Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (11 page)

Odin fell back.

Stepping forward, freeing himself from hi
s place at the door, the young man crossed the distance between the two of them and crawled up onto the bed.

Directly
above him, hands at either side of his head, Odin stared up and into the young man’s eyes and tried to comprehend just what he was doing.

“It
’s all right,” the young man whispered. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The man
leaned forward.

Their lips touched.

Odin closed his eyes and rolled over on top of him.

Morning came late the following afternoon and with the sound of blackbirds in the air. Disoriented and all the more confused about the events that had taken place last night, he lay alone in the capably-two-person bed and tried to breathe in air that seemed stagnant, pale and without oxygen.

What did I do last night?

To anyone looking upon the situation, they could have answered simply. Of course, they would say, he
’d had sex—’gotten laid’ a possible term, ‘knocking boots’ another. ‘A torrid night of loveless affairs’ could have been called the event that had transpired within the four closed walls of a room unlocked and perfectly accessible, and ‘mindless, needless fucking’ could have been another. To him, however, it seemed perfectly unnecessary, a matter of the flesh that could have been completely avoided altogether.

“Does it really matter?” he asked.

Not anymore. The young man had departed sometime during the night or early in the morning, leaving Odin not only with a sense of guilt, but the reality that he’d just attached himself to a person who could not care whatsoever.

He said he wanted to see my eyes.

Yes, but had the bartender really gleamed anything from them?

No longer sure what to think about life or the consequences that seemed so willing to come with it, Odin rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes.

Travel could come later.

For now, he could simply rest and enjoy what little time he had.

Later that afternoon, after he
’d fully recovered from the emotional affair that had taken little to no time last night, he rose from sleep, dressed himself in his trousers, shirt and cloak, then attached his swords at his side and slung his pack over his shoulder. More than ready to be rid of the place and not in the least concerned about the repercussions that could possibly follow, he marched down the stairs and started to make his way to the door before he stopped in place.

Alone in the bar with no one else around him, he turned to find the young man standing behind the counter, hands pressed to the bar and eyes alight with mischief.

“Hello,” Odin said.

“I assume you
’re leaving from the looks of things.”

“I have to.”

“Where are you going?”

“The Whooping Hills.”

“Why there?”

Because it
’s one step closer to my overall destination.

“My heart leads me in that direction,” he decided to say, though as full of doubt his words were, they at least held some semblance of truth.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Can
’t say that I am.”

“Last night didn
’t do anything for you?”

“Last night made me understand a few things about myself that I
’ve never known before,” Odin said, shrugging his pack over his shoulder and making his way over to the bar. “So I want to thank you for that.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Question.”

“Yes?”

“How many others have you slept with before me?”

“Just because I
’m friendly doesn’t mean I’m easy.”

“How many others?”

“Look,” the young man said, leaning across the counter as though making a move for Odin’s neck. When he realized his action, he drew away, then sighed. “I have a thing for knights, all right?”

“What makes you think I
’m a knight?”

“You act like one, look like one. Hell, you
’re
built
like one—which, I have to say, is pretty nice considering the chums you get around—“

“
I get it.”

The young man frowned. His lips a portrait
on his face, his eyes two great, blue wells of doubt, Odin tried as hard as he could not to stare at him, but couldn’t help when he did.

So,
he thought.
It really was for nothing.

Then again, who was to say their first time was ever really
something?

“I
’ll see you around,” Odin said, turning and making his way toward the door.

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably not.”

“Good luck in whatever you
’re doing.”

Odin
’s only reply was a simple wave of his hand.

When he’d arranged his packs and gathered about himself everything he’d need for the trip, he mounted his horse and made his way to the southeastern side of Sylina, toward the second bend in the river that came before the whisker-like constellations of mini-streams that sprouted off from the tail of the grand construct. While he left the city with many doubts in his mind, particularly about the young bartender and the intimate moment they had shared, he had no doubts about his future, nor about the path he was currently making for himself.

