Breath of Divinity

Jonathan’s father tapped his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, still shooting furtive glances out the window. It was like he expected the very ground to open up underneath them and swallow them whole at any moment.

“Come on, come on,” he was muttering.

Jonathan had no idea what these Harbingers were like or what they could do, but he couldn’t stand the sight of his father being so nervous. It was starting to make him feel unsettled too.

“Come on, Dad. It’s been hours. If something was going to happen, don’t you think we would have at least seen some kind of sign by now?”

His father sighed heavily. “I know, I know. I just don’t want to take the chan —”

Jonathan had glimpsed it coming, but his brain didn’t process exactly what he was seeing until it was far too late. The thing that came from the shadows was as large as a rhino, with eyes the colour of fresh blood. It was feline in nature, with a tail thicker than a garden hose and completely hairless, like some kind of mutated Sphynx cat. The most horrifying thing about it though was how it had appeared from the darkness — in a literal sense. It had actually melted from the shadows, taking the shape of the massive beast that slammed into the side of the car.

The blow was fierce, but not enough to topple them. Before they even had a chance to gather their bearings, the beast redoubled and charged the door again. The force gouged a deep dent into the metal, sending the Durango rolling several feet away, its passengers screaming as they were flung from side to side. When at last the vehicle steadied, Jonathan, who had been thrown against the window, was blinking blood out of his eyes, which he was having difficulty keeping open.

“Jonny… Jonny…” He could tell his father was shouting, but despite being right beside him his voice sounded like it was coming from the far end of a very long tunnel. “Wake up… wake up!”

Jonathan’s eyes flew open, and he became all too aware of the throbbing pain in his forehead and the blood flowing profusely from a gash on his shoulder. Mr. Whitmore was scrabbling at the handle of the door, trying to open it. The beast was still prowling around outside, judging by the ominous growls rising through the air.

“What is that thing?” Jonathan shouted over the ringing in his ears.

“No clue! But we have to get out, now!” Mr. Whitmore shouted back. He finally managed to pry the door open, just as the beast appeared beside the car. Jonathan was worried that he was about to be sliced to ribbons by the creature’s gigantic claws, but his worries alleviated a mere second later, as Mr. Whitmore slammed the door on the animal so forcefully that it recoiled with a hiss of pain. Jonathan stared at his father in awe, but the surprises didn’t stop there. He fumbled around in his traveling bag for a moment and then extracted a sleek brown object — a double-barreled shotgun.

“Where did you get that?!”

“Can we talk about this later, please!” Mr. Whitmore emerged from the car and fired. A tremendous bang echoed, followed by another squeal of agony. “Come on, Jonny!”

Jonathan scrambled sideways across the seats. He had difficulty navigating, seeing as he was still feeling rather disoriented, but at last he managed to make it outside. Mr. Whitmore, who had several cuts across his face but looked otherwise fine, was reaching into the backseat, trying to extract Tim, who was unconscious, with one arm, while the other fended the beast off with the shotgun.

“Your ring!” Mr. Whitmore shouted.

For a moment Jonathan was confused. The blood leaking freely from the injury on his forehead left him slightly dazed, but as the beast was repelled by yet another shot the memory of what had happened only hours before in Tim’s kitchen came crashing into his brain. He pulled off the ring, which he had gotten so used to wearing that taking it off for even a moment left him feeling incomplete, and held it up. “Orus!” he cried. The ring was once again suffused with a brilliant blue light, but this time it was cooler than before, more pleasant.

Jonathan’s eyes involuntarily narrowed at the sudden brightness, which illuminated the dark path around them, and which seemed to cause the beast’s sudden hesitation. It recoiled with a hiss at the light, and once it had finally died down Jonathan was left cradling the large brightsteel sword once more.

The enormous catlike creature came bounding forward again, but there was something like caution in its movements now. It didn’t charge them directly, instead swerving from left to right as if deliberating the best angle to attack from. Jonathan had never used a sword before, but the basics had to be simple, right? Point and swing. He took aim and cleaved at the creature — or at least, he tried.

