I Orion: The Oak Valley

Once, we lived in harmony with the gods. They explained the world to us, and their customs shaped our daily lives.
But it lies in our nature to always want more; every answer gives rise to two new questions, and in time, our ancestors placed their faith in other idols. Humanity grew estranged from itself, and in its greed sought the power of the immortals. Zeus, supreme among the Olympians, could no longer endure the arrogance of his creation, and in his fury he hurled lightning and thunder upon the cities of stone for seven days and seven nights. On the seventh night, his beloved daughter Athena heard our suffering and, in her wisdom, pleaded for mercy.
On the brink of our annihilation, Zeus stayed his hand and granted us one final chance to live humbly. Hungry and sick, we abandoned the ruins and built a new existence for ourselves among the forests, and so we give thanks to the gods for their mercy!

The sun rises, and its first rays bathe Oak Valley in gentle light. In this peaceful place stands a farm that has belonged to Orion’s family for many generations.
Once, Orion’s great-great-grandfather had nothing here but a wooden shack; nothing more.
But through diligence and hard work, the farm grew into the thriving homestead it is today. A stable for the animals, a toolshed with a simple altar, a field for growing grain, and the main house with enough beds for Orion’s family, his brother’s family, and their grandfather.
All of it is guarded by twenty-four mighty oaks, for animals from the surrounding forest rarely dare venture beyond this natural boundary.
Orion has never counted them to see whether there truly are twenty-four, because he is not good with numbers. Writing even less so. But sowing grain, harvesting crops, and tending animals—those he knows well.
None of the farmers nearby is as skilled at working the land as Orion. It is in his blood, and one day his son will inherit all of this.
And if the gods will it, his children and his children’s children will live here, die peacefully, and be buried beneath an oak.

Although dawn has only just begun to break, Orion has already been out in the field for hours, bringing in the harvest.
He is neither tall nor short, neither thin nor fat. He is an ordinary farmer with short brown hair hidden beneath a leather cap; his dark blue eyes follow every sweep of the sickle and watch the stalks fall beneath its blade.
His nose has been crooked ever since a fight with his brother when they were young. It was probably broken, and ever since, it has pointed slightly to the left.
With a calloused hand, he wipes the sweat from his face. He has shaved his beard clean, just the way his wife likes it.

The rising sun makes him pause for a moment. It is a wonderful morning, a gift from the gods. In the old legends, Helios rides across the heavens in a chariot drawn by four stallions, pulling the sun behind him, and Orion has never once doubted it.
For he is a man of faith.
The Titans shaped the world, the gods struck them down, and Zeus created mankind; all of this he knows from the stories his grandfather told him. And whenever he has need of help, he prays to the immortals.
Once, a drought lasted for weeks and threatened to ruin the harvest, but only a few days after Orion offered a sacrifice to Zeus, the long-awaited rain finally came.
The same happened when one of the sheep fell ill, or when his wife was in labor; each time, he asked for their aid, and they seemed to answer.
He looks over at Illias, his son and greatest pride, and watches him tie the cut stalks into bundles. Beside him is Helen, his wife, lifting the bound grain onto the ox cart.
A swirl of fallen leaves tears him from his reverie. Autumn would soon come to an end, and the merciless winter would set in. By then, the field had to be harvested and the load taken to Paragon.
And so he swings the scythe again, back and forth. Philo stands beside him and does the same; as always, he whistles the old children’s song. Its rhythm helps them keep time. Back and forth, and back and forth.
By the time the sun reaches its highest point, the work is done and the cart is piled high. Orion brushes dust and dirt from his linen clothes, his brown shirt and black trousers.
He could sit down in his chair now and secretly treat himself to a swig of moonshine, but the most important task still lies ahead. Together with Philo and Illias, he bids farewell to the women, embraces them tightly, and exchanges kisses with his wife.
They head to the shed, trade their sickles for a pitchfork, an axe, and a bow, then pass the stable on their way toward the western part of the forest.
The noise of the sheep, pigs, and chickens is unbearable, and Grandfather sits on the porch, sourly keeping watch over the animals’ commotion.
Orion casually raises a hand in farewell. The old man spits on the ground and stubbornly goes on massaging his stiff leg.

