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.