Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “Would you like more?” Jarden asked.

  “I’m fine,” Odin said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Would you, Yamda Virgin?”

  “No, zir. Thank you.”

  Nodding, Jarden rose, gestured Odin and Virgin into the living room, then seated zirself in a fine, plush chair while Odin and Virgin situated themselves on the broad couch against the wall.

  “Odin,” Jarden said. “I would like you to show me your magic.”

  “All right.”

  “I noticed you and I share a similar trait.”

  “The white light,” he said.

  Jarden nodded and gestured him to open his palm by flexing zirs fingers.

  Doing as instructed, Odin took a deep breath, expelled it, then focused his will and effort into a small space on his palm until an orb shimmered into existence, casting its slight radius of light onto his palm and across the bottom of his face.

  “Very nice,” the Elf said.

  “Is white magic rare?” Virgin frowned.

  “White magics are usually only granted to those with innate, naturalistic healing properties, though from my own research into the matter, white magic is much more beneficial in combat experiments than in actual healing.”

  “Why is that?” Odin asked.

  “The light is often too harsh on the body. Tell me—have you ever healed someone with your magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “And has there been discoloration to the skin?”

  “Sometimes,” Odin admitted.

  “There. That is precisely why Elves or mages with such properties are reserved for combat mechanisms than healing ones. They are much more useful soldiers if only because their properties can be amplified.”

  “I didn’t know,” Odin said. “I’ve only ever been told that white light was associated with healing.”

  “You have heard correctly. Diana, if you believe in the legend, held the same color of light for her own.”

  “Was she an Elf?” Virgin frowned.

  “We do not know what Diana was, if perhaps she even existed. She could have been a Godly One.”

  “That makes sense,” Virgin said. “Far more than the idea that she was a human does.”

  “How that spread into human lore I do not know,” Jarden said, zirs laugh like an echo produced from a deep but harmonic instrument. “In regards to your magic though, Odin, have you been trained how to use it?”

  “By a mage in Ornala, yes.”

  “So you do not know the specifics of the art that could benefit you in combat?”

  Unsure what to say, Odin shook his head, which prompted a slight smile from Jarden and revealed white teeth with long incisor fangs. In response, Odin snuffed the light floating above his palm out by encircling his fingers around it and narrowed his eyes.

  “You show much promise,” the Neven D’Carda said. “Much more promise than I would normally expect from a human, Yamda or not.”

  “What does that mean?” Odin frowned. “That you’ll teach me?”

  “I do wish to educate you on the proper measures, if only because you may be overextending yourself and cutting your life very, very short—that is, if your human blood limits you to a short existence.”

  “You can’t tell just by looking at me?”

  “Drow do not live forever, nor do humans. You are very likely to die from age just like any other creature.”

  “That doesn’t matter though,” Virgin said. “Does it, zir?”

  “No. You are young. You will live a long and healthy life.”

  “Thank you,” Odin said, standing. “Are we excused?”

  “You may return tomorrow if you so desire.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jarden stood, extended zirs arm, then reached out to take Odin’s hand.

  When their palms touched, Odin couldn’t help but feel as though he had just succeeded in his plan.

  “How do you think that went?” Odin asked, sliding his hands into his pockets as he and Virgin made their way down the deserted city road.

  “I think it went fine,” Virgin replied, tilting his head up to examine the distant moon, which lay shadowed behind a formation of clouds moving in from the east. “Why? Do you not think it did?”

  “I was nervous, and wasn’t necessarily sure whether or not I was addressing zir correctly.”

  “You did fine, Odin. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “Hey,” Virgin said, stopping him in midstride and taking him by the arms. “Look at me for a second.”

  Odin tilted his head up to look his companion directly in the eyes.

  “You… did… absolutely… amazing. And you look it too.”

  “Are you just saying that?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  Because you feel like you owe it to me, he thought. Because you bought me this entire suit without thinking twice.

  “Odin,” Virgin said, tilting his head up when his gaze faltered and began to fall to the ground. “You don’t… think I don’t care about you, do you?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Can I be honest?”

  “You know you can.”

  “I’ve been having a lot harder time with this then I think I should be.”

  “You’re coming into terms with who you are. That’s always hard.”

  “It’s… not that. Well… it’s partially that, but—“

  “But what?”

  Odin said nothing. Instead, he tore his gaze away from Virgin, broke away from the Halfling’s hold, then began to walk up the road, lacing his fingers behind the back of his head and trying his hardest to figure out just what it was he was going to say to a man whose feelings he knew nothing about.

  Will you be hurt, his conscience whispered, if he says no?

