Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “See you later.” Odin paused, then smiled and said, “I like that.”

  “You ready to go?” Virgin asked.

  “Yeah. I am.”

  They embarked from Dwaydor with the sole intent of crossing the expanse between the snow-covered Ornalan Plains within the span of seven days. Though the journey would be tough, especially with so much snow and seated atop the only horse they could afford to take, Odin couldn’t help but feel they would accomplish what they set out to do with little trouble.

  “We have to remember,” Virgin said, “that we still might have to worry about werewolves.”

  True. On the lips of men within Dwaydor they had heard the majority of the attacks had taken place outside of the city no more than a day or so away, but that didn’t necessarily mean they would have to be concerned, did it?

  We have our tent, we have our swords. We know they’re vulnerable to silver.

  “We should have to nothing to worry about,” Odin mumbled.

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Virgin replied, as if thinking Odin had just spoken to him. “I’m just being cautious.”

  “I know.”

  “No point in letting our guard down when we’re passing through one of the harshest parts of the trip.”

  “We’ve never had to worry about this part of the journey before,” Odin sighed. “I really do wonder if the activity that’s been going on really has upset the local wildlife.”

  “Wouldn’t you be upset too if there were men fighting and killing each other before your eyes?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not an animal.”

  At this, Virgin chuckled and reared his head back to laugh. Odin, meanwhile, kept his head down and reached up to adjust his hood over his eyes, thankful that the weather had not worsened over the short while they’d been out on the road.

  Just because it snowed and hailed last night doesn’t mean that it’s going to do the same today.

  Either way, one couldn’t be too sure, especially when nature herself seemed so wild and unpredictable.

  Rather than keep his thoughts centered on things negative and unworthy, Odin tried to imagine just how he would be greeted once he passed through the supposedly-blossoming town of Ornala.

  It could be great, he thought. Or it could be horrible.

  Either way, he would face the stones they bared, whether they came flying or not.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him,” Odin said.

  “Whom?” Virgin asked.

  “Parfour.”

  They sat before the fire with their cloaks about their shoulders and their legs inside their bedrolls. Eyes set to the crackling flames, hands and fingers locked beneath his knees, Odin tried to pull his consciousness away from matters of the past, but found himself unable to despite that they were so far away from Dwaydor and things only seemed to be improving as they continued.

  You knew this would happen.

  With that logic, he couldn’t blame himself for dwelling on the past—for thinking that, regardless of what had happened to the boy in his previous life, his new one held its fair share of trials and promises, especially considering the field of work he was venturing into.

  “What are you thinking about?” Virgin asked, drawing Odin from his trance of thought.

  “How far he’s come in the short while I’ve known him.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen, seventeen at the oldest.”

  “Quite young to be venturing into the priesthood.”

  “He’s always been driven by his faith,” Odin sighed, taking a stray piece of kindling from his side and poking at the dusty kernels of burnt wood before him. “It’s the only thing that’s kept him alive, to be honest.”

  “You’ve mentioned a little bit about him,” the older Halfling said. “About how he was horribly beaten and abused on the Judarin island of Ohmalyon.”

  “They all were. That’s the whole reason I went back.”

  “Ah. I wasn’t aware that you had gone back.”

  I’ve never told you? he thought, a frown crossing his face and dampening his expression. I could’ve sworn I had.

  Then again, there was some eighteen, nineteen years of history he could recant day in and day out until his companion knew everything about him. While that seemed ignorant in itself—for no man, even if he was immortal, would want to know every detail about his companion’s life—it was, in all respects, the sole reason why some things would go unnoticed, slipping by like skinks on the hot desert sand searching for a watering hole from which they could drink.

  When he turned his attention back to not only to the fire, but to his companion, Odin found that Virgin’s eyes had both softened and taken on an unnaturally-dark hue, signaling a concern that need not be expressed in words in order to be deciphered.

  Is he all right?

  Rather than speak, Odin forced a smile and said, “It’s all right. The past is the past. Nothing anyone can do about it now.”

  “Whatever people may think of you,” Virgin said, reaching forward to stir the pot of soup hovering over the fire, “especially now, after you’ve been gone for so long, you’re a good man. Your actions prove you noble beyond what many do throughout their entire lives.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “It’s pleasing to know that you’re confident in yourself. You’ve come a long way since the first time we met.”

  Have I? Odin thought. Or are you just saying that because you know I’m uneasy?

  To that, he had no reply, nor any words on other matters before them.

  While waiting for a response, one which he knew would probably never come, Virgin continued to stir the soup, keeping his attention set on his work before him likely to keep from disrupting any chain of thought Odin might currently be having.

  Odin licked his lips, then blinked when what felt like a bead of moisture landed on his cheek. “Snow,” he said, tilting his head up to look at the darkened sky.

  “This is almost done,” Virgin said. “You can rest after you’re done eating.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take first watch?”

  “I’m sure, Odin.” The Halfling took a bowl and spilled some soup into it. “Eat. You have too much on your mind to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  While he believed no such correlation existed, he could take what was offered without argument.

