Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  It’s following you, his conscience whispered, and it’s hiding in the bushes right next to you.

  His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

  “Odin,” Virgin said.

  A twig snapped behind him.

  Odin pulled his sword from his sheath and turned so fast that he seemed to cut the air itself.

  Virgin stood no more than a foot away from him, hands raised and eyes staring directly down his blade. “Now then,” the Halfling said, lowering his hands as Odin pulled the sword away from him. “Someone’s a little jumpy.”

  “How can’t I be? You know what’s going on.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” he asked, unable to control the burst of laughter that followed. “We’re being followed by something that’s fucking smarter than us, Virgin.”

  “I wouldn’t say smarter than us.”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  “Clever.”

  “Clever? What animal is clever?”

  “Crows, when given the proper tools, can pluck grub from glass bottles. Same with hawks. They’ll sometimes drop their prey to crack their skulls and bones to get at the tastier parts.”

  For animals to be clever in ways humanlike was to grant upon them intelligence that likened them to the things they shared their world with. That, though simple and demure, was enough to shatter Odin’s view about the food chain and push his mind toward the greater parts of insanity.

  Animals couldn’t be smart as people. They just couldn’t.

  Maybe this isn’t an animal, his conscience whispered. Maybe it’s like a werewolf.

  Though not completely sentient, there was a form of intelligence within such life that sometimes allowed those special and gifted with magic the opportunity to speak with them. It could be entirely possible that this thing stalking them was such a creature—a werewolf, like his conscience had said. Maybe it wasn’t even an animal. Maybe it had a human or Elven master that forced it to do his or her bidding in order to keep those untrustworthy away from Elven sentiments, like a Necromancer binding her will to flesh.

  Now you’re just being ridiculous.

  Ridiculous or not, he couldn’t rule any option out, even if that meant deceit and treachery.

  “You don’t think anyone’s set something after us,” Odin asked, falling into place beside Virgin, “do you?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “It just occurred to me, that’s all.”

  “That someone might be setting an animal after us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we really can’t rule out any possibility, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think whatever’s following us has a human or Elven master, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “But it’s not impossible?”

  “No. It isn’t, but I highly doubt it is.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because if we had someone following us, I’d very likely know by now.”

  “Why? You can’t know that.”

  “They’d have to be somewhere close to us to see where we’ve been going, and so far as I know, no one’s been following us.”

  “But—“

  “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, Odin. Just be content that we’re safe and we haven’t run into any trouble so far.”

  So far, he thought.

  Not willing and unable to continue the argument, Odin crossed his arms, bowed his head, then stepped over a root that strayed onto the path in front of him.

  If only Virgin could see his point and concern.

  There’s nothing you can do. If he doesn’t think it’s a tame animal, then it isn’t a tame animal.

  Fair was fair, he supposed. Virgin could have one theory and he another, but that didn’t mean they had to agree on both.

  Sighing, Odin turned his head up and looked at the path in front of them.

  “Here,” Virgin said, passing his hand over the now-visible, obviously-made road in front of them, “is where the path to Lesliana begins.”

  “You mean we’re almost there?” Odin frowned.

  “Yes,” Virgin agreed. “We’re almost there.”

  They camped alongside the road—where, Odin expected, they would likely see a patrol going to and from the capital. Though the fire glowed harsh and the path seemed all but unwelcoming, he saw nothing of the sort, save the occasional woodland critter that would go scurrying by with either a worm of a piece of nut in its mouth.

  “Virgin,” Odin said, tilting his head over his shoulder to examine his companion, who lay within the bedroll with an arm over his brow and his eyes set toward what little they could see of the sky.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You’ve just been quiet.”

  “Thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “About today?” he asked, pulling the pan of biscuits from atop the cooking setup.

  “A little, but not a whole lot.”

  “I’m sorry about arguing with you earlier.”

  “Eh, don’t worry about it. We have our differences. I can respect that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No need to.”

  Testing the warmth of one of the lumps of bread, Odin waved his hand over the food in an attempt to cool their steaming surfaces, then picked one of the biscuits up and bit the tip out of it. Not yet fully settled, he shrugged, set the biscuit down, then leaned back to examine the slight clearing around them, which seemed to divide into two separate paths.

  “This T-road,” Odin said, raising his voice over the dull static of the fire.

  “Yeah?”

  “Does it lead to other settlements?”

  “It does. One outpost tower and another small village.”

  “What does the outpost tower watch?”

  “The desert to the south of the country you call Germa.”

  “Ah,” Odin said. “Is there much to watch for here? I mean, with all the forest around?”

  “There’s always something to watch.”

