Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (38 page)

“Can we,” Odin started.

The guards said nothing.

Virgin pressed a hand on Odin’s back and pushed him forward.

W
hen the door closed of its own accord and almost-absolute darkness overwhelmed them, Odin raised his hand, tilted his palm up to the air, then willed a single bead of light to float in the air before him.

I thought it would be nullified,
he thought, watching the orb float ahead of them.

“It
’s beautiful,” Virgin said.

Odin shrugged, stepped
forward to lead them down the corridor, then asked, “Why do you think this person has their personal quarters so set away like this?”

“Some Neven D
’Carda are deformed.”

“Deformed?”

“They don’t have an arm, a leg, that sort of thing.”

“You said they were neither male nor female,” Odin said, turning his head to look at Virgin
’s face in the semi-light braced before them. “Does that mean they’re both?”

“I
’m not of the authority to answer. If you want, you can ask ze.”

“Ze?”

“Neutral terminology.”

“Oh,” Odin frowned. “So… ze and zir, then? Is that appropriate?”

“As appropriate as you can get when speaking to something that does not identify as male or female.”

With a short nod, Odin stepped before the door and raised his hand to knock.

A flicker of movement caught his eye.

He trained his attention at the very top of the door, directly beneath where the candle burned bright.

Did I just see that,
he thought,
or was I seeing things?

He could have sworn he
’d just seen a pair of eyes look out at him.

Did I, though?

Rather than dwell on the specifics, he set his hand directly before the door, looked back at Virgin for one brief moment, then knocked three times.

Slowly, the door cracked open.

“Yamda Odin?” a voice asked.

“I
’m him,” Odin replied. “With my friend Yamda Virgin.”

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Odin raised his eyes.

The creature directly before them could not be described as either sex of the natural world. Characterized by a pair of high cheekbones, a pair of thin, almost-invisible lips and a nose small yet dignified upon the porcelain features of an almost sheet-white face, the most startling feature upon the Neven D’Carda’s face, save for zirs completely-bald, dome-shaped head was zirs eyes—which, for all purposes, bore no pupils or irises at all. Instead, nothing more than a pair of white sclera looked down at him from zirs awkward height of some eight-and-a-half-feet, which, combined with zirs extremely-skinny and lengthy form, made ze a sort of anomaly in forms of structure and character.

“Yamda,” the Neven D
’Carda said, extending one abnormally-long index finger out to touch his shoulder. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Odin said, almost unable to tear his eyes away from the being named Jarden
’s face.

“Welcome, Yamda,” Jarden said, touching Virgin
’s shoulder as he stepped forward and into the ornately-structured living room, which lay furnished in shades of white and grey. “You are Yamda Odin’s companion and partner, correct?”

“Correct,” Virgin said, nodd
ing his head as Jarden lifted zirs digit and shut the door with a simple wave of the hand.

“It is an honor to have the both of you here, Yamda Odin, Yamda Virgin. Please, come—I have prepared dinner for the two of you.”

“Thank you,” Odin said, stepping into the room.

The Neven D
’Carda led them through the wide, expansive living room and toward what appeared to be the dining room, which lay complete with two pairs of plates and utensils arranged to the left and right of the table. Lit by what appeared to be magicked rings upon the ceiling, the magic—white in color, which struck Odin a bit odd, considering he had never seen it before in anything other than his own magic—reflected off of the bland white walls and cast the room in a soft glow that both comforted and mystified him.

“You
’re not eating?” Odin frowned, turning his attention to the chair at the far end of the table, which stood empty and without an audience of food.

“I do not eat,” Jarden said. “There is no need.”

“Oh.”

“I prepared your dinner with the fact that you are both Yamda in mind. There are fresh fr
uits, vegetables and meats from the birds lying on the outskirts of the city.”

“Meat?” Virgin frowned.

“I thought,” Odin started.

“I am not against feeding half-humans meat,
” Jarden interrupted, casting zirs pale white eyes in Odin’s direction. “Especially you, my bastard friend.”

“It didn
’t take you long to figure it out.”

“I see it like a blot of b
lood upon your face, young one. Sit, please. There is much to discuss.”

Odin took his seat to the left of the table and waited for Virgin to round its expanse and seat himself before turning his attention to
Jarden, who maneuvered zirs wraithlike form across the room in but a few steps before seating zirself. There, ze set zirs elbows upon the table’s surface, laced zirs fingers together, then waited for the two of them to begin eating before clearing zirs throat and raising zirs dome-shaped head to watch the two of them.

This is… odd,
Odin thought.

He didn
’t expect to be eating while their host simply sat and watched.

Directly across from him, Virgin
’s soft but calculated gaze seemed to warn him against saying or doing anything.

“How far have you
come?” Jarden asked, turning zirs head to look at Odin.

“I came from Dwaydor, sir… I mean, zir… in the country of Ornala.”

“Do not apologize for pronunciations. I understand, and am surprised that you know gender-neutral pronouns.”

“I was
informed beforehand,” he said, giving a slight nod to Virgin.

“I am honored you took the time to educate yourself before you have come here. Tell me, though—why are you here, so far south, in the Elven capital?”

