Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “That depends on your definition of right,” Virgin said, turning to examine the road. “We should continue. The wind does not speak well of what is to come.”

  “Great,” Odin mumbled, casting his hands into the air. “Fucking great! Now I have something more to worry about.”

  “We may draw attention to ourselves if we continue to be as loud as we are.”

  Odin bowed his head.

  He could take a hint.

  “You’re quiet,” Virgin said.

  Rather than reply, Odin tightened his hand on the hilt of his sword and used his opposite palm to draw his cloak around his body. Tonight’s wind was harsher in spite of the calm snow, which, while still falling, appeared not ready to end the world in its pursuit.

  Am I all right? he thought, blinking, not bothering to turn his eyes on Virgin and instead focusing his attention on the distance, where it appeared as though a fine mist had risen and was casting the light from the full moon off its surface.

  Though that could be debatable, especially given his earlier outbreak and what all it entailed, he couldn’t help but feel he had calmed significantly despite the somber weather. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to talk, and despite whatever threatened to uproot him, it seemed everything would be completely fine, possibly even peaceful if he gave himself a night to think over just what was bothering.

  “Odin,” Virgin said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Did you hear what I asked?”

  “I heard you,” he sighed, still not bothering—or wanting—to turn his eyes back on his friend.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  “I’m not sure I know how to.”

  “We have all night.”

  The night was young. Filled with wonder and the ever-true sprinkle of snow, it offered promise in which one could thing on all things without fear of being interrupted, though that did nothing to console the thoughts that stirred in Odin’s head. Would, he wondered, he consult the stars, ask the Gods, perhaps even pray for higher enlightenment, or would he simply have to sit back and tear his person piece to piece in search for the answer Virgin so desperately wanted? He didn’t necessarily need to answer, as that would be foolhardy and stray him from his path, but if he wanted to allow silence to rule his world, he would have to come up with something to console Virgin’s worries.

  Here goes nothing.

  “I don’t know if I’m all right,” he sighed, finally turning his head when he felt the moment was right. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since the beginning.”

  “The beginning?”

  “When I left Dwaydor.”

  “I know it’s hard to lose someone, Odin.”

  “I know. You don’t need to tell me that.”

  “And sometimes, you know whether or not things have been left simple—easy, I guess you could say, without having to worry about whether or not there were any lost moments, any forgotten memories. In the end, I suppose it’s up to the individual person to decide that and try to fix it if that so happened.”

  “Do you think what I’m doing is ‘fixing’ this, Virgin, or are you just along with me for the long haul because you have nothing better to do?”

  “I’m with you for the long haul because I care about you, Odin.”

  “I know.”

  “I care about you a lot, more than I’ve ever cared about anything else because… well… I used to be rather promiscuous back in my day. Never staying along for someone that long, never staying in the same city or village—hell, the same bed sometimes. But you… there’s something different about you.”

  “What’s that?” Odin asked.

  “I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s something in your eyes—your determination, maybe, or maybe it’s the will you have to continue on when most ordinary people would have given up. Whatever it is, it’s like a light shining in the darkness that keeps bringing me back.”

  “Do you really mean that, Virgin?”

  “I do, Odin. And you know why I mean that?”

  “No.”

  “I mean that because you’re the most important person I have in my life right now… the most important person I’ll probably ever have in my life.”

  “You don’t know how much that means to me,” Odin said.

  “I think I do know, Odin.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Because it means just as much to me as I think it does to you.”

  Odin closed his eyes.

  When he saw nothing but darkness, he briefly considered the possibility that nothing had been fixed—when, in reality, things had just become more complicated.

  No.

  It took but a moment for him to realize something.

  A revelation struck his core.

  Virgin was here to stay.

  There would be no stopping the Halfling who strayed from the forest to follow him to the impossible, because there was absolutely nothing at all holding him back.

  That thought, though minute, was enough to silence the storm within his mind.

  As the snow continued to fall, Odin felt peace for the first time in what could have been months.

  The highest peak in the Dark Mountain chain rose to greet them like a great monument to society erected before their eyes. A single word could not have described its complexity, its magnificence, its eccentricity of the way the tip was capped with snow, much like a man whom had just emerged from a pool of mud bearing upon his head the essence of youth. There would be a pristine shine upon his bald-headed skull, which had not been touched by mud, and in this shine there would have been light that would have been cast across the land to light the three seas and beyond. But it was not the snow that fascinated Odin about its shape. It was the fact that it rose—in a single, harsh point—into the sky like a jagged bolt of lightning and bore upon its surface a large, sequestered tree, which appeared to extend its leafy, snow-covered branches to the heavens with but one forlorn glance. It was, he couldn’t help but imagine, quite peaceful up there, and anything living within its surface would have had nothing to worry about as most normal creatures would not have been able to access it had they not wings or the mechanisms to climb the mountainside.

