Gods.
Beings that transcend beyond human comprehension, controlling the lives of the waking world by manipulating variable factors. Like rain, sunshine, and disease. Some gods even went as far as deciding if a fruit might be delicious or disgusting, or if a fisherman might stumble upon a school of fish or none at all.
These gods have a habit of giving strange powers unexplainable by science to the humans who especially stand out to them.
'But how does someone earn a god's favor?'
Reidnott's mind echoed thoughts and questions, reflecting ideas and opinions. He'd often take moments to jump out of his little world to control the horses.
The caravan was moving deeper and deeper into a vast spruce forest. Wagon wheels bounced and rattled over uneven dirt paths, and the powerful legs of horses crushed and kicked stray dead branches.
'Is that even something you can do?'
The concept of being favored by a god was a fond one, for good reason. Not a soul should think to argue against the idea when it means being granted unfathomable strength and utility in a world where only power can carve a future worth living.
What Reidnott couldn't get past, though, was the fact that there was enough evidence from Thyra's story of children, maybe even newborns, being granted this favor, to suggest that there might be a deeper-rooted meaning behind it.
Those blessed with power may be fated to the unlikely chance of receiving such a gift. It's like a big predetermined algorithm randomly picking and choosing among millions of options.
Did the gods favor these souls before they were born? Blessing them with a stigma that wouldn't bloom until a requirement or time was met
Reidnott's attention swooped back to leading the carriage, leaving behind unfinished thoughts, trying to control the horses up ahead with so little experience was daunting. Still, he managed, remembering every detail from Agnes' example and putting them into play.
Everyone was resting behind him in the front section of the wagon that housed barely enough room for the party to sleep in slouches. Thankfully, he had woken up on those cold stones just before departing, and his body was plenty rested.
At some point, the sun had started falling from the sky to slip behind the horizon, masked by the trees that only grew taller the deeper the trail led. The sun sank and fell, becoming devoured by green and brown, taking something with it, transforming the world left behind.
First, the sky turned orange, mixed with bleeding reds. Then, strips of violet and purple bruised against it in streaks. And the world turned colder. Darker.
Eventually, spots of light flicked on, flames dancing in lantern cages hung from string and chain, hooked to various edges and into weaker materials.
"I guess I just follow them." He sighed.
Above Reidnott was a similar lantern swinging lifelessly. No spark or flame danced in its prison; instead, the faint sound of creaking, wagons and horses, the ensemble mixing with a rising crescendo of crickets and cicadas.
"Halt!"
Reidnott jolted and yanked back the reins in his hands. The horses shuddered to a halt, and the wagon kept bucking forward for a second before finally giving in.
'Who—?!'
A shadow shifted in Reidnott's periphery, and he reflexively swung to meet it.
There, familiar blonde hair welcomed his eyes as it climbed to the wagon's driver seat.
"Hey."
Mitchel's usual face grew from the darkness, his downturned cheeks still pitching some of the shadows he brought with him.
"Got something. Make some space." Mitchel said with a flat, emotionless tone. His grunts spilled out as he pulled the rest of his body up and pushed into the seat, only for those grunts to crawl back in with deep breaths.
"What is it?" Nott shifted to the side, giving plenty of room for Mitchel's larger frame to relax into.
"And so the lord said:" Mitch's voice pitched up gradually to appear more playful, "let there be light!"
Nott sat there blinking for a moment, his skin turned pale with surprise. Nott didn't understand the joke, nor did the notion of them fit Mitchel's appearance or character.
"No?" Mitch asked. His face straightened, almost sucking in his lips to hide from the awkwardness. "Alright."
He pulled out something resembling a small stick, stuck it to his tongue for a handful of seconds, then raised it into the lantern above them.
Tck-TKSHHHH
The lantern's wick sparked and grew a small but bright flame that danced wickedly. Its performance was reflected in Nott's wide eyes, which stared deep into the red and orange flickers.
"How did he?" The words escaped from Nott's mouth in a prison escape, crawling into Mitchel's ears.
The giant had just created fire from nothing—or rather—from a tiny stick covered in spit. It may as well have just been a splinter rather than a stick.
Mitchel looked at him, unamused with furrowed brows. "Did you hit your head?" He asked whilst motioning a fist knocking against his skull.
"You're acting like you've never seen a Firinn's magic before." Mitchel continued, letting his eyebrows burrow deeper with his frown. "And I know you have because I use it often."
Genuinely, this was news to Nott.
Of course it was.
He was only truly born into this world today, so everything and everyone was new to him. But this didn't stop Nott from growing curious, like his marrow drew to all things new or stranger.
"Could you tell me about it... Your magic? And maybe your people?"
Mitchel pushed out his chest, almost like pride for his people was trying to dig out of his torso and scream at the small boy. "I can. But give me the reins, your steering is going to get us lost."
Nott paused before hesitantly handing over the leather reins. His eyes were watching closely at Mitchel's movements as the giant took them.
"Trot!" Mitch commanded the horses like a general sending his men to charge, loosening the reins and giving them a small flick upward to tap against the horses in a travelling wave.
The wagon shuddered into a slow motion and began moving again. The sun was now behind the mountains, and the world was pitched in growing shadows, exaggerating the light from the lanterns, revealing a volume of faint fog spawning.
"Firinn's are a distant subrace of Giants."
Mitch's low and deep voice grew with his words.
