Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Every detail of the night felt clear and distinct, from the coldness of the faint breeze, to the distant calls of night-loving animals going about their business. Oisin felt the arms holding him up, strong and cold, as if he were being held by a statute and not a living thing. His head rested against the god’s chest, but he heard no heartbeat, no drawing of breath. The fabric of the black robe the god wore was unbelievably soft where it touched his no-longer-numb skin.
He was silent, and the god was also, as he bore Oisin in that strange embrace through the darkness of fields and forests, to the great hill that rose above the village lands. There were standing stones atop it, raised before the memory of any who lived there, and it surprised Oisin not at all when the god climbed that grassy slope and approached the stones. Most stood singly, and a few were fallen, but one pair had a third set across them, like a door’s lintel, and it was to these that the god went, still carrying Oisin easily, as if he were no burden at all. But then he must not be, for it was obvious that the god was far, far taller than any mortal man. Oisin had dared to climb the hill before to approach the stones. He knew that stretching as tall as he could, he could just brush the lintel stone with his fingertips. But the god was nearly as tall as the stone and would need to duck to walk beneath it were he merely a palm’s width taller.
The god halted and stood before the stones, the three dark slabs framing grass and sky beyond. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds for a moment, silvering the grass, though the light hardly seemed to touch the dark basalt of the stones. It glimmered brightly on the god’s silver hair and made his pale face stark and shining against the black of his robes. By that light Oisin could see that they were richly trimmed with embroidery, black thread on black fabric.
Oisin heard the god draw breath, the sound strangely loud where his ear was pressed to the soft fabric over the god’s chest. When he spoke his voice was a rich and soft as ever, but the words were alien, in a tongue that Oisin had never heard before.
A shimmer passed over the standing stones, leaving a film behind it, like a soap bubble, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, showing the grass and sky beyond faintly tinted, distorted, by its rainbow sheen.
The god regarded this for a moment, then nodded and stepped forward.
As they passed beneath the lintel stone, Oisin felt something pass over his entire body like a wave. It was a tingling, a pins-and-needles sensation, a shock like the static from petting a cat’s back overlong on a dry winter’s day. It crackled over his skin, and hummed beneath it too, but then was past.
As it passed, the world passed with it, and he found himself elsewhere, still in the god’s arms.
It was still night, and they still stood atop a hill, with a tall stone doorway behind them, but all else was changed. The sky above was perfectly clear, and there was no moon. The stars spread in unblemished glory from horizon to horizon, and they seemed brighter than Oisin had ever seen, like a thousand thousand jewels strewn across the midnight blue expanse.
Beneath the god’s feet was a path of large, flat stones, which led across the hilltop to a great house which took up nearly half the space there. Oisin had never seen a palace, but this house was all of stone, even the roof was stone rather than thatch, and it was even taller than the church of the Christ-god that stood in the great town to the south of the village, so he thought it must be a palace. Certainly he could imagine a king living in such a splendid building.
Of course it’s a palace, a god lives there, you fool, he told himself as he stared at it.
The god set him down on the path, gently putting him on his feet. “Welcome to my home,” he said. “Call me Bel. What is your name, my sacrifice?”
Oisin felt a shiver go through him, and for a moment it was difficult to keep his feet. The god still had a hand on his arm and supported him as he swayed. The god—Bel—had saved his life, but now he had called him his sacrifice. Did that mean he had brought him here to perform the rite he had stopped earlier? Oisin wasn’t afraid of death, not exactly, but with his shield of numbness gone, it was hard to stay calm in the face of it. “I-I am Oisin, sir,” he managed, despite his faintness and confusion.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone