black and white illustration of serpent or snake with lettering A Miraculous Journey With Thor And Hisstory [https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:1400/format:webp/1*OJhrCzpKZr5oRXwKEaButQ.jpeg]

A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER SIX

In brethren Thor had trusted; in fraternity he’d shared. Beginning a book bound by brotherhood, thus had he dared. Actuation he didn’t mope when the requiem night ended and he awoke to the dance of dawn that broke.

“Do you like what I’m wearing today?” Dov asked in the morning.

“What do you mean? You’re still in your pj’s.”

Dov pointed to his head. “Anything different?”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Yes, spitballs of fire are coming out of your ears.”

“They’re not.”

“If you don’t desist, I guarantee I’ll put them there.”

“Can you do that?”

“Can he do what?” Ruslan joined them.

Dov replied, “Make spitballs of fire.”

Thor threw up his hands and sidestepped the subject with a challenge. “You said Hisstory doesn’t scare you, right?”

Being put on the spot wiped the grin off Dov’s face.

“She doesn’t.”

“Prove it. Come to the Museum today.”

Ruslan snickered. “Good one, Thor. May I come too?”

“Absolutely. You’re both invited to a formal introduction.”

Ruslan hedged. “I’m coming as a witness.”

Dov contested, “Friends share, not witness. Or are you a scaredy cat?”

Ruslan rebutted, “Nonsense.”

Dov smiled, “That settles it. You’re on, Thor. We’ll be there.”

Thor observed their auras. “Green is good. I’m positive Hisstory will agree.” He laughed. “Unless you both decide to flee.”

Hisstory was surprised to see Thor enter the rain forest consorting with strangers. Hiding above to ambush her master, she gauged if that might be a disaster.

“Where is she?” spoke the smaller stranger.

Hisstory heard the undertone of terror in the question while sleuthing for clues.

“She’ll make her presence known by hopping on me,” rang the overtone of sanction in her master’s voice.

The undertone of terror increased.

“Hopping on you?”

“She pretends to strangle me. I pretend to be strangled.”

“You’re daft.” Frank was the taller stranger, detected Hisstory.

“Wait and watch.”

“We’re supposed to watch you get strangled?”

“Pretend to get strangled. We play a game. She’s victorious. I’m vanquished. It’s fun. Just watch us and don’t run.”

Hisstory swooped, encircling Thor. Though warned in advance, the boys recoiled in shock. The game was convincing, frightening up close, though Thor peeked at his pals to assure them of the hoax. He rose with the reptile at the close of the game, but his mates had misgivings that the serpent was tame.

“Dov, Ruslan, meet my friend, Hisstory. Present yourselves with a pat. Hold your hand like this and she’ll dip her head under it.”

Thor demonstrated. Hisstory glided under his hand. Dov and Ruslan viewed immobile.

“Who’s first?”

No hand was offered.

“You’re scaredy cats.” Thor addressed the snake, in tandem with a hand signal, “Hisstory, my buddies are shy. Why don’t you encourage them?”

“No!” the duo spluttered in vain at the calculated invitation.

Lightning fast as though rehearsed, Hisstory girded the two boys together, her head flopped atop the taller Ruslan. Thor snapped his fingers; Hisstory instantly returned to snuggle Thor. “Now will you pet her?”

Fearing a sequel, the boys needed no further persuasion. They stretched their hands timidly, as Thor had indicated. Hisstory nestled her head under each one in succession.

“You’ve had the best introduction,” beamed Thor.

Ruslan countered with a gusto of bravado. “I’ll bet you can’t make her repeat it.”

“What? Constrict you? You think I made her?”

Hisstory bent her head. Painted across Dov were strokes of dread. “Not the vice again!” he clamored.

Thor fondled his pet. “Ruslan waged a bet. What do you think?”

Hisstory hissed, then bundled the boys again. Ruslan was tongue-tied; Dov moaned.

Thor pointed, “Just Ruslan. I misspoke. Dov didn’t consent.”

The boa released Dov and girthed Ruslan. Dov was pleased; yet so seemed Ruslan.

“You like it,” Thor assessed.

“Nah, merely a wager. You won.”

“I claim no credit. Hisstory’s adorning you, not me,” Thor refuted, about to snap his fingers.

“Not yet,” struck Ruslan in haste.

“You do like it,” reiterated Thor.

Ruslan caressed the wrapped snake whose small head was cushioned with compassion above him. “Reminds me.”

