Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 3: Gold Glitters in the Blood

Brand swallowed sour spit as he placed one hand over the other. With methodical precision he willed the magick around him to gather, focusing past the skin of his palm and into the bones beneath. Clammy sweat beaded across his forehead as little by little he felt a shifting tug beneath his flesh, like an angry bee hive slowly stirring to life.

"Shit," he murmured, trying best to keep his voice down. Pain pulsed through his hand now, a thousand angry needles stabbing him over and over, the shifting tug becoming boiling resistance as the thin shape of a diamond pressed against his skin. It fought desperately against his will.

But he was stronger now. He knew how to use magick beyond simple hand gestures alone. The last Mother of Jotuns had taught him so. With a shuddering breath he poured his magick against the meager resistance beneath his skin. There was a juicy pop as something wet shot out.

Brand snatched it up quick, pressing his bleeding palm to a cloth as he held up his prize. A thin shard of bloody gold glimmered faintly between his fingers. "One down," he murmured as he tossed the evil thing away. "A thousand more to go."

He wrapped his wound up in a neat bandage, stuffed his mitten back on, and took off into the woods. The others were no doubt worrying about him now given how long he'd taken. There's only so much time a boy can take to piss these days.

He slowed to a crawl as he approached the end of the tree line, ducking low until he was practically slithering onto his belly. He nestled between a bush and a rotten log, peering out towards the moldering tower.

"Took you long enough," Moss murmured, no longer the bush Brand once thought.

"I had to piss."

"Thirsty after that one?"

Brand said nothing, letting silence be his answer.

"All right, Moss. Give the kid a break. "Cent said, no longer the log Brand once thought as well. "If he's gotta piss, he's gotta piss."

"We need him here," Moss said, eyes sliding back towards the jutting tower.

"Yeah, yeah. Yah whining bastard." Cent gave Brand a friendly jab. "Ain't that right, Brand?"

Brand winced. "I told you to stop calling me that. It's Cinis now. Remember?"

"Oh, right." Cent rubbed at the back of his head. "Forgot about your new name. Vangen way and all that." He waved away the notion as if it were more a bothersome fly instead of the eternal oath he'd sworn.

Brand's frown deepened. His new name was supposed to be a symbolic moment for him. A shedding of his old life towards a bright new future, and here Cent was treating it like nothing. He should have felt angry then, but he could barely muster up the energy. His face stung from the cold, his hand burned from the gold, and his thoughts, even now, still lingered on Middengard. All he had left was a sore nose, sore hands, and a sore head.

Cent must have noticed his displeasure as the smile across his face gently ebbed away. He sighed and settled back into position, heavy silence looming worse than the eternal night sky above them.

It had been strange at first, traveling in a place where the sun never shined, but Brand had adapted after a few days. His eyes began to compensate for the darkness around them, and yet he'd never quite shaken off the eeriness of it all. The land still felt alien, an elsewhere place that never sat right with him. Shadows ebbed and crawled in the corners of his vision, dark secrets whispered into his ears. He sucked in a tight breath as the memories came flooding back.

"Hear anything, Brand?" Elba asked, appearing in front of him out of nowhere.

Brand gasped, teetered back, nearly falling over before he was caught by the wrist and yanked back up.