Odin's Chains

Instantly, I was blind. I could see nothing, except little pieces of far off places that were hidden from the light in the shadows; an overhang that blocked out light, shadows under bulky objects that hurt to even glance at, and under bushes or trees. Omen pressed against me, pushing me in a direction.
“Oh…I was given this.” He tossed me a pair of dark-lensed glasses. “They’ll help you see.”
I put them on. The little protection they offered gave her enough darkness to see.
There were people everywhere. Their clothes as brightly colored as birds; the sound they made as defining as a dragon’s roar. They rushed by one another, ignoring each other without any sign of respect. There was no obvious rank system; nobody reacted to any one style or color of dress. Dogs were being taken out of cages, loaded into them or put into purses or on tethers. To me, it was pure chaos. People were zipping by, pausing to exchange something with people behind desks. Others sat on benches or metal chairs to eat. Still, there were some not far from her who boarded giant, metal birds with stiff wings and odd, thin and wheeled legs. They walked right onto the tongue, up into the belly and allowed it to swallow them whole!
What a bizarre ritual this is! Sacrificing yourself to metal birds…
Then I looked another direction, and saw the same bird spitting people out.
A strange place this was, a strange place indeed.
“Ma’m?” A man in what appeared to be a uniform. He said something else in a language unfamiliar to me.
I stared blankly at him.
He looked me up and down. Then he hesitantly said “Do you understand me now?” in what sounded like formal Japanese.
“Yes sir.” I answered in the same language.
“Good, good. I understand in Japan the laws are different. Do you have a leash of some kind for your dog?”
Dog?
When I realized he was talking about Omen, it was difficult to burst out laughing. But I answered him very seriously.
“No, sir. He doesn’t even have a collar. I’ve never been in such a big city, and it was never needed.”
“I see. All dogs need to be on a leash or otherwise contained. Also…what kind of dog is this?” He was watching Omen wearily.
I put my hand on him and felt the change in form. Recalling what he’d been last time we’d entered this world, I replied “An Akita-Inu, sir.”
“And he’s never been around so many people?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I need to ask you to put a muzzle around him as well, ma’m. It’s for safety, of course; his and anybody who may pull his tail or step on a paw.”
Horrified, I demanded “Somebody might pull his tail?”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’m. Anything could happen in the city. I’ve seen somebody shoot a dog from Japan.”
Disgusted, I pulled him closer to me. His tail wagged; I could imagine what he was thinking, being so close to my thigh.
“Would you show us to a place to purchase these items, sir?”
“Of course.” He made sure not to tread on Omen’s tail. “He’s a gorgeous dog. Is he just a pet?”
“Guard dog.”
He smiled at him nervously.
“So…he’s trained to bite?”
“Only if somebody hurts me.”
That brought up the muzzle casually and politely again, making me smile.
“Oh, is there somebody picking you up?”
The image of the rouge Necromancer popped into my mind.
“Yes. His name is Lorato; Lorato Desha. He is Japanese-American.”
“You know him?”
“No. He is half-brother. I’ve never met him; I don’t think he’s ever been to Japan.”
We were walking through a crowd; the man began to look at faces while I watched for people who might pull Omen’s tail or shoot him. That would piss me off and really screw things up. After all, Omen was a spirit messenger; he wasn’t alive, and couldn’t die. That would be very odd here if the dog was shot and didn’t even bleed!
“What’s your name, by the way?” He asked, looking the wrong way from the shops.
I almost said my real name. Then I spotted Lorato and saw the name Sylva Desha.
“Sylva Desha.”
“There he is. He can show you the way to the animal gift shop.”
He led me over to Lorato. I bowed formally. As he spoke, I looked him over. He was lean and tall, well balanced with long legs and broad shoulders. His black hair was short and spiked. Given his body set, I wasn’t surprised to see he had the Singer’s light blue eyes. Judging his appearance, he would be around eighteen in human years. In all honesty, he was kind of cute.
“Oh. Hey Sylva. You look younger in the picture.” He smiled, showing me a picture of the last time I’d visited. It’d been four years. Thankfully, he spoke to me in Japanese. I was glad he even knew it – I had only heard English rarely.
“That picture is four years old, Lorato.”
He looked at it, then at her and laughed. “Of course. It’s been that long since you’ve been here?”
“Yes. I don’t have a lot of money.”
That’s no lie…however much I wish it were…
I had only ten gold pieces, five bronze and maybe a silver coin or two. Nothing I owned was American, or human, money. But, in average, that would be roughly twenty U.S. dollars.
“So…what happens now?” I asked, confused.
“You’ve never been picked up before?” He sounded surprised.
I gave another honest answer. “No. I’ve only come here for business. This is my first time.”