They pass between two mighty oaks standing tall and silent, their gnarled roots anchored deep in the earth, their bare branches dancing in the wind. For a moment, it almost seems as though these sentinels are trying to wave them back. “Stay on the farm,” they seem to whisper.
They occasionally venture into the forest to hunt or gather mushrooms, but they never go too deep. Orion kneels, braces himself against the pitchfork, and studies claw marks in the earth almost as large as his hand.
“Looks like they went this way,” Orion murmurs, more to himself than to the others. “The trail leads deeper into the forest.”
His brother steps beside him and studies the tracks as well. He stands a head taller than Orion, with black, shoulder-length hair worn loose and a thick, bushy beard. “Must be pretty hungry if they’re coming this close to the farm,” he grunts, tightening his grip on his axe.
Orion gives a slight nod and takes the lead. They follow a trail of scratches and blood. The deeper they go, the thicker the fallen leaves become until they reach their knees. Barely any light filters through the dense tangle of branches, and they are almost forced to abandon the search when the trail disappears.
Illias’s sharp eyes make out markings in the dim light, gouged deep into the hard bark.
“That’s how they mark their territory,” Orion explains. “It must be somewhere nearby.”
Philo whistles the old children’s song. He always does that when he is nervous. Sure enough, they soon find a narrow fissure in the rock at the edge of a small clearing, seemingly leading underground.
The three crouch together behind a bush, and Philo runs through the plan with them one last time. “Illias, we do it just like we discussed. Your father draws them out and keeps them at a distance with the pitchfork, while you fire from cover and aim for the vulnerable spot! If anything goes wrong…” He swings the rusty axe through the air. “…that’s when I come in!”
The boy rolls his eyes. He is fifteen years old, his long brown hair tied back in a braid, and he looks so much like his father they could almost be mistaken for one another. Only his pale blue eyes come from his mother. Three more years, and he will be a man, with all the rights and duties that come with it on the farm and in Paragon.
“I’m not a little child anymore, Uncle,” the boy says. “Neither of you can shoot a bow as well as I can! Remember those two rabbits I got last week? From thirty meters away. One clean shot through the heart!”
His chest swells with pride, but Philo shakes his head firmly. “Not the heart! The ribs and muscles are too thick. Your arrow won’t get through.” He taps the boy on the head with his index finger. “An arrow through the brain, and all the strength in the world won’t do the little beast any good.”
Philo ruffles the boy’s neatly tied hair, and Illias only just manages to wrestle himself free from his uncle’s teasing grip.
“If even your old grandfather can drive off a whole pack by cursing and spitting at them, the three of us should have no trouble killing them,” Philo says with a hearty laugh.
Illias glares at his uncle, and as he ties his hair back again, he opens his mouth to put him in his place.
“Quiet now,” Orion hisses. “Or they’ll hear us!” They cannot afford to grow careless, because carelessness leads to mistakes. And mistakes get people killed. “I’ll say one final prayer.”
He closes his eyes and folds his hands; Illias and Philo do the same.
“Artemis, goddess of the hunt and daughter of Zeus. Grant us your blessing and give us strength. We do not hunt your creatures out of greed, but to protect ourselves. So turn your bow away from us, and upon our safe return, accept our offerings!”
After a moment of silence, Philo is the first to stir. “Let’s get this over with. I want to go home to Scylla and Bella!”
Orion nods hesitantly, tightening his grip on the pitchfork as he approaches the fissure. It reassures him to have Philo at his side. His brother may be a little simple-minded, but his size and strength are an advantage in a fight.
Illias, on the other hand, worries him. He is too young. Too inexperienced. He does not yet have the hardness it takes to do what must be done.
One last time, Orion looks back. Illias has nocked an arrow and watches his father’s every step, while Philo, too, looks ready for anything.

Step by step, Orion creeps toward the mouth of the cave. Cold sweat runs down his forehead, and his heart pounds so loudly that he fears it will draw the entire pack to him.
In the shadow of the rocky fissure, he can make out a heap of pale fur. The hair is short and bristly; two round brown eyes are already following his every move.
When he shows no sign of backing away, a guttural growl greets him. Teeth as large as fingers flash in the darkness, ready to sink into the intruder. Every muscle in the beast’s body tenses, its black face twists into a grotesque snarl, and its short tail twitches ominously. Standing upright, the dog’s shoulders reach Orion’s navel.
Orion boldly thrusts the pitchfork toward its ugly head. He means to keep it at a distance, but his attacks only seem to drive the beast into a greater frenzy. When he tries to dodge another savage bite, he nearly trips over his own feet.
He just manages to brace himself against the rock wall and drive the pitchfork deep into the animal’s shoulder. The dog howls in pain, tears itself free, and drool drips menacingly from its crooked, malformed jaw.
Mad with rage, the dog lunges at Orion.
He backs away and feels the rock wall against his spine. The saving arrow has to come now!
Sweat burns in his eye, blurring his vision, and he hastily tries to land another blow. His heart is pounding faster than it ever has in his life.
The dog rears onto its hind legs, pins Orion against the wall, and dozens of sharp teeth snap at him.
Heavy footsteps. Panting. Philo bursts from cover. His face flushed crimson, he raises the axe and drives it into the animal’s side with a bone-shattering crack.
Ribs break, and blood sprays through the air as the dog slams into the rock wall with tremendous force. Whimpering, it collapses to the ground.
“Sorry, bit late,” Philo says between heavy breaths. He steps in front of the writhing animal, raises the axe, and ends its suffering with one final blow. With his sleeve, he wipes sweat and blood from his forehead and looks down at Orion, who has sunk to the ground.