Soon,
he thought.

Once he cleared the Ornalan border, he would have very little time to consider his other opportunities before he crossed over into the Whooping Hills.

What would he find there, if not ancient relics of the past?

“Don
’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, reaching down to tangle his fingers through his stallion’s mane. “You don’t even know if anything has taken over the area.”

They said that the Whooping Hills, though ancient and mostly deserted, were held by creatures that could have defiled the imagination and filled great men
’s dreams with horrible nightmares. Those things, with spiny backs and enlarged torsos, could have been described as something akin to a Werewolf—a large, bulky creature with patches of red fur missing from mange that so very often struck their kind and made them appear twisted and fragile. Not necessarily Werewolves, but not necessarily unlike them, they made the Hills inhospitable to any and all human settlements. How the Centaurs had survived them could be anyone’s guess, but when the Werecreatures had come no one knew. Odin himself figured they’d taken shelter in their caves once they found them habitable. Before, their Half-breed brethren could have very well fended them away from their families, but with the uprise of humanity had come the downfall of many other things.

“You shouldn
’t be worrying about this. It’s too far off for you to be getting this into your head.”

While he couldn
’t blame himself for thinking ahead, he knew thinking too far in advance would surely slow him down.

Sighing, Odin bowed his head and pushed the horse into a slow trot.

When his mount began to pass over the low bridge that crossed the expanse of the river, it marked a point in his journey where he would be leaving humanity behind for a very, very long time.

Would he be swallowed by things dark and heavy, or would he become enraptured in things beautiful and mystifying?

Chapter 3

“I can’t believe it,” Nova said. “He’s gone.”

“What
’re you gonna do?” Carmen asked.

“Honestly… I don
’t know.

Seated in the waiting room with his hands laced and his head bowed to avoid the Dwarf
’s eyes, Nova tried not to shiver in the chill seeping through the room and prayed with all his heart and mind that Odin, wherever he happened to be, was all right. Thoughts of the past slowly creeping forward and swallowing him whole, he felt as though dipped in water so cold it burned and imagined all those years ago when he had, once upon a time, wandered through such hellish conditions and had nearly died because of it.

He could get it,
he thought.
The chill.

How he
’d managed to get to Ornala that fateful night was beyond his measure, but were he to think about it, he would have to say that determination and the blind, watchful eye of some God had to have been the reason. Odin wouldn’t have been there had there not been some sort of clairvoyance, nor would the Elf who was now gone and scattered across the horizon.

Could he possibly catch up with the young man were he to leave right now?

No. It’s been a week.

With the knowledge that there was nothing he could do firmly implanted within his mind and with the reality that his young friend would not likely be turning back, Nova stood, crossed his arms over his chest, then wandered to the glass doors.

Outside—in the cold, shattered world—hail began to rain down and covered the ground like snow.

“Nova,” the Dwarf said.

“Yes?”

“You
’re not thinking about going out there to get him, are you?”

“I
’d say no, but… I really can’t.”

“So you did think about it then.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I can’t,” Nova sighed, running his hands through his hair and trying his hardest not to let his emotions get to him. “There’s no way I would ever catch up.”

“I just want you to know that I
’m glad you’re not going.”

“You
’re a great friend, Carmen. I really appreciate the support.”

“Hey—you and Odin are friends too. I
’m just sad to see how much this has devastated him.”

How
couldn’t
it, Nova wondered, when a man who’d been in his life for the past five years just up and admitted that he was your father at the moment of his death? To form a bond with such a man and find that it was so much more had to be horrible, a tragedy beyond all compare.

If he tried hard enough, he imagine
d it felt like torture—comparable to being backhanded repeatedly and whipped until the welts in your back began to bleed.

Don
’t think about that,
he thought, somehow resisting the urge to reach back and rub his shoulder blade.
It’s over, done with and gone.

