Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (20 page)

“Such wounds are not a pleasant thing,” the healer agreed. “You’re lucky you didn’t get an infection, Nova.”

“Do I still have the chance to get one?”

“Not with the wound closed, no, but if you feel sick, you need to come back to the infirmary
immediately.
You don’t want to catch some of the stuff a werewolf can have on its claws.”

“How was I so lucky?”

“Some men get infections, others don’t. At least you were able to cover them up, no matter how crudely it was done.”

“I tried,” Carmen offered.

“You did well,” Ramya replied.

T
ossing his hair back over his shoulders, Nova buttoned his jerkin, stood, then reached out to shake the healer’s hand, who offered a strong, reassuring touch when their palms met and their fingers touched. “Thank you,” he said. “I hardly feel any pain at all.”

“That
’s what I strive to do,” the healer smiled. “Be well, Nova, and welcome home.”

It was a warm welcome indeed.

*

They trekked across the Great Divide swiftly but with great care. The ruts in the earth still evident after what had possibly been millennia of constant shifting,
they broke forth from the ground in schizoprehnic patterns that made no sense whatsoever. It occurred to Odin that, had he taken the horse with him, it would have likely broken its legs, if only because the holes in the ground resembled something small rodents would make once free to roam and create societies.

This is ridiculous,
he thought, stepping over yet another rut in the road.

“How do you deal with this?” Odin asked. “And how can you see in the dark?”

“I’ve always been able to see in the dark,” Virgin replied.

Was that part of his innate, Elven nature? To see in the dark was to reveal a world often left unseen, to look into a place where creatures and beings of nocturnal nature dwelled and to cut a path of light that would, inarguably, lead you to your destination. Maybe that was why Virgin had been able to seek him in the darkness, to place a dagger to his neck and to whisper sweet nothings as he threatened to take everything that belonged to him. If that were the cas
e, though, then why couldn’t Odin see in the dark?

Some of us are luckier than others,
he thought.

Though Virgin was anything like him—in shape, form, construct and mind—there seemed to be something about him that Odin could at least connect to. Maybe it was the fact that they shared the same outrageous sexuality, or maybe it was because they were loners—wandering, sadly, in search of things that were difficult and unnecessary to find. Either way, the
bond helped settle his soul and calm his ever-raging thoughts.

“It
’s all right,” he mumbled. “You’ll be there by dusk.”

“Pardon?” Virgin asked.

“Nothing. Just taking to myself.”

“Funny habit, that
.”

“I guess.”

Virgin shrugged and set an arm across his shoulder.

Odin bowed his head.

These feelings of insecurity couldn’t last forever, could they?

Night fell swiftly and on wings dark and cold, but still they continued, along the ruts in the road and over the bumps that became more prevalent as they neared the forest. Once, when Odin felt as though he could take no more of the darkness and following Virgin’s almost-invisible form, he pushed his hand out before him and tried to spark a fire to life.

A sliver of pain started in his chest.

A burst of static exploded in his arm and jerked the appendage whole.

“Fuck!”
he cried.

“Oh,” Virgin said, turning to look at him with a slight frown.

“Oh?”
Odin asked, reaching up to try and tear the amulet away, but to no avail. He was once again shocked when his fingers touched the metal. “What do you mean
‘oh?’”

“I forgot I put that on you.”

“You
forgot?”

“Excuse me for my ignorance,” Virgin said, re
aching forward and lifting the amulet from Odin’s neck.

In the faint light streaming from the full moon, Odin caught sight of the Halfling
’s eyes flickering from his face to the amulet, as though unsure whether to take it from his body.

What
’re you doing?

Did they not have a mutual agreement that should Virgin not rob him, and should he not attempt to retaliate, they could do as they pleased without having to worry about one another
?

“You
’re going to take it off,” Odin said, narrowing his eyes as Virgin thumbed the rune under his grasp. “Right?”

“To be perfectly honest, I
’m not exactly sure.”

“We
’ve
slept
together.”

“So?”

“I thought we had an agreement.”

“We never agreed on anything,” Virgin replied, allowing the
amulet to fall back to Odin’s neck.

“You
’re not helping the situation by doing this.”

“One should learn not to be dependent on magical powers should they enter a field where it has been nullified.”

“What?”

“Lesliana is shrouded in a protective sphere of runes. Should you even attempt to use magic, you
’d alert the entire militia of your presence.”

“We
’re not
in
Lesliana right now, so please, let me use my—“

“I don
’t trust you, Odin.”

“We
’ve
slept
together.”

“Two people don
’t have to trust each other to sleep together.”

“Gah!” Odin cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, then—let me trip
in the dark and break my ankle, then you’ll have to carry me.”

“I don
’t believe I could carry you,” Virgin smirked. “You look a bit… heavy. Not to say that’s a bad thing, because by the Gods, you’re built beautifully if I do say so myself, but—“

“But nothing, Virgin!”

Snickering, Virgin turned and gestured Odin forward.

Bastard.

As much as he hated to deny it, the Halfling did have his charm. Odin could admire the fact that he was willing to keep him magicless, thus freeing his conscience from fear of being stabbed in the back, but he’d figured that after sharing a bed, they’d at least come to some form of understanding.

