    Coming across a crowd, Og peered over their heads to see what they were watching. He smiled slightly as he saw the Dyevochka dancers. He had visited their theater the night before and got to see the exquisite Shadow Dancer: the woman without an earthly form. It was truly an amazing performance. Glancing over the faces of the current dancers, Og's eyes landed on a dark-haired beauty. She was paler than the others, but with a better figure. He skimmed down her body lustfully. Long, muscular legs blossomed into full hips, a tiny waist with a softly rounded belly and full, luscious breasts. His eyebrows went up as she dipped into an graceful backbend. He wondered if he could come back later and persuade her to show him just how flexible she really was...

    A quick-moving figure dashed into an narrow alley further down the other side of the street. Og's eyes narrowed and he somewhat reluctantly left the dancers to follow him. The warrior quickened his pace. He rushed to the entrance of the alley to see the figure rounding a corner. He hurried after him.

    Suddenly, a woman's scream filled the air. The air seemed to leave Og's chest as he remembered another woman who screamed like that. His feet pounded the ground with a renewed ferocity. He was about to speed around the corner when a burst of violet clouded his vision. Just barely managing to duck, the purple fireball flew into the wall behind him, disappating upon impact with the cold stone.

    The warrior's eyes widened. Purple fire... Shaking his head to clear his vision, he gritted his teeth and took off running once more. This was his first major lead in months and he was not going to let it get away...


    Ursa flashed a smile at the handsome young man in the front of the crowd watching her dance. She moved her hips sensuously, this way and that, making the man think of some... other things they could be doing. She blew him a kiss as he put a handful of silver coins on the decorative scarf that lay in front of her and the other dancers.

    Ursa was only nineteen years old, but she knew how to manipulate the men who watched her dance. She had been sent to Burak when she was six years old from the mountains. Her mother said something about it not being safe anymore, then left her in the care of her grandparents. Mama and Baba died a little under a year ago. They had gone to visit a sick cousin when they were murdered by a traveling band of warriors. Ursa didn't know much more than that. She never got to see the bodies or even give them a proper funeral. She felt tears prick at her eyes as she remembered the traumatic events.

    Bringing her attention back to the situation at hand, Ursa gracefully moved her arms and legs, fully aware of her entire body. She and the other dancers were arranged into two lines in the street in front of their theater, the Dyevochka. They all followed the girl on the farthest left of the first line, letting her improvise the movements as the rest followed. The girls were dressed in semi-fine garments, tassels and intricate beadwork adorned their hips and bosoms, drawing attention to those areas. Their employer, Hafiz, insisted that they save the best for important guests and for the day after most people in the city got paid. It encouraged them to spend what they had earned.

    Ilsa, the girl currently in the lead, changed from slow, purposeful movements to fast, shimmying motions when the drummers sped up the pace. Hafiz employed several men who played instruments for his girls to dance to. Ursa winked at the one closest to her. He smiled back, white teeth flashing against his dark face.

    Ursa herself stood out from the crowd a little. Where most people were dark or olive skinned, she was fair, with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. Her time spent in the sun helped darken her flesh a bit, but her employer kept her as a kind of prize and forbade her from getting too tan. She was his star dancer, even though most people did not realize it. She was known as the Shadow Dancer when she danced alone. Hafiz paid a handsome sum to a sorcerer for a concealing enchantment when Ursa proved her talent a few years back but refused to perform so publicly. The enchantment provided the compromise they needed. It concealed Ursa's form in shadow, but made anything she wore glow with an ethereal light, making it look as if she were invisible. Another enchantment made sure that fog rolled off the stage in an otherworldly fashion, swirling around her body as she moved and luring the crowd closer.

    Ilsa switched moves again. All of their moves were perfectly executed. This was not just a nighttime job after all. The dancers arrived at the theater early in the morning to practice and to rehearse choreographed routines. Every girl needed to be able to lead and every girl was expected to make money. The system their employer used required the girls and drummers to split the coins that were thrown at their feet evenly between them. This on top of their usual wages made for a decent living. The girls that performed solos earned a little bit more, of course, and only had to share the extras with the musicians. It was a good life.

    The girls moved into a half circle, the girls in the front on either end moving to the center in unison, gyrating and rolling gracefully before finally retreating to the back of the circle. Each dancer was undulating slowly as they waited their turn to get to the front. When it was Ursa's turn, she heard Valeria, her partner for this duet, softly murmer, "One" in her ear. This was the signal to perform the box duet.

    The dancers of the Dyevochka Theater attracted the largest crowd on the street. Ursa could see the smaller, less talented theater dancers of the Tehén Tavern a little ways down the road looking on with jealousy. Hafiz was very selective in picking dancers, which worked out to his benefit. They worked hard and received the rewards of being the best.

    Then, all of a sudden, a shrill, terrified scream resounded through the air. Ilsa fumbled and try as they may, the other dancers were too shaken to rescue the smoothness they had not five seconds previously. Ursa frowned, her mind clouded with worry. That scream had sounded like her friend and housemate, Samiya! She rushed to the back of their performance space where they all kept their sabers that they danced with once in a while. It was not particularly sharp, but she knew how to use it well enough to inflict some damage on someone who was not expecting her.

    The coin belt around her full hips jingled as she ran, but she could not stop to take it off. She stopped and listened for a moment before taking off once more when another scream was heard. Ursa's bare feet pounded against the dirt of the ground, sending up small clouds of dust.

