Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  When the moments continued to tick by like a grand timepiece floating in the air, each individual strike on the chord of a moment a hammer striking the front of his skull, Odin sighed, shook his head, then bowed his eyes to his lap, where he stared at his fingers and tried not to tremble.

  “Odin,” Virgin said.

  “I’m sorry I asked,” he replied, turning his head up only when he felt his attention merited the situation. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Shouldn’t have… what? Wondered about what’s been going on between us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Since their entry into the forest, they had not slept with one another. They’d slept beside one another, in a manner of speaking—him pressed against the Virgin’s chest and lying before him the night before—but hadn’t engaged in any intimate affection other than brief touches that could not be deemed of the sexual variety. Who was to say that the heat of the moment hadn’t since worn off, chilled by the lack of intimacy they’d displayed since entering this forest?

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Virgin said, once more drawing Odin’s eyes up to him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  Had they even kissed, he wondered, the night they’d become intimate, or had they just engaged in mindless pleasures of the flesh, not even bothering to acknowledge one another as individuals rather than just another warm body? The fact that he couldn’t remember terrified him enough, but to even consider that they hadn’t was enough to make him shake in his place.

  “What I’m asking,” he said, raising his eyes when they faltered and fell to the ground, “is if there’s an ‘us’ in ‘this.’”

  “Oh,” Virgin said, offering a slight smile. “I see.”

  I see?

  What could that mean?

  Take it easy, his conscience whispered, tracing his back with a cold finger until it hit his tailbone. You already told yourself that you wouldn’t get attached.

  How couldn’t he though, when he was in the presence of someone who really, truly cared about him in ways a mere friend couldn’t?

  Odin closed his eyes.

  He drummed his fingers across his thigh, strumming imaginary chords within his mind.

  Easy, he thought. Breathe.

  When he opened his eyes, he found that Virgin’s face was no more than a mere whisper away from his.

  Unsure of what to say or do, he merely stood there looking into the Halfling’s green eyes.

  A moment passed, then two.

  When a third sounded upon the ever-imaginary harp of emotions around them, Virgin reached up to press his hand against Odin’s face and offered a smile that warmed Odin’s heart more than anything in the world.

  “I’ve been a bit hesitant to say anything,” the Halfling said, “because it’s not easy to get attached…”

  “But,” Odin said.

  “But there’s something about you that seems so… I don’t know—mystifying. Or maybe I’m thinking of alluring, because let me tell you something, Odin: I don’t just follow anyone. I’m a lone ranger if ever there was a word for it.”

  “You’re saying I’m—“

  “Special?” Virgin smiled. “Yes, in a way, but I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing. Everyone wants to be loved.”

  “Even people who don’t think they can,” Odin replied.

  The frown that crossed Virgin’s face was enough to darken the entire conversation.

  What could he have just done, if not ruined his chance for happiness?

  “I’m sorry,” Odin sighed, reaching up to grab and take Virgin’s hand away from his face.

  When the touch did not falter, he bowed his head and took a deep breath.

  “You’ve gone through a lot in the past few weeks,” the Halfling continued, tilting Odin’s chin up with two fingers and bowing their heads until their foreheads and noses touched. “You haven’t even given yourself time to heal.”

  “I can’t heal until I have the book.”

  “Even then…” Virgin paused. Odin opened his eyes and stared at his companion’s face to seek the answers he so desperately wanted to unfold. When he found none not from the twinkle in a pupil to the curve of a lip, he said nothing and waited for Virgin to continue. When he did, however, his words came true, solemn and without fault whatsoever. “Know that I will never judge you.”

  “I know.”

  “And know that I care about you, even if it feels as though there’s something between us that’s threatening to push us apart.”

  “Do you…” He swallowed.

  Love.

  “Luh… Love me?”

  “Love is such a strong word,” Virgin said. “I will not offer you false promises until I know in my heart what I feel.”

  Odin closed his eyes.

  When Virgin’s hand fell away from his face, he expected no reciprocating touch in return.

  What seemed like tears threatened to pour from his eyes.

  How could I…

  A brush of stubble met his face, then warmth—sweat and saliva from a giving man’s face.

  “Thank you,” Odin whispered.

  “Never thank me,” Virgin said. “Just know.”

  Know.

  The morning rose in a grand crescendo of heat and humidity. Likely caused by the precipitation in the air and the overwhelming mass of dew in the trees, it weighed upon the two of them as they continued along the freshly-hardened ground and threatened to overwhelm them. Odin—who had since unbuttoned his jerkin all the way and now allowed what little of the cool air in and around his chest—crossed his arms over his chest when what felt like a flood of sweat dripped from his forehead and onto the bridge of his nose.

  This unbearable heat wouldn’t last forever—it couldn’t, especially given that there seemed to be a breeze floating along the underside of the forest.

  “Where is that coming from?” Odin asked.

  “The current?” Virgin replied, testing the solidity of the question before stepping forward to answer it. “I’m not sure. Probably the south.”