Now he realized why swordfighting was called an art, because it was infinitely more complex than he had initially believed. Pointing and swinging was only carrying him so far, because he was either swinging too short and missing his target entirely, or swinging too wide and unbalancing himself. The only reason he was still alive was because the beast seemed to dislike the brightsteel, and kept jerking back every time he swung, no matter how wide the distance between the sword and itself.

Mr. Whitmore was desperately trying to revive Tim, shaking him vigorously, but Tim refused to wake up. He gritted his teeth and swore, then removed Tim’s glasses.

A soft kind of glow passed through Tim’s skin, and slowly, the wounds on his arms and face began to knit together, as if invisible needles were stitching the flesh back together. Jonathan looked down at his own skin, awed, and saw that the even though the splotches of blood remained, the wounds underneath them were no longer present. Tim’s eyes fluttered open.

Another huge bang echoed through the field as the creature was repelled once more, oozing flecks of viscous green blood onto the dry grass, and Mr. Whitmore helped Tim to his feet. “Come on, Jon.” Swinging Tim’s arm over his shoulder, Mr. Whitmore began to hobble his way across the grass.

“Shouldn’t we be heading away from the woods? Doesn’t it have a better chance of cornering us like this?”

“We can’t lead it back to the main road either, there are civilians there.”

“We’re civilians too!”

“No, you aren’t. That’s why that thing is here. It sensed you, and Tim. Which is why we have to get —”

A roar like a clap of thunder pierced the air, and the ground beneath them quaked as if an earthquake was passing through. The monster landed directly in front of them, its hairless body caked with blood and growling furiously. Tim was fully awake now, transfixed with horror at what lay in front of them. Jonathan leapt forward, sword raised high and ready to swing, but the beast seemed to have had enough.

It lashed out with its long, veiny tail and swatted him to the ground; the sword flew from his hands, cascading across the low-cut grass, and the beast pounced on him. Pain erupted in Jonathan’s whole body as its fangs, as thick as Jonathan’s fingers, ruptured his stomach, sinking deeper and tearing through flesh, through bone, possibly even through his internal organs. Agony blinded him, deafened him even to the sound of his own blood-curdling screams.

“Jonny!” he heard his father shout, as though miles away. Mr. Whitmore was about to advance, shotgun poised, but then hesitated, looking down at the weapon. “This thing can hurt it, but it won’t finish the job.” He thrust Tim’s glasses into his hands. “Do what Jonathan did with his ring, but instead, say ‘Lenos!’”

“W-what?”

“Just do it!” Mr. Whitmore bellowed.

Automatically, as though he was a machine following programming, Tim raised the glasses. “Lenos!” The spectacles began to glow, suffused with a radiant crimson light so fierce it felt like his fingers were melting under the heat, but Tim held on. And within a moment, the red flare had died down and Tim’s hands were being weighed down by something far heavier than his ugly glasses. It was a massive, double-ended hammer, three feet long and flat-headed, with markings slashed around the rim, which Tim recognized as the same ones that had been on the glasses.

“Woah!” Tim breathed, turning the weapon from side to side.

“You can admire it later,” said Mr. Whitmore, pointing at the creature.

Tim hesitated for just a second, looking first at Mr. Whitmore and then at Jonathan, who was still yelling. His screams were louder than the monster’s roars, reverberating through Tim’s very bones. Tim had never considered himself to be a bastion of bravery, or strength, but in that moment all inhibitions washed away along the chilly night breeze. He charged at the creature, movements jerky and awkward as they almost always were. And then he noticed the distance between it and himself getting smaller, far more quickly than it should have been. A burst of wind rushed over his face, becoming stronger every passing second, howling fiercely in his ears. Tim looked down at his feet and thought he must have been hallucinating, because his legs were almost a blur. Far sooner than he had expected, he was directly in front of the beast.

It seemed as shocked as he was that he had drawn so near so fast, but it prised itself off of Jonathan and charged at Tim, who sidestepped it easily. The monster redoubled, attacking again, but Tim dodged every swipe of its paw, every flick of its tail. It was like the world around him had slowed down — or, it occurred to him at last, he had sped up.

