Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  Unable to think, breathe and progressively see the deeper he sank, Odin closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything at all, save things good and without consequence.

  Out of the deep, blue darkness, a voice began to sing.

  Odin, it said, a note rising, then falling like a grand boy’s crescendo within a tightly-enclosed space. Odin, Odin. Wake up Odin. Wake up.

  Wake up? How could he do such a thing when he was not asleep?

  He opened his eyes to darkness, then light.

  A figure appeared within the front of his vision.

  There you go, the voice said, the form of what should have been its mouth shifting into what could have been a smile . You’re getting there. Just a little further now.

  Getting closer to what, he wondered—the end, the beginning, the phase between the time stories begin and ultimately end, or was he going elsewhere, somewhere that transcended beginning, life and then death?

  Was he in the place they called Heaven, a field endless and without disgrace, or was he in Hell, a pool deep and never-ending?

  Odin opened his mouth.

  Water swam forward.

  He closed his eyes and began to cough.

  Something happened.

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  The next time his eyes came open, he was lying atop a bed in a room filled with blindingly-white light.

  Directly at his side, holding his hand and pressing his palm against the side of his face, was Virgin, dressed in a white shirt and pants the color of onyx.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  Immediately, pain flowered in his chest.

  “We’re in Lesliana,” Virgin said, stroking his cheek and leaning forward to look him directly in the eyes. “You nearly died.”

  “What?”

  “That thing almost killed you.”

  “What was it?”

  “I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “Why does my—“

  “Chest hurt so bad?” Virgin asked, waiting for Odin to say something more before he continued. “They healed what they could, but some of those wounds… Odin, that thing was a magical creature.”

  A magical creature?

  He’d never heard of such a thing, save a construct created and bound by magic.

  “Is that why they couldn’t heal me?” he asked, desperate to look at what lay beneath what was most recognizably bandaging, but not sure if he should. “Because it had some sort of spell cast over itself?”

  “The things in this forest are old,” the older Halfling replied, pushing himself away from Odin’s waist to stand and make his way about the room. “Some are much older than even the Elves.”

  “I killed it though… right?”

  “With your silver sword, yes.”

  “Where—“

  His eyes caught sight of both weapons lying against the wall, propped up by nothing more than their sheaths.

  “They’re perfectly fine,” Virgin said, walking to the window to Odin’s far right and looking out at the world beyond the room.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I’m no stranger to Lesliana. Of course, that doesn’t mean they let me in willingly. You were the catalyst, after all.”

  “The catalyst?”

  “They probably wouldn’t have let me in unless I had a very good reason.”

  “I thought you—“

  “Have been here before. Yes, I have, but it’s not easy to get in.”

  “I don’t understand something,” Odin said, pushing himself into a sitting position as best as he could.

  “What’s that?” Virgin frowned.

  “How did you get in here if I was the one injured?”

  “I said I was your lover.”

  A flame of heat rose inside Odin’s cheeks.

  Did he really just say what I think he said?

  “I’m sorry,” Odin said, reaching up to run his hand away from his hair. “I had to have heard that wrong.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You didn’t say you told them you were my lover.”

  “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Because we’re two men who hardly know anything about each other’s pasts, he thought. Because I don’t even know if you have a last name or not.

  Rather than say anything to risk spoiling the moment, Odin leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed as Virgin opened the window to allow a cool, afternoon gust in, which offered more peace and semblance of normality than he could have possibly imagined.

  He waited—first one moment, then two.

  All seemed well.

  Soon after, however, it began to slide down.

  As the matter of happiness and comfort escaped his body and left for what could have been the scope of sadness and despair, he began to think about the things that seemed to assault him all the more now that his natural defenses had gone down—the things that, regardless of their intent, seemed to stab him like sharp needles forever pressing into the whites of his eyes and drawing blood and matter from the center of his vision. That alone was enough to make him feel unimportant and unwarranted, regardless of the fact that he had just obviously been made important by no more than a few short words.

  Could he, in the end, really compare Virgin to someone he could call his lover—a partner whom, by all means, had sheltered and cared of him regardless of their combined past?

  That’s ridiculous, he thought. It’s going too fast.

  Then again, who was to say that love could not happen in but a moment, in one fraction of a breath, in one isolated, stifled pause?

  Virgin moved by the window, disrupting his train of thought.

  Odin blinked.

  The taller Halfling regarded him with an intense facial expression that seemed to scrutinize every part of Odin’s body.

  Ignore it.

  How could he, though, when his friend—and, possibly, lover—was all the closer to him?

  Sighing, no longer sure what to do or think, Odin settled back down into bed, drew the blankets around him, then closed his eyes.

  He hadn’t the time to think about such matters. Eventually, he would, but now seemed far too important to dedicate himself to matters of the heart.

  He had come here for one reason and one reason only—to get the Book of the Dead.