  “Have you ever had trouble with bandits or anything of the sort?”

  “You occasionally get men who wander in here trying to get their own way, but few of them make it out alive. Some even stumble upon the outpost and end up begging for their lives because of what all they’ve gone through.”

  “I would’ve never been able to make it here,” Odin sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back until his head rested directly beside Virgin’s. “I guess it was faith.”

  “Faith?” Virgin asked.

  “Do you not believe in it?”

  “I didn’t take you for a man who believed in the Gods.”

  “I… don’t really know what I believe.” Odin rolled over onto his stomach to look directly into his companion’s eyes. “Is that wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “That I don’t know what I believe?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Can I ask what you believe in?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  To think that nothing could exist beyond death was not a hearty measure. It was said that in times after death—when delivered from what was considered the mortal realm and toward what supposedly came afterward—the soul, spirit, Sprite or whatever it was that lived inside each living and breathing took upon itself the passage of transition that was said to come after the grand adventure they called life. Be it a ship in the sky, a garden full of flowers or a place in the world reserved for those dead and only dead, that place—that magical after—was meant and made for creatures who’d lived their lives and then had died. For that reason—and for many reasons other than that, those of which Odin did not want to dwell on—it seemed highly possible that nothing could exist after life, that there could be no ship, no garde
n, no place in the world reserved for those dead and only dead and no plane upon which the soul could ride, and while mystified by the prospect, it seemed completely terrifying to even believe in such things.

  Doesn’t something have to exist?

  No. There didn’t have to be anything, for there was no mandate for such a thing, no required curriculum for there to be studies upon which happened after death. Nothing needed to exist, for the law of nature decreed that if it was not visible in plain sight or felt within the hearts of one, it need not exist.

  Then what is faith, he thought, if but an abstract concept?

  Virgin’s hand on his face drew Odin from his thoughts.

  “You faded out there,” the older Halfling said, positioning his head directly under Odin’s so they could look into one another’s eyes. “I was wondering if something had happened.”

  “No. Nothing happened.”

  “You get this lost look in your eyes whenever you think about something—like you’ve just had the whole world and all its meaning taken away from you.”

  “I do?”

  “You do.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I don’t think so. It just makes you all the more beautiful.”

  “I’m beautiful?”

  “Everyone deserves to feel special,” Virgin said, pressing forward just enough for Odin to wonder whether their lips had touched.

  “I don’t feel that way.”

  “Why?”

  Because it seems like everything’s gone, he thought. Like everything’s been pulled out from under me.

  Virgin reached up and took Odin’s face in his hands.

  Odin closed his eyes.

  It took but a moment and one simple force for their lips to fall together and their lives to be entwined. Vines, flowers, constellations, firestorms, stars falling across the sky and marking their path in hues vibrant and gold—it seemed when their mouths parted and Virgin’s tongue entered his mouth that life had no purpose other than to be lived in twos: in couples, with hands laced together and two paths combined into one. For two people to wander the world was arduous enough, as the path was gnarled and snaked with roots, but for two men to walk together hand-in-hand in a land full of prejudice and disgrace? That itself seemed a punishment bestowed upon the Gods, if they happened to exist, and if that punishment were real, then why was it that one had to live in fear of loving another, to hide behind closed doors and within closets barred with planks and nails where outside the villagers were angry? Was it because the world saw them unfit for justification, or was it simply because those ignorant and small-minded did not see fit two people to love unabashedly and without regret?

  Does it matter? Odin thought.

  In moments like these, when he felt closer to a person than he could ever possibly imagine, he felt as though it didn’t—that nothing, regardless of its merit, could destroy such happiness.

  When their hold on each other broke—when lips came apart and eyes opened to reveal a world beautiful and without hurt—Odin stared down into Virgin’s green eyes and saw something he had not seen since this whole ordeal began.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, bowing their foreheads together.

  “Don’t thank me,” Virgin whispered back.

  In the pale light streaming from the fire, Odin closed his eyes and cried.

  Morning came fresh and cold despite the previous days’ humidity and heat. The chill in the air, as welcome and inviting as it seemed, was enough to pull Odin from his place in bed immediately after he crawled from the bedroll and made his way into the world.

  “Morning,” Virgin said.

  “Morning.”

  The fire—still alight despite the fact that he had slept for the better half of the night—continued to burn strong, to the point where Virgin was able to warm what appeared to be jerky atop it. While that in itself didn’t necessarily surprise him, the fact that it continued to go so strong was enough to confirm that he was, slowly but surely, learning how to keep control of his magic even outside of consciousness.

  That’s good, he thought.

