6. Owen

Owen

The sound of thunder rolled through Owen's ears. At first, he thought he was dead and his spirit was back in the Vale, but when something wet hit his face, he opened his eyes and squinted. He blinked slowly until he saw dull gray clouds overhead and felt another drop on his cheek. He inhaled sharply. The smell of damp earth filled his senses, making him dizzy. This was a smell he knew too well, like a distant memory.

He looked over to find Colt beside him, rolling slowly to his stomach. With shaking limbs, Owen tried to sit up. When his stomach pulled, a wave of nausea came over him, and he laid back again. His hand passed over his face as the blood surged in his head. He took several breaths against the bile rising in his throat, and when the nausea passed, he opened his eyes again.

Colt crawled to Owen on his arms and put a hand around his waist as he leaned over him. Owen smiled painfully as they embraced.

"We made it," Owen mumbled into his shirt. "We made it, Colt."

"You alright?" Colt held onto him as if something would separate them.

"I think so, are you? "

"Yeah…" They sat up to look around at the graveyard below them. The sky was dim, and Owen could tell through the thick clouds that it was evening.

He cocked his head as a dirty red cloth caught his eye. A Legion flag rippled in the wind beneath a puddle of water. Strands of dark curly hair blew out from beneath the flag, and two boots poked out at the bottom. Owen's body shook violently as the memory of Gilda's death came back to him. He puffed out several breaths and scrambled to his feet.

"Owen, what's wrong?" Colt stood and grabbed him, but Owen pulled away.

"It's her!" he cried. "She's still here! Colt, it's her!"

Colt looked over and squinted. "Owen," he said, his voice calm, "stay here, alright? Don't move."

Owen buried his face in his hands until he heard a shuffling noise, and then frantically covered his ears, hoping to drown out any sounds of Colt moving Gilda's body. When Colt put a hand on his shoulder, he jumped and looked up.

"Owen, it's not her," Colt told him, a sigh of relief in his voice. "It's just a flag and dirt."

Owen let out an expulsion of air that was half crying, half laughing.

"But…" Colt looked into his eyes. "I did find her grave."

Fresh tears streamed down Owen's face, and he let out a breath of relief. Colt laced their fingers together and squeezed. After a moment, Owen said, "Take me to it."

They came down the hill to find a fresh mound of dirt. There was a rock placed at the head of it, with Gilda's charm necklace of a moon and star hanging around it. On the mound were her steel knuckles she'd used to fight with .

Owen sank to his knees and put a hand on the burial mound. He hung his head and let his tears flow freely, the dirt soaking them up. "Someone dug her a grave…" he whispered.

"Maybe Brom. He's out there somewhere."

It could have been Brom, but there was a lingering sense of cinnamon, which Owen wondered at. After a moment, he looked up and sniffled. The graveyard stretched around them for miles, seemingly endless. A few tattered tents sat nearby, the faded Legion symbol of the Core on the fabric, and a pile of something was near it. There was no Horgg in sight, and a strangely peaceful breeze ruffled Owen's hair.

After a few moments, Owen looked east, remembering the fight as it unraveled just before he'd opened the Gate with his…

"The dagger!" Owen shouted. "Colt, it might still be here!"

Owen jumped to his feet and climbed the hill to the Gate. Joining him, Colt pushed the two doors closed, and a loud thud echoed.

Breathing hard, Owen stared at the empty keyhole. The dagger wasn't there. He began moving stones and debris, frantically looking on the ground around the Gate.

They searched for over ten minutes, until the icy rain picked up.

"Owen, I don't see it," Colt said, huffing white into the freezing air. "Maybe someone took it with them when they left. Maybe Brom has it."

"If he's alive," Owen said ruefully.

"Can you sense him?"

Owen closed his eyes and felt for Brom's energy. He couldn't pick up the scent of pine, but after another moment, a flicker of Brom's life energy sparked deep inside Owen's chest. He opened his tired eyes and said, "He's alive. I just don't know where he is. "

The sound of padding feet surrounded them. As the shadows deepened, Owen made out the shapes of several shadow graugs coming their way. Their red eyes pierced the cold evening, and saliva dripped from their mouths.

Owen turned until he and Colt were back-to-back. He brought up his left hand, and purple fire sprang from his palm. It spiraled to the creature and engulfed it, and the beast wailed pitifully before collapsing in the dirt.

More feet padded along the ground, and soon, they were surrounded by more red-eyed beasts than he could count. Owen pressed his back to Colt's and held his hands out. The adrenaline flowed through his body, and he flexed his fingers to ready his power.

The beasts came at them, attacking one by one. The purple glow of fire filled Owen's vision as Colt shot several down with his bow, until howls filled the air. When one of them charged at Owen, he pushed the purple flame from his hands, absorbing the creature in colors of death.

Owen's heart pounded, his veins growing hotter with each attack. Between him and Colt, they managed to create a glowing circle of bodies. But the beasts didn't let up. Instead, several drew forward at one time, seeming to coordinate an organized attack. While Owen burned one, another came from the side. He barely had time to push it away with a burst of air before another charged around him toward Colt.