He need not remember the eve of his torture, the night of his imprisonment, for Odin had sa
ved him in his one moment of weakness.

“What
’re you going to do?” Nova asked, turning his head to look at the Dwarf, who’d since moved from her place near the wall to stand on a chair and look out the window. “Will you go home?”

“Going home now wouldn
’t be worth it,” the Dwarf sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I plan on contacting my husband, yes, but only to tell him I’ll be staying at the capital until this war resolves itself.”

“It must be hard, being away from him.”

“You tell me. You’ve been away from your wife too.”

For far too long,
Nova thought.

Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

Regardless of whether he liked it or not, he would have to return home—soon, before the war resumed.

Though he had no idea how long it would be until he saw Odin again, he had to return to his family.

There would be no rest for his troubled mind until he was home and safe in Ornala.

He decided it was best to return home on the dawn of the eighth day, when he realized without a doubt in his mind that there was no chance in all the Gods’ glory that his friend would be turning back. For that, he made it an effort to rise from his place along the floor, dress and make himself as presentable as possible, then cross the street and make his way to the hospital, where currently Parfour, the mage brothers and several other injured men were staying.

Upon arriving at the structure, as cracked and withered a
s it was from lack of repair, Nova presented himself at the front desk and waited for the man sifting through the records to come and greet him.

“Hello, sir,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

“I need to speak with Parfour Jonathanson and the mage brothers Icklard and Domnin.”

“They should be around here somewhere. Let me have a moment to find them for you.”

Nova seated himself in the chair beside the door and crossed his arms over his chest while waiting for the secretary to wander through the hallways. Outside—in the cold, darkened sky—the weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worst. Hail once more fell from the heavens in thick, meaty drops the size of his thumbnail and thrust itself at the windows like fists bashing onto a table. At one moment, he thought it would shatter the glass and send those in cots into blots of pain, though when they didn’t he offered himself a sigh and bowed his chin to his chest.

Get a hold of yourself. You
’re too old to be thinking like this.

Then again, who was to say that age had anything to do with susceptibility to fear?

A series of footsteps echoed toward him.

Nova raised his eyes.

Parfour, Icklard and Domnin stepped forward with the secretary shortly behind.

“Nova,” Parfour said. “What brings you her
e?”

“I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, standing.

“I assume you’re returning home,” Domnin said. Icklard nodded at his side.

“Not home… there isn
’t one to return to, at least not yet. I meant Ornala.”

“I
’m glad to hear your family is safe,” Icklard said.

“What
’ll you do about Odin?” Parfour frowned.

“There isn
’t much we can do right now,” Nova sighed, allowing his arms to hang limp at his sides. “Honestly, Parfour… Odin’s going to do what he has to do. There isn’t anything we can do to stop or bring him back.”

“There
’s no reason for you to stay here,” Domnin said, reaching out to press a hand against Nova’s shoulder. “You have a life to live, at least until whatever happens next happens.”

“What will you do while I
’m gone?” Nova asked.

“We
’ll do what we always do,” Icklard said, looking up at his brother. “Wait.”

“I
’ll do the same,” Parfour said. “There are men dying that need my help… my guidance.”

“I
’ll see the three of you again,” Nova said, reaching out to shake each of their hands. “Thank you for helping me, but most of all, thank you for helping Odin.”

Though he nee
ded no acknowledgment, Nova left with pride in his heart that he hadn’t held in moments before.

“You ready to go after this rain settles down?” Nova asked, carefully arranging their belongings within an empty saddlebag.

“I
’m ready when you are,” Carmen said, shifting through her own meager pack of goods.

Nodding, but all the more determined to start out once
the storm died down, Nova flushed his fingers over the intricate rubies inlaid within his scythe and couldn’t help but sigh when he thought of Odin and how he must have felt.

Was it different,
he thought,
than my own father’s death?