His smile grew; I hadn’t though it was possible, but it did.
“Then we need to get your pooch a collar.” He reached out to pet Omen.
He snarled furiously.
“Uh…that’s not a good idea.” I moved between them before Omen could take a finger off. “He’s not a pet; he’s a guard dog. Akita-Inus don’t like strange people.”
“O-oh. What’s his name again? Dragon or whatever?”
“His name is Omen.”
“Alright then; let’s get him something to eat and drink – oh, and a collar.”
“He needs a muzzle, too.”
Lorato stared at Omen like he was the plague. “Is he…dangerous?”
“No. He just isn’t used to big crowds.”
“R-right.”
The guy in uniform must have left us, because we went to the animal gift shop alone. I stared at all the stuff, shivering as the air grew colder. To the right were dog toys; stuffed animals, tug ropes, bones, chews and balls of all shapes and sizes. The light prevented me from seeing any color. To the far wall, I could see leashes, collars and harnesses. The right wall was covered in shelves holding dog food, treats and bowls. Coming to a full circle, I noticed a register. It had a spinning holder with dog training and story books holding them. In the venter isle were beds and cages. I felt Omen shiver at the sight of all of this. The floor was checker-style tile; the ceiling was all white ceiling tiles. All the walls were a fabric, but I couldn’t tell what color they were.
Heading toward the leashes, I pulled Lorato along.
“Uh…I’m color blind…” I muttered to him. “And…I can’t read English very well…”
“How do you do business?” He was aghast.
“Usually, I have a translator.”
“I see…”
We reach the collars. Omen sits down and waits for Lorato to pick out a chain-link collar that would look more reasonable on a bear than Omen.
“No.” I snatched it from him and put it back. “He is a behaved, friendly dog. He just protects me. Omen doesn’t even need a collar or leash; it’s just the law.”
Thoroughly dressed-down, Lorato nods and begins to look at leather collars while I scanned the muzzles. Frowning at the selection, I sighed and moved on to leashes. I would pick one of those cruel things out last.
When I spotted something that looked like a leash with a muzzle, I called Lorato over.
“Oh. That’s a head collar. It’s for dogs who don’t behave.”
“Or dogs who need a muzzle and a leash.” I said and grabbed it. “Now, let’s go.”
“Oh? Do you have food and toys for him in your small suitcase?”
The word toys made Omen growl. Lorato jumped a foot away from his jaws.
“He eats food I make him, and he doesn’t play with toys?”
“Do you guys rough house?” He asked as we headed for the line.
“No. He is a guard dog, not a pet.”
“Then how does he have fun?”
“Fun?” I sighed, frustrated. “He is not that kind of dog, Lorato. He is for protection. When he is off duty, he can go play whatever he wants; usually, he gets some sleep.”
Lorato was shaking his head. I handed the lady my item. She rung it up.
“Do you have any U.S. money?”
“No.”
He paid for it.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“No need. I’ve got plenty; dad’s well off, and he makes sure that I have a ten thousand dollar allowance – every week.”
If he didn’t want more money, fine. I couldn’t afford to pay him, anyway.
Removing the head harness from its package with a pocket knife I’d forgotten I’d had.
“Wow. What do those characters mean?” He pointed at the runes I’d engraved. “I mean, I can speak Japanese, but I can’t really read it.”
“Oh…they mean ‘without death, there is no life’. I engraved it myself.”
He gave me a strange look.
“What?”
“That’s pretty damn dark.”
“It’s only the truth.”
“Damn…”
I followed him out of the store. Thankfully, Omen didn’t seem to mind the head collar too much; he kept at my left heel. If I stopped to let a person in the crowd shove past, he paused too.
“Are you hungry?”
“No. I’ve eaten.”
“Then let’s go home.”
We were quiet as we struggled through the river of humans. I could feel a small amount of Necromancer magic and a high concentration of Demonic energy. Just glancing at people, I could see vampires and werewolves. There was a werewolf in the form of a dog protecting a vampire child, held by a choke collar that forced him to obey. There was a vampire man in the crowd of human women, looking as if he’d break down and kill them all any minute. Demon groups harassed a woman in uniform behind a desk for something I didn’t catch; they were speaking in English.
We were out of the building and into a paved area full of cars. For a moment, I just stood there, trying to think. The amount of people coming and going caused so much noise, Omen stepped back and nearly got run over.
“Common.” Lorato sounded confused. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I…I just hate crowds, is all. They unnerve me.”
How are there so many humans around here? The Demons are nearly overrunning the place! How do they keep reproducing?!
And how was a Necromancer like him still alive?
