Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  It occurred to him in the brief moments after that thought that the dove could have been nothing more than an apparition—a trick of the mind granted only to console his ever-restless soul. It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibilities, for he had seen such things before. The orb of light within Dwaydor, casting its reflection upon the street; the dog-like creature in the Hills, following him and howling like some distressed banshee; the dreams of Demigods and their warnings—these were the things, the issues and causes that had occurred after pressures nearly unbearable to the human conscience had dwelled within his mind, forcing him to either retaliate against opposing pressures or fight against oppressing needs. These things, as troublesome and depressing as they were, had given him flashes into his life, his present and, ultimately, his future, and had, without a shadow of a doubt, allowed him an instinctive advantage over what was to possibly come.

  What does it mean though, he thought, to see a dove and not know what its purpose was?

  Could the creature have been the very one meant to take his father’s soul to the supposed other side, or was it just a friend wishing to help him along?

  After pushing himself to his feet, Odin crossed the last few steps to the window and looked out at the city of Lesliana.

  In the distance—far more than he could have ever possibly imagined—stood the very castle in which the queen dwelled, shaped like a barbed crown awaiting to be placed upon a holy man’s head.

  When he would recover, he couldn’t be sure. He did, however, know that when he did, he and Virgin would steal the Book of the Dead.

  Life would not end for a person who had helped him so.

  In moments of darkness, one could only look toward sources of light.

  In his heart and mind, Odin knew that source dwelled within a very dark place.

  Virgin returned moments after Odin tore himself from the window and settled back into bed. Balancing a platter of food upon on hand and turning to secure and lock the doorwith the other, the Halfling spun with ease that seemed almost impossible to his tall and broad frame and settled the platter upon the end table, nodding as Odin pulled its silver lid off to examine the food within.

  “Are you all right?” the older Halfling asked after Odin set the lid to the side.

  “Sorry?” Odin asked.

  “You seem a bit flustered.”

  If only you knew, he thought. If only.

  Odin took from the platter a biscuit warm and soft and placed the tip of it into his mouth, sighing as the plain yet exquisite flavor rolled from its surface and onto his tongue. While he did this, careful not to burn himself on the deeper parts of the bread, he watched Virgin with careful eyes and regarded him with a sense of unease he couldn’t help but feel was inappropriate for the situation. He shouldn’t have been worried about the Halfling—should not have, for any reason, felt a need for caution—but for the next few moments he couldn’t help but watch Virgin’s careful yet subtle facial movements for fear that he would say or do something to further damage his psyche.

  “Odin,” Virgin said, the word itself immediately clearing any tension that seemed to float in the air.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “No. There isn’t.”

  “You can tell me anything you want,” the Halfling said, settling down on the bed next to him. “I think we’ve established that, haven’t we?”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you keeping so much away from me?”

  Because, he thought.

  Did he really want to admit that he was, beyond all recognition, afraid of being close to this man, this Halfling, this beautiful person that seemed able to sense all trouble within his heart and dispel it with a simple word? It seemed impossible to know that feeling, improbable to even sense it within his heart, but for it to be so apparent seemed all the more troubling to his fractured heart and his even more unstable mind.

  Odin stared into Virgin’s eyes.

  The Halfling did nothing in response.

  Instead, as though on a whim of supernatural proportions, Virgin reached down, set his hand over Odin’s, then slid the first three fingers from his middle to pinky under his hands. “I care about you,” the older Halfling whispered, leaning forward to brush his face alongside Odin’s.

  “I know,” he whispered back.

  “Don’t be afraid of it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes you are. If you weren’t afraid, you wouldn’t be looking at me the way you are.”

  “I—“

  “Don’t say anything, Odin.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s nothing you can say to take away the hurt in my heart in knowing that you’re suffering far more than you should be.”

  Was there, though? Was there anything he could say to not only console Virgin, but himself? To take away the pain would have been to erase a magnitude of emotion incomprehensible to any divided figures, nor would it have discouraged him from doing what it was that he wanted to do.

  In the past month, he’d lost more of not only his life, but his future than he could have imagined.

  Leaning forward, pressing his brow against Virgin’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and allowed his arms to fall around the Halfling’s torso.

  It was moments like these that made the world better.

  These things—these special things—could not be easily taken away.

  “All right,” high healer Oleana said, easing her fingers along the curve of the bandaging to release the pin that held everything together. “Let us see how your wounds are healing.”

  Though he knew nothing of this female Elf or what she had done for him, Virgin explained, in short and precise detail, that she had been the one on duty when he had carried him in from the forest. Bloodied and near death, it had been through her quick, rational thinking and attention to detail that had ultimately saved him from an untimely death.

  “How have you been treating yourself?” the Elf asked, raising her silver eyes to look at Odin.

  “Better than I think I should have.”