Colt dove into the beast, and they went down in a tangle.

Owen grabbed hold of the beast with his Essence. With a guttural scream, the fire ran through his veins and spiraled into the creature's chest. Only this time, it didn't catch fire, and instead its body ripped apart .

Hot blood and bits of flesh landed against their faces and hair. Owen looked at the scattered debris of the carcass, then at Colt, who spat and coughed in the dirt.

Bending down, Owen grabbed Colt and turned him around.

The remaining beasts held back, sensing their battle could not be won. Owen's relief surged through him, as he felt too weary to continue fighting. As the beasts loped away through the graveyard, Owen caught sight of his bloody hands and arms. Flecks of flesh were stuck to him. The sight was gruesome, even more so with the scattered body parts surrounding him. It was all too much, and Owen leaned over and vomited. Colt's comforting hand smoothed along his back, and for a moment, Owen breathed in and out deeply to steady himself. Then he let Colt help him straighten up.

He never wanted to use his Essence in that way again.

"Give me your hands," Colt said.

As Owen caught his breath, he held his trembling hands out to Colt, who took them in his own and cleaned them with a handkerchief.

"We have to keep moving," Colt told him.

"But the dagger—"

"It's not here, Owen." Colt fixed him with his eyes. "We can't keep searching for it. We're useless if we're dead." When Owen looked away in defeat, Colt gently cupped the side of his neck. "We can't stay here. Mordren will be coming out of that Gate at any second with his army."

The Arroki.

That's what Shirkh had told them shortly before they passed through the Gate. That his army marched for the living world to conquer it and drain it of souls. There was more here at stake than simply trying to stop an evil tyrant of a god. They had a whole army of undead soldiers—Arroki—to destroy as well.

Owen looked at Gilda's burial mound and nodded slowly. "Alright."

Colt pulled up his bag he'd found on the ground, then picked up his bow and quiver, which were beside it.

"We need food and water," Colt said. "Someplace to rest out of this cold. We should go to Bridge's house."

Owen looked to the east, where he knew Bridge's house stood, but the last thing he wanted was to endanger the family further. "No. They helped us, and Rem took his family hostage."

"But before we left, we took out Rem's men." Colt peered down at him. "Owen, we have to get out of this cold, away from these monsters."

His shoulders slumped in defeat as it dawned on him that Colt was right. Nodding, Owen said, "Alright, but if they make us leave, that's it. We've brought too much pain upon them." He recalled Bridge and Agnes' daughter, Nel, being shot in the leg by Rem.

They moved forward as the sky grew dark. Their plan to find the dagger was foiled. He turned his attention instead to finding Brom. Even if he couldn't pick up his companion's pine energy, he knew he was still alive, connected to him in some way, and that alone made him feel better.

As night fell, creatures of darkness skirted out of their hiding places but stayed clear of Owen and Colt. Perhaps it was the stink of the carcasses on their clothing. They were filthy, and Owen was sure their clothes weren't salvageable.

They made their way through the graveyard in the dark until they found a mausoleum that was intact enough to take shelter in. A gate with ornate ironworks latched closed at the mausoleum entrance. Hopefully, their rancid smell and the iron gate would keep the night beasts at bay. Even so, little sleep was to be had. Owen's fur-lined cloak wasn't thick enough to keep the sting of the freeze out, so he used his fire to warm them both.

Colt pushed bones away from the wall and sat against it with a heavy grunt. His arm wrapped around Owen's waist and pulled him close. As Colt dozed, Owen tried his best to keep his eyes open and the flame going in his left hand, but the fire drained his energy, and his eyes drooped. Then finally, he fell asleep.

When he woke up, the dawn light spilled into the mausoleum. He was lying against Colt's shoulder, the bristle of his beard catching Owen's hair. Colt was still asleep, his head leaned back against the wall and his mouth open, snoring softly.

Owen winced when he lifted his head from Colt's shoulder. Every muscle was sore, and all his joints were stiff. He shook Colt awake, and it took his lover a moment to be fully alert.

"I don't want to spend another night in this graveyard," Owen told him solemnly.

"Bridge's house is no more than a half day's walk," Colt replied. "We can keep moving until we get there."

Nodding, Owen left the shelter with Colt. Creatures great and small seemed to take little notice of them. Most were moving toward the north, which made Owen curious.

When they reached Bridge and Agnes's house in the early evening, they found the house still standing. Though the windows were cracked, the front door was wide open. No one was there, but the place had been cleaned of food, books, blankets, and other items. Owen hoped it was because Bridge and his family had packed up and left.

There were bloodstains on the wall near the hearth and broken plates and glass on the floor. He knew Colt, Gilda, and Brom had killed the Hunters that had held them hostage, when Rem had found them and taken Owen with him to open the Gate.

An ache formed in Owen's head. It felt better when he closed his eyes and sat down in one of the chairs at the table.

"I hope they're alright," he said.