  Would he, though? Would he really, truly feel as though his world were about to end if he was denied the result to a question that could be answered in but a few brief moments? He couldn’t know, couldn’t possibly even begin to imagine just what it was that would plague his heart or doubt his mind, for he had never felt this way before about anyone or anything. The only thing that had come close was his love for Nova, whom he considered his best friend, and his father, whom had been his mentor for most of his young adult life. Ectris—he’d been different; and Mother Karma—she’d been but a substitute, someone who took care of him in place of a mother he did not have.

  “Odin,” Virgin said, summoning his gaze with but one simple word.

  “I’m still here,” he replied.

  “What were you about to ask?”

  Could he really say it now that it was out in the open?

  Can I? he thought. Or will I just chicken out?

  When Virgin stepped up behind him and set both his hands on his shoulders, Odin visibly cringed, then turned completely around so he could look at Virgin’s face.

  When his vision cleared and the light of the moon revealed a visage of pain and confusion, Odin felt for one brief moment like his entire world was about to come collapsing down around him. “Are you in love with me?” he whispered.

  Virgin said nothing.

  There, he thought. You said it. And you got exactly what it was you expected—nothing.

  A word, a phrase, a touch, a simple press of a pair of lips so fine and full to his forehead—all would have made it better, would have dispelled the pain in but one moment, but for there to be nothing was like being thrown into a never-ending pit and forced to live for the rest of your life in midair. Sure—there would eventually be a pause, a skip, a beat when you were finally able to sleep or the moment you would finally die after starvation, but until that moment, there would be nothing at all to console your mind from a moment of pain that would last you until you died.

  The Halfling reached forward and slid his hand into Odin’s hair.

  Odin turned his head down.

  Virgin tilted his head b
ack up.

  “I care about you,” Virgin whispered.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Odin said.

  “I’ve never been in love with anyone before.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “I don’t know how to answer your question, Odin.”

  “You should’ve just said that from the start.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not. You can’t.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Not… not when you treat me like this. Like I’m the king of my own world.”

  “Is that really how I make you feel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling me that. How I make you feel.”

  “Virgin,” Odin whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever let be this close to me.”

  “Then it’s an honor for me to be that person.”

  Reaching down, Odin laced their hands together, then turned and began to lead Virgin up the road.

  Though the night was cold, there would ultimately be solace in a place enclosed and shrouded within a home of wood, steel and tears.

  The following morning began with a breath of fresh air and a sigh from a sleeping man’s lips. The sun pale in the sky, the city sparkling like pearls, the sound of birds cackling alight in the air and echoing off each and every surface—Odin opened his eyes to find that miniature rainbows had appeared along the windowpanes and were casting shards of color across the room, creating what appeared to be, in all matters and semblances, a collage of good fortune that seemed perfectly placed in light of everything that had taken place last night. However, much to his regress, he found himself unable to enjoy the moment, for fears irrational and completely out of this world haunted his mind like an ever-present specter waiting to cast his life into the shadows.

  It’s all right, he thought, taking slow breaths to try to calm himself down. Everything’s going to be just fine. Just keep telling yourself that you aren’t getting in over your head.

  Could he, though? Truthfully, he didn’t know what was about to happen, what the Neven D’Carda would say come time for his arrival this afternoon when he walked, dressed in casual best, to the castle’s front doors and allowed himself entry by summon alone. To think he could would have been an atrocity predicting doom itself, a false hand on a blank parchment of sheet declaring to any and all that it now ruled this world and no one could stop it.

  In the midst of the chaos ruling his mind, Virgin slept peacefully at his side, his breathing falling in, then out of his chest in a rhythm Odin couldn’t help but envy.

  How can he do it?

  Perhaps Virgin bore no consequence to what was about to happen because he was not the one who would be taught, judged and possibly ridiculed in the face of what could possibly be one of the most ethereal creatures he had ever encountered.

  Pushing himself into a sitting position, Odin draped the sheets over his waist and turned his eyes back to the window that seemed so perfectly happy with reflecting its rainbows. Already they had begun to fade, their lustrous color now dimmed to a fine shine that resembled nothing of the aftereffect of a man’s spit on a boot, though that did little to belittle the fact that they were still there, persevering as though not a warm spot in the world could stop them. They could—and, most likely, should—be envied, for such an open demonstration of courage was not often seen in the world they lived in. Men could run blind, as ignorant as they were, and women could shake their heads, disgusted at the possibility that they be asked or pressed to do things that they should not be required or expected to do. Children would turn their eyes up in fear when a looming shadow began to cross over the horizon, while those creatures dumb but lacking enough intelligence to comprehend would cower in fear at the reality that things would surely be changing. Courage, whether one experienced it or not, had to be admired, if only because of how seldom it appeared.