Of course it was—to think anything less was blind, ignorant beyond all means and unforgiveable in the slightest. If anything, he
’d at least known the man who’d become his adoptive father throughout his entire life up until the day he turned seventeen. Odin, though—he’d gone five years of knowing their friend without the knowledge that they held a lineage within one another: that, regardless of their differences, their height and their hair, they were one and the same, father and son and bonded in blood.

“Nova,” Carmen said.

“Yes?”

“You
’re thinking about something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

“I was never good at hiding what was on my mind,” he laughed, securing the final
knot on one of the saddle’s many sacks and lifting it over his shoulder.

“You
’re thinking about Odin, aren’t you?”

“Not necessarily.”

But you are,
his conscience whispered.
You know you are.

Shaking his head, casting his hair from his face and over his shoulders, he turned to survey the horses around them and tried to decide which would better serve their purpose. His eyes first fell to a beautiful black mare, then a chestnut-colored stallion before they eventually came to rest upon the red and beige Cadarian mount Odin had purveyed for them on the outskirts of the desert. He was much more inclined to take it, if only because they could push it more than the other horses. Besides—it held such sentimental value that it seemed wrong
not
to take it with them.

After placing the saddle on a rack beside the horse stalls, Nova turned his head down and watched the Dwarf spool marbles into her palm.

“What’re those?” he asked.

“Material things,” Carmen replied. “If you want me to be honest, though, my father gave them to me when I was a child.”

“They’re nice.”

“I think so. I used to play a mean game of marbles when I was a girl.”

“You think you could still play?”

“Probably, but there doesn
’t seem to be much use for it anymore.”

How quickly childhood could go by.

Crouching down, Nova plucked one of the small spheres from its place in the hay and lifted it before his vision. “Cat’s eye,” he smiled.

“My favorite one,” Carmen said, taking it from Nova
’s outstretched fingers and pressing it back into her bag.

“
You’re not nervous about going back to Ornala… are you, Carmen?”

“Not particularly. I
’d like to return to Arbriter eventually—at least, if nothing ends up going on—but for now I’m content with staying with you. There isn’t much more I can do anyway unless I want to hang around here.”

“I
’m guessing you don’t.”

“Not really.”

Outside, lightning cracked the horizon and spilled light across the sky.

Nova raised his eyes.

Though he had no idea how much longer the rain would continue, he had a feeling that tomorrow, if they were able to start out, their venture would be thick and filled with mud.

The rain continued to progressively worsen throughout the night. Bearing down upon them in great sheets, once more creating thick globules of hail and screaming like some old hag in the middle of a great, deserted wood—the sounds eventually began to wear on Nova’s conscience and tore him from sleep each time thunder would rumble and the wind would hiss along the buildings.

At his side, Carmen rested blissfully, content with their surroundings and what was going on outside.

Don’t get mad,
he thought, easing himself onto his pillow and the outstretched forearm that lay beneath it.
There’s nothing you can do about it, so settle down.

What he wanted to do was scream, to throw himself from the floor and at the windows to demand to God or the Gods that someone,
something
stop this horrible, atrocious weather. The knowledge that he would not only cause a scene, but draw every angry eye in the room froze him in his spot and forced him to remain stoic and under the covers.

“It
’s just a little rain,” he whispered.

A flash of lightning flickered across
the sky. A rolling, echoing drone of thunder followed soon after.

Sighing, no longer able to contain himself or his emotions, he pushed himself into a sitting position, ran his hand through his hair, then set his palm over his forehead and prayed for at least one moment of sleep.

How could he be so vulnerable to such hellacious situations? He’d never been like this before.

You know why you are.

Did it matter that death had recently entered his life—that the doorkeeper, cold and honorable, had opened the threshold and allowed in the spirits of doom and gloom? He figured it had to, at least in one form or another, as his emotions had been off-center for the past week-and-a-half. To think absolutely nothing was wrong with him was to dip a living thing within a boiling pan of water and expect it not to scream.