  “I know, but… what is it coming from?”

  “Possibly the canyon behind Lesliana.”

  “There’s a canyon?”

  “It’s not so much a canyon as it is a giant lake. I imagine the water must be chilling the air.”

  “Can water do that?”

  “Beats me, but that’s the only thing I can think of.”

  The answer better than nothing, Odin sighed, pursed his lips, then expelled a held-in breath and grimaced as Virgin clapped a hand across his back. “Since we’re not talking about anything,” Odin said, turning his head to look up at the Halfling, “do you care if I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

  “You said you were a rogue, right?”

  “Not in so many words, but yes, I am.”

  “And as far as I’ve understood, you don’t have magic.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then how did you… well… sneak up on me like that? I should have sensed you before you got anywhere close to me.”

  “Practice makes perfect, especially when assassinating mages.”

  “Have you done that often?”

  “Not so much, no, but there have been the few occasions where the queen or the court has asked me to deal with someone who was… well, let’s just say too much trouble for their own good.”

  “I thought Elves lived in peace?”

  “They do, but like every society, there tends to be corruption, especially among the less fortunate.”

  “Another question, then I won’t bother you anymore.”

  “All right.”

  “If you were working with the queen and the royal court, then someone must have taught you how to… well… persuade people.”

  “Are you getting at something here?”

  “I’m asking if you had some sort of teaching to seduce people.”

  “Seduce
people?” Virgin asked, cupping his hands behind his head and stopping before they could cross a rut in the road. “What are you referring to?”

  “The night you tried to rob me.”

  “If you’re asking if I was using some natural power of persuasion, no, I wasn’t.”

  Then it really was of my own accord, he thought, nodding, gesturing Virgin along as they continued on along their path.

  He’d come to the conclusion in previous thinking that he, not Virgin, had been the one to initiate the sexual affair. Not that he minded that, of course—because he had enjoyed that night, as notorious and improper as it had seemed to be—but something had led him to believe that he’d been manipulated into doing what he had done. Maybe it was because he still considered Virgin somewhat of a curiosity, or maybe it was because he couldn’t truthfully instill his faith within the idea that he was, as some would be so apt to call him, a ‘horned up man.’ Either way, he couldn’t bother himself with either of the alternatives, for both had been answered and concretely solidified within his mind.

  Digging his teeth into his lower lip, grinding them across chapped flesh, he reached down to first test the weight of his own black sword, then slid his hand to his left side until his fingers graced the curved silver that made up the hilt of his father’s sword.

  Not once had he drawn it from its sheath to protect himself from enemy or foe.

  I probably never will.

  There would come a time, he knew, when it would be drawn, either for purpose or content, but when that time would come he couldn’t be sure. It seemed too early to draw from its sheath a weapon that had graced another being’s hand, another person’s palm and the slight of his father’s fingers. That alone made him feel that drawing the sword would somehow be disrespectful and therefore diminish the fact that Miko was now dead and scattered across the plains, no more than ash and bone matter that could not have been entirely burnt away.

  As of that moment, he couldn’t concentrate on the more concrete emotions lying just beneath the surface. Were he to do that, it would only distract him from his cause and the very thing he had set out to do.

  “We’re being followed,” Virgin said.

  “By what?” Odin asked. “The cat people?”

  “No. This is something far worse. Bigger. More dangerous.”

  Virgin kneeled before what appeared to be a track of awesome proportions and ran his fingers along what were most obviously claw marks. Three-digit and sharp, pointed and seemingly curved like a cat’s, they lay pressed into the ground like some bizarre form of expression cast upon an old man’s face and reflected into the Halfling’s eyes fear. Virgin—who had since raised his eyes to look at the clearing above them—shook his head and brushed his hair behind his ear, the end of the appendage twitching once, then twice before settling back into place.

  This could be bad, Odin thought, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to stand as straight as possible. This could be really, really bad.

  For all he knew, the creature that had created this track could be stalking the ground in front of them—watching, hunting, waiting for any chance to strike and to eviscerate them from neck to gut in one fell swoop. It wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility. They’d just been attacked by one of the Kehrama no more than two days ago. Who was to say that the things within the Abroen had reason to let them pass without first giving blood?

  “How do people move in here if they have so much to worry about?” Odin asked, tilting his eyes up as Virgin rose and fumbled with the hilt of his dagger. “It doesn’t seem worth it if you have all this danger to worry about.”

  “Life is a quest that cannot be conquered unless there are hoops to jump through,” Virgin replied. He, too, tilted his eyes up, but cocked his head at him like a confused dog and ran his tongue along his lips. “As to your question, though, our people build high walls.”

  “Our people?”

  “We are as much as them as they are of us, even if we are only part of them.”

  “All right,” Odin said, not sure whether or not take that as a compliment or curse. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Not exactly. It seems like I’ve seen this track before, but I’ve never seen or heard of the creature that made it.”