  Maybe tonight, after a long day’s worth of travel, he would send beads of light to the edges of the next campsite in order to dissuade people or things from coming too close. Any added measure of precaution was a welcome thing, in his book.

  “Here,” Virgin said, lifting a piece of the dried meat and passing it back to him.

  “Thanks,” Odin replied. “How was the watch?”

  “All right.”

  “You ok?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t want you to be tired.”

  “I’m not. Don’t worry. I’m more Elf than you would think.”

  Of course you are, Odin thought, reaching up to trail a hand along the side of Virgin’s head. That’s why you have hair all over you.

  Unable to suppress the chuckle that rose from his throat, Odin leaned forward, wrapped his arms around the older Halfling, then bowed his head into Virgin’s shoulder, where he sighed before closing his eyes to revel in the warmth exuding off his flesh.

  “You’re in a good mood today.”

  “It feels nice,” Odin said. “I mean, to be happy.”

  “It is,” Virgin agreed.

  “When are we setting out?”

  “As soon as this jerky is done cooking and we’ve eaten something.”

  “All right.”

  He could do with a slow morning. Not every waking hour need be spent wandering the road in pursuit of the thing he was looking for, though any forward progress helped ease his mind and led him to believe that things really could work out.

  This may just be a grace period, he thought, tightening his hold on Virgin’s torso when emotions came flooding forward. It may not be much longer before you’re back at the same place again.

  He couldn’t allow himself to believe that his happiness would not last. To do that would not only resign himself to defeat, but also a lesser emotion that could easily dispel the notion that what he was doing was not justified, which it most perfectly was.

  To anyone looking upon his situation, they could have said that he was blind—arrogant, they claimed, to bring back something that he could not deal with being lost—but they could not say he was unguided.

  I’m doing this for him, he thought. For him and only him.

  Virgin reached up and set a hand over his.

  “You’re breathing heavy,” the Halfling whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just thinking,” he said.

  “About?”

  “What we’re doing.”

  “I’ll help you do whatever it is you want to do, Odin, even if that only means getting you to the capital so you can reflect on some things.”

  “I want to steal the book.”

  “I know.”

  “My mind hasn’t changed on that.”

  “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll do my best to help you steal it, though that doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll be able to.”

  “Oh, we’ll do it all right. I guarantee you that.”

  “I like a man determined.”

  “I’m more than determined.”

  “Good,” Virgin said. “Now settle down. Let’s eat before we start for the day.”

  The crack of a branch was enough to stop them dead in their tracks.

  “Virgin,” Odin said.

  “What?” the Halfling asked.

  “Did you do that?”

  “That wasn’t me. Was it you?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Odin drew his sword as he circled their surroundings and fell back against Virgin, who drew his weapon and quickly followed in their pursuit of the sound. Dagger drawn, the faint light streaming through the needles bouncing off its blade and reflecting back at the area around them, Odin dared himself for but a moment to take the deepest breath he could manage and hold it for as
long as possible. Nose clogged, lips pursed, Odin took a step back and pressed his shoulders against Virgin’s, who merely tilted his head and watched the area with eyes alarmed and blazing within their sockets.

  What could it have been? he thought.

  It could likely have been a false step caused by a miscalculation, thus alerting them to the possibility that something had stumbled upon the area and was watching them. If that were the case, then why hadn’t they stepped on the branch again, and why hadn’t it cracked a second time under one or both of their combined weight?

  “I want you to be very quiet,” Virgin said, arching his back to the point where their glutes touched and their spines seemed to become one.

  I am, Odin wanted to say.

  How desperately he wanted to scream for whatever it was to come out—for this creature, regardless of its appearance and intentions, to break from the tree line and reveal itself in the flesh. Why it had yet to reveal itself was beyond his comprehension, but why it continued to watch them from safety he couldn’t imagine. Surely it knew it had notified them to its presence.

  The snap came once again.

  Odin grimaced.

  Both he and Virgin stopped in their tracks.

  As one, they turned to face the west.

  It came from the shadows of the great shrubs and trees with its head held proud and its golden eyes reflecting the light that bounced from the pine needles. Its crescent horns glimmering, black and blue and gnarled with veins, it raised its neck and extended it as far as it could before regarding the two of them with an expression that could have been human, were it to have a face like his or Virgin’s. That, however, was not the case, for in that moment when their eyes crossed and a connection seemed made, it cocked to the side, stretched its neck out and around in a circular pattern, then pawed at the ground with its three-digit paws, those of which lay adorned with the three dagger-like claws Odin had imagined no more than a few nights ago.

  “What is this thing?” Odin whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Virgin said.