  Over the course of three days, then late into their fourth, the telltale signs of the Felnon Marsh and Woodlands came into view. Stoic, harsh, free of many of their needles and resembling snowcapped peaks at the highest points of the mountains, they pushed into the sky like great dancers training their arms above their heads in preparation for the greatest performance of their lives. The sight was enough to make a throb of discomfort pulse within Odin’s gut, as at that moment it seemed he was so close yet so far away from home.

  “These wouldn’t happen to be the woods you grew up in,” Virgin said, “would they?”

  Unable to speak, Odin forced a nod and swallowed a lump in his throat that began to grow progressively worse as he continued to stare at the snowed-over woodlands. He could imagine it now. Spring, after a long, hard winter—the frozen bogs would melt over and from the mud toads would begin to sing their songs of happy days, of bugs to eat and friends to meet. Marsh Walkers would rise from their encapsulated tombs of mud and stalk the land, searching for deer and other fresh prey, while those pregnant and full of life would give birth to the young of the new year and prance about gay and full of glee. Flowers would bloom, vines would climb, and trees so full of life would begin to groan, for finally after such a long time would they feel the warmth of the sun unclouded and fertile within their needles.

  When he found himself able to form words upon his lips but not yet speak them, Odin shook his head, freed his hood from his skull, then reached back to adjust his hair over his shoulders before he said, “They are.”

  “They�
��re quite the sight,” the older Halfling said, turning his head to the side to examine the woodlands. “Would you like to go visit?”

  “It would be out of the way. There’s no point.”

  “Don’t you have family there?”

  “My adoptive father, yes.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to see him?”

  Would I?

  A frown crossed his mouth at the thought and forced him to reevaluate the situation. He’d never once considered detouring to Felnon to see his father, much less in the winter and when the wildlife was all the more reckless. More often than not, men were attacked by wolves, children and women sometimes beheaded and eviscerated by the creatures when deer, elk and mouse were not aplenty. Even children knew better than to go straying too far from their homes when the frost still lay naked on the ground and waiting for the sun to dry it warm, so to think that they would even bother to go there unsettled Odin to his core.

  “We don’t really have a strict time limit on when we need to arrive at the capital,” Virgin said, pressing a hand against Odin’s abdomen. “Why not visit with your father? Maybe we can find you another horse while we’re there.”

  “Are you really that bothered riding with me?” Odin asked.

  “No,” Virgin chuckled. “But this poor old soul here probably would like a little less weight on his shoulders, wouldn’t you?”

  The horse whipped its head back and snorted as Virgin reached forward and tasseled the creature’s mane.

  “I don’t know,” Odin said, allowing his eyes to stray first from the road to the north, then to the eventual swell where it branched into a Y-shape beneath the snow.

  “What’s not to know? You have family, and I’d love to meet your father.”

  “You would?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I am, after all, the man you’ve become acquainted with in the past few months. Wouldn’t your father want to meet your lover?”

  “I guess,” he mumbled, all the more unsure what to think of the word ‘lover’ in his current frame of mind.

  “Take the reins. Lead us wherever you want to go.”

  Virgin dropped the cords of leather.

  Odin looked down.

  Even in the pale light piercing through the thick white clouds, the reins seemed all the more daunting.

  Should I? he thought, looking once more to the trees.

  He pulled the horse to a complete stop.

  Odin closed his eyes.

  He waited for nature to whisper her sweet nothings into his ear.

  The wind disrupted his hair.

  A chill bit the tip of one malformed ear.

  He imagined, in that moment, that the shewolf still lived in these woods, guarding over them like some ancient sentinel. She would be great, grand, wise, old—her pups would have grown and her matters in nature would have been all but over. But there, however, she would be—persisting, endlessly, until the time in which she was no longer needed.

  Do not be afraid of the thing you have done or the things you will eventually do.

  “You will have to learn that you must make your own path in this world,” he whispered.

  “Sorry?” Virgin asked.

  Odin turned the horse toward the forest.

  Virgin offered no word in response.

  Rather than wait for his companion to say anything, Odin reached down, secured his companion’s hands around his waist, then forced the horse into a full-out run.

  A laugh sprung up from Virgin’s chest.

  In that moment, Odin couldn’t help but laugh as well.

  Trees whipped by like beggars desperately reaching for them as Odin pushed the horse and along the manmade path that wound through the forest and eventually led to Felnon. His mouth a smile upon his face, his eyes calm yet alert, he scanned the bordering tree lines and beyond to see if he could make out anything he could remember from his childhood. First came the Old Thing, the tree that bore a scar from being struck by lightning, then the wayward rock formations that cropped out of nowhere and bore upon their surface several smaller holes, from which rodents looked and then scampered into hiding. Ahead, a deer crossed the road, then fled into the forest; and above, a series of blackbirds cawed before disbanding, laughing with joy as the humans and the horse they rode upon continued toward the one place Odin could rightfully call home.

  Home, he thought, each breath of air a moment of clarity that freed his mind and forever made him sane.

  In that moment, all seemed well—a breath of air poured from the lips of Gaia herself. There was no pain, no moment of agony, no nightmarish thoughts in which the world could be destroyed and his insanity overcome him, and there was no Book of the Dead and just what he would use its power for, no thing upon which to dread for fear of his future being destroyed. No. Nothing at all existed except the sane, the welcome, the forgiving, the blissful and the pure, and for that Odin couldn’t help but tilt his head to the sky and let loose a laugh that, to many, would have seemed chaotic, but to him felt like the greatest thing his body had ever produced.

  “I’m home!” he cried, thrusting both hands into the air and extending his arms as if he were a bird coasting the current upon which the horse seemed to ride. “I’m home!”

  “Hold on!” Virgin cried, a laugh echoing from his chest as he wrapped an arm around Odin’s waist and took hold of the reins.

  “I’m home! I’m home!”

  Birds resting in the trees took flight and a herd of deer grazing near the side of the road disbanded into opposite directions. A fawn, caught in the midst of it all, stood as if it were caught by some bizarre light in the middle of the road until Odin raised his hand and shot a plume of fire into the air before making it crack about the horizon.

  “Odin!” Virgin laughed. “You’re going to scare everything in the woods if you keep this up!”

  “I don’t care!” he cried. “I’m home, Virgin! I’m fucking home!”

  In response, the older Halfling laughed and locked his arm tighter around Odin’s abdomen.

  Odin looked up.

  No more than a few hundred feet away, the flesh-colored road that led to Felnon and the surrounding providence came into view.

  Odin closed his eyes.

  Behind him, Virgin whispered a slight breath of awe.

  When Odin turned his attention back to the one place he called home, his heart began to beat like a thunderclap raging across the sky.

  What would his father think of his disappearance, of Virgin, of the man he considered to be the person he loved and of the fact that, in the minds of some, he had betrayed his entire kingdom?

  He won’t think anything, he thought, because he’s my father.

  If that thought would not soothe his worries, then nothing would.

  The path to the village was sparse but lined with houses. Alongside the road, women conversing with one another about daily life rose to take notice from their places on stumps and watched as the two men riding atop the single horse sauntered into the village with little more than nods or smiles, while to the sides in great heaps and bundles of snow children played with one another and their dogs. Each cried or yipped with glee, raising hands in greeting or barking at the monstrous horse that made its way up the road, and every time Odin took notice of a man cutting wood for his family’s fireplace or making their way along the path he nodded, content with the fact that the village seemed peaceful, immune to whatever forces the outside world had bestowed upon them.

  The peace, the atmosphere, the clarity in which the whole village could be seen—it was in that moment, when looking upon those people’s faces, that Odin truly realized how long it had been since he had been home.

  At the bottom of the highest hill in Felnon, atop which currently lay a mountain of snow, appeared the house he had grown up in.

  Home, Odin thought.

  The word a whispered breath upon his lips, molded but not truly echoed, it rang through his head a multitude of times, bouncing off each side of his
skull, until it finally fell into place.

  A long figure shambling up the side of the road caught Odin’s eye.

  Is that, he thought, frowning.

  “My God,” he breathed.

  “What is it?” Odin asked.

  “The midwife.”

  “Who?”

  Odin threw himself from his place atop the horse and rushed to greet the woman—whom, in reaction to the figure running toward her, shrieked and threw her arms up, only to lower them a short moment later.

  “Mother Karma,” Odin said, falling to his knees and lifting both palms to encapsulate her right hand. “Do you remember who I am?”

  “Your eyes,” the woman breathed.

  It took him but a moment to see that, like all things, she had aged. Beautiful, tranquil, with eyes the color of fresh iron that seemed to encapsulate the world rnd reflect it back at anyone who looked upon them—Odin couldn’t help but be lost in her face, in her rapidly-decreasing cheekbones, the soft and assured whiteness of her teeth, her thin but fine pink lips and her high, flourishing brows. Her chipmunk-brown hair fell around her face and framed it perfectly in the moments following her initial declaration, capturing her in a light Odin couldn’t help but smile at despite the snow that fell around them. There seemed to be nothing that could ruin this moment, especially not when looking upon her beautiful yet sadly stress-worn face.

  Come on, he thought, trembling, holding his hands as steadily as he could. You remember me.

  When a smile sprung across her face and a laugh echoed out through her lips, Odin flung himself to his feet, took her into his arms, then lifted her into the air, a fact that surprised the midwife whom had helped cared for him so much that she cried out in surprise.

  “Odin Karussa!” she said, smacking his back as he continued to tighten his hold on her. “Put me down this instant!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, imparting a kiss upon her cheek as he set her down and brushed a few tears of snow off her shoulder. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you in so long.”

  “Where have you been, boy?”

  “That’s a long story.” He turned and beckoned to Virgin, who dismounted and began to lead the horse toward them. “Would you… would you care to come visit my father with me?”