Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “The undead can’t. They’re as much human as the people in Harpie’s Summit are, if not less than that.”

  “Well, sorry… I didn’t know that.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. You grow smarter every day, you know?”

  “Today’s not going to be one of them,” Odin sighed, bowing his face into his horse’s neck.

  The beast shook its head and let out a slight grunt.

  Closing his eyes, Odin tilted his head to the side and took a deep breath.

  Snow kissed his lips.

  He was out almost immediately.

  Torn from sleep by the image of the humanoid creature looking upon them in the near-absolute darkness, Odin thrust himself upright and blinked to clear his vision as the grey world came into focus.

  “Are you all right?” Virgin asked.

  “I’m fine,” Odin replied, blinking, shaking the snow that had accumulated atop him from his head and focusing his eyes on his companion’s back, which remained completely straight and stoic regardless of how cold the weather had become. “What time is it?”

  “Midafternoon, I believe.”

  “Sorry for sleeping so long.”

  “Not to worry. It wasn’t hard making sure you were still behind me.”

  “Has my horse even done anything?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Good boy,” Odin said, running his hand along the horse’s sides before returning one hand to the reins. “Are you cold?”

  “Not particularly, no.”

  “I can warm you up if you’d like.”

  “That’s all right. Conserve your energy. You need it more than I do.”

  “All right,” he frowned. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What happened while I was asleep?”

  “To tell you the truth, nothing.”

  “I don’t feel like we’re being watched anymore.”

  “You’re always being watched by something, Odin, even if it’s a bird.”

  “I know, but still… it’s a nice feeling, not being afraid that something’s ready to tear your head off.”

  “I still think you overreact far too much.”

  “Ah well,” Odin shrugged. He tilted his head to the sky and once more tried to seek out the sun, though in the gloom overhead he could make no sense of anything. “Does the sun ever shine here?”

  “No.”

  “Not even on clear days?”

  “I don’t believe Denyon has much in the way of sunshine. The mountains shroud the sun on both sides, so what little light it does get ends up being like this.” Virgin waved his hand before him.

  “I see,” Odin frowned, turning to look at the mountains.

  Though not as darkened as they could have been, given the conditions in the sky, they still appeared menacing—haunting, even, as though they were some WRaith following a pair of travelers in their darkest of hours. He shivered, regardless of the fact that the snow was falling, and when he turned his head and caught sight of what appeared to be a slight bead of water flowing across the path, a frown painted his face and a spike of fear slid into his heart. “Virgin,” he said, pulling the reins on his horse to bring it to a halt. “Is this…”

  “The place where the mountain bleeds,” the Halfling said.

  “What?”

  Until that moment—when, for no particular reason, his vision narrowed and focused on the water below—he had not noticed that the liquid bore the distinct red hue that made it appear as though it were blood itself. Like Virgin had so easily stated when coming upon the sight, a thin trail of the scarlet liquid ran from the foot of the mountains and made its way across the road toward the cliff-like formations on the other side—where, almost unrecognizable to the naked eye, the water shifted into the ground and disappeared entirety.

  “Oh,” he said, unable to resist the urge to frown.

  “This marks the final day of passage throughout the Divide,” Virgin said, jabbing a finger into the distance where, quite clearly, a brightened blue sky could be seen. “I don’t believe we’ll make it by the time the sun goes down, but tomorrow afternoon—yes, we will.”

  “We’ll be out of the Divide,” Odin replied.

  And so close to the mouth of Denyon that we’ll shit our pants.

  A nervous bought of laughter rose from his chest and echoed forward, reverberating across the rocks at their right and the mountains at their left. The sound, though innocent, gained a horrifying magnitude, and when reflected off the face of darkness resembled something like someone cackling—a witch, perhaps, once fabled to roam the forests of his homeland, or a Harpie sitting in one of the distant trees waiting to swipe down and tackle him or Virgin from their horses. At the sound, Virgin looked up and regarded him with unsure eyes, then shook his head and returned his attention to the path, which had been cleared of almost all snow by the wind or something similar.

  You sound like a lunatic.

  Lunatic or not, his fear was not unwarranted, especially because of all the horror stories he heard as a child.

  Rather than try and continue his escapade, Odin took a deep breath, expelled it, then gestured his horse over the slight bleed in the path and toward the road that continued on beyond it. Shortly thereafter, he turned his attention to Virgin, closed his eyes, then opened them before asking, “Why is the water red?”

  “No one is particularly sure,” the Halfling replied, falling into pace beside Odin. “Some people believe it’s because the lake that supposedly exists in the deeper spots within Denyon is bordered by red rock—which, in reality, would eventually seep into the water.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more of a dull brown color instead of… well, red?”

  “Don’t ask me.”

  Either way, it didn’t make the sight any more pleasant, because in looking back at the water, he caught what appeared to be minute, yellow particles floating within it, resembling what looked to be pus flowing from a freshly-opened and fetid wound.

  Now you’re just freaking yourself out.

  Another short laugh later, he reached up, pulled his hood over his head and adjusted it over his eyes, thankful for the fact that he could only see his companion and nothing else.

  “Everything will be fine,” Virgin said, as if sensing Odin’s unease. “Don’t worry. Less than one more day and we’ll be out of here.”

  And, Odin thought, hopefully free of any immediate danger.

  A growing sense of dread began to creep over the campsite as Odin sat up and waited for Virgin to recover the sleep he did not have. The fine hairs on his neck on end, his hands and fingers alight with tension, he trained his eyes on the darkness beyond what he instinctively knew was the campsite and tried to make out any finer details in the dark. He could faintly discern what appeared to be the road through his hazy vision, and beyond that what appeared to be the trees beneath the mountain, but any further and he could see nothing else. No pine needles on which rodents could be nestling, no rocks that could be sprinkled about the road, no bark upon the great trunks of trees—things so easily visible in the daylight hours could not be seen even slightly, thus imposing upon anyone who happened to sit up so late at night a feeling of unrest that could not be shaken even if one held a weapon in hand.

  I’m going to have nightmares for weeks, Odin thought.

  Shivering, he reached down to make sure both of his swords were secure before tightening the drawstrings on his cloak in hopes of fighting off the chill that seemed ever so present within this part of the country.

  In his bedroll, Virgin shifted, rolling over on what Odin assumed had to have been his pack.

  “Are you awake?” Odin decided to ask.

  When no reply came, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, though doing so did little to discourage the reality of the situation.

  One more day and you’ll be out of here.

  Tomorrow, by dusk at the latest, they would be out of the Great Divide and coasting the Western Shor
e, which was said to be easy travelling with little to worry about.

  In the near distance, another branch snapped.

  Movement came from Odin’s left side.

  “Was that you?” Odin asked.

  “Yes,” Virgin said.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “It’s here again.”

  “What is?”

  “That thing.”

  “Do I—“

  “No. Just keep your sword out. It’s looking right at you.”

  At me? Odin thought. Why me?

  He could just imagine it now—a creature, tall and emaciated, hunchbacked, watching him with eyes that gleamed yellow in the darkness when reflecting the light of a white fire. It would, he knew, be watching his hands, his black sword, his silver hilt, and it would be examining his face for any kind of emotion: fear, possibly, or maybe even terror, which plagued his heart to the point where he could barely breathe. This creature would take slow, deliberate steps toward them and open its mouth, dead or not, into a twisted yawn, and it would reach out to try and embrace him, for all things dead and human and devoid of companionship wanted to be loved.

  At his side, Virgin shifted from his bedroll. The sound of a dagger being drawn rang through Odin’s ears.

  “Stay back,” the older Halfling said.

  Something moaned.

  Odin’s heart stopped beating for one brief moment.

  When it began anew, the most horrible pain he felt in his entire life sparked within his chest and began to race up and down his arms.

  No.

  His breathing, once languid and slow, now came in short ragged gasps he could barely control. His knuckles tightened, his fingers curled to where they felt like they would snap free of his hands, his feet began to fall asleep. As the figure approached, and as Virgin began to step out onto the road, every ounce of confidence Odin had up until that time disappeared in one finite moment.

  A moan came again.

  The hiss of a dagger slashing through the air broke the silence of the night.

  Carefully, as to not trip and fall, Odin rose, dropped the silver-bladed sword to the ground, and held his black blade secure within his left hand.

  “Virgin?” Odin asked, tempted to light the area with magical fire, but unsure if he should. “Virgin?”

  No response came.

  Odin’s heart thundered.

  His esophagus constricted, dried, and threatened to bleed.

  What should have been a scream became but a tiny whimper.

  Unable to take the silence anymore, Odin thrust his hand out and released an orb of light.

  Directly in front of him, no more than a few short feet away, Virgin stared down the creature with his dagger drawn and his shoulders taut with tension.

  It would have appeared that the creature that had been following them for the past few days was human, were it not emaciated and covered in a thin sheen of grey flesh, though what it was Odin couldn’t exactly be sure. He’d call it dead, if that alone were enough an inclination, but the fact that it did not reach out and attempt to tear his companion to pieces was enough for him to disagree. Its face appeared sunken, as if it’d been dead some time, and what little of its skull Odin could see appeared to have been polished to the point where the bone resembled a porcelain doll freshly birthed from the flames of plenty. While its eyes seemed to still exist, mottled in their form and reflecting back at him in a hue of yellow, they seemed to be anything but alive—clouded, mostly, like Parfour’s one blind eye after he’d been struck in the face hard enough to destroy his vision.

  “Stay back,” Virgin said.

  “What is it?” Odin asked.

  “I don’t know, but it isn’t anything good.”

  The creature tilted its head to the side.

  Odin’s nerves lit on fire.

  No.

  Was it just by coincidence that the creature was repeating the same kind of behavior the flesh summon that had followed him, Nova and Miko had, or was it too something that had been created simply to watch travelers through the Great Divide?