  “That’s a good sign,” she agreed, instructing Virgin to help her unwind the bandage from Odin’s torso.

  As his chest came into view, slowly but surely like some ugly thing being birthed from its mother’s womb, Odin was almost unable to comprehend just what he was seeing. It appeared, in all respects, that the top layer of his skin had not only been removed, but sheared off in six-figure increments in the areas between his pectoral muscles and on the expanse of muscle below his abdomen. Red, blackened, some areas blue, others purple and some bearing the defeated consequence of whitened flesh that could only be favorable to pus and other extraneous body fluids—the viscera upon his torso appeared to have been painted by some exotic artist creating an abstract work of art. Such were his wounds that he could barely believe he had managed to survive, let alone retain the nipples so prominently displayed on his chest. He’d expected worst—complete tragedy in the form of absolute mayhem. The fact that he’d escaped such hardship was a feat that could have been comparable to some great hero rescuing a little boy from the clutches of a fabled dragon.

  “How,” he asked, then stopped when the Elf pushed her hand onto his chest.

  From her wrist and palm flowed magical fire teal and resembling something of a grand pool of water drowned in the most prestigious of flowers. As it ebbed over his skin, both sewing and restoring damaged areas that could not have recovered properly on their own, Odin felt what felt like thousands of small insects wandering over his body. These insects, as small and pure as they were, seemed to pluck from his torso flesh deadened and possibly scarred. This doe’s powers in healing magic were so beyond anything he could have ever imagined that when she finished and his chest was yet one step further through recovery, he turned his head up and offered a smile he felt could not be possible.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “I could
have sewn your flesh completely were I not afraid of infection,” the doe said, pushing her hand along Odin’s head and teasing the curls that ended at the tips of his hair.

  “Is the Nagani poisonous?”

  “Not in the way we view some flowers or insects, no, but its claws do hold a certain destructive magic that usually kills those who comes in contact with it. Your partner here was lucky you were so close to the walls, otherwise you might have died from lack of blood.”

  “I did my best,” Virgin said.

  “You did well,” the doe agreed, pushing herself to her full height of some six feet before turning to make her way from the door. “Yamda Virgin, before I go.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’d do best to keep your partner in bed. He’s much better off resting so soon after his injuries.”

  “Don’t worry,” Virgin smiled. “I will.”

  The doe closed the door without so much as another word.

  “Do you know how much longer I’ll be in bed?” Odin asked as Virgin pulled his knife from its sheath and began to sharpen it with a whetstone.

  “Can’t say,” Virgin replied, raising his eyes to briefly regard him. “Sorry, Odin, but until the healer says you’re all right to get up and move, you should stay where you are.”

  “I can’t stay in bed. I’ll go crazy.”

  “Read a book.”

  “I can’t read Elvish.”

  “I can teach you,” Virgin offered, flicking his wrist a few times to guide the stone along the curve of his exquisite dagger. “That is, if you want me to.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know how much worth it’d be, considering we’re not going to be here all that long.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I don’t—“

  “We could be here for months. Have you considered that?”

  “We’re just—“

  “You know what we’re here to do,” Virgin whispered, sheathing his blade in the pouch on his jerkin and stepping forward, bridging the distance between them in but a few short steps. “It may take months to even attempt to get an audience with the queen, let alone find what we’re looking for.”

  “Shouldn’t it be behind a gate somewhere?”

  “Behind a gate?” Virgin laughed. “Odin, we’re talking about stealing what is perhaps the most notorious book of magic that was ever written. It isn’t going to be somewhere in plain view.”

  “All right,” he said, biting his lower lip and staring Virgin straight in the eyes. He only just realized his companion’s face had drawn closer when he felt his breath passing over his face. “Say this takes longer than a month.”

  “All right.”

  “And say we have to ‘adapt’ to this place.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “How are we going to find out where the book is?”

  “There’s a few things we could do,” Virgin said, reaching down to set a hand on Odin’s thigh. “We can say you’re a Halfling looking to get in touch with your more Elven side and request that you be taken on as an apprentice by one of the high mages here.”

  “That isn’t going to work.”

  “Who’s to say it won’t? I reckon, just based on what you’ve told me, that you’ll want to speak to the queen about your father’s death, especially considering the fact that he specifically came to ask for her help. That can get you an easy audience right there.”

  “Which means we have a way into the castle,” Odin said.

  “Which also means we’ll possibly have free roam of it so long as we don’t act too suspicious,” Virgin added, nodding when a smile spread across Odin’s face. “See? We’re working this out.”

  “You said it might take us a couple of months to get an audience with the queen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means we’ll probably be here until after winter starts in Ornala.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which means we’ll have time to spare if I do end up becoming an Elf’s apprentice.”

