He found nothing.
“If we could just figure out how to kill off the demon side of her, get rid of it, I know the curse would break. The entirety of it is centered around her bloodlust.”
“It is not a matter of killing off a piece of her,” Haldis began. “Each side of her is clutched within the grip of the other, fighting for dominance. The curse has heightened the hold they have over one another, to the point that Oriana believes them to be separate from one another. But they are not.”
Garren narrowed his eyes at the elderly woman’s words, trying to understand what she was saying.
“Together, good and evil war with one another, invoking a question of what is right versus what is wrong. It is the same with humanity. We are all half moral and half wicked. We each have a choice of which we will allow to reign; we listen to our own conscience to decide for ourselves what we will do. God or mortal, we are all two halves of a whole.” She paused, thinking of her next words before continuing. “But Oriana is ruled by the fear of her bloodlust. She thinks it is stronger, but it is not. The curse has only made her fear a reality. Oriana is not truly gone when the monster emerges; she is just lying dormant, ruled by the curse.” Haldis’s eyes glazed over with memory for a moment. “I’ve seen it for myself, seen her within the monster, cowering behind its eyes. She is not fully gone during the full moon–she cannot be–for the two sides are still one and the same.”
“So how do we bring her out? How do we break the curse?” Garren frowned, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, wearier now than he had been during the entire past month of research.
“The key to breaking it is in the curse itself,” Haldis mused. “The words are significant. They shape it. All words have meaning. But we could remain here, continuing to speak the words of the curse aloud and they would hold no more meaning to us than they did a week ago.”
Garren’s gaze lingered on the orange blaze of the fire as he mulled over Haldis’s words. The words of the curse stated that under the full moon, her bloodlust would be set free to feed and would do so until the tenth crimson moon, unless she made the choice to return to Anthes’s side. All of this they knew, but there had to be something they were missing, something significant, as Haldis had put it. She was right; they could keep going over it, but they weren’t Gods, and didn’t understand their world.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Haldis?”
“Answers will not be found in our world, Garren. We have exhausted our resources. It is now time to reach out to those outside it.” Haldis’s voice was calm, a soothing touch in the storm brewing in Garren’s mind.
“A god,” he breathed. “But how? We are running out of time. How would one even contact a god? And who would even answer the call if I tried?” Garren raked a hand through his hair. It was madness.
“Gods are creatures of power and revenge, Garren.”
He looked at her then, to her face withered with age–wisdom shown on the plains of her features, in every line and spot. He was thankful that she had been in Oriana’s life for the past decades–that Oriana hadn’t been alone.
He knew what he had to do.
Garren walked to Haldis and bent, placing a gentle kiss upon the elderly woman’s forehead. “Thank you, Haldis.”
He moved to leave, but she grabbed his hand, holding on tight. “Save her, Garren. Bring her home safe.”
“I will,” he vowed and left the cottage, heading for the monastery to call on the god of chaos and creation.
As Garren stepped inside the monastery's dimly lit corridor, a sense of foreboding overtook him. The last time he had been in the presence of Orrick, he hadn’t known he was a god. And now it wasn’t the fact that he was a powerful, otherworldly being that sparked Garren’s anxiety; it was the fact that Orrick had been funneling the beasts of death and darkness that he had spent his life destroying into this world. He was the very reason that Garren’s parents were gone, along with so many innocent others. How was he to face the one who had caused so much grief? Orrick was vile, a being of pure, unadulterated evil. Garren feared that if the god came from his call, that he would do something dumb, like try to kill the immortal being of creation and chaos.
“Fuck, what am I doing?” Garren ran a hand through his dark curls, blowing out a breath of frustration. This was a horrendous idea, but like Haldis had said, they had exhausted all other resources. This was their only shot. And from that one moment of being in Orrick’s presence, Garren knew without a doubt that the god was one that would revel in revenge.
Garren walked down the long-arched corridor, glancing at the intricately painted walls depicting the story of the Gods–as this world believed it to be–but he knew the drawings to be false. The real story was more than the people of Svakland could handle. Shit, it was almost more than he could handle.
Garren continued down the passage, attempting to settle his racing heart and cool the heated blood coursing through his body as he made it into the atrium. Streams of sunlight gleamed through the skylight in the center of the domed roof high above, illuminating the place of worship. Directly below it, a large basin sat on the marble floor to collect rainwater, a gift from Mathis. The water was used in religious ceremonies by those who had sworn fealty to the god of sea and storms.
Oriana would have hated it. He remembered her words; the Gods don’t care for anything but themselves and their own power and glory.
He looked then to the towering statues that encircled the room. Each god and goddess stood looking down on the mere mortals below. Lit candles and other godly sacrifices lay at their feet.
He was glad to see that the room was mostly empty, probably due to the late hour. One monk lingered, having just stood up from the base of Hylda’s statue–Oriana’s mother, he realized, still in awe of that fact. It all seemed so unreal.
Garren approached the monk. “Excuse me, would you be able to help me? I am curious how one might call upon a god and talk to them directly.”
The monk smiled at him, “One cannot speak directly with a god. You must pray to the god, offer them a sacrifice of great value to you. If they approve of your offering, they will show you. They will return your gift with one of their own.”
“What do you mean?” he questioned.
“The Gods do not speak. They show you through their works. They will grant your desire, help someone in need. They show you through this,” the monk said, pointing to his own heart.
Garren attempted not to roll his eyes. This was a pointless conversation. Orrick was not the type of god to speak to your heart. He was more likely to crush it in his palm. Oriana had told him that the Gods couldn’t care less about this world. He didn’t even know why he had asked the monk. Of course, the Gods didn’t come here, nor did they speak to these people. He was on his own then.
“Thank you,” he said to the monk. The man bowed before retreating, leaving Garren alone in a room surrounded by stone Gods.
