Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “Virgin,” Odin whispered.

  “Yeah?” the man breathed.

  “Does this mean you’re not robbing me?”

  “Not yet.”

  He parted his lips and allowed the man’s tongue in.

  *

  They rolled through the front gates of Ornala at dawn. Tired, uneasy and a bit discomforted by the fact that they had just spent the last several days within the back of a straw-covered caravan, Nova opened his eyes to find dawn bleeding across the horizon and closed them when he took notice of Carmen lying directly across from him, covered in straw and sleeping contently without any disruption whatsoever.

  They must be able to sleep on anything, he thought, vaguely regarding the fact that she’d taken her boots off in the middle of the night before laying his head back on his outstretched arm.

  It was much too early for him to disturb his sleeping family, to rouse them from sleep only to have them discover he was, in fact, injured, and could have to worry about an infection that could be weeping through his bloodstream. For that reason, he continued to watch the horizon as the cart and the carriage that pulled it continued their way up the street and past the stalls normally reserved for vendors looking to sell their wares, all the more at peace about the situation now that he was in a place he could somewhat call home.

  Home.

  Home—the great, shining capital of his country, so grand and tall that it could have been called an icon testament to humanity and what all it had accomplished. It was here, at the brink of it all, on the coast of the Martyr’s Ocean, that men came to fortune and fame and peasants lived lives comfortable and welcome. Vendors lined the roads, children played in the streets, men guarded the walls that separated the royal from the normal and women lived lives comfortable and not in the least bit sheltered. It was, as anyone would have been fit to describe, a perfect place, and in in all his life he had never once heard of Ornala turning away someone who had no place to go.

  Not even me?

  His conscience fading, his skin chilling in the cool morning air, he pushed himself back into the deeper parts of the cart and shivered as straw fell over his body, disrupting the natural feeling of cleanliness and creating the image of insects crawling across his body. That alone was enough to unsettle him, but regardless, he was somehow able to retain enough sanity to lay back down and close his eyes.

  Across from him, Carmen mumbled something in her sleep.

  “What?” he asked.

  The Dwarf didn’t reply.

  Nova rolled onto his stomach, took a deep breath, then tried to rest as the cart rolled to a stop.

  *

  He woke in the arms of a stranger whose intentions and life he barely knew. Naked, nestled within the bedroll and with a long, muscled arm draped over his waist, Odin opened his eyes to find that the distant horizon was still dark and had not yet birthed a child of light and energy.

  Where am I? he thought.

  His first thoughts led him to believe that he was back in Sylina and asleep with the young barkeep who had somehow switched places with him in the night. Eventually, though, his recollections of the events of the previous night led him to believe that he was, in fact, within the Great Divide, and when he felt the scratch of stubble across the side of his face that could most certainly not be that of the young barkeep’s, he jumped from his place in the bedroll and drew the black-bladed sword from its sheath.

  Directly before him, the rogue who so easily had captured his heart cracked his eyes opened to slits to reveal a pair of startlingly-green eyes that seemed to glow even within the darkness.

  “Who are you?” Odin asked.

  “Don’t remember me?” the rogue chuckled, propping his head up on one arm and staring at him through a haze of chestnut hair. “Come on. I’m not that forgettable, am I?”

  You’re the one who tried to rob me, he thought, trembling, breath edging out of his chest like needles scratching the inside of his throat. You’re—

  The light, the fire, the dagger, the press of lips against his ear, his hand against a stranger’s chest, the press of flesh in a fit of passion—all came flooding back instantaneously, as though summoned from the great wave of darkness.

  Taking a moment to compose himself in both his nudity and the cold air, Odin lowered his sword from its place directly before him and watched the rogue’s eyes shift across his body before closing, then as his head tilted back to greet the breeze that drifted from the west and offered some semblance of warmth.

  “Virgin,” Odin said.

  “Yes?” the Halfling asked.

  “I…” He paused. His companion’s eyes flicked open once again. “I’m a bit… well… embarrassed about what happened between us.”

  “What’s there to be ashamed of?”

  “Well, nothing, but—“

  “You’re obviously more human than I thought you were,” the man laughed, rolling onto his back and bracing his hands against the back of his head.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, for one thing, you seem more than a bit unsettled by the fact that you just slept with another man.”

  “You’re not my first.”

  “Correction, then—under another man.”

  “I—“

  “And for two, it’s common within your kind to condemn that of which you don’t understand.”

  “You’re more human than I am,” Odin said, trailing his eyes around the visible upper-half of the Halfling’s body, across the expanse of hair dusted across his chest and down his abdomen.

  “Only in appearance, my friend. Not in thought.”

  Not in thought? he frowned, focusing his attention on the man’s face while struggling to comprehend the concept. What does that mean?