  “Is it a cat?”

  “There have been few wild cat species since the extinction of the great Gjikus,” Virgin said, “but this… I don’t think this is anything of the sort.”

  “What do you think it is then?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know, but I’d be willing to bet this is something that is neither feline nor canine.”

  “Do we have werewolves to worry about?”

  “There are worse things to worry about than them.”

  “Like what?”

  “The Kehrama, for one, or the living plants.”

  Odin shook his head. He jabbed his hands into his pockets, looked up at the scenery, then sighed as Virgin slid an arm across his shoulder and leaned his head against his.

  All we need is this.

  For them to worry about something attacking them was to extinguish the reality of safety and what all it came with. Not once could they continue forward without fear of being attacked or breathe without their oxygen being snuffed, nor could they lie down at night and expect the darkness not to expel something that could possibly tear them limb from limb. These things and more were enough to weigh on Odin’s conscience to the point of near exhaustion, that of which seemed to come in the form of pressure at the front of his head, directly between his eyes, and it was these things that threatened to reduce him to nothing—tears, shakes, possibly even babbles and nonsense.

  “Everything will be all right,” the older Halfling said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Well… I can’t exactly promise anything, but I do know that we’re getting closer to the capital.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Odin. I’m sure. I’ve been on this road more than once.”

  I should have known.

  With Virgin at his side, he shouldn’t have had any semblance of fear whatsoever. Knowing that he did seemed to make the situation all the worse.

  He expected a pair of eyes to appear from the darkness. Bold, stout, pressed far apart within its white fur and gleaming as though producing its own light source from the center of its head—this thing, in Odin’s mind, stood as tall as a human man and bore a twin-headed crescent crown atop its head, those of which had been sharpened to points likely from the growth of bone they were made up of and the natural wear and tear the elements had to offer. This fear—and, sadly, reality—was enough to chill his heart so much that when he reached out to run his hand over the magical fire, he thought for sure he would burn himself, even though such a thing was almost incapable of happening.

  You’re going to lose your head if you keep this up.

  Anxiety born without cause for effect was said to be created by self-made stimuli which came from the innate fear of something happening for no reason. He’d learned such behavior from his adoptive father, when he once refused him the ability to use his God-given gift of magic, so to recognize it only seemed natural and necessary, for without that distinction he could have realized the behavior as something not created and therefore already instilled within his head. To know that knowledge was to defeat the beast within him—to encage, that thing he once described as, the snarling beast that lay thrashing in his chest, ready to tear him apart.

  Virgin sleeping soundly behind him, the fire burning calm yet slowly, Odin trailed his eyes over their darkened surroundings and once more tried not to imagine something watching them.

  “All will be well,” he said, humming the tune of an old brave song within his heart. “And the knights shall ride into battle with their swords held high.”

  The sleeping Halfling snorted.

  Odin jumped.

  He turned his head to see if his companion had woken and found nothing more t
han Virgin protruding from the bedroll, an arm over his brow and his eyes closed and flickering.

  Must be dreaming, Odin thought, closing his eyes.

  How he wished to sleep. To be locked within a world of darkness and calm would have been the greatest gift anyone could have offered him at that moment, but with hours left until his watch was over, he had little else to entertain him than his thoughts and polishing the hilts and sheaths of his swords. There was only one too many times a man could spit into a cloth and rub it across the shining metal that held his most prized possession.

  Sighing, Odin leaned back, propped himself on his shoulders, then tilted his head and bowed his face into Virgin’s hair.

  If his words were any indication, they would arrive at Lesliana in little more than a few days.

  Waiting seemed like the most impossible thing to do.

  The tracks only continued to worsen as they progressed through their day. Along the skirt of their camp, upon the side of the road, around ruts, loops and bends that seemed impossible to navigate on only two feet—it seemed that this creature had watched them even during their time within the campsite with eyes dull, glossy and sharp and examined them with intense scrutiny that could only come from a being with higher intelligence. Such was its pursuit that when Odin stopped to examine the fact that there seemed to be only one set of tracks leading to the campground and not back from it, he couldn’t help but shiver.

  This creature—this marvelous being—had made its way away from the camp by stepping on the tracks it had initially made when coming up upon them.

  “Virgin,” Odin said, reaching down to grip the hilt of his black sword for reassurance and comfort. “You do see this, right?”

  “I see it.”

  “You get what I’m going at… right?”

  “If you mean this thing was backtracking its own steps exactly, then yes, I get you.”

  The idea seemed fit only for intelligence sentient and grander than things that walked on four legs. That alone was enough to weigh the reality of their situation upon Odin’s shoulders so harshly that he sagged his upper body in an effort to control the emotions he felt. Lost, unsure, afraid and, by all means, absolutely terrified at the prospect of such a behavior—there seemed to be nothing in the world that could have scared him more in that moment, in that crux of time when a brief notion began to bloom into full reality and thought became more than just a roundabout word within the mind.