Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (50 page)

Wait.

For the sun to rise, for the moon to fall, for the trees to grow old and the snow to shift forward—storms could rage, cliffs could break, and the insurmountable reality that a child was on the way
could mark within life the transformation that he would need in order to continue with his life.

Nova closed his eyes.

Outside—in the cold, dark air—the snow continued to fall.

It seemed to give testament to the fact that all seemed lonely and unsure in the world.

Chapter 8

For days, weeks, possibly even months, Odin slaved under the jurisdiction of a creature who bore neither sex and who constantly challenged him to improve himself in the ways of humanity and art. Through books of fiction and poetry, through tales of the past and the deviance the world and all its races had succumbed to, through art, lyrical structures, sheets of music, mathematical diagrams of the impossible made possible and the greatest secrets of the world revealed in but a moment’s notice—time, it seemed, was impossible within the Abroen, beneath the gargantuan immortals of the wood and of the slender needles that never seemed to drop. It wouldn’t have hardly occurred to Odin that moments ticked by were he not to have witnessed Virgin shaving some mornings, always by those afternoons he bore stubble, a slip of his lip, a glimpse of his white teeth. When things don’t change, time seems infinite—a thing that, without purpose, can continue always, forever and more extending into the future without cause or retribution. One need not spill sand for there to be an ocean.

One morning, after
what seemed like eons of time determinable only by the hair on the face of the man he considered his true love, Odin rose before the crack of dawn and sauntered to the window, where he perched himself on the chair situated in the corner and watched as dawn began to slowly rise.

It
’s so,
he thought.

“Beautiful.”

The word alone seemed foolish in all respects, for to describe the sun rising in the east and then slowly making its way across the sky was like putting to words the simplicity in which the organic construct made its way through life. One was not conceived without action, born without fulfillment, then allowed to live without trust, nor was one meant to exist without fulfilling a purpose ordained by the individual self, so to call upon the natural world something that had been created by culture and society could have been considered a notion not in the least bit allowable, if at all correct.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Odin pushed the curtains aside and allowed what little sliver of light into the room.

Behind him, Virgin stirred.

“Are you awake?” Odin asked.

“Yes,” the Halfling replied. “Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“You’ve been getting up a lot earlier than usual,” Virgin said. “Is something on your mind?”

“Not particularly.”

“Come on. You can’t tell me that what you’ve been learning hasn’t been affecting you in some way.”

Can I?
he thought.

Could he really bluff the things he had learned—how, once, in a human realm far to the south in a land known as the Crystal Deserts, a man named Arc had slain upon his horse the last of the Giants? What about the story of Baelra and how, in times long past, she had led what was considered to be one of the last C
entaurs from a forest that no longer existed to the west, to a place where men, women and children scorned hid from the world and the evils they harbored, or what of Gennene, who was said to have walked the one and only road that once passed around the Whooping Hills and through the valley beneath the Dark Mountains? Was it not her story of triumph and faith that had saved her from sure death from Harpies and other wicked creatures, and was it not through chance and friendship that a mage persecuted and nearly burned at the stake had been saved by a Centaur? He could not deny these things, these stories of history and fact, just as he could not deny that he had learned to read in Elvish and was slowly learning to speak it. There were also talismans and runes to be spoken of, of flora and fauna both living and extinct and ways of communicating with the world that could not be accurately explained, less through the instincts of the mind and ear. He could not—in any way, shape or form—deny the things he had learned, so to think that he could idly stand by and ignore someone whom he cared about would take a gesture so grand it could even be seen as ignorant.

Sighing, then with a breath of the fresh air streaming through the newly-opened windows, Odin turned to find his partner still lying in bed, head propped up on one elbow and clever green eyes wa
tching him from beneath a haze of fringe.

“
It’s been affecting me a lot,” Odin said, lacing his hands behind his back before stepping across the distance between them. “I guess you could say that Jarden’s teachings have been changing me.”

“In more ways than you would think,” Virgin agreed.

With a simple wave of his hand, the older Halfling beckoned Odin to the bed and onto his hands and knees.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Odin asked, hovering ever closer to his companion
’s face.

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“You’re just staring at me.”

“Is there not anything to stare at?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, my friend. You
’re wrong in that regard.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.” Virgin pulled Odin’s head forward and planted a single kiss on his brow. “Go. Bathe. You smell like sweat and sex and need to be ready for today’s lesson.”

“You really do know how to put on the charm, don
’t you?” Odin laughed, shying away from the Halfling as he reached forward and attempted to swat his shoulder.

“Always.”

Odin grabbed a fresh pair of clothes and made his way into the bathing chamber.

“Master Jarden,” Odin said, slipping his hands behind his back as the Elf paced zirs way around the desk and toward an array of books on the far southern wall.

“Yes, Odin?”

“What will you be teaching me today?”

“I believe enough time and purpose has passed to where the two of us can engage in combat.”

“Combat, zir? With swords?”

“This will be anything but swords, my friend.” Jarden paused in the middle of what appeared to be a
n inset groove within the southern half of his office and turned zirs pale eyes on Odin to regard him with an expression that appeared rather troubled. There were no dimples which could appear, no lines that could harshen the face and no twitch of minute appearances that could have made zir appear human in any way. For that, Odin felt, there could be no telling what this creature was thinking, nor any creature that bore pure, Elven blood.