  With a short shake of his head, Odin pushed his legs over the side of the bed, then walked to the door, where he pressed his eye against the porthole and looked out at the empty hallway in search of what could have possibly been an answer to the world’s most sinister question.

  Could he really do what he was expected to do?

  I have to.

  Without admission into the castle, and without apprenticing beneath a figure that might know the location of the Book, there would be no chance in the Gods’ green earth that he would ever get close to the goal he so desperately longed to press forward to.

  “You’re awake?” Virgin’s low voice asked.

  Odin turned his head and offered a slight nod as his companion propped himself up with one elbow. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “No. Why?”

  “We got in pretty late last night. I expected you to sleep longer.”

  Do I tell him?

  There would be no use in burdening Virgin with his problems, as it would likely only lead to frustrations that he need not be bothered by.

  “I saw the rainbows,” he decided to say.

  “Sorry?” Virgin asked.

  Odin pointed toward the window, where, faintly visible across the open air, the miniature rainbows continued to shimmer in the light streaming through the panes of glass.

  “Ah,” the Halfling said, settling back down and pressing his hands behind his head. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

  “I’m too nervous to sleep.”

  “Still—it’s a bit cold in here all by myself.”

  “I’m sure you’ve managed before.”

  “Yeah, but now I don’t have to.”

  Unable to resist the urge to snicker, Odin stepped forward, slid back onto the bed, then slung his leg over Virgin’s waist, where he looked down and into his eyes before closing the distance between them until their noses touched.

  Immediately, thoughts of last night came flooding back.

  I’ve never been in love with anyone before.

  As haunting as the thought was, there seemed to be an underlying strain of emotion that somehow connected them. A golden wire, strung forth and held taut, connecting two souls and bridging them together. Were there a bridge, it would have been fine, and was there railing, it would have been magical, for emotions did not come into the world freshly born and ignorant of their regard. No. Emotion, as fickle as it sometimes seemed, existed in a way that allowed human conscience to manifest itself into expression, otherwise they would be nothing more than animals feeding on one another in the plains lands called life.

  “Something you want to tell me?” Virgin asked.

  “Nothing in particular,” Odin said. “Why?”

  “You look like you’re about ready to pin me to the bed.”

  “I wanted to look at your eyes.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Because I see the world in them, he thought, but said nothing.

  Instead, he lowered his face to the side of Virgin’s head, then wrapped his arms around the older Halfling.

  A tremor of unease rose in his heart.

  “Virgin.”

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t… plan on leaving, do you?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I don’t want to leave you behind.”

  Odin closed his eyes.

  In that moment, he could have easily cried.

  Without his escort at his side, Odin marched up the middle of the road while trying his hardest not to make eye contact with any of the Elves that skirted along the sides of the path. There seemed to be no lack of persecution, as whenever he passed one of the tall, fair creatures, it felt as though he was mercilessly being stabbed in the back over and over again until his vertebrae were disengaged from his spine. As painful as that notion seemed, and as graphic as it was, he couldn’t help but feel as though it was appropriate
.

  Though he knew he had very little to worry about, this persecution was hell.

  Pressing his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers, Odin turned his head up and looked at the castle looming in the distance, its shadows dancing over the city beneath it and thrusting the surrounding district into perpetual darkness. It could have been a glorious thing, were one to think about it in a more noble sense, but to him, it seemed like the sun merely wanted to force an image of dread into his mind to further rattle his senses.

  Knowing that everything would be all right despite the emotions he felt, he bowed his head, allowed his hair to fall to the sides of his face, then rolled his neck about his shoulders to ease the knot at the curve of his skull.

  Everything will be fine, Virgin had whispered. Don’t you worry.

  That seemingly-ritualistic kiss upon his brow, still burning strong like a hot poker stabbed into a cow’s ass, was enough to assure him that things would be fine, no matter what the future held.

  In that moment, he decided he would only look to one place—his future.

  The Neven D’Carda was the one to open the door after the guards escorted Odin to zir’s office and a knock sounded at the threshold. Pale eyes alight with interest Odin found eerily unsettling in the somber light that streamed both from the living room at the far end of the corridor and the windows behind Odin, Jarden turned and began to lead him down the corridor with a wavering posture that seemed entirely too fragile to move. Ze seemed a feather floating in the wind—first right, then left, then forward and back again. By the time the creature finally seemed to gain a semblance of posture, they had already crossed into the living room and were making their way toward the far side of the space, toward where the wall split off into a hall that led into a darkened area of the quarters.

  “Where are we going?” Odin decided to ask.