“Of what?” inquired Thor.

Ruslan choked on his words, “My parents.”

“Your parents?” Dov was baffled.

Cozy and cocooned in the grip of the reptile, an overlay of chagrin muffled Ruslan’s stammer, “My parents. My past.”

Tears slipped from Ruslan’s eyes; his pillar of stoutness swayed. To the rescue came the snake’s sleek tail. Bearing ease and grace in precise erase, it flicked apace the signs of frailty tarnishing the staunch boy’s face.

“Did you see that? She dabbed my –” Ruslan stopped, mortified by what he almost confessed.

“– Face,” supplied Thor.

Dov gaped, “How sensitive!”

Astounded by the serpent’s sentiment, realizing the delicacy meant, impressed Ruslan to straighten his carriage. “Did you know that about her?”

“She’s full of surprises,” intoned Thor, his mystified emotion suppressed.

Hisstory hissed and dipped her head. She didn’t boast her versatility. To the guests in her sylvan home, she played the perfect host.

Ruslan became inquisitive. “Does Hisstory have an aura?”

“Yes.”

Dov asked, “What colors are hers?”

“The sum of all colors, white light.”

“And yours?” Ruslan pursued.

“I can’t see mine.”

A rap on the glass drew their attention. Stafford Klingshire’s gaze met Thor’s.

Both waved. Stafford entered the compound.

“Sir, these are my friends. Ruslan and Dov, I’d like to introduce Mr. Klingshire, the Museum director.”

“Pleasure meeting you gents,” Stafford said, shaking their hands. He eyed Ruslan, still outfitted with Hisstory, “I see our slick snake found another fan. Admirable qualities she possesses.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“I’m a fan, too,” Dov was keen to note. “She’s a splendid serpent, respectful of others.”

“Indeed she is respectful, I agree. That’s how the world should be, a hallmark to emulate from stellar Hisstory. Thor, enjoy the afternoon with your mates. Show them your contributions to the Museum.”

“Thank you, sir.”

For the rest of the day, Thor led the way, dallying at the glacier display. Hisstory, girdling Ruslan, hissed.

“This is snow, not a favorite of Hisstory. What I saw in my vision. Touch it. Better yet, put a piece in your hand.”

“Brr. It’s cold.” Dov shuddered.

“This gives you an inkling of what it’s like to stand atop it barefooted. When I said my feet were frozen, I meant that literally.”

“It’s gnawing off my hand,” Dov grimaced.

“Numbness, that’s what you feel. We’ll warm up when we’re done.”

Ruslan shivered. “Get real, Thor. We’re done now.”

“You joked about a wet dream. You were glib then, my friend.”

“So what if I was? Does that excuse your sadism?”

“You’re calling me a sadist?”

“You mete out punishment for a jest; I tell it like it is.”

“I have double what you have tingling in both my hands.”

There was no mean bone in Thor’s frame of disparity; his features spelled kindness flowing with charity. Nevertheless, emotions were climbing from mild to wild.

Ruslan argued, “That proves nothing, except you’re a masochist and a sadist. I’m neither; here, take back this stupid snow and stop torturing us. No matter what you do or say, I can’t fathom your dream.”

Thor’s eyes flashed. “So you don’t truly believe me, do you?”

“I believe you believe what you say, but that doesn’t validate your experience.”

“It wasn’t a dream. It was tangible. It was real.”

“I get it. You believe it was real. I told you I accept that. Isn’t it enough to believe you believe?”

Thor was exasperated. Had life become a litmus test? Had he befriended a hornet’s nest driven to sting him with ceaseless unrest, to persist as a hound, the perennial pest?

“Do I have to prove everything to you?”

“You’ll never prove it wasn’t a dream. That’s impossible.”

“Hasn’t he already proven himself?” Dov piped up. “You saw him with his parents. You admitted that.”

“Parents, perhaps, but not a thunderbolt, Dov. Only you saw him with that almighty force of nature, not me.”

Thor’s drift deepened. “Where’s your faith, Ruslan?”

“I believe what I see and touch; that’s as far as it goes.”

“Your belief is limited; faith is boundless.”

Thor whipped round. The room was bare, save the boys. He grabbed the pocketed pendant and fastened it round his neck, shielded under his shirt. His impetus was laden with feral, but so was Thor’s untested mettle. His green eyes gleamed with allure. The pendant made him more secure. Solidarity with his pals, he sought to procure.