Perfect,
Odin thought.
Just… perfect.

“Odin,” Jarden said, knocking him out of his reverie before he could fall any further in.

“Yes, Master?”

“Have you ever had a proper engagement with another mage, one of which could have killed you had he, she or it had the chance?”

“I fought a Kerma Shaman back on Neline,” he said, stepping deeper into the room and unlacing his hands behind his back.

“Ah. Shaman. Yes… that would be something to contend with, especially in creatures as harsh and angry as the Kerma.”

“You know of them, zir?”

“Anyone with a proper education and well of knowledge would know that our fellow Kerma are at the brink of extinction due to disease that they say…
humans
brought with them.”

“Do you believe that, Master Jarden?”

“I do not know what to believe, dear Odin, for I have never touched foot on a country as barren and uninhabitable as Neline.” Jarden straightened zirs posture and positioned zirself at the opposite end of the inset. “Step forward, please. Right there, directly opposite of myself.”

Odin braced his hands at his side
s and waited for further instruction.

“Now,” Jarden said, lifting zirs hand and flushing it in the air before zir. “What I am about to do is cast a plume of energy at you—flame, if you would like to know specifically. I would like you to deflect it, but not by bouncing it away from you. Absorb it within a field of energy. Do you understand?”

“I understand, zir.”

Jar
den lifted zirs hand, lit it ablaze, then fired a blast of concentrated energy toward him.

Odin raised his palms.

The plume of flame surged forward.

He closed his eyes.

He dipped into his will.

He opened his eyes.

A wall appeared.

A connection was made in one fraction of a moment and the plume of flame spiraled around Odin in a complete sphere before dyin
g out directly behind his body.

“Well done,” Jarden said, clapping zirs hands before lowering them at zirs side
s. “I assume you have used such techniques before?”

“Yes zir. On the Kerma.”

“Very well. Let us try something else now. How about… water?”

The Elf raised a hand to reveal the ring emblazoned with the water insignia.

“Whenever you are ready, young Yamda.”

“I
’m ready, zir.”

Jarden thrust zirs palm forward.

A funnel of water surged toward him.

Unsure of what to do in spite of the fact that all his instincts told him to keep the shield raised and therefore contained, Odin bowed his head and braced his arms over his face as the current hit him head-on.

His shield faltered.

Water slicked the floor beneath his feet.

No.

Despite the fact that he could not hold the shield in place, Jarden continued to channel the water without
break in continuity. This, combined with the moisture dripping down his body and slicking the floor beneath him, was enough to force Odin to his knees in what could only be seen as an admission of defeat.

He could not keep this up, could not hold a shield to prevent him from being hit by something that could never end, so how was he to survive if he were truly in battle and something like this was used against him?

“Come on,” he whimpered, near the point of utter humility as water dripped from his hair and into his eyes. “Just let up already.”

No matter how hard he tried or wished for it to end—even near the point of prayer, which he found himself most disrespectful and horrible at—the water kep
t coming. Endlessly fueled by a piece of magic inscribed within a simple piece of jewelry, it would never, ever end unless he found a way to deflect or eradicate it, which seemed futile at the most, considering he had succumbed to his knees and could not think in the moment of it all.

You can do this,
he thought, raising his eyes to stare directly into the metaphorical maw of the beast.
You just have to think. Think, goddammit—think!

What could he do to stop the water from coming?

That’s it!

Pushing himself to his feet, still desperate to maintain hold on his shield and body in light of the epiphany, Odin willed his shield forward, around the base of the never-ending spout, then secured it in place before closing his eyes and channeling all his might and willpower into the energy before him.

A heat began to rise in his chest.

Slowly, with the veracity of a snake or some other deadly, poisonous creature, it began to spread down his arms until it eventually lit into the joints at his wrist.

Odin opened his eyes.

Before him, the never-ending maw continued on.

You can do this,
he thought.
Just believe in yourself.

“I believe in myself.
I believe in myself!”

With a scream that could have defied the aspect of any human vocal chord, he thrust upon the spout of water the very inferno that fueled his body to the point where he felt as though it would simply explode out and around the radius of his shield.

A moment passed, then two.

The water began to hiss.

Steam pressured from its surface.

Before his eyes the very spout that had threatened to overwhelm him turned into nothing more than superheated air and floated to the ceiling, thus revealing unto his vision a façade of a creature that could have very easily killed him had ze the effort or temper to.

When the steam faded, Odin thought he saw what appeared to be the beginnings of a smile alight on the Neven D’Carda’s face.

“Very good,” Jarden said, stepping forward as the steam dancing beneath their feet
disappeared into thin air. “Very intelligent thinking on your part, Yamda.”

“I wasn
’t sure what to do at first.”

“Which will be any mage
’s first inclination when they are first attacked by magic.” Jarden said, placing both of zirs hands on Odin’s shoulders. “You do realize that what you did was something most Elven mages I meet with aren’t capable of?”

“Am I stronger than them?”

“I would not say stronger. You are, of course, of our blood, but you will never be capable of our strength or prowess within the Will. That does not, however, mean you cannot be clever, for what you just did was something that only experienced foes will anticipate whenever engaging in combat.”