Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (34 page)

“How do you do it?”

“What?” Virgin frowned.

“You know…
steal.”

Oh, that.” The Halfling smiled and placed both hands behind his head. “Patience, mostly.”

“How can you have that when you want something this bad?”

“Because in the end
, waiting pays off, especially if you get the thing that you really want.”

“I
’m not sure what to say,” Odin sighed. “All I know is that if we do end up taking this, it’ll be the last time either of us will be able to come in here.”

“Who
’s to say we’re going to get caught? Or anyone’s going to know about it?”

“It
’s the
Book of the Dead,
Virgin. They’ll know when it goes missing, and they’ll know that
we
did it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“How so?”

“Just because something gets taken doesn
’t mean anyone will notice it’s gone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because wherever they’re keeping that book is obviously not going to be a place visited by many people, if any at all.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because they don’t want to
be
around it. If anything, they want to
stay away
from it.”

Virgin did have a point. Things dangerous and usually threatening were bound to be kept in places that normal individuals couldn
’t easily get to, let alone people who knew or were purposeful of its location. For all they knew, the book could have been locked away behind a simple door and meant to remain there for the rest of time, its location guarded by a simple lock that had no magical bearing at all. The Elves knew better than to touch such an object because history, as sad as it was, had shown that doing such a thing would taint them so badly that they would become something less than perfect—a monstrosity, they said, with bat-like ears and a crude intention for violence and destruction.

If anything, the book would be kept somewhere discreet, though that place would likely be known and marked
so those who wanted nothing to do with it could stray away.

With a short nod, Odin leaned back, closed his eyes, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Whatever was to happen, he felt he would find out soon enough.

In the end, he would get his hands on that book even if it meant risking life itself.

They devised within the confined space of four walls to steal the Book of the Dead. In tones hushed and whispered, plain and simple, practical and targeted and pure and precise,
it began without a shadow of doubt as a seed, which within the next several moments began to spread its roots into the fertile earth and raise its arms to the shattered world. Twisting, turning, dancing, laughing, praising the world and the Gods that governed it—many would have described the art of a seed freshly sewn as a dancer placed within a ring of onlookers seeking to satisfy their most primal of desires.
It was within this metaphor, as breathtaking as it was, that true light began to be shed upon the situation. While as great a deed that seemed to sound and as dangerous as its prospect realized, it was guaranteed, without any doubt within his mind, that they would be able to carry out this plan should the proper procedures be taken.

It may take weeks,
Virgin said.
But in the end, it will be all worth it.

The Halfling began first by saying that in order to proceed with their plan, Odin would need to get close to a High Elf mage in order to secure his position within the castle. This Elf—Doe, Stag, or something in between—need not have a title revered throughout all the kingdom, but a station within life that made their purpose recommendable.
This,
Virgin said, would be the first step toward their goal, the first rung upon the ladder that they must climb, for without a foothold upon the face of the mountain, one could not rise without risking potential injury. He then stated, in simple and careful detail, that after their positions were secured—when Odin fully stated that he was to apprentice a High Elf mage in order to further his magical ability—that Odin would state that Virgin was his partner and that the inn they would eventually be staying in did not fully compensate their needs.

This will get me into the castle,
the Halfling said,
and keep me from looking suspicious.

From there, Virgin continued, Odin would build momentum within his and his master
’s relationship, then ask just where it was they kept a book so secret and vile in order to keep its dark powers contained. After that, it would be pure and simple. Needless to say, Virgin would carry out the rest of the proceedings.

That night, when High Healer Oleana came to tend to his wounds, Odin asked what he would have to do to speak with someone who could help better his abilities.

“I could train you,” the doe said, trailing her hand over his bare chest to sew new and shear away dead skin. “That is, if you would like.”

“I
’m not looking to learn about healing,” Odin said, grimacing as the flickers of static continued to light up along his skin. “I’m looking to learn how to use my magic in combat.”

“This war is something harsh.”

“It is,” Virgin agreed. “Odin would fare better if he knew the secrets to Elven magickry.”

“They always said more is better,” High Healer Oleana said, crossing her arms as she finished the current round of healing along Odin
’s torso. “I am not sure what all I can do to assist you, but I will try and search out the necessary procedures in order so you can meet with one of the High Mages.”

“How soon can he be out of bed?”

“Not for a few more days. It is not safe to irritate the skin so soon after it has been mended.”

“But I will be able to get up and move soon,” Odin said. “Right?”

“Your wounds will heal—thankfully, without scars—but you will have to take extra care not to overexert yourself. You do not want to cause your body any harm.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Thank you, High Healer.”

“There is no need to thank me, Yamda Odin. Farewell.”

“Farewell.”

When Oleana gathered herself up and left the room, Odin turned his eyes on Virgin, who only smiled and offered a slight shrug in response.

What could that mean?

“So,” he said, easing further down onto the bed. “How did I do?”

“You
’ve done well, considering what you’ve went through. A sorry bastard like you should be dead.”

