Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “Have you had trouble since I’ve been gone?”

  “Thankfully, I haven’t, though what with this war going on, a man can’t be too careful.” Ournul leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me, Odin… you went to the Abroen to find answers you were looking for.”

  “Yes sir. I did.”

  “Did you ever find them?”

  Did I? Odin thought, then frowned when the king scrutinized him with eyes that seemed to pierce into his soul.

  He could lie and say that he hadn’t—that even though he’d tried to figure out what it was that happened after death, the Elves were of no further help than any human philosophy. However, with the book in hand and the situation all the more laborious, he couldn’t honestly say that he hadn’t found an answer. For that, he sighed, shook his head, then leaned forward in his seat before saying, “No, sir. I haven’t.”

  “Did you learn many things while you were with the Elves?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you yourself maneuver through the forest, or did you have a guide?”

  “That’s something I wanted to ask you, sir.” Odin took a deep breath. Ournul raised an eyebrow in response.

  “Yes?” the king asked.

  “The man… well, Halfling… I met on the outskirts of the Abroen… the two of us have grown close over the past few months and… well… I wanted to know—if I’m still allowed, of course—if he could take up quarters with me in the castle.”

  “So the two of you are… acquainted, then?”

  “In a manner of speaking, sir. Yes.”

  The lines in Ournul’s brow did not bode well for Odin’s request.

  Here we go, Odin thought. Just like my father, but with a more important figure.

  “I personally have no problem with the fact that you are, as you have implied, queer, though I will say as your king that it would not be in good favor for either of us if you are seen in cohorts with a man.”

  “Sir—“

  “I’m not going to argue this point with you, Odin. I am fine with the two of you living together so long as you are not seen in public engaging in scandalous activities. Those should, as they rightfully are, be private, especially considering what the people might think if they see my champion as anything other than normal.”

  Normal? Odin thought. What did you—

  “I would suggest,” Ournul said, cutting Odin off mid-thought, “for your sake and mine, that you consider striking up an affair with one of the young noblewomen who will be accompanying the caravan for the annual ball, in which the members of the royal family discuss matters of the kingdom and help delegate which laws need to be passed and what concerns need to be taken into consideration. This isn’t to say that you should involve yourself in an affair of the heart with them, though if the two of you do come to a liking for one another, that’s all the better in my opinion.”

  “Sir, I don’t think that’s nece—“

  “Had I the inclination, Odin, I would be right to agree with you, but considering how fragile our kingdom is after this war we’ve endured, there’s no need to stir up the people any more than they already are.”

  “I—“

  “None of this goes outside the room—that includes you, page, and you, men.” Ournul gave each of the guards and the transcriber a long, hard look before turning his attention back on Odin. “Since I assume you’ll be staying with Nova, I’ll send word to designate one of the empty houses for you and your… ‘acquaintance.’ You are dismissed.”

  “But I—“

  Ournul shook his head, then gestured Odin out of his chair.

  The guards stepped forward.

  Without so much as another look at his king, Odin turned and started to leave the room, but stopped before he could set his hand on the doorknob.

  A thought occurred to him.

  “Sir,” Odin said.

  “Yes?” Ournul asked.

  “Are you sure you’re safe without me in your quarters?”

  “I’m just fine, Odin. I’m just fine.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Odin cried, thrusting his hands into the air as he continued his mad pursuit of the guest room Nova and Katarina had given them. “I can’t fucking believe it!”

  “I told you this might happen,” Virgin said, looking up from his seat at the end of the bed.

  “I didn’t expect the king to be so ignorant. Goddammit Virgin!” Odin slammed his fist into a nearby wall and grimaced soon after. “Shit.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled, drawing his cracked knuckles and hand toward his chest, where he then sighed and bowed his head

  “You can’t blame your king for the way he feels the country should operate,” the older Halfling said, standing and making his way across the brief distance between the two of them. He then wrapped his arms around Odin’s waist and leaned against his back. “Is that any better?”

  “Anything you do makes me feel better.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “You don’t know how happy it makes me to know that I met you on the outskirts of the Abroen.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “No you can’t.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t think so.” Odin reached down and set his hand over Virgin’s interlaced fists. “I mean, think about it—you came out of nowhere, tried to rob me, then opened your heart to let a complete stranger in. That’s not something most ordinary people would do.”

  “I guess you could say I’m not the most ordinary person.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I guess that makes us two peas in a pod,” Virgin said.

  Odin couldn’t help but laugh.

  After breaking away from Virgin’s arms, he turned to face his companion, reached up to touch his face, then slid a finger along Virgin’s cheek, a smile curving his face as each individual hair across his cheeks contracted under his touch and bent to contort around his fingertip’s surface.

  If only you knew, he thought.

  Such emotions could never be expressed in words. They could, of course, be translated—could be called happiness, sadness, jealousy, lust—but could never be adequately described. There was too much ignorance in the world for one to ever truly put words to the things people felt on a day-to-day basis. A laugh could be a child, a frown the sea, a smile the world encapsulated in the sun’s shining light—the utter sorrow of one’s death could signal the end of the world, who’d cometh on dark wings and shroud over the distant horizon. Upon His pale horse he would ride with his staff at the ready, and he would proclaim unto them who witnessed, I am the end, for it was in great sorrow that it seemed there was no hope, and for that it could not be questioned when it was a person suffered. Whatever way one managed to describe it—whatever words one happened to use—they could never be correct, as it seemed in the natural scope of things that such emotions were too elaborate to ever be condensed into words.

  As a smile crept across Virgin’s face, Odin’s heart seemed to warm almost instantaneously.

  “Thank you for being here for me,” Odin whispered.

  “You don’t need to thank me,” Virgin whispered back.

  Reaching forward, the older Halfling set both hands on the sides of Odin’s face and bowed their heads together.

  Eternity seemed to pass.

  The sun, Odin imagined, fell across the sky, toward the distant ocean that lay not too far away from the Felnon Providence, while the moon rose in the opposite direction to bring darkness to the world.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Boys,” Katarina’s familiar, soft-toned voice said. “Is everything all right in there?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Odin said. “Don’t worry.”

  “We’re making dinner. Come down when you’re ready.”

  We will, Odin thought, but said nothing in response.

  In looking into Virgin’s eyes, he couldn’t help but smile.

  If this
was the life he was supposed to live—shrouded, encapsulated, hidden from the world but allowed to be with the person he loved—then he felt he could do just about anything to keep this plaintive existence going.

  “Come on,” Virgin said, reaching down to take Odin’s hand. “Let’s go help them make dinner.”

  Without so much as a nod, Odin turned and allowed Virgin to lead him toward the door, hand-in-hand.

  Much of the conversation was sparse and muted at best. An occasional comment, a seldom remark, a whisper between Nova and Katarina and occasionally a slight, if somewhat-forced joke from Carmen—despite everything that could have been talked about no more than several hours after Odin and Virgin had arrived, everyone was quiet, to the point where it felt the air had developed a tangible essence of which could have been cut and opened were one not careful. Odin somewhat expected a single sound to rip through the air and reveal to them the insides of what the world was made of: harsh, fleshy and filled with gelatinous, purple blood. Mostly, though, the only sounds made were from the baby—who, at his grandfather’s urging, continued to eat his mashed food.

  You’re going to have to say something eventually, he thought, taking but a moment to cast a look over at Virgin from the corner of one eye. You can’t expect to stay quiet forever.

  Then again, who was he to think that he had to speak, much less contribute to the dining-table dialogue of which was common with most groups of people? He wasn’t required to relay anything about his past, about his adventures, his trials and errors and, ultimately, his triumphs, and while it seemed that most if not all the attention was set toward him, that didn’t mean he had to say anything.

  When Katarina’s vision strayed from her husband and fell directly on him, Odin couldn’t help but sigh.

  Beneath the table, Virgin reached over and set his hand over Odin’s knuckles. It’s all right, that touch seemed to say. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

  “So,” Carmen said, pushing herself to her feet in order to have a better look around the table. “Odin…”

  “Yes?” he asked, surprised at the fact his voice was so clear.

  “I’ve noticed you been a little quiet.”

  Yes, he thought.

  “So I’m wondering,” Carmen continued, plucking a piece of meat from her plate and sliding it into her mouth. “I mean, if it’s all right to ask and all.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How did your meeting with the king go?”

  Fine, he wanted to say, grimacing at how the tone of his word rang through his head and made dandelions weep in a field full of marvelous flowers. It was just like the good old days, Carmen, when I could talk to the man I considered a third father without ever thinking that I was considered less.

  So badly he wanted to say that his king truly was as he was called—kind, considerate, with a heart and mind of gold that sang of bluebirds on a warm summer’s day and drew even the feistiest of cardinals from their roosts. He wanted to say that even from the very beginning, his king had gone out of his way to do everything to make his life better—that in the morning, after a long night’s sleep, he would sing old tales of war and triumph in a bathtub fresh with water and offer a conscience upon which to relate all his fears, would propose to read him poetry and discuss with him the practical means of its symbolism, would take his swords in his hands and polish the metal with special oils until they shined like grand jewels upon the crown this king never wore. He could not lie when he said that the king had taken him in—had fed, clothed, trained and eventually shaped him into the man he was today—so to think that now, after all this time, a change had come in their relationship was almost impossible to fathom, as it had always seemed that Ournul would accept him no matter whom he loved or what he did.

  He’s changed, Odin thought, his eyes falling to the food and hands curling into fists beneath the table. He’s changed, Odin, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.

  Could he, if he truly wanted, rebel against his king’s wishes, and walk the streets hand-in-hand and kiss Virgin in public? It would be one false way to make a point, propose a declaration and say, ‘This is who I truly am,’ but would that be considered a crime against his kingdom, a wound upon which the country would suffer? If so, it was completely understandable that Ournul would not want such a thing to happen, but in that moment, when his jaw was so firmly clamped that he thought his teeth would break, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his king’s words were meant for the good of the kingdom and not just simple prejudice against something he didn’t understand.

  When he turned his head up and offered a frown to Carmen, he watched the Dwarf’s face contort into a mixture of pain and unsurety and couldn’t help but sigh.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “He didn’t approve of me and Virgin’s relationship,” Odin said, desperate to fight the tears brimming at the corners of his eyes away by lacing his and Virgin’s fingers together.

  Nova’s fork dropped to his plate.

  Odin turned his eyes up.

  Flames of hate burned within the amber pools of Nova’s eyes. “You’re joking,” the man said. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Nova,” Katarina whispered.

  “No, honey. This is absolutely ridiculous!”

  “I can understand his meaning, Nova, but—“

  “But what?”

  “Please let me finish,” she sighed, reaching up to brush her hair from her face and taking a long, deep breath. She laced her fingers together and waited for Nova to respond before turning her eyes on Odin. “The king is only concerned for your wellbeing, Odin. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s wrong, what he’s doing to you. I know it is because I’ve read the stories, the tales where young men fell in love with each other and died because of it. It’s wrong, because in our day and age, we should be smart enough to know that two men or two women loving each other doesn’t hurt anything. But you know what? Some people are so ignorant that they’ll look through something without even bothering to look at it and make decisions on it based on that.”

  “The prejudice of humanity,” Virgin said.

  “Exactly,” Katarina replied. “I know it hurts you, Odin, and I’m sure it hurts you just as well, Virgin, but don’t think I’m taking the enemy’s side because I think it’s right. It’s just… I don’t want to see either of you hurt more than you already are now.”

  “She has a point,” Ketrak said, clearing his throat after sipping his water. “It’s mad to think that people would react so aggressively to seeing two men holding hands, but I’ve seen it happen and it hasn’t been a pretty thing.”

  “It’s bullshit,” Nova growled.

  “It’s not right,” Carmen nodded, “but your wife has a point, honey. It’s better for Odin and Virgin to keep their relationship private, no matter how much it hurts us.”

  “Maybe you’ll blaze a new path for future champions,” Ketrak added. “In time.”

  In time? Odin thought.

  How long would it take to convince an entire generation that being queer and loving a man was no different than being common and loving a woman?

  No longer sure what to think of the conversation at hand, he retrieved his spoon from the corner of the plate, speared a piece of meat on the end of it, then shoved it into his mouth.

  When the tone at the dining table once more fell to silence, Odin closed his eyes.

  He would have started crying had Virgin not leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

  Odin lay awake what seemed like hours after the household had gone to bed staring at the ceiling and trying to gauge his situation. Virgin at his side, sleeping softly and with his breath on the back of his neck, it seemed irrelevant to have such worrisome thoughts, especially in the arms of the man he cared about, but for some reason he couldn’t shake what Ournul had said earlier that day.

  I would suggest, for your sake and mine, that you co
nsider striking up an affair with one of the young noblewomen who will be accompanying the caravan for the annual ball.

  How easy was it to simply disregard one’s life and change it into something someone considered ‘normal?’ Did it take one misplaced word, one falsely-judged action, one moment in time in which a situation could be shifted, altered, controlled before anyone had the chance to see it? It seemed in that very moment, while lying there in his lover’s arms, that one could alter just one thing without being obvious. A man could lie with another man but be in the company of a woman to make others assume that he was, indeed, common, and a man could tote around a child and make others believe that he was, in fact, the father. It need not matter whether or not he truly loved the woman or if the child was truly his—the appearance alone displayed a normalcy that most would rather have ingrained into their consciousness.

  “People see what they want to see,” Odin whispered, curling his fingers around the quilt and forcing his eyes shut.

  Or they preferred to see what they wanted to see.

  If he and Virgin were to ever walk down the road hand-in-hand, it was quite possible that they would be lynched. Stoning was by far out of the question, as such barbaric methods had been abandoned long ago, but would men, women and children willingly disobey the laws to destroy something they would rather not see?

  Of course they would, he thought. If it’s not normal, it’s not right.

  Virgin shifted behind him.

  Odin scooted forward, away from his companion’s body.

  The feeling of warmth left almost immediately.

  Was it always this cold, he pondered, when I wasn’t sleeping with another person?

  He decided not to think about it.

  Instead, he cast the blanket over his shoulders, threw his legs over the side of the bed, then strode across the room, directly to where the pack lay hanging on a rack embedded into the wall above a writing desk.