Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “Extra precautions need be taken when dealing with such things.”

  “I just as well as anyone deserve to know where the book is. I am of Elven blood.”

  “You will not be here for long, Yamda. Besides—you are escorted by armed guards. What reason would you need to look at the Book of the Dead?”

  “Who wrote it?” Odin asked, standing, nearly unable to contain the emotion that poured out. “Was it them? When did they write it? After they revived the stag or before?”

  “I believe it was conceived before.”

  “But it’s here, in the castle, detailing everything on how to do it?”

  “Why is it that you desire this so much, Yamda?”

  Why? Odin thought, almost unable to contain the urge to laugh. Just why do I need it?

  For life, for sanity, for perseverance, strength, need, calm, rejoice, integrity, and by all means, love—these things and more were what drove him toward his ultimate goal, toward the thing he so desperately struggled to reach but seemed unable to grasp, so to be asked why it was he needed this thing seemed incompetent on this being’s part. But who could blame zir, though? He was, after all, a high mage, a guardian to one of the world’s best-kept secrets, so it was no wonder why he was being interrogated on such personal matters.

  In looking into Jarden’s pale, pupil-devoid eyes, Odin couldn’t help but feel he were staring at a laughing jester and trying to maintain control of his emotions, to throw his hands in the air and push the thing away from him, as it held no good bearings on his life and only served to drive him insane.

  “I just want to see where it is,” Odin whispered.

  “Why?”

  “I want to know where he came from!” he cried. “What made him. What created him. What shaped him into the thing he was before he died!”

  “Your emotions hold more control over you than you could ever possibly imagine.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Human emotion—“

  “Human emotion this, human emotion that. At least when he said it to me, it made sense.”

  “Yamda—“

  “Quit calling me that. I hate being called a half-breed!”

  “Are you not proud of your Elven heritage?”

  “Not when it makes me feel like this!”

  Jarden made no move to reply.

  Turning, Odin started toward the doorway.

  Something flickered on the podium before him.

  It took but a moment for his eyes to adjust to the faint lighting streaming from the desk.

  In all its glory, it could have been described as a monolith—a great, towering thing that rose before all that was petty and declared itself as the one thing that could rule hearts, minds and lives. Encapsulated within a sphere of white light, obviously made of magic to protect and ensure its safety, the book lay stoic in its presence and regard. Bound in bloodstained leather, buckled with a clasp of dark metal that had to have been constructed from the most horrible of smelters and embossed with the skull of what could have possibly been a rat or possibly a rabbit, it seemed to haunt him all the more—not only for the fact that it stood directly before him, so close yet so far out of reach, but because it seemed to create the very effigy of the thing he’d been searching for for far so long.

  “Your eyes have not deceived you,” Jarden said, stepping forward and setting zirs hand directly on Odin’s shoulder.

  “You… you have the book?” he asked.

  “It has always been instructed to remain in the care of a Neven D’Carda.”

  “Why haven’t I seen it before?”

  “Your mind allows you to see what you want to see.”

  Then is it really there?

  Stepping forward, but careful as to not trip on the stairs that led into the pit, Odin reached forward in an attempt to touch the sphere that surrounded the book, but found that he couldn’t push his hand forward unless he forced his wrist to remain locked in place. A moving force couldn’t have simulated what it was that he currently felt. Perhaps something gelatinous, like water, could have recreated the effect, but it would have had to be bound to a physical form, one which could revolve according to the oppressing force’s touch.

  “You cannot touch it because I have willed it untouchable,” Jarden said, reaching forward to take Odin’s wrist from its place in front of the object.

  “Why not just destroy it?” Odin asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “Perhaps, yes, but it is said it can find its way back into the hands of those who desire it.”

  “Is that true?”

  “I do not know. It has never left my inhabitance.”

  Unable to force his eyes away, Odin took a few steps back until he bumped into the Neven D’Carda.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “You should,” Jarden agreed. “Today has been much too stressful for you.”

  Without a second word of goodbye, Odin started for the office door.

  In the back of his mind, a plot began to weave itself like some ever-expanding quilt.

  “You found it?” Virgin asked.

  “Yes!” Odin cried, flinging his hands into the air as he continued his mad pursuit about the room. “I already said that!”

  “Calm down, Odin. We need to take this one step at a time.”

  “I know where the book is!”

  “I know you do, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be able to get to it anytime soon.”

  “What does that mean?” he barked, freezing his companion in place with one simple glare.

  “It means,” the older Halfling said, easing his hands down onto Odin’s shoulders as if unsure of his action, “that this might take us a little longer. Patience, my friend. Breathe.”

  Though he did as instructed—first by taking a long inhale through his nose, then exhaling it out his throat—it seemed not to do him any justice. That in itself forced him to reach up, take his friend’s wrists, then force them away from his shoulders and back to Virgin’s sides.

  “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to take this madness,” Odin said, collapsing onto the foot of the bed with his head held low and his hands within his hair. “We’re so close Virgin.”

