Archie and Michael walked the length of the camp. It was clear that even in the main tent, the separation between powers was just as prevalent, as colored tents of each of the three major houses were segregated around the black-stoned ruins of the bones of the gods. However, seeing the ruins for the first time left a shiver down Michael’s spine.

The Bones of the Gods were a literal hole in the world, lined with Blackstone. Four black pillars rose and arched around the entranceway like brittle arms, a ribcage, or bony fingers, but did not impede the circumference of the pit. Michael estimated the opening was large enough to pilot a shuttlecraft down effortlessly, but the fog from within was too dense to see how far it went down.

The two spoke in hushed English so as not to raise suspicion among the passersby. “Spiral staircase?” Michael asked.

“Oh no, raised platform all the way from the bottom.” Archie corrected. As the two debated just how the locals ‘entered’ the ruins. Priests from the Svart Augu were mostly positioned as guards around the site, and no one was allowed entry until the time was deemed proper. The blind priests stood vigil around the ruins with staffs in their hands, which the pair’s scanning gloves identified as some sort of energy weapon, which further ratified why even the mightiest of armies could not take this ‘holiest’ of sites.

There was a pulse of energy in the air. It had been happening almost every half hour now, and so close to the core, one could visibly see the power surging into the Bones of the Gods, as the forcefield around Heilagt Auga shimmered each time the awakening pulsed.

“That one ranged 1.71 Terrawatts,” Archie reported, looking up at the sky.

“It might be our only chance to get a message out to the fox. If it keeps increasing, I doubt their shield will hold.” Michael mentioned.

“Lord Michael.” Came the telling voice of Arnorr. “Your dwelling has been prepared.” The priest called from higher up on the hill. Michael waved in acknowledgment as he and Archie began the ascent to meet with him.

“Thank you, Arnorr. For all your kindness.” Archie spoke.

Arnorr paid him no mind and turned to face Michael. “Given the…displeasure shown by the Raudulfur, we have placed your residential accommodations on the other side of the valley, between the Gulr Hrafn and Blar Skjaldbaka. I hope they are to your liking.” He stated with a bow, pointing off in the distance.

Michael and Archie could see that the square between the patches of gold and blue tents was a single large tent, the same size as the meeting tent itself, but draped in gray cloth. A larger, more profound banner was raised outside of it, with a more detailed depiction of a fox’s head. “Your handiwork?” Michael asked.

“On behalf of the Synsmadr’s wishes, the Svart Augu will strive to provide you with equal accommodations as the other contestants. However, smoothing over political relations rests in your hands.” Arnorr reported matter-of-factly. “Should we simply step in and dictate terms on your behalf, could further complicate matters, and disrupt the ritual. I hope you understand.”

“Of course. Thank you again for all of your assistance.” Michael agreed, placing his hands together and bowing to the priest, who simply turned and walked away.

Archie was examining the ‘new’ banner in front of the tent, “Not bad for blind priests. But I think I prefer Nidi’s work.”

“Come on, let’s check it out,” Michael confirmed, pushing the tent’s entry flap aside.

The inside of the tent was lavish, to say the least. There were four sections in total to the interior; the entryway was lined with storage cupboards, clothing, armor, and weapons racks. To the left was a table with bench seating, bowls, and baskets of various fruits, meats, and breads were laid out, with three pitchers of drink behind. Across from that, on the right, was an iron bathing basin, several barrels of water, and a moving kettle stove to warm the bath. And at the back of the tent, separated by sheer drapes that hung from the top, was what looked like a single large mattress, piled with pillows and sleek blankets.

“They don’t expect us to share, do they?” Archie asked, looking at the bed.

“I don’t think they are registering you at all.” Michael finally addressed.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Their blind psychics. You have no emotions to read, and they can’t see your form. That’s why Arnorr doesn’t address you. And remember the Synsmadr’s vision? It saw me, and ‘phantoms’ at my side, you and Romen. Meaning whatever was able to identify my language was able to identify you and him as non-biological. THAT’S why I have to be the one to go.” Michael rationalized. They had been off and on arguing about who should ‘compete’ if only one could be chosen. Arnorr’s indifference to Archie was the fresh salt on the preverbal wound that was Michael’s justification.

Archie shook his head in defeat. As much as he didn’t want to put Michael at risk, this time being the hologram was the handicap. He began to open his mouth to admit as such when he noticed Michael’s head snap towards the bed. The look on his face was stern and focused.