"I'm sure they are." Colt leaned down before Owen and rested his hands on the arms of the wooden chair. It creaked under his weight, and Owen glanced up at him, meeting his hazel eyes in the dim light.

"How you feeling?" Colt asked.

"My head hurts."

Colt smoothed his hand against Owen's temple and said, "You can lay down soon and get some rest. I'm gonna go see if there's firewood in the cellar, maybe some food. That should help. You wanna check up here for food or supplies?"

"Yes." Owen tried to smile, but he found it hard to do, and instead looked down. When he felt Colt's lips kiss his cheek, Owen closed his eyes, his skin heating at the touch.

After Colt went outside, Owen looked around the house. He ran his fingers along the table they had shared a few meals at and then walked into the kitchen, where Agnes's herbs hung from the batten overhead. The cupboards were bare, but he opened a few boxes under the table and looked behind an empty shelf. Nothing of use had been left behind.

He wandered to the back room they had stayed in before. Inside was the cot Owen had slept on when he was injured and the other bed that Gilda had used. It was a simple room with little adornment. Gilda's bed had a thin straw mattress and a worn green blanket. The home was cold, and Owen pulled the blanket from the bed to wrap around himself. As the fabric slid over the mattress, he heard something fall to the floor. Crouching to see what it was, his eyes widened, and he gasped.

There, beneath the bed, was his canvas shoulder bag. Dropping to his belly, Owen reached under the bed and grabbed the strap, pulling the bag toward him. He threw the flap open and nearly cried when he saw his new journal, his father's journal, and folklore book all still inside.

When Colt came back with firewood, he arranged it in the hearth and struck a match he'd also found in the cellar.

"Colt… look what I found."

Colt turned from the hearth and glanced at the bag Owen held. "Where did you find it?"

"It was beneath the bed Gilda slept in. She must've hidden it there before you all left."

Colt's eyes softened. "She looked out for you. Well, all of us, but mostly you."

A bittersweet sadness swept over him as he clutched his bag to his chest. Gilda was like a mother to him, to all of them. Already, he missed her sweet words of comfort and snarky remarks.

"I found some peaches in the cellar," Colt said. "Four jars."

"Oh, good." He looked down at himself and made a sour face at his soiled clothes and dirty skin. "We should wash ourselves."

"We can wash at the well real quick."

After the fire was going strong, they walked outside to the well, bringing the blanket with them to dry off with. They shed their bloody clothes until they were both bare, then pulled up the bucket from the well and used the water to wash themselves of the blood and grime.

Owen let out a hiss from the frigid water. The sharp bite of the wind froze him, and now his whole body was so cold, his bones ached. Colt took up the blanket and dried Owen's hair with it. When Colt removed it, Owen glanced up at him tiredly, eyes searching his lover's face as his teeth chattered. Colt dried himself quickly, then wrapped the blanket around Owen, and they made their way back to the house.

Owen looked over at the sea and shivered violently as the breeze drifted his way. "If I wasn't so tired, I'd say we should go down to the springs."

"I know. I'm just ready to sleep myself," Colt said.

When they came back to the room, Owen plopped down on the bed near the window.

"You look a little pale," Colt said and felt Owen's face with the back of his hand.

"I feel weak," Owen responded. "And my head hurts so much, I feel sick."

"Maybe the peaches will bring your energy back up." Colt grabbed a jar and popped the lid open, then he poured the contents into a wooden bowl he'd nabbed from the kitchen.

Owen pulled his hands out of the blanket enough to eat from their bowl, keeping the fabric over his head so that he was completely wrapped. The peaches were sweet and delicious, and he groaned as a drop of juice ran down his chin. If he could stomach anything when he felt worn down, it was fruit.

"Got a bit of juice here." Colt smiled crookedly and swiped the juice from Owen's chin with his thumb, then licked it off his finger.

A tingle rushed down Owen's body, pulling at his stomach. He let out a soft laugh and wiped his mouth before he ate another slice. His eyes roved Colt's bare body, admiring the toned muscles in his arms. He wanted to run his hands over him and feel him close .

"That was good." Colt licked his fingers. "There are a few more in the cellar, so we should eat as much as we can. You want some more?"

"No…" Owen let out a breath as Colt got to his feet. He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering down his naked body. Even with the ache in his head, his heart still raced as the fine golden hairs on Colt's arms and chest caught the firelight.

I'm glad he's so comfortable around me.

As Colt pulled on his trousers, Owen got up and rummaged through his bag to pull out one of his two remaining shirts and his last pair of brown trousers. They both dressed and settled into the bed, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, Owen felt warm as he curled up next to Colt. He placed his hand on Colt's chest, and Colt took his hand and held it.

Owen didn't want to think of anything. Not the Vale, or Rem, or Gilda, or wondering where Brom, Bridge, and Agnes all were. He didn't want to think of Mordren and whether the evil god had left the Unseen Vale, or where the dagger was. He only wanted to sleep, for the sharp pounding in his head to stop.

And finally, it did.