“My father… he… he died a few weeks ago in the war that took the Elven military north.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, zir. I… to be perfectly honest, I came here out of blind rage because I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What is it you seek in the south, Yamda Odin?”

“Answers,” he said, “to what life really means, and what death intones.”

“Those are answers that cannot be easily stated in the course of one sitting,” Jarden said, “but I am interested most in your magic. Healer Oleana said that you survived being attacked by a Nagani.”

“Yes zir.”

“How was this?”

“My father’s sword,” he said, reaching down to grasp the blade at his side.

“May I see it?”

“Yes.”

“The blade itself. The sheath is not needed.”

Pushing himself away from the table, Odin stood, reached down, then drew the silver blade from its prison, precariously unsure of the fact that it had been freed out of need for speculation instead of actual defense. With ease he found almost impossible, he flipped the sword around, slid his hand along the side of the blade, then extended it hilt-first to Jarden, who took it within zirs long, bony hands and traced one long finger up the scope of the blade, examining it with eyes Odin found terrifyingly unnerving and all the more fascinating.

“This is a beautiful blade,” th
e Neven D’Carda said, tilting zirs head to the side and looking at Odin from a skewed angle. “Elvish.”

“Yes.”

“Your blade… is it not Drow?”

“It is.”

Odin, too, pulled the blade that had been imparted on him nearly five years ago and extended it to Jarden, who took it in zirs hands after setting the silver sword down on the table. Like the previous blade, ze examined it carefully, even going so far as to trace the insignia on the hilt, before turning zirs attention back on Odin. “You are aware of their song,” ze said, “are you not?”

“Are you talking about their hum?”

“Yes. I am.”

“They
’ve done it before.”

“They are brother and sister blades, born from the same hand.”

“I didn’t know,” Odin said.

“From what I can tell,” Jarden said
, placing zirs hands over both of the blades, “the creature that made these fell from grace long before your time. It is any wonder you hold in possession both of them. Was it not your father who gave them to you?”

“The black one, as a gift,” Odin nodded. “The silver upon his death.”

“Your father must have been a very old creature, young Yamda. You are honored to have been born from his blood.”

You don
’t know,
he thought, reseating himself after Jarden returned both blades into his possession.
You have absolutely no idea.

In the mome
nts of silence that followed, Odin began eating on Virgin’s subtle cue and kept his attention mostly on his food and not on that of his companion or the Neven D’Carda in their presence. While his first inclinations led him to believe that he would be far better off giving the creature who summoned them his full respect, he didn’t feel staring would get him anywhere, so he continued to pick at his food until little of it remained, only stopping to consider the glass of what was most obviously wine when he was almost done.

“Would you like more?” Jarden asked.

“I’m fine,” Odin said. “Don’t worry.”

“Would you, Yamda Virgin?”

“No, zir. Thank you.”

Nodding, Jarden rose, gestured Odin and Virgin into the living
room, then seated zirself in a fine, plush chair while Odin and Virgin situated themselves on the broad couch against the wall.

“Odin,” Jarden said. “I would like you to show me your magic.”

“All right.”

“I noticed you and I share a similar trait.”

“The white light,” he said.

Jarden nodded and gestured hi
m to open his palm by flexing zirs fingers.

Doing as ins
tructed, Odin took a deep breath, expelled it, then focused his will and effort into a small space on his palm until an orb shimmered into existence, casting its slight radius of light onto his palm and across the bottom of his face.

“Very nice,” the Elf said.

“Is white magic rare?” Virgin frowned.

“White magics are usually only granted to those with innate, naturalistic healing properties, though from my own research into the matter, white magic is much more beneficial in combat experiments than in actual healing.”

“Why is that?” Odin asked.

“The light is often too harsh on the body. Tell me—have you ever healed someone with your magic?”

“Yes.”

“And has there
been discoloration to the skin?”

“Sometimes,” Odin admitted.

“There. That is precisely why Elves or mages with such properties are reserved for combat mechanisms than healing ones. They are much more useful soldiers if only because their properties can be amplified.”

“I didn
’t know,” Odin said. “I’ve only ever been told that white light was associated with healing.”

“You have heard correctly. Diana, if you believe in the legend, held the same color of light for her own.”

“Was she an Elf?” Virgin frowned.

“We do not know what Diana was, if perhaps she even existed. She could h
ave been a Godly One.”

“That makes sense,” Virgin said. “Far more than the idea that she was a human does.”

“How that spread into human lore I do not know,” Jarden said, zirs laugh like an echo produced from a deep but harmonic instrument. “In regards to your magic though, Odin, have you been trained how to use it?”

“By a mage in Ornala, yes.”

“So you do not know the specifics of the art that could benefit you in combat?”

Unsure what to say, Odin shook his head, which prompted a sl
ight smile from Jarden and revealed white teeth with long incisor fangs. In response, Odin snuffed the light floating above his palm out by encircling his fingers around it and narrowed his eyes.

“You show much promise,” the Neven D
’Carda said. “Much more promise than I would normally expect from a human, Yamda or not.”

“What does that mean?” Odin frowned. “That you
’ll teach me?”

“I do wish to educate you on the proper measures, if only because you may be overextending yourself and cutting your life very, very short—that is, if your human blood limits you to a short existence.”