    "Samiya!" she called, hoping for a response from her friend, but there was none. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she searched wildly. Finally turning down a long, thin alleyway, she saw a man with his arm around Samiya's throat and a knife against her face. Her eyes flashing, she charged at him with her saber.

    The man threw Samiya to the side as he quickly disarmed Ursa and put his knives to her neck. Ursa's knee made contact with his unprotected groin. She then delivered a swift kick to his belly.

    "You bitch!" the man growled as he lunged at her again. Ursa tried to duck, but one of his knives made contact with her arm, slicing it open. She gasped and one hand instinctively went to cover the wound. Ursa felt strange. Her head was getting cloudy and she could feel an unfamiliar rage trying to burst through the walls of her heart.

    The man's brow knitted together when he saw his knife. The jewels on the hilt were ablaze with purple fire! Her blood dripped off the blade and the man broke out into a triumphant laugh.

    "How generous of you to come to me, Princess!" he told her, an evil grin on his ragged features. "Here I was about to slaughter this innocent girl, but you couldn't let that happen, could you?" He moved closer to her, breath rancid on her face and knives at the ready. "This will all be over in a moment, dear. Don't you worry."

    Ursa felt like her heart was about to explode and then, her vision suddenly went black.

Chapter Two: The Attack


    Everything was gone. Og had been in battle before, but nothing could compare to this. He distantly thought of all the men he slaughtered in the name of righteousness. His god was with him then. But now... Ϸorir had forsaken him. The god of strength and goodness had turned his divine back on his most faithful servant. Og felt hollow inside.

    It came so quickly. First, a single arrow in Asbjorn's back, the magical flames igniting his fur robes. Then another and another, until the sky was simultaneously darkened and illuminated, like the dancing lights of the far North in the sky. But these were not the work of the gods. At least, not of any gods Og prayed to. This was the work of a dark magician. One who did not have any respect for the natural order of the world. Someone who must be destroyed.

    Og staggered to the front steps of the temple, his home ruined. He barely had the strength to avoid stepping on tortured corpses or slipping on the pools of their bright, sticky blood. The ground was strewn with them. There used to be four clans living in his village with no less than twenty families in each, but now... Og's shoulders shook with the force of his pain. His kingdom... his people... his mate!

    He remembered the attack. Warriors came swift and hard, sweeping down over his people. Somehow the enemy had reached the top plateau their village was situated on and launched a surprise attack. Warriors on horses came across the river like lions on their prey. His subjects were the first to die. The ones who didn't think to run were quickly cut down and the ones who did flee found themselves trampled by large, heavy hooves.

    Og had quickly grabbed his new sword and pushed his mate to seek safety in the temple. Not looking back, he ran into the fight, eyes blazing and muscles bulging. His sword found many throats. The Blade of Destiny was to be his lifelong companion and it did not fail him. Og let out a bloodcurdling war cry and slashed and hacked his way through the enemy warriors. He felled horses, decapitated archers and skewered swordsmen with such speed and force, his blade's bright glow transformed into the glow of hot, red steel. Flesh sizzled as he cut through it and Og knew that he would prevail.

    Then a scream, higher and more blood-chilling than any other, resounded through the winter sky. Freyja! Og spun around and tried to run back towards the temple, but quickly felt the brunt force and spikes of an iron mace hit him square in the back. He cried out in pain and fell into the snow. Gritting his teeth, Og flipped himself over and, sword in hand, thrust his trusty blade towards his attacker. The steel ran through the horse's neck, slicing the muscles and bone like warm butter, and into the enemy's abdomen. A forceful arterial shower of blood erupted from the horse's neck, bathing Og in it. His attacker slumped forward, redness dribbling from his lips and Og pulled his sword from the two corpses. Og did not like to kill animals, but it had to be done.

    He looked at the ground where he had fallen previously. Redness covered everything. He could not tell what was his own blood and what was evil and corrupted. His stomach began to turn.

    Another scream froze his heart and he remembered his main objective. Freyja was in danger! He continued slicing and hacking his way to the steps where a dire-looking smear of blood disappeared under the temple door. Roaring with fury, he beat against the wooden doors but they were locked. He could hear his mate crying on the other side, begging her captors to stop, to let her go.

    Og took a few steps back. Then, his muscles agleam with perspiration and gore, delivered a forceful kick to the wood. The hinges creaked and Og did it again. The planks started to splinter. Drawing back one last time, Og launched his foot into the door and felt a satisfying crack as it crumpled upon itself. He quickly ran inside and towards the sounds of his mate's terrible screams.

    He found her sprawled on Ϸorir's altar, two men holding her arms and legs still against her violent struggles. A third stood between her legs, thrusting wildly. Freyja's face was streaked with tears and the small scar on her belly from the coronation was now open and bleeding profusely. Og's vision turned red and he felt the unmistakable lust for blood course through his veins. Letting out a terrifying screech, he rushed the men, sword at the ready.

    ...And then he knew no more.

    Og came to his senses hours later. The sky was almost completely dark and the normally lit torches on the temple walls were strewn about the floor. Og looked around himself. Blood was everywhere. Bodies were everywhere. Debris and broken stone seemed to surround him. He then realized that he was still inside the temple... or, what used to be the temple. It had somehow fallen down around him. All that was left were piles of stones and bricks and a few smoldering embers where the wooden structures caught on fire.

    Og stumbled to his feet, brokenly surveying the ruin. His whole life was gone. Everyone, everything he held dear lay in ashes. Every muscle in his body ached and he could feel where the mace had hit his shoulders. His wounds would need to be treated soon, but his mind was occupied with finding his mate first.

