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

Chapter 22: Paths and Prophecies

Fenris awoke with a gasp, fist clenching at the blankets, walls of brass and ice evaporating into canvas and burlap. He was back in his tent again, coated in sweat and near sick with a headache. It was the dream again. The endless falling. The two faces. He shook his head and sat up.

Cloth rustled as his tent flap parted.

Fenris lunged for his knife, pulling the blade free, its edge gleaming in the half-light. Time oozed to an uncomfortable stillness as the muscles in his body tensed.

"It's only me," Loken said, his voice like a lullaby in the darkness.

Fenris let go of the knife. "What are you doing here?" It took everything he had not to shout.

"I needed to see you." Loken slipped inside with barely a sound, gliding past discarded gear and equipment to the pile of furs Fenris slept on. "Also, it's cold outside. Can you tell?"

Before Fenris could process the question, Loken slipped his hands beneath the furs, pressing them against his bare chest. Two needles of icy pain tore through his body. He bit his lower lip, snatching Loken's grip with one hand and grabbing the collar of his robe with the other.

"That is not funny," Fenris growled through gritted teeth, pulling Loken in closer. The little man was forced to kneel now, a wry smile coiling up one side of his lips.

"Then you'll hate this even more." With surprising dexterity, Loken twisted himself free from Fenris and dashed under the furs, burying himself within.

"Hold on a second," Fenris hissed. He blindly grabbed at Loken, but the man's thin fingers easily batted him away. "I did not agree to this. This was not part of our agreement."

Loken's head popped out from the covers, so close his chin pressed against Fenris' chest. "All contracts are negotiable in the end. It all truly depends on the desires of both parties involved."

"Do you always spout such wisdom when buried beneath a man's sheets?"

"I feel the most philosophical when under such peaceful arrangements," Loken said as he nestled closer. "Blame a wandering mind with no sleep to keep it occupied."

Fenris had to hold back a gasp as he felt the man's chest press against his. It was like laying naked against a snow bank, and yet he could feel a surprising warmth just beyond it, at Loken's core.

"You don't sleep?" He asked, hoping to change the subject. Now was not the time to think about a man's chest, no matter how soft and cool it felt against his.

Loken shook his head. "I was never born with the ability. A gift from my mother, some would say."

"Must be nice."

"Not when it's just you most nights." Loken pursed his lips as he stared glassy eyed at the wall. "When you're alone with too much time on your hands, your mind tends to wander, and I have found myself down some very dark corridors. If we travel down them too long though, we tend to forget about the light we left behind."

Fenris lay there, not quite knowing what to say of Loken's words, but somehow understanding them in some way. He reluctantly put his arm around Loken as an answer, ignoring the frantic thumping in his chest.

"Have you always been afraid of touch, Fenris?" Loken's question lashed at him like a hidden blade.

"Enough with your damn questions," Fenris said, tearing his arm free as he turned to his side. "If the only reason your here is to taunt me then you can hop out of my furs and go sleep in the forest."

Loken sighed, a deep, heavy sound as he sank into the bed. "I had a vision." His voice had taken on a hollow tone now, quiet, distant. Like an echo from far, far away. "And I need to make sure you stay on the right path. That is my truth and my fate."