  “I know we are.”

  “How am I supposed to stay calm?”

  “Let me explain something to you,” Virgin said, kneeling at Odin’s feet and pressing a hand against his knee. “Do you know how a lone wolf manages to eat in the wild?”

  “No.”

  “He waits for the mouse to appear from its hole as calmly as possible—seldom breathing, always alert. He can wait for hours, you know, because he knows the mouse is there. Maybe he’s seen it go into the hole or maybe he just smells it, but regardless, he knows it’s there. In order to get what he wants, he has to wait for it, because most things normally don’t come to you exactly when you want them to. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “You have to be the wolf, Odin. You have to wait for what it is you want, because even though you know exactly which hole your mouse is in, you’re going to have to wait for it to peek out before you can lunge and bite its head off.”

  “Not the most beautiful metaphor,” Odin smiled, “but it’s good enough.”

  “Exactly,” Virgin said, standing. He paced over to the wall, locked his fingers around the windowsill, then leaned forward until his lips almost touched the glass in frront of him, all the while keeping his eyes focused on the castle in the foreseeable distance. “What we need now is a way to figure out how we’re going to get the mouse to come out of its hole.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The book’s protected, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “By what?”

  “Magic.”

  “Do you think you can disable it by yourself?”

  “I don’t see why not. It just seems like a simple warding spell.”

  “The Neven D’Carda is a strong creature. You’ll
have to be strong in order to take it.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you believe you’re strong enough to take it?”

  “Honestly… I don’t know.”

  “All right then,” Virgin said, drawing his knife. “Then we’ll need another plan.”

  “I’m not killing anyone to take that book, Virgin.”

  “Sometimes you have to make sacrifices in order to get the things that you want.”

  Do we? Odin thought. Or do we just have to find ways to get around the most logical steps?

  “Killing the Neven D’Carda isn’t going to solve our problems,” Odin said, stepping up from behind Virgin to join him at his side. “What we need is a temporary solution.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You need to think of something.”

  “I thought you told me to act like the wolf?”

  “So long as the mouse is still in its hole, you can act like the wolf all you want.”

  “What is it you want me to do then? Wait, or act?”

  “If you can’t act, wait. If you can’t wait, act.”

  That doesn’t answer my question.

  Leaning over, Virgin set an arm across Odin’s shoulder, pressed his lips to his ear, then whispered, in the softest voice possible, “All we have to do is put our heads together.”

  As though symbolic of that sentiment, Virgin pressed his brow against the side of Odin’s skull.

  Something clicked.

  Over the course of several long, undetermined hours, they sat at the table going over their plan and how it seemed they would no longer need to follow exactly what it was that they’d discussed before. Their idea to infiltrate the castle by becoming royal delegates had fallen short, for Odin had not successfully secured himself within the castle as a mage that could be purposeful to the Elven kingdom. Be that for the fact that he was not a pure Elf or because Jarden had not specifically asked him to be lifted to such a status, he did not know. For that, they put their heads together to rethink their strategy and came to one simple, startling conclusion: if they wanted to get to the Book, all they need do was approach the source.

  By the time night fell and Odin’s conscience began to wane at the idea, they were out of the inn and bar dressed in their best clothing and making their way from the bakery with fresh pastries in a paper bag.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Odin asked, brushing up alongside Virgin as though cold and unable to keep himself warm.

  “It’ll be fine,” Virgin said. “Don’t you worry.”

  What Odin did worry for, regardless of the nature of their intentions, was first the Book itself. Within a sphere of magic, bound to the podium upon which it rested, it was likely to have some sort of mechanism to keep anyone breaking in to get to the tome, if not a trigger of spells altogether. The second thing that dwelled upon his conscience was the guards and how, once they had the Book in hand, they would escape the castle.

  They had no use for the clothes left back at the inn, the packs that had been so vicariously looked over in the final moments leading up to their grand venture. It would, he already knew, be a long haul back through the forest, much less the Great Divide and alongside the Dark Mountains, but Virgin said if they could make it to a small human settlement called Drianna, which lay no more than a few days away, then they would be fine, as the Elves would likely not pursue them so far from their borders. The only things they could possibly need was their weapons, which Virgin had said he’d left with a friend who lived on the outskirts of town, directly near the gate and where their weapons could be picked up for a small fee.

  Are you sure they won’t steal them? Odin had asked earlier, just before they’d left.

  He won’t, Virgin had replied. I gave him enough to make sure he wouldn’t.

  Already beginning to feel the pull of the world against him, Odin tightened his hand around the bag in his grasp and pushed his shoulders back as far as he could in an attempt to make himself look all the more intimidating, though at this hour that seemed useless, as there was no one out to see them, save the occasional Elf wandering the side of the road or closing shop.