As the monster launched yet another futile swipe of its great paws, Tim took aim with the hammer and swung. The massive, block-like structure crashed into the creature’s side. There was a sickening crunch and the beast flew across the field, its body rolling around like a rag doll.

Tim came to a halt and heard the sound of something sizzling. He looked around for fire but there was no sign of any. Then the pungent aroma of burning leather met his nostrils and he looked down, and saw that the soles of his shoes had burned away. He stood, frozen in disbelief, until Jonathan groaned and Tim looked down at him, shivering in pain.

“Jon? Jon, are you okay?”

He tried to speak, but his words were drowned in a gurgle of blood.

“Oh God.” Mr. Whitmore had appeared at his son’s side. “You’re gonna be okay, Jonny. You’ll start healing soon, just give it some time. Here, help me get him up. Tim? Tim?”

Tim had frozen again, staring from Jonathan, whose mangled stomach was covered in blood, to the creature who lay several feet away with a shattered hindleg. It was trying to move, emitting pitiful squeaks of agony every time it failed, like an injured housecat.

“No no no no, don’t feel sorry for it, Tim. Given the chance, even in its wounded state, it would probably tear you to shreds. Look what it did to Jonathan. You have to stay focused… Tim!” he shouted, jolting him back to his senses.

He tore his eyes away from the beast and knelt down beside Jonathan. He was just wondering what he was going to do with the hammer when it glowed again, but this time the red light was much softer, and it melted back into his glasses. Tim heaved a deep breath and slid them back onto the bridge of his nose, then seized one of Jonathan’s arms. He was in terrible shape. The monster seemed to have worked its way across his torso like an omelet.

“He’ll be fine,” Mr. Whitmore said as they hobbled back towards the road, the creature’s piteous moans still trailing after them. Tim tried to block them out, but it was no use. The guilt stung at him like a hive of angry hornets.

“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” he asked, trying to ignore the sound.

“No need. He’ll heal on his own, he just needs time. Besides, no hospital is going to be able to do anything about what that thing did to him.”

Together, they painstakingly carried Jonathan’s limp body up the grassy slope. They were almost back at the main road, apparently on their way to thumb a ride, but before they had even reached the asphalt, something touched down in front of them with a gentle gust of wind. First Tim noticed the man, taller than any of them, with a head of bright brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. The man’s face was handsome, but marred by a thick scar that traced itself from just underneath his left eye all the way to his chin. He looked vaguely familiar.

Far more curious though was the way he was dressed. He wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Roman convention, wearing robes of deep red and eggshell-white, covered by plates of armour the same texture as the brightsteel hammer. And still that wasn’t the strangest thing about this scene.

That honour went to his horse — or at least, Tim thought it was a horse.

The man was sitting astride it, and it bore an equine shape, but where fur and muscle and sinew should have been was what appeared to be a cloud of living, emerald, compact gas, swirling and undulating. With every fierce toss of its head, green wind trickled from its mane.

“I’ve been trying to call you for hours,” said Mr. Whitmore. He was staring at the man with an odd expression on his face, not really angry, but certainly not ecstatic to see him.

“Forgive me, but I do have other charges to tend to.”

“You…” It was Jonathan who spoke, his voice weak and hoarse. “I… I saw you. Outside that burger place.”

The man’s face broke into a smile, so wide and so bright that it seemed to illuminate his entire face; even the scar under his eye looked less gruesome for a moment. “You certainly did, and I apologize if I frightened you. I was just checking in, I do that sometimes.”

“Wait, I’ve seen you before!” Tim said suddenly. “I saw you at my old primary school once, out in the courtyard.”

“Er — yes. I’m not really supposed to meddle —”

“But you do anyway,” Mr. Whitmore said angrily.

“Sometimes I fear my desire to see you all overpowers common sense. But it is very good to meet you all in person at last. Lord Orus. Lord Lenos.” He jumped from the wind-horse and bowed low.

“Who?” Tim asked.