  “Which means,” Virgin said, “that you can ask about the Book of the Dead after you’ve been in stealth mode for a little while.”

  “I never thought this would be so complicated when I set out to do this,” Odin sighed, bowing his head and allowing his hair to fall over his eyes.

  “Did you think this would just be grab and go?”

  “How do you do it?”

  “What?” Virgin frowned.

  “You know… steal.”

  Oh, that.” The Halfling smiled and placed both hands behind his head. “Patience, mostly.”

  “How can you have that when you want something this bad?”

  “Because in the end, waiting pays off, especially if you get the thing that you really want.”

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Odin sighed. “All I know is that if we do end up taking this, it’ll be the last time either of us will be able to come in here.”

  “Who’s to say we’re going to get caught? Or anyone’s going to know about it?”

  “It’s the Book of the Dead, Virgin. They’ll know when it goes missing, and they’ll know that we did it.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “How so?”

  “Just because something gets taken doesn’t mean anyone will notice it’s gone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because wherever they’re keeping that book is obviously not going to be a place visited by many people, if any at all.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because they don’t want to be around it. If anything, they want to stay away from it.”

  Virgin did have a point. Things dangerous and usually threatening were bound to be kept in places that normal individuals couldn’t easily get to, let alone people who knew or were purposeful of its location. For all they knew, the book could have been locked away behind a simple door and meant to remain there for the rest of time, its location guarded by a simple lock that had no magical bearing at all. The Elves knew better than to touch such an object because history, as sad as it was, had shown that doing such a thing would taint them so badly that they would become something less than perfect—a monstrosity, they said, with bat-like ears and a crude intention for violence and destruction.

  If anything, the book would be kept somewhere discreet, though that place would likely be known and marked so those who wanted nothing to do with it could stray away.

  With a short nod, Odin leaned back, closed his eyes, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

  Whatever was to happen, he felt he would find out soon enough.

  In the end, he would get his hands on that book even if it meant risking life itself.

  They devised within the confined space of four walls to steal the Book of the Dead. In tones hushed and whispered, plain and simple, practical and targeted and pure and precise, it began without a shadow of doubt as a seed, which within the next several moments began to spread its roots into the fertile earth and raise its arms to the shattered world. Twisting, turning, dancing, laughing, praising the world and the Gods that governed it—many would have described the art of a seed freshly sewn as a dancer placed within a ring of onlookers seeking to satisfy their most primal of desires. It was within this metaphor, as breathtaking as it was, that true light began to be shed upon the situation. While as great a deed that seemed to sound and as dangerous as its prospect realized, it was guaranteed, without any doubt within his mind, that they would be able to carry out this plan should the proper procedures be taken.

  It may take weeks, Virgin said. But in the end, it will be all worth it.

  The Halfling began first by saying that in order to proceed with their plan, Odin would need to get close to a High Elf mage in order to secure his position within the castle. This Elf—Doe, Stag, or something in between—need not have a title revered throughout all the kingdom, but a station within life that made their purpose recommendable. This, Virgin said, would be the first step toward
their goal, the first rung upon the ladder that they must climb, for without a foothold upon the face of the mountain, one could not rise without risking potential injury. He then stated, in simple and careful detail, that after their positions were secured—when Odin fully stated that he was to apprentice a High Elf mage in order to further his magical ability—that Odin would state that Virgin was his partner and that the inn they would eventually be staying in did not fully compensate their needs.

  This will get me into the castle, the Halfling said, and keep me from looking suspicious.

  From there, Virgin continued, Odin would build momentum within his and his master’s relationship, then ask just where it was they kept a book so secret and vile in order to keep its dark powers contained. After that, it would be pure and simple. Needless to say, Virgin would carry out the rest of the proceedings.

  That night, when High Healer Oleana came to tend to his wounds, Odin asked what he would have to do to speak with someone who could help better his abilities.

  “I could train you,” the doe said, trailing her hand over his bare chest to sew new and shear away dead skin. “That is, if you would like.”

  “I’m not looking to learn about healing,” Odin said, grimacing as the flickers of static continued to light up along his skin. “I’m looking to learn how to use my magic in combat.”

  “This war is something harsh.”

  “It is,” Virgin agreed. “Odin would fare better if he knew the secrets to Elven magickry.”

  “They always said more is better,” High Healer Oleana said, crossing her arms as she finished the current round of healing along Odin’s torso. “I am not sure what all I can do to assist you, but I will try and search out the necessary procedures in order so you can meet with one of the High Mages.”

  “How soon can he be out of bed?”

  “Not for a few more days. It is not safe to irritate the skin so soon after it has been mended.”

  “But I will be able to get up and move soon,” Odin said. “Right?”

  “Your wounds will heal—thankfully, without scars—but you will have to take extra care not to overexert yourself. You do not want to cause your body any harm.”