  As they began to approach the castle—head on, dwarfed beneath its shadow and lit only by the passing moon—the paranoia through his body only continued to increase. At one point, when his teeth began to chatter and the hairs on his neck began to stand, he thought he would break in the middle of the street and lose himself to his weaker inhibitions, but when Virgin stretched an arm out over his head and set it about his shoulders, almost all of Odin’s insecurities went away, just like that.

  How, he thought, then stopped before he could finish.

  Virgin tightened his hold around his shoulders as they broached the castle’s front entrance.

  “Excuse me,” one of the guards said, stepping forward to reveal the shining, silver plate armor that adorned his upper body. “State your business.”

  “We’re here to see Master Jarden,” Odin said, casting a casual look over at Virgin before setting his eyes back on the stag. “We’ve brought pastries and breads for dinner.”

  “Isn’t it a little late to be eating dinner?”

  “What my partner means,” Virgin said, “is that we’d really like you to make an exception, just this once. We’ll be out of your way as soon as possible.”

  “All right,” the guard said. “Do as you please, but ask to be escorted before you continue any further into the castle. You may be arrested otherwise.”

  “All right.”

  Smooth move, Virgin.

  The smile the older Halfling offered almost tempted one out of Odin, but when they stepped into the castle and were immediately pressed between two pairs of guards, all sense of stability seemed thrown into a bottomless well.

  How are we going to get out of here?

  With no concept of the castle, the directions they need take or the secret entrances and exits they could exploit, it would be any wonder if they would leave unaccompanied by guards. Could they possibly hide the thing in the bag or within a blanket? Master Jarden gave me these, he would say, bearing the quilt within his arms as though it were a trinket meant to be taken without question. Please, lead us to the front entrance.

  Whether the plan would work he couldn’t know. However, with the outcome securely in mind, he felt they could do what they had to, even if it meant trying to sabotage the guards’ practice or escaping through one of Jarden’s windows—if, that is, ze happened to have any. He couldn’t recall any from recent memory.

  Casting a quick glance to his left to make sure Virgin was still keeping pace beside him, Odin slid his hands into his pockets, bowed his head, and tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

  You can do this, Odin. Come on. This is it. This is what you’ve been waiting for for almost a year now.

  By the time they returned to Ornala, it was likely there would no longer be snow on the ground.

  While the guards continued to lead them about the castle, taking the many twists and turns Odin had become accustomed to over the past few months, he tried to keep his mind clear, all the while dreading what could happen in the next few moments.

  One false move could mean the end of both of them.

  All you need is a little faith, his conscience whispered.

  Faith—what a fickle word.

  “Young Yamdas,” Jarden said, moving aside so Odin and Virgin could step into the corridor. “What brings you here at this hour of the night?”

  “We’ve brought pastries,” Virgin replied, offering the brightest smile he could.

  “Excellent, excellent. You’ll have to excuse me, though—I wasn’t expecting any company.”

  You’re not going to be expecting anything tonight, Odin thought, biting his lower lip to keep from saying anything.

  They followed Jarden into his living quarters, then through the living room until they reached the dining room. Jarden gestured them
to seat themselves wherever they pleased, turned, then began pulling from the various cabinets plates and silverware, all the while wearing the slightest hints of a smile that Odin couldn’t help but find disturbing.

  Could Jarden possibly know what they were up to and why now, of all times, they had come to visit?

  It doesn’t matter. Don’t think about it.

  Giving in to lesser inhibitions would only force him to reveal weakness that would keep them from their goal.

  He scanned the dining room for any object he or Virgin could subdue the Elf with. There seemed to be nothing, save paintings that would do little then put the creature’s head through them, but his attention eventually fell to what appeared to be a rather-ornate sculpture of a pig which stood on a table against the eastern wall.

  Odin nodded in Virgin’s general direction.

  The Halfling turned, regarded the sculpture, then offered a slight nod just as Jarden stepped back into the room. “Here we are,” ze said, setting before them the various plates and silverware. “I’m honored that the two of you decided to visit me tonight. How are you feeling, Yamda Odin?”

  “Fine, zir.”

  “I’m sorry if what we discussed earlier upset you.”

  “It didn’t,” he smiled. “Don’t worry.”

  Though the Neven D’Carda’s eyes bore no sign of emotion, Odin couldn’t help but feel they looked upon him kindly, if only because Jarden’s lips had turned up into a slight smile.

  From the bag of treats Virgin pulled breads with frosting, strudels, cream puffs, even muffins and set them out onto the plates. Jarden, who took the seat directly beside Virgin in likely haste for the special treat that would lead up to their final encounter, reached forward and took one of the cream puffs within zirs hands before pressing it to zirs lips and offering a pleasurable sigh.

  “It’s an honor to be dining with the two of you tonight,” Jarden said, bowing zirs head as ze lifted another muffin.

  “It is,” Virgin said, pressing a hand to the Elf’s shoulders.

  Odin offered a slight nod.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Virgin extended his hand back and grabbed the sculpture of the pig.

  “Zir,” Odin said, turning his attention back to the Elf as Virgin prepared to deliver the knockout blow.