"We kept some of their magic... but most of it is gone. Now we're limited to weak invocations that require some sort of sacrifice. Like the fire that requires my saliva."
Every syllable and vowel seemed to echo with Nott like a chain growing stronger, trying its hardest to hold the two together by Fate.
"The Firinn are giants who walk among men, known for their deep connection to the primal forces of nature."
"We were born from the Earth's mantle in the aftermath of a holy war."
Their lives are spent often isolated and at other times just distant. Sticking to quieter areas away from the noise of cities. Or they travel with small caravans like Mitchel, searching for sacred lands rich with magic to fuel their lives and give them the strength to use stronger incantations.
Their bodies try to hold on to trace amounts of magic around them that fade and escape as the Firinn age and manipulate it. At first, it's only by hairline fractions, but it stacks, and it wears out their body bit by bit.
And when a Firinn dies...
It's said that sites of burials where a Firinn passed are decorated with life where it shouldn't, as the last of their magic spills into the area and taints it with lush beauty. The only evidence that they were there is a statue of stone, without detail to its face or fingers, scars only etched by cracks, and hair turned to moss and vine.
"I'm still young though. So I have plenty of time to play around." Mitch chuckled to himself. He was far from transparent about it, but pretended not to care.
Nott's voice turned stern, his eyes were cold but not hostile. "And what about when it is too late? When you're older and can't take risks?"
Mitch's eyelids fell for a second, and his grip tightened on the reins, drawing in a heavy breath to feed his thoughts.
Then he let them climb back up and meet with Nott's in a turn. His face remained the same, but the aura around him turned mildly bitter. "Then it's just that. It's too late. And I return to the Earth, like every other before me, and every other after."
The giant's hands shifted to steer the horses gently, their grip returning to their looser state. The air churned and swelled in a mess of silence with the fog.
"Thanks... for sharing with me." Nott whispered, half hoping it wouldn't reach Mitchel.
Mitch shifted and let his voice drop soft and limp. "Just satisfying the endless curiosity of an Ealarai..."
"A what—UH-OOOF!"
The wagon came to a complete stop in a sudden instant, almost throwing the two out of their seats.
"Ugh-what the hell happened?" Nott groaned.
What he saw ahead of him was two horses with their ears folded back, standing so still it looked like they were frozen in time. If it weren't for the subtle twitching and tensing muscles, Nott might have believed that was the case.
"Hey what's going on? Why did they stop?" Nott asked, keeping his eyes on the strangely acting horses.
Only silence met his question, failing to quench its curiosity.
"Mitchel?"
He turned to look at Mitchel, his eyes dragging with inertia, still lingering toward the horses for a moment before rubber banding back into place.
In front of him, Mitchel was sitting just as the horses were. His body straightened and perked up. Muscles twitched under his skin, pinching at nerves in a panic. And his eyes stared straight ahead, widely to fit a party of emotions.
Fear. Panic. Confusion.
"Hey, Mitchel, what's wrong?"
Mitchel's lips broke free from the spell, seemingly holding him in place. Each word from them was densely packed with a sense of urgency. "Wake up Agnes and Thyra. Now."
"?.... Why?"
"NOW!" Mitchel scowled and yelled at Nott. His body was still frozen upright, acting like it had grown a consciousness.
"Alright!" Nott returned the yell, only to let his voice trail off into a mumble. "I'm on it..."
He climbed down and jumped onto the dirt below, then wrapped around into a small hollowed-out section of the wagon. Thyra was already awake there, shaking Agnes to get up as well.
"What's the matter out there, and where did such a thick fog come from?" Thyra asked out to Nott as she helped Agnes up to her feet.
'Fog?'
The blood and warmth left Nott's skin, and a cold sweat broke out in their place.
It had taken Thyra to mention it before he noticed, but they were surrounded by a heavy fog that cradled the area around the wagon.
And what's worse: he couldn't see the pathway ahead of the horses, let alone any lanterns.
"When did that... Just a moment ago, it was barely even there." Nott muttered to himself.
Agnes' tired voice broke over his mumbling. "Nott? What's going on? Did you get us lost?"
"No. Mitchel took over the steering a while ago..." Nott answered, "he wants us all awake. Looks like he's frozen in shock at the front."
"Oh.. okay. Let's go then."
The girls climbed out of the wagon and joined Nott. Their faces paled just as much as the boys when they saw the reality of the fog around them.
It was deep and unnatural. And the air was too cold. Too still. Too quiet.
The crickets and cicadas were gone. No crows could be heard stalking in the distance. And not a sound or sight of the caravan they were with broke through the heavy fog barrier.
They were alone.
Their footsteps against gravel and dirt seemed to boom through the night as they stepped to the front of the wagon, finding Mitchel still stuck in place with twitching muscles.
"Mitchel..?" Agnes reached out to him with her voice. "What's going on?"
And Mitchel responded, his voice low and rumbling under an invisible pressure. "I've only felt this once or twice before. It should be possible! It can't be possible."
Agnes and Nott exchanged dubious looks with each other. The man was speaking crazy. Unfortunately, it was just crazy enough to be reality.
"What is it? What do you sense?" Thyra asked. Her usual gentle voice was gone. Instead, it was precise and surgical, like she knew his mannerisms better than he did himself.
Mitchel's head turned, and his body twisted, finally breaking free from the shackles of shock and regaining control. But his eyes stayed starstruck.
Again, his voice broke the quiet shakily to reply.
"Divine presence... I sense a divine presence. I sense a God."