She stared at him as she followed to a Ford F350. The man had so much power built up it was like he’d never used it in his entire life. It was strange to see it. Was he afraid of his magic? Or did he just purposely never use it? If that was true, how the hell was he already half her power? She’s never seen a male like him with such high energy. Usually, human-world Necromancers were powerful, but their energy was used so often they had nearly no build-up.
Of course, they do gather energy faster because of how often they need to use it. Maybe he’s just not used his energy for a day or two, and it looks like he hasn’t his entire life because of our differences.
“Omen can ride in the truck bed.” He said when we reached it.
“What?”
“There’s not enough room in the cab for him and us. It’s small.” He explained, showing me the cab. He wouldn’t be comfortable, though he’d fit. Omen jumped into the truck bed. Lorato laughed. “See? He prefers the bed anyway.”
“Fine. I don’t blame him.” And I jumped up next to him. Lorato stared at me like I was insane.
“What? It’s cramped in there, and stinks like cigarettes.”
Frowning, the rogue Necromancer got into the cab driver’s seat and began to work through traffic. The hour-long drive took us from the airport to the slums and then up into the rich neighborhood. Lorato stopped at a huge mansion I’d only driven past on my visits to the human world. It was three stories, white with a blue shingles and window panes. There was a huge willow tree in the front yard, along with a fountain pound full of Kio fish. There was a picket fence around it, too. Leading from the gate to the door was a stone path. Halfway to the door was a pebble path leading to and around the pond. Getting out of the truck, Omen and I followed Lorato with a little reluctance. The windows were large, many and appeared to have no drapes. If there were curtains or drapes of any kind, every one of them were pulled back to allow sunlight.
What was wrong with him? His eyes were blue, right? Unless he was rogue in blood line as well as personality, that meant he was a Singer. Singers enjoyed light about as much as moles.
Come to think of it, he never did put any shades on, either. I’m surprised he was able to see with all that light.
Exhausted, I did follow him. Inside, the house was just as impressive. The walls were a soft blue, and well decorated with family pictures, paintings and interesting Japanese art. Sculptors of demons and – oddly enough – Japanese animal gods were in halls. The kitchen was spacious, with environment-friendly appliances and plenty of cupboards, which were red oak. Instead of tile, it was marble. The counters were granite. The hall from the kitchen led into a den, which had plush and easy on the feet, tan-white carpeting. In its center was an expensive leather couch. To the left of the couch was another chair of the same material. In front of them was a glass table, with fine coasters. And setting against the elegant stone walls was a huge flat-screened television. I stared at it. It was more out of place in a Necromancer’s house than the lack of a shrine or weapons. Speaking of…where were his? I turned around to ask him when he pointed to the upstairs.
“You look tired; the rooms are upstairs, if you are.”
“I am.”
“Well…there are plenty of rooms to choice from. I live here alone. My father bought it for me, and insists that I live like the money he gives me, or he will disown me.”
That works in my favor.
Lugging my stuff upstairs, I was surprised to see the beauty here as well. It was just as stylish. Well-lit, covered in decorative pictures and well-designed, it was clear the boy did indeed have money. There were ten rooms in all. I chose the attic. It had no windows, very little light was small. It was carpeted with a white, clean carpet with wooden plank walls. There was a study desk, a small bed and a lamp as the only light. There was also a single chest, a small bookshelf and a few places on the wall to put my daggers.
I quickly unpacked, taking care with the sword and daggers. I would talk to him about where his alter was tomorrow morning; perhaps I could convince him to pray. I mean, he had to have one if his father still spoke with him, even if he’d never used it. After putting everything away, I made myself a bath.
He’s filthy rich and not a single bonded or servant. What is wrong with this guy?
I didn’t know how he went out and hunted, kept guests entertained and kept the house warm and clean. Not to mention how he managed to cook after a long night of demon fighting and soul gathering.
Where does he send the souls? Or does he absorb them?
The thought nearly made me sick; sick with disgust, yes, but also envy.
If he was so ignorant that he thought he was free of Odin’s binds, he would have so little to worry about…
He would be so carefree, so powerful…
I slipped into the tub.
Then reality set in and she felt sorry for him. A life without the power of Odin searing through my veins would mean my magic would be painful and difficult to use. Absorbing souls would be such a complex chore I’d avoid it and Demon fighting without a servant to cook, clean and assist me would be hell.
This time, I let myself relax to a doze. There was nothing to add fragrance to the bath, but it eased my nerves and helped me think. Omen wake me, the muzzle-leash off him.
“You have an early day.” He said, looking tired himself.
“Fine.”
I redressed in front of him and retired to the comfortable bed. Then his presence was gone; he would report to Odin.
Exhausted, I fell asleep.