    The exhausted warrior looked down and found his sword at his feet. Rage in his heart, he picked it up and inspected the blade. It was miraculously clean of any filth or gore, but the glow was gone. It did not even gleam in the scant amount of light like normal steel. The blade seemed to absorb it all and give none back. Og nearly threw it back into the snow, but could not quite bring himself to destroy the only part left of his kingdom. Bitterly hefting the weight in his blood-streaked hands, he set off to look for his mate and any survivors there might be.

    As he walked through the rubble of the temple, Og noticed that despite the red evidence on the ground, there were no bodies of the enemy around. He frowned. Did the remaining attackers collect their dead? Putting it out of mind until more important things were taken care of, Og staggered over to where Ϸorir's altar used to be. The white marble was now cracked and blackened in places. A bright smear of blood covered one half and dripped off the side. Og's eyes desperately scanned the area, looking for any trace of his love. His heart beat wildly in his ears and he felt like he might pass out at any moment.

    Then... he saw a hint of red that was not like the rest. He quickly moved closer. It was the red hair of his mate! Dropping his sword, Og dropped to his knees by her form and began shoving the stones off of her tiny body. When he had cleared the rubble, he cradled her head in his hands, eyes filling with unshed tears.

    "Freyja?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracking. His mate was still as the grave. "Please, my love," he continued. "Do not leave me... Please..." His heart hurt so much he thought he might die right then and there. Tears finally fell from his eyes, landing on her pale cheek.

    Then, a faint sound came from her bloody, split lips. "My... my love?" she breathed. Her voice was barely more than the rustling of the wind overhead. Her eyes were half-closed and unseeing.

    "Freyja!" Og said softly as he tightened his embrace. "Shhh... do not speak. You need to keep your strength."

    "I'm so cold..." his mate replied, her frail body shaking. "I... I am afraid..."

    Og's hands trembled as they held her. "There is nothing to fear, my love," he told her, trying to be reassuring. "I am here now. I will protect you."

    "I am afraid..." Freyja repeated, her words hitching as she winced with pain. "I am afraid... I will not be able... to be your queen..."

    "No one else could ever be my queen, my love!" Og exclaimed harshly, an underlying growl in his voice.

    "Listen to me, Svarog," said Freyja quietly and Og frowned. She never called him by his full name. "I am not going to live much longer and I have been granted visions by our god Ϸorir to pass onto you before I join him."

    Og shook his head violently. "No, Freyja! We have no god. What god would let this happen to us?"

    "Listen, my king!" Freyja coughed suddenly, fresh blood appearing on her lips. "Listen to me! I am not your queen, Svarog." Og suddenly stood, letting her head fall onto the ground. "There is someone else who will become your queen."

    "Stop saying such things!" he shouted forcefully, pacing the floor.

    "No!" Freyja shouted back from the floor. "You must hear this! Ϸorir has a plan for you. Follow your sword, my love..." She was panting hard, her eyes glassy.

    Og looked at her, anguish written on his face. "Please..." he implored softly. "Please do not leave me..."

    "Follow... your sword..." And with a final sigh, Freyja's lungs deflated for the last time. Her form lay motionless on the ground where he left her, eyes wide open and her lips separated.

    A single sob racked Og's body, then another. He was then openly weeping over his love's cold, lifeless shell that once housed her beautiful spirit.

    "Why, Ϸorir?" he cried loudly to the heavens. "Why?" His gaze then sobered and took on a dark look. "Very well, then. I have no need of a god who abandons his followers. Do you hear me, Ϸorir? I denounce you! I am no longer your servant! I reject everything you are! I may be alone in this world now, but at least I know that you will not be able to betray me again. Strike me down if anything I say is untrue!" He thrust his arms open to the heavens and waited.

    But nothing happened.

    "I see I truly am alone now..."

Prologue




    It was a cold winter evening when a woman wrapped in swathes of bearskin ran across the fields of snow into a dark and dense forest. The trees were covered in a fresh coat of whiteness and two crows took off into the night sky when the woman rushed past. Her heart was racing. She could feel every beat like the resounding of a drum inside her veins. Her long black hair flew out behind her as she ran and her eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears. A single stream of moonlight illuminated a clearing as she fell to her knees in the snow and desperately turned her face to the sky.

    "Ϸorir!" She cried out, her arms outstretched. "Come to my aid, please, Ϸorir!" Her furs slipped down her torso to reveal the creamy swells of her breasts. Her cries resounded through the night sky as she called on the god of strength to help her.

    A quick flash of lightning illuminated the sky and thunder rumbled quickly behind it. The next bolt hit straight into the the center of the clearing. The thin stream of power hit the woman directly in between her lush mounds and a scream was wrenched from her throat as the lightning filled her. Storm clouds gathered quickly above her, large and black. The sky itself seemed to swirl around the woman and another bolt hit her fragile body.

    At long last the electricity faded and the woman fell into a heap on the cold ground, her frame still twitching from the power that just coursed through her. One delicate arm began to move as she tried to push herself up. Muscles still twitching, she managed to roll onto her back and pant large clouds of breath into the chilly night air. As she lay in the snow, struggling for breath, a shadow moved in the darkness.

    "Wh-- who's there?" she breathed and the shadow moved again. The woman's eyes were wide once more and she quivered in fear.

    Then, a voice came from the blackness. "You called, Nadezhda, daughter of Jasna. I responded."