Michael held up a hand to silence the hologram as he peered into the sheets, his mind awakened to the thoughts and sounds around him. Tapping the amulet around his neck and reactivating the universal translator, Michael began to speak once again in Brynarians. “Archie, my steward, please visit Hakon, and see if he has a bottle of that sweet vintage he mentioned to us earlier.” He put on, turning to the dining area.

Archie remained frozen, unsure of what was going on. Seeing Michael activate his universal translator, he was able to activate his as well without gesture. “Of course, sir, was that the Red, or the Yellow drink that caught your eye?” the X.O. responded, referencing Starfleet Alert Status to try and better gauge why his Commander was all of a sudden putting on a show.

“Oh, the yellow one for sure,” Michael responded right away. He had collected a cup from the table and found the barrel with a tea-like liquid to fill his cup. His eyes darted from Archie to the bed to indicate he had noticed something.

“You sure you wouldn’t like to come with sir? Lord Hakon’s hospitality was very welcoming.” Archie asked, not sure why Michael would send him away if he felt something was off in their dwelling.

Michael took a drink from the cup, finding the tea a bit too bitter for his liking, and set the cup down on the table. “Oh no, only need one to handle this, and…” he continued to speak, moving over to the entrance and removing his weapons belt, “I think I’d like a few moments of privacy.” Overall, Michael’s mannerisms had relaxed, as he started towards the bed and turned to face his aide. With his back turned, he silently mouthed “[-it’s fine, just wait outside-]” he relayed, pointing to his weapons’ belt.

Archie finally understood and bowed at his lord’s request. Before departing, he ‘adjusted’ Michaels’ weapon belt on the rack, and activated the communicator, which linked directly to Archie, allowing him to listen in as he left the tent.

Michael returned to the dining table and searched for some of the seasonings for a sweetener. Finding an appeasing substitute, he mixed it in with his tea and gave it a swirl and a taste. Satisfied, he turned, not looking at the bed area, and spoke aloud. “He’s gone. You can come out now…”

There was motion from under the sheets, as a figure appeared to rise on the bed. It approached and parted the sheer coverings, revealing a stunning woman scantily clad in ivory silks. She was young, probably early twenties, with long blond hair and stunning green eyes. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, and as she turned her back to close the curtains, Michael could see the shimmer of a translucent tattoo of a large raven all along her back.

“How did you know I was there?” She asked, her voice soft and seductive.

“Like the brethren of the Svart Augu, I too possess sight unseen…” He admitted, removing his sunglasses and setting them on the table, “…though I did not have to lose my vision as they did.” He continued, looking her up and down, appreciating the moment for what it was worth. “Didn’t leave much to the imagination, did you?”

The woman smiled, steadily approaching, “Even if you’ve seen a sword a thousand times, there is no greater thrill than unsheathing it yourself.” She teased. She was now face-to-face with Michael, who remained motionless to her approach. Her hands reached up to his face, caressing his hair and tracing down to his temples.

There was a moment when Michael wanted to enjoy this. He had caught a glimpse of her anticipation hiding in the bed earlier. She was excited, nervous, and anxious, but nothing indicated threat or malice. She wanted to get close to him, but he couldn’t understand why just yet. It wasn’t until her hands were on his head that he realized what she was after.

There was a faint psychic shock, as if the girl was somehow trying to force her way into his mind. The sensation was not evasive, at least not deliberately. It’s as if she simply tried to walk into his thoughts without knocking, and stumbling with the doorknob first. The shocking part was simply that she was doing so, as there was no indication that any Brynarians, outside of what little psionic sensitivity the Svart Augu had shown, were telepathic.

Michael instinctively grabbed her outstretched hand by the wrist and held her in place as she attempted to recoil in fear. “I’m sorry!” she reluctantly squealed, trying to pull away. But Michael drew her in closer, his eyes locked onto her own as his mental powers surged inward for answers. The black eyes of the Betazoid stared deep into the girl’s own, as he mentally echoed in her mind, “How…did you do that?”

It took several minutes for the girl to calm down enough to start answering questions, and Michael had shown her good faith in sharing his drink with her, as the two now sat at the dining table.

“My name is Vigdis, and I am the daughter of Ravkina. I was instructed to come here to seduce you, and claim your seed so that our line may restore the dying power of the gods.” She began to explain.

Michael had to clear his throat. He knew Ravkina had stated her intent to ‘acquaint herself’ with him, but he didn’t expect jumping straight to son-in-law status. “Ok… you’re going to need to back up and explain ‘how” you got this power, before we even start to discuss ‘restoring’ it.” Michael stammered, almost as embarrassed by the proceedings as Vigdis was.