  As it continued to tilt its head back and forth, seemingly trying to look around the impressively-tall Halfling to look at Odin, it shifted on its back legs and its muscles tightened beneath the flesh, making it appear as though all source of fat had been depleted from its body in order to create a perfect individual. The behavior, so far as Odin could tell, was mostly interest, as the creature seemed not in the least bit interested in harming Virgin, but if it really wanted something to do with him, why didn’t it just come forward and try to communicate?

  Maybe it can’t speak.

  Maybe, but if it truly were a flesh summon, then what reason would one have to use such a badly-damaged, obviously-torn body?

  Unless they’re just mining information.

  “It’s looking at you,” Virgin said, stepping to the side as the orb of white light drew closer to the creature, revealing the damage nature had done in all its horrible glory.

  “I know,” Odin replied.

  “It senses your magic.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s completely ignoring me. Look.”

  The creature’s head tilted in a full circle when Odin slowly rotated the orb of light before its head.

  “Is that why it’s been able to follow us?” Odin asked. “Because it knows I’m a mage?”

  “I don’t know,” Virgin said. “All I know is—“

  The creature opened its mouth.

  Virgin pursed his lips.

  Waiting for any form of response, Odin drew the orb of light away from the creature and toward his companion, who remained stoic regardless of what took place around him.

  Come on, Odin thought.

  If it truly was a flesh summon and it had been meant to follow certain individuals, then maybe it could relay whatever message it bore to them.

  Odin took a deep breath, then expelled it.

  The creature took a few steps back toward the line of trees bordering the side of the mountain.

  “Do we kill it?” Odin asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Virgin replied. “Whatever it is… this isn’t good.”

  “Have you had enough sleep?”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Odin needed no further response.

  He turned and made his way back to the camp, ready to pack up and get the hell out of the Great Divide.

  They came to the end of the Great Divide come time that afternoon and grew dangerously close to the mouth of Denyon as they made their way north, toward where they would eventually find the ‘Ela Alna Pass come a few days’ time. Tired beyond compare but not willing to settle down so close to the Dark Lands, Odin raised his eyes and threw a glance over his shoulder to look at the sky, which remained a dark shade of grey despite the fact that the weather had since cleared up.

  “We’ll stop later on,” Virgin said, drawing Odin’s attention from the mouth of Denyon and back to the path in front of him. “I don’t want to stop here.”

  “Neither do I,” Odin replied. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m probably much better off than you are.”

  True. Considering that he’d had very little-to-no sleep the previous day, it was any wonder he hadn’t repeated yesterday’s endeavor to lean forward and fall asleep. Though he probably wouldn’t do that, the fact that the option existed was all the more tempting, especially since he could barely keep his eyes open.

  Everything’s going to be fine, he thought.

  Now that they were out of the Great Divide, everything would be smooth sailing—that was, unless they ran into Road Runners near the ‘Ela Alna or bandits trying to pick off those less fortunate in the aftermath of war.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any bodies,” Odin said, trailing his eyes along the horizon, where he could see nothing in the distance.

  “They were probably buried long ago,” Virgin shrugged. “You wouldn’t b
e able to see the gravesites beneath the snow.”

  While not thick, the powdery residue of the heavens did cover the ground enough to where the dead grass couldn’t be seen beneath it, which would shadow all tragedy that had occurred within the months following the assault and reclamation of Dwaydor.

  What will the king think?

  Ournul would likely be disappointed in him—incredibly so since he had abandoned him for close to a year. Maybe after a while he’d considered his champion dead, as there’d been no correspondence, or maybe he’d just dwelled upon the possibility that Odin truly had gone insane and had come to peace with the fact that he was likely still mourning the death of not only his father, but one of the best friends he had. Either way, it didn’t necessarily matter, as it wouldn’t be more than a few weeks before he’d be back in the capital and getting the berating of his life.

  Sighing, Odin bowed his head, closed his eyes, and allowed his conscience one short moment to recover from the troubling train of thought.

  He had to keep telling himself they would stop soon. Only then would he not have to worry about collapsing atop his horse.

  That afternoon, when they finally prepared a camp complete with a fire and freshly-cooked food along a hillside, Odin passed out immediately upon lying down and slept for hours. Dreaming of absolutely nothing and resting contentedly among his companion and their horses, he rose only when dusk greeted the world and the sun began to fall in the distance, lighting the world in hues of orange, pink and red and bringing from the west the distant smell of ocean salt. The air alight with warmth, the sky no longer grey and demure, Odin opened his eyes to find himself lying directly by his horse, whom had chosen to lie down rather than stand.

  “Sleep well?” Virgin asked, lifting his head from what appeared to be a fresh pot of stew.

  “I slept fine,” Odin said, pushing himself up and running a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to fall asleep so quickly.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Besides—you deserve the rest. I can sleep when the sun goes down and you can keep watch.”

  Without having to worry about anything following us, Odin mused, the thought giving him a smile that he felt couldn’t have been broken even if the worst news in the world had been struck upon him.