    "Ϸorir!" Nadezhda gasped. "You... you have answered my plea!" She scrambled to her hands and knees and bowed her head in reverence as the god stepped forward from the shadows. A small sound of awe and sheer power escaped from her full lips as she saw Ϸorir in his earthly form: a giant ice bear with glistening, crystalline fur. He was as tall as the surrounding trees, yet he moved gracefully. The woman could not see his form clearly, for the ice of his coat made him nearly invisible in the darkness, but she could feel his hot, wet breath on her flesh.

    "You do not wish to bear your husband's child, Nadezhda, daughter of Jasna," the bear's voice rumbled with potential power. The woman nodded fervently. "He is your mate, child," the god continued. "The great goddess Ϸordis has seen fit to grant you a wee babe. Why do you flout the divine will of the gods?"

    Nadezhda's eyes fell to the ground as she said, "He is weak," she said. "He is weak and his seed does not deserve to fertilize my womb!" Then she met Ϸorir's gaze with a fierce look. "I come from a line of warriors! I will not allow my clan to be contaminated in such a fashion. My mating to that man was not ordained by the gods and you know it. I call on you to kill this parasite growing inside me, or to strike me down altogether, but I will not go on to bear this demon spawn who inhabits my body!" Nadezhda's chest was heaving by the end of her speech and her furs had fallen from her body completely, leaving her naked in the snow in front of the giant ice bear.

    Ϸorir was silent. His engulfing, hot breaths covered the woman in waves, causing her nipples to harden when the cold air touched them once more. Then, he moved. Nadezhda was thrown to the ground with the force of it as the god covered her body with his own. His large nose twiched as he spread her smooth thighs with a firm swipe of his paw. The snow was numbing against her back, but the warmth the god exuded filled her very soul. Nadezhda let out a fevered cry as Ϸorir's rough tongue laved her hot, wet center.

    Then the bear spoke. "I am not going to take your life, Nadezhda," he said softly, his tone almost gentle. "Nor will I take the life of your unborn child." The woman beneath him would have protested if not for the erotic frenzy she was currently succumbing to. "I am going to give you something better," said the god and the fur melted away from him revealing a dark skinned man with bear paw markings on his well-muscled chest.

    Nadezhda's mind could hardly comprehend the shift, yet she could not bring herself to care. Beast or man, she belonged to Ϸorir alone. She arched her back beneath him and felt his hardness against her inner thighs. She knew what he was going to do. She wanted it.

    With no warning, the god impaled her upon his turgid shaft and Nadezhda screamed her delight to the heavens.

    "You will bear my child," Ϸorir grunted into her ear as he fiercely thrust into her pulsating core. "You will have no man but me. My holy seed will fill you again and again until your every whimper is a prayer to me."

    Nadezhda's body shook with need as the god repeatedly slammed her soft flesh. "Yes!" she cried wildly. "Yes! I want your seed!"

    Her agonized gasps and moans filled the night air. Ϸorir continued to slake his lust with her body, thrust after thrust forcing his hot, bulging manhood further into her wetness. His movements soon became more frenzied, more brutal, and just as Nadezhda's screams of uncontrollable pleasure echoed through the wood, Ϸorir let out a bestial roar and felt the sweet lava explode from his body and be thirstily consumed by hers. Nadezhda convulsed around him, over and over again. His essence filled her body to the very brim and then overflowed into her soul. She felt nothing but him.

    Finally, the god stilled and Nadezhda's spasms eased into occasional twitches. Breathing heavily, Ϸorir got to his feet and stood proudly in the snow, his manhood still dripping with their combined juices. "Her name," he told the exhausted woman panting beneath him, "will be Ursa, daughter of Nadezhda and future queen of the free peoples. You are my mate, Nadezhda, and I expect you to keep our offspring safe. Do you understand what your god is telling you?"

    The woman nodded slowly, still reeling from the sensations flowing through her. "I will bear your daughter and call her Ursa, as you have commanded me."

    "Then I have done as you asked," said the god with a half smirk on his handsome face. He knelt next to her and whispered in her ear, "If you fulfill your part in my world's destiny, my love, I will come for you at the end. Be faithful and you will know pleasure that cannot be contained by the land of mortals." The sheer tone of his voice caused another small eruption of passion to spew from Nadezhda's dripping core, shaking her small body furiously.

    And then he was gone.


Chapter One: The Coronation


Eighteen years later...


    The sun was rising over the craggy mountains of Grimhildje as Svarog of the Gloviak Clan stood at the window of the ceremonial hut he and his mate inhabited this past night. Svarog, better known as Og, was deep in thought. Today was the day he would be crowned king of the Gloviak Clan and the surrounding lands. He looked back at his beautiful mate, still asleep in the bed, and felt some trepidation. He never doubted his right to the crown of his clan, but if the other part of the ritual was not successful... Og sighed.

    Soft footfalls on the fur carpet approached him and Og felt soft hands encircle him from behind.

    "Freyja..." he breathed and covered her small hands with his own.

    Freyja smiled against his strong, bronzed back. "Nervous, my love?" she asked warmly and Og felt all worry flow away from him. Freyja had that power. That was why she was chosen to be his mate. He was the strongest, the most capable man in the Clan, but she was the wisest and most loving woman. Og felt that he could surely fall in love with her, if he hadn't already.