“But I
’m not.”

“Which says something about your character,” Virgin s
aid, easing forward and off the windowsill. “Your drive. Your determination to continue living on in this world.”

“I
’m not going to die just because some stupid animal wants me to.”

“Nagani are much more than animal. You should know that.”

“Yes, but—“

What would one call a creature that existed halfway between pure primal instinct and common sentience? A chimera, a creature molded from two separate minds and merged into one, a freak of nature that occurred only in the grand scheme of things—by evolution, Virgin had said, or spawned by some innate magical energy that existed far too much within their world? Either way, it begged to question whether or not such creatures could feel emotion, or if they hunted out of instinct or of intelligent regard for what they were doing.

The mage said the Nagani hunt those with ill intent.

That surely had to mean the creature bore some form of intelligence, didn
’t it?

Sighing, Odin scooted over to allow Virgin onto the bed and
closed his eyes when the older Halfling slid in beside him.

“Don
’t worry,” Virgin whispered. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

He could only hope.

Odin
rose from his tangled fit of sheets two days later after High Healer Oleana left the room with a clear and concise order to not aggravate his still-blooming injuries. Stretching his legs, flexing his muscles, taking care not to overextend his limits to the maximum degree—the first few moments out of bed were spent in pure, utter silence. Not a sound could be heard other than his and Virgin’s breathing, which seemed almost symbiotic in that single moment.

“Are you all right?” Virgin asked.

The tension now sliced, the ebb of unease in the air crackled and allowed to spill its yolky matter, Odin turned his eyes on his friend and offered a slight smile despite the fact that every part of his torso felt as though it were strung together by simple threads and mesh. “I’m fine,” he said, stretching his arms out as far as he could without hurting himself. “Don’t I look fine?”

“You sure as hell don
’t look like you were nearly killed.”

Under Oleana
’s careful and precise healing, his chest bore no scars or any indication that he had once sustained injuries life-threatening. Save for the slight discoloration that spanned his torso from his pectorals to his abdomen, nothing could be seen—not even the slightest, minute scratch.

“I feel all right,” Odin said, swinging his arms at his side. “Do I sound ok?”

“You sound fine.”

That
’s good,
he thought.

With a smile across his face and a new lease on his current position flooding his mind, Odin stepped toward the windowsill and braced his hands along the wood siding that made up the orn
ate frame to the outside world. “Oleana didn’t mention anything about looking into me apprenticing for a High Mage, did she?”

“No,” Virgin said, stepping up beside him and sliding an arm around his waist. “
She didn’t.”

“Virgin… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You
’ve been a bit…”

“What? Touchy-feely?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

It felt anything
but
uncomfortable, if he were to be completely honest. Two hearts could easily be one once bonded together, two bodies intertwined in the heat of one single moment. An arm could be a third limb, a leg an orphaned twin, the pass of breath a machine of power that could operate under one single conscience. One need not think too strongly of such things to know that another person’s touch merited the world and its attention, for that alone was enough to make men like him feel as though they were something special and grand—pure, even, and blessed in the utmost fires, for it was not without mercy from another that one could bestow upon themself the right of conscience that all should have when in the presence of another.

What do I say,
he thought,
to a question I’m not sure how to answer?

When no answer came and no action followed, Odin bowed his head and allowed Virgin to trail his cheek along the side of his face until his lips fell to his jaw. There, Odin tilted his head up just slightly to look into Virgin
’s eyes, only to be met by a kiss granted on his upper brow.

“If you think I
’m being too personal,” the Halfling whispered, “you can say something. I won’t push this if you’re not willing.”

“It
’s not that I’m not willing. It’s just…”

“Just… what?” Virgin frowned.

“I’ve just never considered myself—”

“Queer?”

Odin couldn’t help but nod.

“Labels are for people who want to put a name to the way they feel, Odin. You as well as anyone should know that.”

“I know. It’s just easier to have a name for it, especially when you’re not sure about the situation.”

“Let me ask you something.”

“All right.”

“Do you feel anything when I hold you like this—with my arm around your waist?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you feel?”

How could he describe a cosmos of emotion? There was no name for a rain of fire, a flame of moisture or the tangible kiss of a bug, nor was there a synonym from which he could derive a plaintive word that could entail the way he felt. Sure—there seemed to be something there: a spark, possibly, or maybe even a pyre of flame—but how he would describe that was beyond his measure. Maybe he could simply say he did not know—could not, in Layman’s terms, speak of what it was he felt—or maybe he could just say nothing at all. Was silence not the most simple of answers in moments of weakness and unease?

No,
Odin thought.
I can’t do that to him.

Virgin as well as anyone deserved a proper answer, especially regarding matters so close to the heart.

“I,” Odin began. A knot of unease formed inside his throat, drowning his words before he could even speak.

“Odin?” Virgin frowned.

“I feel like nothing can happen to me,” he said, turning his had to stare into the Halfling’s eyes. “Like I’m in my own little world where nothing can hurt or touch me.”