  Were he to have thought about it in detail, he could have come up with several reasons. However, with such little notice as to when he would have to respond, he could only imagine that the rogue considered him human because his beliefs were so vastly different—that, given the opportunity to engage in dialogue with another man, he could very well skip circles around his conceptions about the world and what it meant to live in society as a whole, to dance and jig and sing and laugh about the way life was supposed to be lived and learn about what was to be learned.

  Get a hold of yourself, Odin thought, idly thumbing the hilt of his sword at his side. He’s no different than you are.

  Was he, though? Was Virgin really different from him, in the end? He seemed to be, if only by appearance alone. His hair was brown, his eyes were green, his face wore scruff and his body bore hair, that of which Odin had once been teased and ridiculed about. A girl, they had called him, while laughing, jeering, pointing and grinning, all because of the fact that he did not look like the other boys, and a boy, he’d been considered, as with manhood comes hair in places fine and pure. To look at the two of them was like comparing an apple and an orange, the red and the blue and the good and the pure.

  Could he and Virgin, he dared to wonder, really be one and the same?

  No, he decided, they couldn’t, if only for the words and ideals that flowed from his fellow Halfling’s mouth.

  Odin crouched down and sheathed his sword.

  Virgin’s eyes cracked open.

  Perturbed by the fact that he was so vulnerable within the open air, Odin stood and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Aren’t you coming back in?” the rogue asked.

  “What we did was wrong.”

  “We had a little fun,” Virgin laughed. “That’s all.”

  “Still—“

  “Still what?”

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Care to introduce yourself then?”

  Do I? he thought.

  Though he could easily say whatever he wanted to keep his identity shrouded within the darkness, he felt that would be cheating the man of the trust they seemed to create so easily last night, regardless of whether or not he was a thief. For that
reason alone, Odin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then pushed his hand out and said, “My name’s Odin.”

  “Dwarven god,” Virgin replied.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  With a laugh, Virgin tilted his head back and watched the overhead clouds. “So,” he asked. “Now that we know each other… you want back in here?”

  Though as willing to refuse the offer as he was, he could not deny another person’s warmth.

  A brief sigh and a troubled conscience later, Odin crawled into the bedroll and closed his eyes just as Virgin draped his arm back over his shoulder.

  As troubling as this seemed to be, he couldn’t help but be comforted by the fact he finally had someone who, at the very least, seemed to care.

  Later that morning, when he came to consciousness to the sound of a crackling fire and brief muttering under a strange man’s lips, Odin opened his eyes to find that the afternoon had waned and was now dark with clouds. The horse wading in the pool before him, Virgin tending to the fire and what looked to be a pot of stew just above it, he pushed himself into a sitting position and reached up to rub his eyes just as the Halfling turned to regard him.

  “Morning,” Virgin said.

  “Morning,” Odin replied, stretching his arms up over his head.

  “You look like you’ve slept well.”

  I tried to.

  “Thanks to you,” he managed.

  With a smile on his face that seemed to change his entire demeanor, Virgin reached forward to take the pot from above the burning fire, nodding when Odin lifted its contents to find what appeared to be fresh chunks of meat boiling beside scant amounts of vegetables. “Did you—“

  “Hunt?” the man asked. “Yes. I did.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just rabbit.”

  “It smells good.”

  “You learn to manage when you’ve been out on the road as long as I have,” Virgin said, taking one of the two bowls from his side and spooning soup into it. “Tell me something, Odin.”

  “What?”

  “How long have you been on the road to ‘steal the Book of the Dead?’”

  “Nearly three weeks.”

  “And you’ve covered how much ground in that time?”

  “From Dwaydor to here.”

  “It’s any wonder you’re still alive.”

  “I’m determined.”

  “That kind of determination gets most people killed.”

  Is it? Odin thought, watching his new companion bow his head to sip the soup brimming over his bowl. Or is it just iron will that’s gotten me this far?

  It could be argued that determination was a great creature—that, given the chance, she could do many a great thing and instill within men the will the Gods were said to have. Here he was, a man of only nineteen, nearly twenty-years-old, questing across the countryside in order to acquire something that could destroy him were he not careful, yet not once had he stopped in a town except Sylina to purvey a map and gather supplies. That kind of push could have taken most normal men weeks, even months on end, yet he’d already stepped into the Great Divide and was preparing to trek by foot to the Abroen which seemingly laid just across the road.

  He’s right, his conscience whispered. What you’re doing gets most people killed.

  Not knowing what to say or do in response to the notion, he crossed his arms over his chest and continued to watch the Halfling eat his soup, only occasionally raising his eyes to ponder over the horse and its pursuits in and around the pool. So far unrestrained, it seemed perfectly content with wandering the brief ground around the pool, which only further secured the fact that it would be here come the time he returned, though when that would be he couldn’t be sure.

  “Odin.”

  He blinked. Virgin held before him a bowl of soup, complete with what appeared to be a wooden spoon protruding from its murky depths. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bowl from the Halfling’s grasp and setting it on his lap. “You didn’t have to do that though.”

  “I like you, Odin. What reason would I have to not be kind?”