  It’s so, he thought, then paused before the train of consciousness could continue.

  Had he been able to relinquish his thought to the heights of his consciousness, he would have thought that it looked odd—remarkably so in spite of everything around it. That single tree—lone, stoic and completely out of this world—appeared anything but malicious. To him, it seemed completely benevolent, as if it had been placed upon that snow-capped peak to offer a shining ray of light to travelers who passed this horrid stretch of land.

  “Virgin,” Odin said, drawing closer to his companion as the snow continued to blanket their hair and hoods.

  “Yes?” the Halfling asked.

  “That tree over there… is it significant?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Old Englund,” Virgin replied, a smile crossing his lips as he pulled the reins back to stop his horse.

  “Englund?”

  “They say it’s a Treant.”

  “One of the tree people?”

  “Legend says Englund wandered from the Abroen in search of adventure and found himself cornered by evil creatures that wanted to set him on fire. For that, he thrust himself into the side of the mountain and dug his roots as deep as they could go, then slowly made his way through the Dark Mountains over a series of several hundred years.”

  “Is there any truth to that story?”

  “Who knows,” Virgin shrugged. “I think the legend behind it is reason enough to be pleased. Besides—this peak here marks the halfway point between the Point villages and the end of the Divide.”

  “How much longer will we have until we’re out?”

  “A few days longer. Why?”

  “Should we… um…”

  “
What’s wrong, Odin?”

  “I know once we get out of the Divide we’re going to be passing close to the Denyon Passage. Do we need to be worried?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “I’ve just heard things.”

  “What things?”

  Could he even begin to relate the stories within a few simple words—how, a very long time ago, humanity had attempted to build a wall across the pass to keep the undead from stumbling out and had been overrun by magical creatures. Or might he mention that each and every time it seemed a traveler attempting to navigate the pass ended up dead or maimed? Merchants making their way from the Golden Country to the Point villages told horrible tales of shambling creatures that bore a human body but held no spirit—that, upon sensing a living being, began to pursue them without pause—and always they recounted how horrible they sounded. They moaned, endlessly, and reached for the living with hands that no longer bore flesh, or whose skin had shriveled to an unrecognizable point. There seemed no shortage of horrors that came out of the dead lands, so to try and explain just what he was referring to seemed a feat impossible.

  “I mean,” Odin said, taking a breath to console the worries rising from the bowels of his stomach. “The undead.”

  “The undead?” Virgin laughed. “Do you really believe that nonsense?”

  “I know for a fact that they once tried to build a bridge across the mouth of Denyon.”

  “Who did?”

  “The kingdom of Ornala.”

  “If that is true,” the Halfling replied, “then they are foolish. And as to the undead, we shouldn’t have to worry about them. Besides—most of the creatures just shamble about endlessly. They’re too open and exposed to the elements so far out of their home country. They wither away to nothing, or get eaten by birds.”

  “Birds eat the dead?”

  “Fresh or centuries-old—whose to argue for a good meal?”

  Odin nearly gagged.

  Laughing, Virgin reached out, clapped Odin’s back, then returned his hands to his lap.

  The whole while, Odin couldn’t help but feel they were only getting themselves into worse trouble.

  The sky began to grow darker as they continued along the Great Divide. For what reason, Odin couldn’t be sure, as it seemed there was no magic at work and the cloud cover was not substantial. What seemed the most likely result were the weather formations over the Dark Mountains, which existed in a state of perpetually-grey light and mocked the serenity of the surrounding sky. While not initially disheartened at the vast change in lighting, it did mark a passage within their journey that showed just how close they were getting to not only the end of the Divide, but the mouth of Denyon.

  “Is this normal?” Odin asked, looking up at the sky to the south, which appeared almost a perfect slate of grey, then turning his attention to the distant left, where the sky continued to remain a light variant of blue.

  “The sky, you mean?” Virgin waited for a nod before continuing. “Yes.”

  “What causes it?”

  “Elven scientists say it’s the weather above the Mountains.”

  “I figured as much, but...”

  “What?” the older Halfling frowned. “Something worrying you?”

  “I’m just getting nervous about going through this stretch of road.”

  “To be honest, I am as well.”

  So, Odin thought, pushing his shoulders up and straightening his back. It isn’t only me.

  He need not worry that he suffered alone—that, given the nature of what lay ahead, his worries were not trivial. For him to be afraid—here, in this stretch of land—seemed completely fine: right, even, especially given that Virgin appeared just as nervous as he was.

  Unable to control the sigh that parted from his lips, Odin reached down, gripped the hilt of his sword, then bowed his eyes to the snow below them.

  Since the weather had changed a few hours ago, he’d felt at the back of his head an unwarranted sensation of being watched by something high above him—something with wings, or eyes so yellow they were rotten within their sockets. Even when he’d looked behind him, he could find no trace of the creature or person. Not a shred of evidence could be seen along the distant horizon and especially not in the mountains above them.