“Want to experiment? This is not a dare, but a portal on myself I’ll attempt to share.” The friction exuding from his mates flooded him.

“You fear me?”

Dov was leery. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right. So relax. I won’t bite.”

“Not intentionally,” interjected Ruslan bluntly.

“You think I’m out of control?”

“I think you’re flexing your muscles. There could be unintended consequences.”

“You don’t trust me,” Thor murmured, snapping his fingers. Hisstory uncoiled Ruslan and clad Thor.

Slices of meek reduced Ruslan’s rancor; naked of the reptile, he felt defenseless.

“Hey, why’d you do that?”

“Need my armor for what’s next.”

“What’s next?” chorused the nervous mates.

“Shut your eyes and see; trust in yourself, if not in me.”

The imperative in his voice compelled like a magnet. Determined Dov straightened, strong and ready, but Ruslan resisted.

“What if I don’t?”

“You said my tactile vista was impossible to prove, Ruslan. You threw down the gauntlet. I accept your challenge. Do as Dov. Close your eyes.”

Corralled by his personal actions, Ruslan couldn’t back down, but he shut his eyes with a heavy frown.

“The snow in your hands, imagine standing on it with bare feet dressed in thin pajamas, while this white cold falls and frosts you. Behold my so-called dream.”

Thor’s words pierced Ruslan’s dark, but the doubting boy thought it a lark, until –

The snowball smacked his face. He opened his eyes to see Dov, laughing so hard, tears were running down his eyes.

Ruslan brushed off the snow. “You hit me.”

“You doubted him.”

The duo stood trembling on a precipice viewing the Grand Canyon. The annoying white floating in the sky was coating –

“What?” exclaimed Ruslan. “We’re wearing pj’s? He’s mean. Bare feet? Bare feet! Yes, he’s definitely a sadist.”

“Don’t you get it? He’s sharing his vision, pajamas, bare feet, everything. Isn’t this fun?”

“If you call freezing fun.”

“Check out this place. Isn’t it amazing?”

Ruslan strode boldly past Dov, staring across the foreign terrain. This tactile terra was anything but lame.

“Can you see the river?” he called to Dov.

“No. Don’t want to move. Too dangerous.”

“You already moved, endangering me with that ball you pitched. Thor vowed he wouldn’t bite, but not you. Take my hand. You owe me. I’ll lead you.”

Ruslan guided reticent Dov to the edge. The two boys perched upon the ledge. On the wings of Thor’s words were they launched wide and far. No dream was this, but a site bizarre. Their eyes smarted, their breaths fogged, their bodies chilled. Their lungs were filled with freezing air. Even so, their hearts were thrilled with wonder.

“Where is he?” Ruslan asked.

“Here,” the voice stated quietly behind them. They darted to Thor, studying them intently silent and still, bedecked with the snake and his widespread wealth of will. Clothed and shod, they were back in the Museum.

“Now you know,” Thor simply said.

They asked themselves, where was he bred, to acquire the capability to reside in their heads.

“Toss the snow in the bin before it melts,” Thor instructed, returning the samples he held by example.

Dov and Ruslan released the snow, visibly shaking.

“Give me your hands. I’ll show you how to rub to warm them.”

Thor touched Dov’s numb hand first. A sudden crackle resonated in the room.

“Whoa! What was that?” Dov jerked away, spooked by the snap. “You shocked me.”

“Static electricity in the air, that’s all,” replied Thor, concealing consternation.

“Not likely anything here would produce that effect,” remarked skeptical Ruslan.

Dov tensed. “My hand, it’s hot. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” stressed Thor, defensive.

Dov bent his fingers gingerly. “The numbness is gone. My hand feels fine.”

Ruslan held out his icy hand, compliant to test uncharted territory. “Try me.”

Thor cautiously grazed Ruslan with carefully controlled fingertips. The electric discharge was subdued by comparison with Dov’s dramatic spark, influenced by Thor’s prevailing willpower.

“Instant heat,” mused Ruslan, stretching his target of attention. “It’s not the air. It’s you, Thor. You’re loaded with static electricity. Hisstory’s not the only one full of surprises.”

Hisstory hissed at the sound of her name.

Dov pondered, “That proves something. Maybe a side effect of the thunderbolt.”

“Or the obverse,” countered Ruslan, centered in suspicion.

“What do you mean?” asked Thor.

“Maybe you attracted the lightning.”

“Get real,” Thor laughed.