  “You’re just saying that because we slept together.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Because two men don’t sleep together without having some sort of emotion afterward.

  Sighing, he took the spoon from the bowl, placed it into his mouth and sighed when the warm broth tickled the inside of his throat. “It’s good,” he said.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Can I ask you a question now?”

  “Might as well. I’ve already asked you one.”

  “Where were you last night before you tried to rob me?”

  “Skirting the edge of the Abroen.”

  “Do you live there?”

  “Occasionally, yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In one of the more natural villages within the forest.”

  “Natural?” he frowned.

  “The homes are carved from trees,” Virgin said, lifting his hand and waving it in the air before them. “We—or, should I say, they—live as high as the eye can see in the nooks and crannies that’ve been hollowed out into homes.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Odin said, “but I’ve never seen one before.”

  “We’re not likely to if we’re heading straight to Lesliana—at least, if that’s what you had planned.”

  “I want to get to the capital as quickly as possible.”

  “I see,” Virgin smiled. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

  “So you’ll help me then? Even if it means getting you arrested?”

  “I’m not stealing the book. You are.”

  “Yeah, but—“

  “But what?”

  “You’ll be my accomplice.”

  “Not if I stay as far away from you as possible before we get out of there.”

  He does have a point, he thought, tipping his bowl back to sip his now-chilled soup. If you steal it by yourself and you happen to run into each other on the way out of the city, he can’t really be blamed for doing it.

  Of course, what worry did he have for a man who made a living out of stealing things from other people?

  As the smile on Virgin’s face faltered, a sense of unease so great and stagnant began to fill the air that Odin felt as though something was wrong—that regardless of their mutual agreement, there seemed to be something amiss, something that could likely spell trouble were it not addressed sooner rather than later.

  “Virgin,” Odin said. “You don’t… you know…”

  “Don’t… what?” the man asked.

  “Plan on robbing me when all of this is done, do you?”

  “If I wanted to steal your swords, I would’ve already. Besides—do you think I would’ve stayed the night if I had any intention of robbing you?”

  “No.”

  “I can tell you’re not very trusting,” Virgin said, setting his now-empty bowl down and crossing his legs. “Then again, I’m not exactly the easiest person to trust. I already know that.”

  “Then you understand my concern.”

  “Of course.”

  He may be bluffing you, his conscience whispered. He may want to help you steal the book just to rob you blind behind your back.

  Were that the case, though, would Virgin have said that robbing him bore no consequence and robbing the queen held no trouble in the world at all? He highly doubted it, because he’d also said that he wouldn’t touch the book if his life depended on it, so that put him a little bit at ease.

  Just trust your instincts, he thought.

  His instincts told him that, for now, Virgin seemed perfectly all right—capable, even, of being a good companion, maybe possibly even more than that.

  Get a hold of yourself, Odin. Don’t develop attachments.

  How could he not, though, when he’d just slept with a man who could be with him for the next few weeks? />
  When his vision cleared, allowing him a glimpse of not only the territory in front of him, but Virgin’s intense green eyes, Odin allowed himself a brief moment of silence before reaching down and plucking his bowl of soup from the ground.

  Things would work out. They’d have to, otherwise he had nothing to hope for.

  *

  Nova took Katarina into his arms the moment the door opened and bowed his head into her neck as her cries and sobs echoed out into the stone corridors. His own tears threatening to burn down his face and his emotions more than ready to swallow him whole, he pressed her to his chest and took but a moment to console himself with the fact that now, after such a long time and such a horrible endeavor, he was finally holding his wife in his arms.

  You’re here, he thought, sighing, breathing in her sweat, her tears and fears. You’re finally here.

  After what seemed like an eternity of holding the woman he loved more than anything else in the world, he set her back on the ground, then fell into his father-in-law’s arms and sighed when the man tightened his hold around him.

  “Welcome back, son,” the man whispered.

  Son.

  How great it was to hear such a simple word.

  “Thank you,” he said, breaking away from Ketrak’s arms.

  Stepping up to his side, Carmen offered a slight wave, then reached up to shake Ketrak and Katarina’s hands before clearing her throat to say, “Hello.”

  “Who might you be?” Katarina asked.

  “Carmen Delarosa at your service ma’am.”

  “You’re a soldier?” Ketrak frowned, taking in her heavily-armored attire.

  “Well, was, if you want to use the correct terminology. I helped lead the assault on Dwaydor!”

  “I’ve never heard of a woman in war before,” Katarina said, eyeing the mace that lay at Carmen’s belt.

  “You’ve obviously not heard of me then.”

  “Carmen’s a helluva fighter,” Nova said, reaching down to set a hand atop her shoulder. “You should’ve seen her on the battlefield.”

  “I spare no punches,” the Dwarf said, offering a curt, if somewhat-arrogant grin.

  A smile curving across her face, lighting her features in the most splendid source of happiness, Katarina stepped forward, into his arms, then offered him a slight kiss on his cheek.