“Everything all right? I wanted the boy to do it, but he just stood there frozen.”
Trembling, Orion feels over his body. Arms, legs, torso; everything seems to still be there and unharmed.
“He isn’t ready,” Philo says, glancing grimly toward the trees, where Illias emerges pale as chalk.
The boy slowly approaches the carcass, his eyes wide with fear. Orion gets back to his feet and pulls his son into a comforting embrace.
“I had the arrow drawn,” he stammers, “but seeing you fighting for your life … I couldn’t … let go!”
“It’s all right. Nothing happened to me!” The boy seems to calm down, and Orion looks deep into his pale blue eyes. “In situations like this, we have to be able to rely on one another! Animals like these—these breedings—are strong and savage. But if we work together, we can overpower them.” Orion taps Illias on the forehead with one finger. “We defeat our enemies with our heads,” then thumps a fist against his chest, “but we also need the courage to face them!”
“I’m sorry. I won’t be a burden to you again, but rabbits are nothing like this.”
Orion grips his son by the shoulder. “I didn’t want to bring you, but by the time Paragon puts together a hunting party, we’ll have lost every animal on the farm, and there’s no one else there who can help us.”
“Better stay in the back,” Philo grumbles as he inspects the carcass more closely. “According to Grandfather, there are three of them. This one’s female, so there are at least two more waiting for us. One of them is a male, and both have enough strength in their jaws to tear the arm off a grown man.” The bearded giant heads toward the entrance, then turns back once more. “Don’t think about what might happen. Just let go!”
Whistling, he disappears into the dark cave, and father and son exchange a look.
Illias exhales in relief and says, “Mama always says he’s half giant, and that’s why he’s so simple-minded.”
Orion scratches his head awkwardly, and as they follow Philo into the cave, he replies, “That would explain a lot …”

The glow of Philo’s torch drives back the darkness, casting threatening shadows that dance across the walls. A narrow path reveals itself, leading deeper into the cave. On one side yawns a bottomless drop, on the other stands unforgiving rock.
Orion has to force himself to breathe. The foul stench of rotting flesh hangs in the air, and clean-picked bones lie scattered across the floor and in the corners.
Pitchfork at the ready, Orion moves to cross the path first, but Philo pulls him back.
“Let me go first. The path is too narrow, and I’m better off against a single opponent.”
Visibly relieved, Orion lets his brother take the lead.
Carefully, the giant presses himself against the wall. Slowly and deliberately, he places one foot in front of the other until he stops so abruptly that Orion nearly crashes into him.
“What is it?” he asks, but Philo raises his axe, ready to strike.
A deep, guttural growl echoes through the cave, and over Philo’s shoulder Orion sees a pair of brown eyes flash in the darkness.
Agitated, Illias tugs at Orion’s sleeve from behind and asks what is happening. Then, with a loud roar, Philo surges forward.
“Watch out!” Orion shouts as the dog howls from the blow. Suddenly, the giant is hurled backward; the beast has reared up and thrown itself at him.
Fighting on the narrow ledge, torch and axe whirl wildly through the air.
Philo struggles to break free, and with a forceful shove manages to push the massive body away from him.
Snarling, the dog rises again. The wound across its back is bleeding heavily, and foam drips from its jaws.
“Come on!” Philo bellows, making the cave tremble, and with a leap the dog launches itself at him again.
The axe flashes through the air, strikes its target, and Philo braces himself with all his strength against the savage attack. His foot searches for purchase behind him, slips dangerously close to the edge, but catches itself.
Pebbles tumble into the abyss, and Orion throws his weight against his brother to help him.
Again, Philo drives the axe into the dog. In its death throes, the beast manages to force both men backward. Orion loses his balance, but Illias catches hold of him.
Startled, Philo drops the torch and, still locked around the dog, slips over the edge into the depths.

Heavy bodies crash dully down the slope. They roll farther and farther until there is nothing left to hear.
Cursing, Orion snatches up the torch and shines it into the darkness.
“Philo!” Illias calls, but only silence answers him.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Orion mutters, pacing along the edge. “There’s nothing else we can do. We have to follow the path and hope we find him down there.”
Illias swallows nervously. “You can count on me. I … I’ll fight!”
Orion takes his son by the shoulder, holds the torch up to his face, and says in a grave voice, “I need you now! I won’t be able to save Philo on my own. If we go home without him, Scylla will kill me.”
Illias hesitates, then nods and nocks an arrow.