  Virgin returned with food as the night began to wane and his appearance became all the more troubling. Eyes alight with intent that seemed devious and unwarranted, he brought the platter of food into the room and pulled up an end table to serve as their dining area, all the while watching Odin with an innate, curious fascination.

  What’s wrong with him? Odin thought, almost unable to resist the urge to tremble as he reached for one of the sandwich triangles. Why is he staring at me like that?

  Had Virgin, like he so expected, become infatuated with him after the admission that he had claimed to be his lover, or was he just concerned for his welfare and thus taking intimate accounts of his every move? Either way, it did nothing to settle Odin’s nerves, so when he took a bite of the sandwich triangle and swallowed it as smoothly as he could, he leaned back and looked his fellow Halfling straight in the eyes.

  “What?” Virgin asked.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Odin replied.

  “Like what?”

  “Like… that.”

  Virgin blinked.

  He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, he thought, biting his lower lip as scarlet bloomed across Virgin’s face and washed into the outer edges of his somewhat-pale coloring. He’s been staring at me this whole time and had absolutely no idea.

  “Sorry,” the Halfling said, bowing his head to look at the platter of food, from which he took nothing.

  “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Did so earlier, down in the bar.”

  “The Elves have a bar?”

  “Though they are vegetarian, they do tend to like their wine.”

  It took Odin
but a moment to realize he’d been eating something without any sort of meat. In response, he raised his head, asked, “How are you treated around these parts?” then reached forward to take one of the onion pieces before sliding it into his mouth. “I mean, being a Halfling and all.”

  “I’m looked upon with a bit of scorn from some, but most just tend to ignore me—or, at the very least, not bother to acknowledge my presence.”

  “We’re dirty to them, aren’t we?”

  “As dirty as their strawberry-blonde hair,” Virgin laughed, reaching out to slap Odin’s arm before procuring one of the vegetables for himself.

  Sighing, though not in outright concern, Odin settled back against the mass of pillows arranged behind him, then turned his attention to the far window. While he could see nothing, that didn’t stop him from imaging what the city must look like.

  “Is it beautiful?” he asked.

  “Lesliana?” Virgin frowned. “Of course it is. It’s the capital.”

  “It’s nothing like those villages that are made from the wood of trees,” Odin said, turning his eyes back on Virgin. “Is it?”

  “Not in the least, my friend. Everything here is made of stone or boulder.”

  “Really?”

  “Easier to manage. It’s not like we have winter or anything here.”

  “You don’t?”

  “So far as I remember, we’ve never had one.”

  “But we’re not that far from the border.”

  “Maybe the hills keep it away from us,” Virgin shrugged. “Or maybe we just don’t get any because this place is special… sacred… something of that sort.”

  A place so sacred snow can’t even fall?

  If ever there was a place where things were destined to or not to happen, it would be Neline—the frozen, arctic land so cursed they said a God had destined them to live in agony forever.

  His child, Odin thought.

  All sense of self left him in that very moment.

  He dropped the second half of his carrot onto the bedding.

  Virgin frowned.

  Odin’s eyes shifted until they fell directly on the Halfling’s face.

  He’s not just missing from your life, his conscience continued, collectively assaulting him with images of all the people he’d touched, some small, some innumerable. He’s missing for everyone.

  Never would that child in Neline know of its father, save the human one he was one day likely to have, nor would the Elves in Lesliana know of the beautiful creature’s pursuits or the reason for his disappearance. Likely, it would fall upon the wind so swift and harsh that he had died, shot through the lung and dead upon sight, though whether or not he would be revered as a war hero was up to anyone’s recollections.

  In Odin’s heart, so faint and idle, he felt as though Miko would never be honored outside of the choice group of friends they had encountered along the five years of their journey.

  At this, he bowed his head and tried not to cry.

  Tears slipped from his eyes.

  Virgin stepped forward, then settled down on the bed next to him.

  “It’s all right,” the Halfling said.

  “No it’s not,” he said, shaking his head and allowing the tears to fall freely. “You know what we’re here to do.”

  “I know.”

  “Then tell me what I’m doing is wrong.”

  “I—“

  “Tell me, Virgin. Fucking tell me this whole entire thing is fucking wrong.”

  “There’s no need to get upset over this,” Virgin said, tilting Odin’s chin up so they could look each other in the eyes. “Look, Odin—I know this is hard for you, because losing someone is never easy, but you have to realize something: If you’re really going to do what I think you will, then you’ll do it without any guilt in your heart or any second thoughts. And if you have any, well… you have a little while to think them over, because we’re not going anywhere anytime soon, especially not with your chest the way it is.”

  “You’ll still,” Odin said, then paused. “I mean, you’ll still… heh-help me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? We’ve come this far. There’s no reason to stop now.”

  Odin bowed his head.

  When he once again began to cry, Virgin took him into his arms.