It doesn
’t matter,
he sighed.

If he followed Virgin
’s steps, he wouldn’t have to worry about falling in holes.

Reaching forward,
Odin snagged the Halfling’s jerkin and took extra care to follow his steps exactly. The whole while, Virgin continued to chuckle under his breath, a habit that soon became irritating and all the more mocking.

“Could you please stop,” Odin said.

“Sorry,” Virgin said, then laughed as if unable to resist the urge. “I think that’s rather funny.”

“What? That you
’ve got me locked up like a pony?”

“No. That I forgot I
’d placed the amulet on you. Those things aren’t cheap, you know?”

“I don
’t,” Odin said, “because I’ve never heard of them.”

“Your kind i
s a dying breed.”

“What?”

“Men with magic are becoming all the less sparse. Elves, though—they don’t have much to worry about, other than themselves.”

“I can only assume that all Elves have magic then.”

“Most do, yes. There’re times when one dumb and incapable is born, but for the most part, almost every Elf you’ll come across has some kind of magical talent.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, no. If I had magic, do you think I would risk nullifying my own abilities by putting an amulet on you?”

He has a point.

Either way, the point itself was enough to drive him mad.

“Until I know you a bit better,” Virgin continued, “and until I trust myself with the fact that you and I might be friends, or at least close enough to it, I
’m going to keep the amulet on you.”

“What if we get attacked by someone?”

“I’m more than capable of using my dagger.”

“You know what I mean.”

“The Old Ones don’t bother anyone—at least, not so far as I know.”

“The Old Ones?”

“Never mind that,” Virgin said. “Let’s keep moving.”

Odin continued forward with dread rising in his heart.

They stopped when the moon
smiled overhead. More than ready to collapse for the night and all the more irritated at Virgin’s antics, Odin settled to the ground by crossing his legs as his fellow Halfling took his time first pulling kindling from the pack, then arranging it in a semi-circle before striking flint to stone and lighting the evening’s fire.

“Would you like some more of the soup,” Virgin asked, “or would you like me to make biscuits with this flour you have here?”

“Either is fine with me,” Odin said.

“Then biscuits and soup it is.”

While Virgin took one of the smaller, empty bowls and began to arrange flour and water together, Odin rolled the bedroll out and unbuttoned his jerkin, more than willing to be free from the sweaty carapace as the warmth from the fire began to ebb forward. Eyes hazy, nose alight with what felt to be a sneeze, he bowed his head and reached up to pinch the edge of his nostrils just as Virgin began to spoon dollops of biscuit mix onto a pan.

“You all right?” the Halfling asked.

“I’m fine,” Odin said, then sneezed in response. “There.”

“Sneeze?”

“Yeah.”

“Dinner should be ready
soon,” Virgin said, setting the pan on the rack just below the soup. “You care to tell me a little about yourself? Life before… well, this, maybe?”

“I
’m not really sure I can trust you.”

“Fair enough.”

“But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Odin said, “because regardless of how I feel about you or how you feel about me, I think you deserve the truth.”

“All right then.”

“My name is Odin Karussa,” he said, freeing himself from his jerkin and pressing it down beside his swords. “I set out to be a knight when I was fourteen and was allowed into the service because I was mage. Fast-forward two years later: I ended up winning the tournament that determines who is fit enough to become a knight, but because I wasn’t royalty, I wasn’t allowed to become one. The king made me his champion instead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Anyhow, after I received my first assignment, I led the arrest of thirty pedophiles in the Tentalin Isles and the king caught word of suspicious activity outside of Denyon. We go to ask for the Enlathian Sisters’ support and then make a side-trip back to Bohren before… well… a giant cloud attacked the city. Needless to say, I don’t think I need to explain the rest of the story.”

“So this is what started the war,” the Halfling nodded, testing the rising lump of
a biscuit with his finger. “This is why the queen’s army left in such a hurry.”

“They were supposed to have driven them back to Denyon a few days before I left,” Odin shrugged, bowing his head and reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I abandoned my country because I was too caught up in my grief.”

“Your father died in the war.”

“The man I only knew as my mentor died in the war. He told me on his deathbed that he was my father.”

“That has to be rough,” Virgin said. “But explain something to me.”

“What?”

“You want to get the Book of the Dead to bring him back.”

“Yes.”

“Won’t you go mad?”

“I
’m a third Drow.”

“Is that why you have—“

“A purple strand of hair?” he asked. “No. I had a piece of my father’s bonded to my head.”

“You intend on using a blood and matter sacrifice then, don
’t you?”

“Whatever I can do to bring him back.”

“Do you think he would want to come back to life?”

Would he?
Odin asked.

Would Miko really, truly be fine with coming back from the dead—reassembled
in body, mind and soul to breathe and live in flesh and blood? He’d once said that Elves longed for death—that sometimes, existence alone was enough to drive them mad—and that sometimes, they would wander into the forests to end their lives about the roots of grand trees, but whether or not the Elf would be willing to return was beyond him. He could very well be happy and content with death, whatever or wherever that is, or he could simply be existing on the fringes of life in the form of a Sprite or maybe even a specter. Either way, he couldn’t stay dead, because his life had been so forcefully robbed it would be unjust not to at least attempt and bring him back.