“Generations ago, when Gulr Hrafn was first founded, it was visited by a Nemandi. However, this priest was injured during their visit and was left in a catatonic state. We tried to heal the priest, but nothing helped. The queen at the time, who had been tasked with his care, had become enamored with the priest and secretly bedded him before he passed. She bore the priest’s child, who was said to possess the same powers as the reigning councilmen of the Svart Augu.”

“We have carried this power through the royal bloodline and used it to solidify our house, but it has become progressively weaker. My mother must be standing near someone to read them, and I can only use it when physically touching them. When Ravkina got close to you this afternoon, she knew you possessed the same abilities, so she hoped to use you to restore the power in future generations.”

Michael sat dumbfounded for a moment as he processed the audacity of the Golden Banner. “Ok…uhm…first off, I’m flattered. You seem like a very, ahem…lovely lady.” Michael stumbled to find the words. As he shook his head, he noticed his belt hanging and remembered Archie was listening to every word of this painfully awkward ordeal. “Don’t you say a damn word of this to anyone!” Michael quietly snapped in English to the eavesdropping hologram, who he was sure was rolling in laughter over the ordeal. Switching back to Brynar, he started to continue, “…but I don’t think –this– is the right…”

“Rundolf is planning to hold a vote to reject your admittance to the Bones of the Gods at the end of the Awakening.” Vigdis blurted out.

Michael paused, looking at the girl in confusion.

“I was told that if you were pious and rejected my advance, to tell you Rundolf tends to stage a coup to force the Svart Augu’s hand to reject you, and that by accepting our terms, my mother will vote in your favor.”

“Ok, first off, I’m not Pious. Any other circumstances, I would…I mean, I’m not –rejecting– you per se…I mean…” Michael faltered once more. He could hear the obvious sounds of faint, stifled British laughter outside the tint, causing him to glare towards the communicator again, “I can HEAR YOU, asshat!” he growled in English once more, only to hear the laughter drop all pretense of muffling.

Internally writhing, Michael balled his fists, but relaxed them once more, and set his hands on the table, taking Vigdis’s hands in his own. The connection allowed her a glimpse of the genuine feelings Michael had at the moment, as well as increase his own mental awareness into her own mind.

The scary part was, Vigdis was telling the truth; she was genuine in all of her words, including the threat of Rundolf. But the act she had come here to do caged her heart like an animal, torn between duty to her mother and her true emotions, pain slowly leaked from her every heartbeat.

“Look. You and I know…you feel like you have to do this. But you don’t want to.” Michael began. He could see flashes of memories in her mind, the pressing lecture from her mother, and a warm, loving embrace of another man. Michael’s eyes once more locked onto her own, as he peered into her soul, and through their contact, Vigdis could see this happening as well. “There is another your heart belongs to.”

As he spoke, the vision became clearer. They both could see Vigdis sneaking into a red tent, embracing a young man in red armor, with tears in her eyes. “What’s his name?” Michael asked.

“His name is Bui. He is Rundolf’s son and this year’s Raudulfur Champion. I knew this would be the last time I’d see him, but I hoped to carry on his legacy, not yours.” She admitted, tears reforming in her eyes.

“Why would this be the last time you see him?” Michael questioned.

“This rite is a joke. Every year, champions descend into the Bones of the Gods, but none ever return. That’s why Rundolf’s over the edge this year. He, too, knows he will lose his son to this, but his own bannermen demand he sacrifice something for once, and he can’t lose face to his own generals, or face an uprising of his own.” She answered with quivering words.

Michael took a deep breath as he tried to take all this information in, without relaying his frustration telepathically. “Ok…Look. Let’s make a deal, you and I? Huh? You don’t want to do this, I -cant- do this. But, you have to…come back with something. So go to Bui, be with the man you love, even if this might be the last time.”

“But my mother! She will know of our treachery as soon as she see—” Vigdis tried to dispute, but Michael silenced her.

“I am far more powerful than you and your mother think. And I can -make- her see what I want her to see. She will be none the wiser. I’ll get my support, and you get your true love. Deal?” Michael relayed to her telepathically.

Vigdis sniffled and nodded, wiping the tears from her face. She rose from the seat and kissed Michael on the cheek. “Thank you, M’lord.” She expressed as she quickly departed the tent.

Michael remained at the table, burying his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

There was a chirp from across the room, his communicator, which hung hidden on his belt. “Energy Pulses are now 20 minutes apart, and increased to 2 Terrawatts,” Archie informed.

They didn’t have much time left, and the troubles were only multiplying…

[To be Continued]