Og turned around and took in her beauty with his eyes. She had long hair the color of fire and piercing blue eyes that he could almost drown in. The soft curve of jawline faded into a graceful neck with the small purple evidence of his passion for her last night. Below that, her curves exploded into full, sensuous mounds with dusky pink tips. Og remembered his worship of them during their passionate lovemaking… the way she cried out when he let his teeth run over them. He let his hand slide up to cup one full breast and ran his thumb over the nipple, eliciting a gasp from the woman he touched. Og smirked as she arched her back, pushing her ripe flesh harder into his grasp.

    “Nervous?” he repeated huskily. “Hardly.”

     His mouth was already upon her neck when the door swung open and Asbjorn, the village shaman, walked in. He was huddled over his gnarled walking stick and his white hair was long and braided. His brows snapped together when he saw Og and Freyja embracing.

     “Svarog!” he barked. “Remove your hands from that woman!”

     Og sighed and stopped kissing Freyja’s neck, but did not let her out of his arms. “She’s my mate, Asbjorn, not one of my concubines. Some respect, if you please.”

     Asbjorn’s serious expression remained unchanged. Og finally, and reluctantly, let Freyja go. The shaman slowly approached the taller man and looked him dead in the eye.

    “You shall receive respect, Svarog, son of Dazhdbog,” Asbjorn said sternly, “when you begin to give it. Would you disrupt our ancient ways with your lustful habits? Do you not know what you would ruin if you copulated with this woman more than the once?”

    Og looked down with contrition. He knew. He knew the ritual that would determine whether he was fit to be king or not required him to make sweet love to the chosen woman once and no more. If the shaman determined she was carrying his heir at the coronation later that day, he would feel the weight of his father’s crown upon his head. It was the force of his spirit that would impregnate his mate and allow him to be king. If he lay with Freyja another time, it would contaminate the purity of the ritual. It would contaminate his crown.

    “I understand, Asbjorn,” Og said softly. “I apologize for my thoughtless actions.” At his tone, Freyja came to his side, a worried expression on her delicate face. Her mouth opened to say something, but Og silenced her with a single finger pressed harshly to her full, pink lips. Freyja’s face melted into a hurt frown and she backed away.

    “You will spend the morning in prayer, Svarog, son of Dazhdbog,” Asbjorn told him. “As for you, Freyja of the Hjordis Clan, you will be spiritually cleansed in the river by the Servants of Crom.”

    Freyja’s eyes widened in surprise. “The river?” she repeated. “But it is winter! You told me I would have use of the bathhouse!” She looked to Og to defend her, but he was still and silent.

    Asbjorn was stern. “You will bathe in the river, Freyja. And let us hope your sinful seduction of our future king has not made you unfit to bear the heir to this kingdom. Now leave us.”

     Freyja grabbed her furs and fled the hut, the tears in her eyes glistening like crystal in the snow. Og’s eyes stayed passive as she rushed past him. He could practically see the betrayal in her heart, but Asbjorn was right. He needed to be pure to become king. Once he had his crown, he would make it up to her. Then he would make love to her again and again until she could see nothing but his face.

     “I’m ready to begin, Asbjorn,” Og said flatly and the shaman led him away.

    Outside the hut, the sun was streaming in bright bursts of light. The chill of the air sunk into their very bones, but the sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud to be seen. Verdant evergreens populated the outskirts of the village and Og almost forgot about the snow on the ground.

    Asbjorn led him to the steps of the temple which stood in the center of town. It was a large, golden edifice with sharp angles and intricate inlays of precious stones and metals. The steep stairs leading to the top of the structure were large and flat to facilitate ascension. Og took his first step onto one. Then another. He slowly and surely climbed to the very top of the giant temple where he would begin his ceremonial prayers. As he made his way to the top, his mind went back to the hut and the look on Freyja's face when he pushed her away. It nearly broke his heart to treat her so, but it was just for one day. Only single day left and then he could worship her as she deserved. She was the priestess of his heart and he would show her how much he cared the next chance he got.

 

    The shadows moved on the ground as the sun made its long trek across the sky, shifting the message the large, flat sundial sent to the world. It was a true masterpiece of metalwork. Fourteen masters had been gathered for its creation, each bringing their own unique set of skills to the holy project. The timepiece was commissioned by the shaman at the time and his acolytes. It was truly a sight to behold.

    Asbjorn stood at the center of the dial, watching as the shadow slowly drifted into near nothingness. It was time. He went back to the edge of the metal circle where Og and his mate stood waiting, anticipation filling their every vein. A large crowd had gathered below the temple, wanting to hear if this man before them would be their new king. Women waved at him, trying to catch his attention. Men whistled at his mate, wondering if she would be available if Svarog was deemed unworthy.

    Asbjorn raised one hand and silence fell over the teeming crowd. "People of the Grimhildje Mountains," he said imperiously. "You have gathered here today to see a king be crowned! Son of our previous, late ruler, Svarog has come to try his hand against the Winds of Fate! But will he be deemed worthy?" Murmurs started in the crowd. "Will he receive his father's crown to wear on his brow? Or will his spirit fail him today?"

    Og shuddered inwardly. Asbjorn had a way with crowds. The younger man would not be surprised in the least if he were cast out of the realm entirely should the ritual fail. But Og knew in his heart that he would prevail. He had to.

