Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “You’re allowed to have weakness, Carmen.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m not.”

  Ketrak said nothing. Instead, he turned and started for his bedroom.

  Carmen didn’t blame him, nor did she fault his actions.

  This was her war to fight.

  The fire was fully stoked when she woke the next morning. Stooped before and prodding it with a poker, Nova turned his head to look at her and asked, “Sleep well?”

  As well as I could of, she thought, but could only nod.

  She drew the deerskin around her as the dog nudged into her side and tried to allow temptation to give in. Sleep seemed all the more necessary after she’d had such a heart-scarred night, but with the dog progressively nudging his way into her side, it was hard to even concentrate.

  “I think he wants under the covers,” Nova offered.

  Carmen lifted the blanket. Nova’s point was immediately proven when the dog scooted all the way against her.

  “He’s got fur,” she mumbled, but didn’t bother to argue as she set the skin over him. “He shouldn’t be cold.”

  The dog arfed and rolled onto his side.

  “Do you need help with anything?” Carmen asked, following Nova’s form as he rose and started toward the window. “Breakfast? Firewood? Food run?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like it would do any good,” Nova sighed. “I have to make a run into town anyway. There’s no point in both of us going.”

  “Is everything all right?” Warily, she pushed herself into a sitting position and watched as her friend’s gaze fell from the window to the floor. Normally, she wouldn’t have been too worried about it, as his distraction could have been everything—from rats, to thoughts, to even a bug running across the planks. Nova was the kind of man reserved in times of unease, so normally his expression wouldn’t bother her. This time, though, his face had taken on a twisted expression, as if something had just thrust a hand into the womb of life in an attempt to excise his greatest hope.

  Oh God, she thought.

  “Is she,” Carmen started.

  “The contractions are coming,” Nova said.

  Carmen’s ears perked up. “Which means the baby might—“

  “Be here soon.”

  Her joy over the matter was so overwhelming that she shot to her feet and promptly tripped over the dog, who immediately groaned and shrugged her lower half off of him.

  “By the Gods!” she smiled. “This is great! This is great, Nova. It—“

  She stopped speaking when his outlook did not change.

  Carmen frowned.

  Nova shied away and once again started toward the window.

  Is there something I’m not aware of? she thought.

  She tried to think of anything that Nova or Ketrak could have said that she could have missed, down from the tiniest thing to the most astronomical problem. When she couldn’t remember anything, she pursed her lips and started to say something before she stopped.

  “Katarina’s mother died during childbirth,” Carmen said, “didn’t she?”

  Nova’s somber nod was answer enough.

  It seemed illogical to think that women could die from giving birth in this day and age—that a girl, so young and strong, could have to fear for her life when up until that moment all had seemed well. The marvel of modern magic was too great to even believe such things, yet alone consider them, but to know that the reality was there was enough to draw upon Carmen’s conscience the nails that so fervently attacked women when considering a child. You could die, that horrible thing said, in so many eyes. From inside out, from outside in, from upside down to rightside up. Such was the jester in the game of life, she assumed. She’d never once had to worry because of Elrig’s incapability. Now, with Katarina, the matter weighed home all the more.

  “The healer will come,” Carmen said, “right?”

  “He assured us he would.”

  “That nice black man? The one with the Gaia mark on his face?”

  Nova nodded. “Ramya is a good man,” he said. “He helped Odin a lot during his times of need and will not shy during ours.”

  “Do you need me to go with you?” she frowned. “I mean… to help with anything?”

  “I would prefer if you were here.”

  “Are you—“ Carmen stopped. The matter decided, she merely shook her head in agreement and gestured Honor to his feet. “You go into town,” she said. “I’ll start gathering things.”

  After shrugging into his hood, Nova gave her a sad, uneasy smile before he walked out the door.

  Carmen sighed. “Well boy,” she said. “How about you and auntie Carmen go and get some snow for the baby?”

  She stooped alongside the road in full winter attire gathering into a rinsing basin some snow. Its contents thick, its texture lush, she took the time to separate the icier sections out in favor of those that could be easily melted down. Fact of the matter was, they had an unlimited supply of snow at their disposal—boiling it to purity would take little less than hours.

  Which is good, she thought. Very, very good.

  Time was of the essence. A moment could become an hour, an hour a day, a day a week. Back home, she’d heard stories of Dwarven women having complications with their children—from their umbilical cords wrapping around their necks during labor to their mouths being filled with phlegm. Most horrible, though, she’d heard of what had happened to some—when, during birth, it became apparent that the baby’s head was far too wide.

  But what then? Carmen remembered asking as a girl of only twelve.

  Then they’ll cut her open, she replied, and pray the doctor and his magician can put her back together.

  Her shiver was grounded far deeper in the past than it was in the present, but she knew she couldn’t let rare possibilities get to her. It was as they said during times bad: if you are to believe that something will happen, something will, so think only of the best and what will be will be.

  What will be will be, she thought. What will be… will be.