  This is bad, Odin thought. Really, really bad.

  Such feelings of dire ill usually did not come without consequence. He’d felt it not once, twice, or even three times, but somewhere near four—first with the Kerma, then the Ogres, followed by the undead swarming from Dwaydor and finally before being attacked by the Nagani. Every event had allowed a precognition that could only be explained as supernatural, as the body was said not to be able to predict the matters of the future—unless, of course, it was aided by magic, though not once throughout his entire life had he ever felt any sort of magical connection before said events.

  Does he feel it?

  He didn’t suffer in vain—that was already obvious, as Virgin’s mannerisms had changed drastically—but could his fellow Halfling sense that something was amiss in the air, that something happened to be watching them from the safety of either a tree or the mountain peaks?

  Odin drew in a breath.

  He pulled his horse to a stop.

  Virgin continued forward, unaware of Odin’s action.

  After turning his head to survey the area they’d just crossed, Odin reached down, unbuckled the clasp of his sword, then drew the blade out a thumb’s-width from its sheath.

  “Something’s wrong,” Odin said.

  Ahead of him, Virgin halted his mount and turned his head.

  The snow continued to fall—softly, as if it had not an ill will in the world.

  Though Odin could not clearly see his companion’s eyes, he sensed the same unrest radiating from his person.

  “We need to keep going,” Virgin said, running a hand through his horse’s mane.

  “Do you know something I don’t?” Odin replied, tapping his horse’s ribs to ease it forward. “Virgin?”

  “I don’t know anything, Odin.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” the Halfling replied, blinking, his face resembling something of a dumbstruck child caught with his hands doused in syrup and his face covered in oatmeal. “Really, Odin, I—“

  Something flickered in the bushes behind them.

  Odin drew his sword and turned his horse in a complete circle before he even realized what happened.

  It’s just the wind, he thought. Get a hold of yourself.

  While the feeling of being watched hadn’t lightened, his panicked heart began to regain its regular pace, beating only a few harsh times before it settled.

  When he turned his attention back to Virgin, his companion only offered a slight frown.

  There’s something going on here that I’m not aware of.

  Shaking his head, Odin sheathed his weapon and allowed the Halfling to lead him on.

  They couldn’t be out of here soon enough.

  Not a shard of moonlight managed to penetrate the clouds come nightfall, forcing them to make an early stop near the side of the road.

  “What was it?” Odin asked, breathless, almost unable to speak as his heart was pounding so fast.

  “I don’t know,” Virgin said. “See why I said it wasn’t a good idea to have a light?”

  “I’m not putting this damned light out, Virgin.”

  Each of the three resounding cracks that followed made him jump.

  “It’s just something curious about us,” the Halfling replied, settling back down into his bedroll. “Don’t worry about it.”

  How couldn’t he?

  By the time morning came with its all-too-familiar shade of grey, Odin’s nerves were shot and his heart was on what felt like its last resorts. Even when he managed to pull himself from bed and eat a few pieces of jerky he still felt tired as ever, as if he hadn’t slept a wink in more than three days, and when he crawled onto his horse he n
early fell off, much to his horse’s displeasure, who shook its head and whinnied as if it’d just been struck in the face. Virgin, meanwhile, looked on with sad and unsure eyes, pity shining across his clear scleras and pupils dilated to their full shape.

  Great, Odin thought, dipping his head. Just great.

  He didn’t think he would be able to continue on much longer, not in these conditions or with this much stress. Though it wouldn’t last particularly long, as Virgin had said they were more than halfway out of the Divide, he wasn’t looking forward to having to sit up at night and worry about whatever it was that might be watching or trying to kill them.

  “You have no idea what that thing was last night,” Odin said, stating his words more than using them to question.

  “No,” Virgin said. “I don’t.”

  “Not the slightest clue?”

  “No.”

  “Could it have been one of the undead?”

  “Possibly, but if it was, it wasn’t like any of the ones I’ve heard about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The wandering dead are usually drawn to living creatures because they feel the need to consume them—eat their flesh, hearts, entrails, that sort of thing. If what was following last night was one of them, it was obvious much different than what a usual undead is seen as.”

  “So it could be intelligent?”

  “It could be, yes, but we’re not even sure if it was one of the undead. Maybe it was merely a deformed human living on the fringe of society and took notice of us because he or she was attracted to the fire.”

  “I already know about that,” Odin sighed. “Please don’t lecture me anymore. I’m tired as it is.”

  “Do you plan on trying to sleep on the horse?”

  “I’ve never been able to sleep on a horse, at least not willingly.”

  “Maybe it would do you good to sleep during the night and me during the day. At the very least, you wouldn’t be worrying about whatever’s in the dark and I could keep watch without having a fire lit.”

  “Can I ask a question, Virgin, even if it sounds stupid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is having a fire such a big deal if most everything can see in the dark anyway?”