    Asbjorn continued, "These two servants of Ϸorir have prayed and fasted in reverence to the gods! The woman, who began as an unclean, barren shell has been cleansed in the healing waters of the river Krayanbog! The man, a strong warrior of righteousness, has attempted to implant his essence in her in hopes that it will take root and give our clans a bright and glorious future!" Asbjorn suddenly threw a long, shining sword at Og's feet. It was the Blade of Destiny, the second element necessary in the coronation ritual. It was a legendary weapon that glowed with the purest light when it encountered an important part of the bearer's destiny. The shaman moved towards Freyja. "I will now call upon the Winds of Fate to answer the question on every man, woman and child's mind right now: Is Svarog, son of Dazhdbog, worthy to be our king?"

    The crowd cheered as Asbjorn moved his hands hypnotically around the woman. The sky darkened as light grew from his palms. Swirls of bright red and blue engulfed Freyja as a silent scream was wrenched from her throat. Sweat was pouring down Og's face in rivulets of anxiety. He did not want to watch his mate come to such harm, but he could not bring himself to look away. They would make it, he just knew it.

    Freyja's screams were becoming more anguished, despite the lack of sound coming from her mouth. The red and blue lights wormed their way into her mouth and between her thighs, entering her body and filling her with the intensity of the sun. Her eyes turned white and began to give off a light of their own as well. Her face was tortured and her lithe fingers clenched wildly at the air.

    "You know what you must do, Svarog!" Asbjorn called above the howling of the magical winds. "Pick up your sword and do as it commands you!"

    Steeling his emotions, Og quickly lunged for the sword and felt its heavy weight in his palm. It felt right. Grasping the hilt with both hands, he approached the shaman and his mate. He was nearly blinded by the brightness coming from her, but he kept walking. The sharp tip of the sword finally came in contact with her belly, making a small nick in the furs that covered it. They waited...

    And then... slowly, the sword's blade began to shine. It was a soft white glow at first, but then it intensified into the light of one thousand suns! The crowd let out a collective sound of awe and Og's eyes widened. His arms began to tremble slightly and a small sliver of doubt crawled into his heart. He wasn't sure he could follow through with this...

    But then Asbjorn shouted to the crowd, "She carries the heir to our kingdom!" The people below the temple erupted into a tempest of celebration and the shaman turned a wild eye on Og. "You know what you must do, Svarog!" he repeated. "Finish the ritual and claim your place as king!"

    A gutteral, primal scream forced its way out of Og's throat and eyes closed, he thrust his sword home. Almost instantly, the light faded. The crowd's cheers died down and an eerie quiet fell over the village. Og was panting hard and Freyja hung suspended a few feet off the ground, her eyes still white with the magic of the ritual. No one said a word.

    Suddenly, Freyja gasped harshly, the furs surrounding her torso bursting with the forceful expansion of her lungs. The Blade of Destiny was firmly embedded in her belly and it began to shine once more. Taking the last step of the ritual, Og grasped the hilt of the sword once more and slowly, almost like a caress, pulled it from her body. There was no blood upon the hardened steel nor was there any wound marring her golden flesh. A thin line, not quite a scar, remained on her skin: a testimony to the power of the gods.

    A tense moment of utter silence filled the cold winter air.

    "People of the Four Clans of the Grimhildje Mountains!" Asbjorn called triumphantly. "I give you, our king!"

    Celebration burst from the crowd once more in a frenzied torrent of noise and pure joy. The kingdom was safe! There was a new king and his mate would bear him an heir who would hopefully go on to become the next king, if he were found worthy by this very same ritual that had judged their rulers for millenia. It was a once, maybe twice in a lifetime experience and several women began to weep from happiness when they saw Og sweep Freyja up into his strong, muscular arms and cover her mouth with his own. It was the perfect image of their new realm: the warrior king, his kind, beautiful queen and the Blade of Destiny blazing by his side, signifying his divine right to the crown.

    Asbjorn was actually smiling when the young lovers' embrace was through. "Come, my children," he said warmly. "Kneel and you shall receive what you have so longed for." Og knew what he meant: his father's crown. It was kept in a secret room in the temple ever since Dazhdbog died, six years before, and Og had not seen it since. It had become his focal point, his guiding star. And now here he was, about to wear it like his father once did.

    Freyja looked upon her mate with love shining from her sapphire eyes as Asbjorn retrieved the crown to place on Og's brow. Her face looked tired, but supremely happy. One of her hands instinctively rested on her still flat abdomen in a gesture of protection towards their unborn child.

    Asbjorn raised the golden crown high above his head for all to see. He then slowly lowered it towards Og's head. The younger man trembled with emotion. He had done it! He was about to become king.

    That's why no one expected a barbed arrow covered with dark purple flames to come barreling out of the distance. That's why no one expected Asbjorn, the realm's lead shaman for almost half a century to slump over dead. That's why no one expected the royal crown to fall the the cold, hard ground and roll out of sight.

    The city was under attack.

So I worked things out with Robert like, three hours after I wrote my last post. Details aside, he didn't mean it and everything is fine.

Except that we were supposed to have a date night this evening, starting somewhere between 8-10pm. He calls at 8:30pm to tell me that he forgot he has a big physics lab due tomorrow at 8am.

I am sad. And angry. We haven't really hung out in a while due to our busy school schedules. He spends the night often enough, but most of the time he gets here at two in the morning and crashes in less than ten minutes. The cuddling is great, but I miss talking to him.

Boo.

 

Fuck.

So... School has started. That's good. Jade and I are dropping DAVIS for an internship with IMC Productions. An equal/less amount of work for better credit, skill sets and resume padding? Hell yeah. I'm excited.