  *

  His desperation had grown to a fever pitch. Standing outside Ornala’s gates with his hands shoved into his armpits and his hood drawn over his head, he fought the urge to scream at the guards above to let him in as he waited for the message to be sent to the castle infirmary.

  Goddammit, he thought. My wife’s about to go into labor and all you fuckers can do is stand there.

  “How long is this going to take?” he asked, tilting his eyes up to survey the guards.

  “They will come soon, sir,” one of the men said. “I assure you it won’t—“

  “Take very long. Yeah, I know. You said that nearly an hour ago.”

  The guard, green with youth, pursed his lips and set his attention to the world beyond the Ornalan settlement. His bold defiance was almost enough to make him scream.

  How long could he endure this trial, this pain, this torment? Here he was, standing in the cold, a coat about his shoulders and his arms around himself, yet not once had he been frozen, for within his veins there ran not blood, but flames, and along his bones the crust of metal. As automatons, men are designed to do but one capable thing, but as individuals there comes the matter of framework—where not only are they to be tuned and oiled up, but given freedom over the copses that inhabit them whole.

  In standing there, waiting for the request he so desperately wished answered, he felt within himself something rising—something that, in times past, had struck fear even in himself.

  Sighing, he willed his body to loosen its posture and nodded when he caught sight of someone stepping onto the wall.

  Thank God.

  “Sir,” the man said, leaning over the wall to look down at him. “We’ve received word from High Healer Ramya. He said he will be out as soon as he possibly—“

  A scream tore through the morning air.

  Nova froze.

  The guards above stiffened. “What was that?” one asked.


  “My wife,” Nova said. “Tell the healer to come. Now.”

  “Sir—“

  He didn’t bother to wait.

  Nova ran.

  *

  “Hurry!” Carmen cried, jumping as she waved her hands back and forth. “Hurry! Hurry!”

  Her screams were terror, born of rage of the body and panic of the mind. Like great eagles diving from the highest of peaks they echoed from the house and into the open air, rending all in their path and stunning those who weren’t. From homes makeshift curtains were parted, where faces appeared and eyes peered out, and from the distant path that led to the greatest place in this country there came a man running, his hair askew from the hood that had flown from his head and his eyes a hellfire of fear.

  He was on her in but a moment.

  Honor barked.

  She tried to speak, but couldn’t as he burst into the house.

  Her breath was lost in his wake.

  Come on, come on. You can’t just stand here. You have to do something.

  She didn’t bother to close the door as she entered the house.

  Inside, the madness of childbirth consumed her mind and ears.

  “It’s ok boy,” Carmen said, desperate to calm not only the frantic dog, but herself as she made her way through the house. “Everything’s going to be fine. Everything—“

  Katarina screamed.

  “Where is the healer?” Ketrak cried.

  “I don’t know!” Nova screamed back.

  “Stay,” Carmen said, pointing one lone, accusatory finger at the dog as they neared the threshold to the couple’s room. The dog whimpered and lowered his head. “Do as I say, buddy. Stay.”

  The dog appeared to nod before sliding onto the floor, covering both eyes with his paws.

  After taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come, Carmen stepped into the room.

  Though the baby had yet to appear from Katarina’s womb, the sight of her friend prone and crying nearly sent her over the edge.

  It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. The healer’s going to come and he’ll deliver the baby and she’ll be fine and so will the baby and—

  Her irrationality over the matter was ridiculous, considering the circumstance. It wasn’t her baby, her child, her body—it was her friend’s. There shouldn’t have been any panic at all, yet in her mind she couldn’t help but imagine herself in Katarina’s situation, fighting to bring a life into the world when things are so often made unborn.

  Ashlyn.

  Tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered that time all those years ago, when at her mother’s bedside she had watched her baby sister be born in a plume of blood and matter by nothing more than lantern light. Her body, wracked with pain; her mouth, curled in anger; her limbs, trembling—perhaps the worst thing she had seen in those hours of Ashlyn’s birth had been her mother’s eyes, which had gone vacant near the end of it all. It was like she hadn’t been there—like the Gods had taken her to Their immortal plane to do what it was They had to do.

  But they’re gone, she thought. Gone… gone…

  “Gone.”

  She fought the images of that terrible night from entering her mind. Hands wrapped in her hair, tears streaming down her face, she trembled as the world around was lost and all that was left was her.

  She heard nothing, she felt nothing, she smelled nor saw a thing—the only thing before her eyes was an eternal darkness in which a thing with a flat face and a ram’s horns beckoned to her with one long and jagged finger.

  A presence brushed up along her body.

  She spun, dagger drawn.

  A Kadarian man bearing upon his face the Gaia mark of healing stood in the threshold, arms held out at his sides. “My name is Ramya,” he said. “I’m the High—“

  “I know who you are,” Carmen said. “Go.”

  She tossed the dagger to the side and turned to face her friend.

  “Carmen?” Katarina asked.