“He means you and Jonathan. The words you spoke when you activated your weapons aren’t just random words. They’re your god names, the names your parents gave you. And this is your parents’ servant, the one I told you about, Sytris.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions, but I’m equally sure the monster braying in agony down there won’t be the only one sent to look for you. It’s time to go. The safehouse isn’t too far from here.”

The horse creature knelt, and Mr. Whitmore and Sytris helped Jonathan on top of it. Despite being living wind, it seemed to be rather solid, because Jonathan didn’t come sliding off. It didn’t completely alleviate Tim’s worries of falling off of the creature mid-ride, but both men were beckoning him forward impatiently, and he obliged.

It felt surprisingly solid, despite the fact the horse’s body kept undulating in puffs of green smoke. Sytris jerked the reins, which were also long ropes of green wind, and the horse whinnied, which sounded like a blast from a shrill whistle. The beast turned and galloped off along the road. Then Tim noticed something. With every step they took the moon seemed to be inching closer. He looked down and noticed with a thrill of shock that they were ascending, as if the horse was climbing a set of invisible stairs.

“This steed is called Skylar,” said Sytris, who was watching him. “A ventus. Loyal creatures made of wind that can climb air currents the same way horses of the mortal realm can ride across stone. And they’re also exceptionally fast.”

He was right. Tim turned his head slightly to gaze behind them, and despite only riding for a few moments, the green field they had fled was now a small patch on the ground behind them. The chill night air washed over them, causing Tim to shiver as he surveyed the ground beneath them. He could see small bodies of water glimmering in the moonlight, and the yellow and red lights of cars the size of puzzle pieces racing across the dark roads.

“This would be a lot cooler if the circumstances didn’t suck,” Tim said.

“Tell me about it,” Mr. Whitmore agreed. “So does this mean what we think it means?” he asked Sytris. “They’re really after them?”

Sytris answered rather mournfully, “I’m afraid it does. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, but my attention has been rather divided. I’ve had to be back and forth across the states trying to locate the others.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t you supposed to be keeping track of all of us?”

“I tried to,” Sytris said, sounding a little irritated for the first time, as if offended Mr. Whitmore thought he wasn’t doing his job properly. “But not all the other parents have been as stable as you. Some of them have moved around quite a bit. It takes time to track five groups of people around the world when their express mission is to remain hidden.”

“And they’re not answering any of my calls either. I got through to the Gibsons, though. They should be meeting us there.”

“Meeting us where exactly?” asked Jonathan, who seemed to be doing much better, although his skin was still pale and clammy.

“You’re about to see. We’re actually here,” Sytris said. Their slope declined, now heading downwards. In the distance, growing larger at an impressive rate, was a massive, powder-blue mansion. It had high, mullioned windows, an open floor plan, and a huge swimming pool glittering in the front yard. The ventus came to a halt in front of the driveway and they dismounted, Jonathan clutching his stomach.

“I don’t think I’m a huge fan of flying.”

“Well that’s a shame, considering Skylar is your ventus,” Sytris said.

“Wait, what?”

Tim watched as the ventus shook her mane and nuzzled Jonathan, neighing contentedly. For a moment it looked like Jonathan didn’t know how to react, but then he rubbed the side of her face.

“She was a birthday gift from your mother. Looks like she still remembers you.”

“Um, guys?” Tim said. Everyone looked at him and he pointed behind them. On the porch of the mansion was a pale-faced girl with long reddish-brown hair who was drinking something from a large brown coffee mug, which was frozen at her lips. Her eyes were widened and her mouth was open in shock.

“Who is that?” Jonathan asked.

“Boys, meet your sister, Iduna. Or, as she’s called in this world, Haley.”

“Hi,” Jonathan and Timothy said together, waving awkwardly.

The girl looked frightened and confused out of her mind, but returned the wave nonetheless.

“Have fun catching up,” said Sytris, turning back to the steed. “If you don’t mind, Lord Orus, I do have to borrow Skylar for a while.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find your other siblings.” With that, Sytris jerked the reins and the ventus turned towards the sky, climbing along the cold night air until she and her rider vanished from sight.