  Things will work out, he thought.

  They had to, otherwise there would be no point for this venture.

  An Elven man dressed in a fine silver robe came into their room the following morning. Head held high, blonde hair braided in two down his shoulders and with eyes the color of stark sandstone that could be found in the Cadarian Desert, he trailed his gaze first over Virgin, who sat at the opposite side of the room, then to Odin, who’d continued to remain in bed.

  “Hello,” the Elven man said.

  Almost unable to concentrate on the creature’s face for the pure beauty and androgyny it held, Odin allowed his mouth to drop open and his eyes to wander across the breathtaking canvas of the Eklf’s face. From the high cheekbones, to the deep eye sockets, to the fine trails of hair upon his brow and the portraiture of thin lips across his face, this creature—nowhere near or capable of being human—looked upon him with eyes calm yet somewhat concerned, as they continued to flash up and down his person as the moments continued to tick on.

  You’re staring, his conscience whispered.

  Did that really matter? In the end, this beautiful creature had been one of the few he had ever seen, so to stare into the eyes of an Elf untainted by war or hardship was to look into the eyes of something immortal and therefore breathtaking to an entire world.

  Across the room, Virgin cleared his throat, as if beckoning a response.

  Odin blinked.

  The Elf in the silver robes gave him a slight nod before returning his attention to Virgin. “Master Virgin,” he said.

  “Yes sire,” the Halfling said, rising.

  “How is your charge doing?”

  “He’s doing fine,” Virgin replied, allowing his eyes to wander across the room until they set directly upon Odin’s.

  In light of the situation—and, particularly, the fact that he was awake and being ignored—Odin wanted to say, ‘I’m right here,’ but somehow thought better. Instead, he merely crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and continued to watch the two engage in casual banter, no longer feeling the need to impress upon the Elf who was very likely their host an air arduous and troublesome.

  “It is not very often we see Yamda in these parts,” the Elf in the silver robe said, immediately piquing Odin’s attention. “You are one of the few we have seen in quite some time. Tell me—where have you been?”

  “Just around.”

  “That does not give me any indication as to where you were.”

  “I never stray too far north. You should know that.”

  “But of course. Your Elven heart shares no hatred to the place you now dwell in.

  “Of course not.”

  Do they know each other?

  The likelihood didn’t seem too completely out of the world. If Virgin was as customary with the Elves as he seemed, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t know some of the people who lived within this city, in this grand, sprawling metropolis.

  A snarl of unease crept up his throat.

  Odin raised his hand to stifle a cough.

  The Elf turned his attention on him.

  Not sure what to do, say or how to respond, Odin lowered his hand and regarded the creature with eyes that very likely showed fear.

  “Yamda,” the Elf said, crossing the distance between them to stand at the side of his bed.

  “Sorry?” Odin frowned.

  “Are you well?”

  “I’m… fine,” he managed, unsure how to take the initial consolation.

  “If you need anything, please, feel free to let me know. You are in our care now that you are here.”

  “Where am I? I mean, which building?”

  “You are in our capitol’s greatest
hospital. It is any wonder you are alive, young one. You could have been killed by that creature.”

  “What was it?” Odin asked. “I deserve to know what nearly killed me.”

  “The thing your friend described can only be one of the Nagani,” the Elf said, crouching down to take Odin’s hand.

  “Nagani?”

  “They are a creature that are said to only follow those with ill intent. Why they would attack you is beyond my comprehension.”

  Is it? Odin thought, all the more troubled at the idea that this Elf could pierce into his soul and see his darkest desires. Or are you just saying that because you’re not sure of who I am?

  “I came to learn of death,” he whispered, shifting his hand beneath the Elf’s.

  His statement was not entirely untrue. Yes, he had come to steal the Book of the Dead, and yes, he had come here out of a need for answers he felt he could not find elsewhere, but he had not lied when he said he wanted to learn the purpose of what came after life. The philosophy itself he could sit upon, for it would likely be doled out in small, manageable chunks. The Book, however, would have to be taken, then read, thereby initiating a pact that could lead him down a path of madness.

  What am I thinking?

  If the legends were true, and if what they said about the Book held any real moral indication, he would likely be damned for life by opening its pages and reading from its sacred texts.

  “You have come to the right place if you wish to learn,” the creature said, patting Odin’s hand one last time before standing and making his way toward the door. “If you need anything, Yamda, please, feel free to ask your partner to summon for help.”

  Partner?

  The door closed firmly behind the Elf in silver, leaving them in complete and utter silence

  Later that evening, long after the Elf in the silver robe had left and Virgin sat reading by candlelight, Odin raised his head from his place in bed and regarded the empty room with eyes somber yet partially amused. Thoughts of the earlier conversation still amok in his mind and the reality that Elven language had been used explicitly in front of him, he pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched his arms up as far as he could before allowing his eyes to fall on his friend.