  “It’s me,” she said, nodding as she fought tooth and nail to walk toward her friend. “I yelled. I yelled for them.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Falling to her knees, she took her human friend’s hand in hers and bowed their heads together.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Katarina said, struggling to remain composed as she followed the healer’s orders. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d do just fine,” she replied.

  “Still… thank you.”

  Her heart shuddered. The feelings coursing through her body couldn’t compare to anything she’d ever felt before. The sky could have split open to reveal Valhalla great and strong and she wouldn’t have even blinked, for in this moment she realized something greater was happening—not ascension, for what it was all strived for in the great and grand things in life, but revelation.

  Katarina screamed.

  Carmen tightened her hold on the woman’s hand.

  Only one thought occurred to her.

  He’s coming.

  Then, as if all had silenced, it was over.

  The baby began to cry in the moments following his entrance into the mortal world. His choked sobs pitched with the breath of first-birthed air, his sound a tremor of what it was to be alive, Carmen raised her eyes to look on the bloodied infant and reveled in the feeling that came over her. As the healer cleansed the baby with warm water and bright light, Ketrak stepped forward, crying, with a blanket. Nova could merely stare in awe.

  “Congratulations Katarina,” the healer said. “It’s a baby boy.”

  Nova fell to his knees and sobbed.

  Carmen smiled.

  Katarina brought the baby to her breast and closed her eyes.

  She did it, the Dwarf thought. She really did it.

  *

  They left the town of Harpie’s Summit before the sun began to rise with their packs over their shoulders and their minds set toward their next destination. The snow falling thin, much like dust sprinkled across a desert and covering the land whole, it foreshadowed a day that would likely be cold even when the sun began to peak over the Hornblaris Mountains. Much to Odin’s appreciation, though, everything was peaceful, despite the fact that the road wound uncomfortably close to the mountains.

  They could have killed them, he thought, sighing, grimacing as the front of his head once again lit up with pain.

  Though the prior night’s rest had done much to console his aching mind, it hadn’t erased all essence of discomfort. No longer did his skull feel as though it would cave upon itself and his mind would leak out the exposed cracks in his head, and no longer did it feel like blood would pool from his nose only to be absorbed through his lips and into his mouth. His eyes, while still dampened by the magic, were only slightly clouded, as if he were looking down a dark tunnel and expecting to see the light at the end of it, and though it was likely only the result of atmospheric conditions, he couldn’t help but sigh at the reality of just how much he could have possibly damaged himself.

  You’re lucky, he thought.

  Had he been a normal human, he could have permanently scarred his vision or even his magical ability. The fact that he bore two distinct breeds of Elven blood surely had to have been his only blessing. He’d heard of men casting spells so dangerous that they lost their hearing, their sight, even their ability to talk. Why the latter occurred he couldn’t be sure, but he imagined it had to have something to do with the innate connection the body shared with the mind. One did not act without decision, did not hear without sound being related through the ears and could not speak without the words being formed first in the mind and then out the throat. For that, it seemed, magic could damage everything, as the body could not exist without the tangible notion that was the mind.

  Already thwarted and stumbling over his thoughts, Odin shook his head and looked up to Virgin, who merely stared ahead with his eyes partially-shrouded by his hood.
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  “You all right?” Odin asked.

  The sound, in such silence, seemed like a clap of thunder exploding over the horizon, and seemed to reflect across the space between them as if it bore more severity than it actually did. In response, Virgin lifted his head and offered a slight smile before reaching out and clapping an arm around Odin’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” the older Halfling said. “Why?”

  “You’ve just been… quiet.”

  “Haven’t you noticed I’m quiet most mornings?”

  Yes.

  “I have,” Odin said, giving a slight nod as Virgin resituated his hand in the reins. “I dunno.”

  “About what?”

  “This.”

  “This?”

  “Traveling so close to these mountains.”

  “We should be fine during the daylight hours,” Virgin said. “At night, though… that’s when I’d be worried.”

  “Have you ever travelled through here?”

  “I’ve only ever been this far west of the Abroen. I’ve strayed toward the Hills before, and while I’ve crossed them to enter the Three Kingdoms, I’ve never come so far out this way.”

  “You have an idea of where we’re going through, right?”

  “There really isn’t any other way to go. The mountains are to our south, these cliffs are to the north.” Virgin waved at the rocky formations to their side—which, while slanted and severely raised, lay covered mostly by trees, as well as obscure rock formations that would have made travelling atop them impossible. “The Great Divide will lead us straight into the land south of the Ornalan Lowlands.”

  “You said we should be worried while travelling at night,” Odin said, drawing closer to his companion if only because of the lingering mountains. “What did you mean by that?”

  “We won’t be able to start a fire, because old wives’ tales say the living dead are attracted to beacons of light, and we won’t be able to cook anything unless we want to risk drawing attention to ourselves. That’s why I requested precooked food and supplies, so we wouldn’t have to worry about animals or the like coming anywhere near us.”