“I’m serious. Pretty powerful stuff today. You conjured a graphic projection onto both of us simultaneously. I can describe the slightest detail down to the freeze flogging my bones and Dov’s wallop of snow to my still smarting face. Then icing the cake, you zapped us with your touch. A laughing matter? I suspect not. I’m transparent, Thor. I won’t lie. It’s you who needs to get real, for your own sake and for ours. I’m grounded in reality, and from my vista, you’re a living lightning rod.”

The proclamation in tones of dead earnest was brusque and bold. Was their friendship about to end? Dov paled. Hisstory hissed. Thor flushed; his voice quavered; his eyes teared. He looked sad with spirit spent.

“You don’t believe in me, Ruslan. You never will.”

“Quite the converse. I threw down the gauntlet, as you asserted. You picked it up and proved your point, defying what I gauged impossible. You trusted us with the truth despite my doubt. You talk to me of faith, but my past looms to tell tales of faith as a fickle fetish. Belief is another book, and its chapters are written with our fraternity. Yes, Thor, I do believe in you, I endorse who you are and pledge to flank you, my friend, as a brother-in-arms.”

Hisstory did not hiss, but instead lowered her head to salute Ruslan’s validation. Thor gazed into the boa’s eyes. “Yes, go.”

His pals observed the implicit communion betwixt the boy and his constant boa, no fickle fetish by any standard. The reptile slipped out of Thor’s embrace and returned to Ruslan, who commenced to relax cemented in the serpent.

Thor started pacing, searching his memory. Sheltered in his cloister, he had shied away from physical contact as a norm. Still, he must have touched some person before this day. Stafford Klingshire, numerous times! When he was offered the Museum job, when the director subscribed to house Hisstory, hands were shaken without incident, as well as hands leading him to the Grand Canyon exhibit. Wait! What about Sunburst? He held hands with her minus a spark as well. He felt the pendant near his heart warming, the pendant given by Sunburst.

“Must be the medallion,” he mumbled to himself. A calm overcame his dashing mind. Was this the truth he was seeking?

“What?” queried his mates.

“The medallion, that’s the cause of the static electricity.” Thor plopped the pendant in his pocket. “Let’s have another go at it. Your hand, Dov.”

“Not again,” complained his comrade.

Unflinching Ruslan provided his palm. “Zap me. I’m game.”

Thor reached for Ruslan. No flash was generated.

“Lots to learn,” commented Dov. Curious, he thrust his hand at Thor. “Give it a hefty slap. No holds barred.”

Thor grasped it firmly. Nothing acerbic happened, except for Ruslan’s ransack of Thor’s upbeat mood.

“Hmm. Nice try, Thor, but you have to do better than that. A mound of muscle flexing in your testing, physical and mental. Remember you said it yourself. The medallion enhances your abilities. I wouldn’t rule out the lightning rod theory. Your features manifested your exertion of constraint. Because you’re aware, your control is proof a current is there.”

The death knell of distinction tolled again. Thor despised the drapery of division knocking at their brethren door. What could he do? Why couldn’t Ruslan endorse without question? Yet Thor detested pretense and cast no reprehension on Ruslan for his honesty; the bluntness he respected. Though they defined him as different, his pals vowed to rise to his defense. What had he expected anyway? That question he’d neglected. For what he shared to be showered with praise? He ambushed their lives. They were right to feel malaise. Their status quo was set on fire. Still why was different dubbed a dirty word? Was he branded when born to be distinguished from the norm? His mood picked up; he felt pacific. In Ruslan’s candor, their friendship was implicit. He deemed it best to leave it as is. Plenty had been packed into this novel visit, but a shriek caused his thoughts to stray.

“Look at the snake!” The child’s shrill outburst roared as a family of four entered the room, staring at Ruslan entwined with Hisstory. Their abrupt appearance tumbled the fraternal conclave. The trinity parading the boa departed and strolled down the corridor to the sylvan display.

Depositing the reptile in her lair at the end of their stay, Ruslan pet her affectionately.

“Thank you for your comfort.”

He asked Thor, “Do you think she understands?”

“More than we know,” underscored Thor with a gentle stroke. “See you tomorrow, Hisstory.”

The serpent inclined her head, then slithered away. She’d enjoyed this unusual play, having borne witness to their friendship unfold and spiral toward avenues manifold.

Oil painting of serpent or snake [https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:1400/format:webp/1*tzh7BV69H-5-tWJ544pRGg.jpeg]