In general, I like the direction my life is going in right now. There is one snag though: It seems to be interfering with my relationship with Robert. True, it's only been three days and a lot is changing right now, but I'm being emo, so I don't care. I was rather over-exuberant in my affections last night during DAVIS and that upset him. In retrospect I completely understand, but when he told me about it I felt like a kicked puppy. We talked it through last night, but I still feel a little uneasy about it all. Since Valerie moved in, we've been hanging out more according to my schedule, which can be rough I suppose. But for the past six months I've been conforming to his schedule, so I can't bring myself to feel bad about the recent change. I was so restless the entire summer (he was pretty much my only friend in town) so now that my own friends are here, I actually have a life again rather than just following him to and from Ravenholm.

I wouldn't have thought anything too serious of it if I hadn't done something extremely stupid today. Robert has a habit of forgetting his notebooks at my place. I didn't know if the one on the coffee table this afternoon was his or Valerie's, so I opened it up to look. I opened to a page that was pretty much a diary entry and noticed that I was mentioned. I closed it up and was going to be a good non-snooping person, but the curiosity was too much. What I saw before was just him mentioning that I had moved in with Valerie the Vegetarian and "you know what THAT means" so I didn't think it would be anything all that significant. I was wrong. "Girlfriend's on the rocks, and not in the good way." It seemed like a lot of emo rambling, so I don't know how seriously to take it, but apparently he hates the dogs and thinks that I love them more than him. I really don't know what to make of it as he never seems to be terribly bothered by them when he's at my place. Then again, he never says anything when he's upset. I have to rely on guessing at his behavior. It was only a short paragraph that he wrote, but it made it seem as if we're on our way to being over, which I don't even want to think about. "I still love her, I guess." Fuck.

He has a point, when I think about it, because if push comes to shove, I would choose the dogs over him. It is guaranteed that they will never stop loving me and will never break my heart. I can't say the same for Robert. I can say, though, that I love him to death. I'm just not sure how strong I can be if he decides to end things.

I am a terrible person and I never should have snooped. (I don't quite regret it, though. If he feels that way, I would prefer to know about it rather than him blindsiding me with it when things get serious.) And speaking of regrets or lack thereof, I will never regret these past six months with him. I am certain of that much, regardless of how badly things might end.

Fuck.

 

BACK IN THE MOOD! FUCK YEAH!!!!!11!!!!eleven!!!!

I MADE MY HONEY NOT WANT SMOOCHIES!!!!!!!1!!1!111!!!!1!one!

VALERIE IS MY NEW ROOMMATE!!! ZOMG!!!

She's moving in mid-August and it will be AWESOME!

 
 

I really should be asleep right now, but I had trouble getting there so lo and behold, the internet filled the void. Whee internets!

I have to call Robert in 30 minutes anyway. His parents are coming to town this afternoon and he has to get up and finish cleaning. I promised I'd help him wake up. =P Speaking of his parents visiting, we're making them dinner (bolognese, garlic bread and delicious cake/pudding/raspberry concoction thing!) after going to the new Harry Potter movie. I don't have that much hope for it, but considering my expectations, I'll probably have fun, knowing me and my predilection for bad movies.

I have a puppy on my feet. =3

In the past hour, the WoW patch has installed ONE WHOLE PERCENT! If it doesn't slow down soon, it'll create a rip in the fabric of SPACE AND TIME OH NOES!!!

Someone bakes you a GODDAMN LEMON CAKE!!!! What the FUCK DO YOU DO?!?!?!?!

More seriously, today is Abby's birthday. Woo! I should reply to her letter. Yes.

Summer classes are completely over and the prof loved my final paper on zombies. =D He even said he was looking for essays to put in the next edition of the textbook!

Valerie was in town for a day or two and I MISSED it. *cry*

Speaking of Valerie, my mum says I can find a roommate if I want. Guess who's the #1 candidate? =3

Why do my posts turn into update lists like this?

Started watching Journeyman, an NBC show canceled after one season and two time slot changes. Poor show.

TORCHWOOD AND PSYCH ZOMG FTW!!!

I had a dream where Robert and I had a kid. While I am more open to the idea of children than I was pre-Robert, it was still strange and just the slightest bit unnerving. I guess that's why I didn't tell him about it? =/

Being off the B/C has helped SO unbelievably much. I am no longer crazy and teh sexorz no longer hurts. Thank god.

I've started drawing again! Woo! I'm trying to get the 50's-esque style down. It's... interesting so far.

Mum has invited some friends she met in Nicaragua to Chico for a few days in August. These friends are one of the guys who helped invent the Amazon Kindle and his wife. It will also mean an enforced 1-2 days of sleeping at Roberts. >3

I scoured Robert's kitchen today and actually had... fun? It's the only kind of cleaning I'm good at, so I help out how I can. We have learned, however, that you should not leave a SlimJim on the counter in the Chico heat for 2+ months without expecting something nasty to take over the surface beneath it. Srs. So gross.

I really want to try Alton Brown's potato bread + strawberry concoction + various types of cans dessert. It looks delicious, but oh so inconvenient to set up. Sigh.

I turned Dinky into a ukulele and have been teaching myself the chords! It's not a perfect uke substitute, but it works well enough. I might have to look into getting a real one once I have moneys!

I still want to learn the goddamn violin. Grr.

I have two or three romance novels I should be reading. Ride the FIre and Captive Caress. (Sorry Ayla! Ride the Fire is tops on the list!)

Robert has been reading the Sandman, which makes me happy, but I can't find Dream Country, which is disturbing. I should have him read Blankets next. It's so good. Especially with the "Just Like Heaven" bit. We love the Cure!

Whee! WoW patch got ONE MORE PERCENT COMPLETE!!!!

I've been making a list of my favorite lullabies. So far they are:

Radio Sweethearts - Kate Rusby
   SO good. Probably favorite song of the week.
Lullabye for a Stormy Night - Vienna Teng
   A great song, lullabye or no.
Once Upon a December - Anastasia Soundtrack
   It just makes me want to dance more. *cry* I miss the roundabout waltz we learned to this.
La La Lu - Lady and the Tramp Soundtrack
   More of an actual baby-in-cradle lullabye, but still wonderful. My mum sang it to me.
Somebody's Waiting For You - The Rescuers Soundtrack
   Used to make me cry, but now it's just awesome and sweet and goddamn I miss old school Disney. Madame Medusa is still my favorite Disney villain, alongside Maleficent.
Hushabye Mountain - Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Soundtrack
   Dick van Dyke at his finest. And this version isn't ruined by Truly Scrumptious. I love her, but her voice isn't right for this song.

In closing, my other favorite song of the week:

Shasta (Carrie's Song) - Vienna Teng
   As I'm learning more and more about songwriting, I am continually amazed by this song. Really simple chord progression, but ZOMG PRETTY PIANO. I would have never thought of this melody just using such basic chords. Just more proof of Vienna Teng's utter awesomeness, I guess. This and Blue Caravan were amazing live. Like, exponentially better than the recorded versions.

And I must call Robert now. Tell him it's time to wake up and get coffee. =P

ETA: Just called. No answer. Will call again in 5-10 minutes. Silly kids, stay in school, ya?

 

Even though we both realize things might change, for right now Robert said that he wants to be with me forever.

*squee!*

And 50/90 is going most spectacularly well. =D

http://5090.fawm.org/fawmers/underline2/

 

I have decided that I am going to stop taking birth control pills. I had another breakdown Thursday night and it was the worst it's ever been. I just want to feel like myself again. Stupid hormones.

In other news, Kismet is a horrible movie, despite Howard Keel.

I hate online classes, but I only have one more week of my government class, then it's over forever!

Mum's going away for a few days tomorrow. (Going to help my sister move into her new apartment in Seattle.)

I am very tired, but that's okay.

I hate to admit it, but I have been re-assimilated by the fanfiction monster in regards to nuTrek Spock/Uhura goodness.

Speaking of Star Trek, Generations was crap. First Contact was fucking amazing.

A certain lady's got her groove back, if you know what I mean. =D *happy dance*

Money is really tight right now and I'm so hoping I can get some good money back on my government textbook.

For some reason, two thirds of my Dragonforce music won't play in iTunes. Sad times. But I'm totally going to one of their concerts this coming Talk Like A Pirate Day. Much awesomeness will be had.

I have another fringe skirt now! This one's black and a bit longer. It's not as comfortable though. It's a tiny bit too small for me (it closes with a zipper instead of being stretchy), but it was the biggest size they had because it was friggen H&M and it was only $15.

My honey loves me! Even when I'm crazy. <3

FAWM-related 50/90 has started again. No music for my songs yet, but I'm anticipating a fruitful summer.

I want to go out dancing again.

Signing off.

 

Updatezorz!

40 Stories is going well. Going to show my sketches to Scott tomorrow.

My first summer class starts tomorrow as well. Must wake up before sunset and go buy the textbook.

Tomorrow I'm also going to make an appointment with the Health Center and switch b/c methods, because it really sucks right now.

Why is everything about tomorrow?

Watched Fanboys. It was awesome.

Gots wireless now. Woo!

Hugged my puppy. It was awesome.

Started watching Gargoyles and Buffy again. Both are awesome.

Old PC game torrents suck. Just saying.

Going to see Spamalot on Tuesday. Much awesomeness is anticipated.

Robert left his Sierra Mist bottle from a couple nights ago on my bookshelf. Hrm.

I watched a show on Animal Miracles and it made me cry a lot.

My honey bought me roses! <3!

I hate Scottish Folds even more after watching another Animal Planet show.

I have to pee.

Signing off.

 
 

I hate having to rely on vitamin supplements to not be an overemotional crazy. GNAAH!

 
 

Well, it's summer and most everything is awesome. I still want to take singing lessons and perhaps start horseback riding again, but that can wait a few more days, I suppose. I saw Fanboys yesterday and it was amazing. Work on 40 Stories is going really well too. I might end up being an animator when it comes down to production, but that's okay. I'll learn a lot.

Robert and I are doing fantastically. I got to meet his brother after Valerie's wedding a few weeks ago and we stayed with his parents for a few days again. I'm getting a hold of my overemotionalness again, which is good. Stupid pills. I'm pretty sure I'm going to change methods once the school year starts again (so I don't have to pay $20 to see the doctor).

We did end up talking about marriage in general when we were at his parent's place and I got a little freaked out. I don't really want to get married until I'm 25 or older, but if Robert and I last that long we'd have been together for seven years, which I'm pretty sure is long enough to know if you want to marry someone or not. And, as he pointed out, it wouldn't be fair to make him wait until he's 30-31 to know if I'm going to say yes or not. *sigh* Oh well. It was a strange hypothetical discussion and I won't have to seriously think about any of this for another few years.

Mum wants to take me and Sarah somewhere for a week or two, like on a cruise or to a fancy lodge or to see a Broadway or West End show. It could be exciting. =D

Signing off.