Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (74 page)

Tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered that time all those years ago, when at her mother’s bedside she had watched her baby sister be born in a plume of blood and matter by nothing more than lantern light. Her body, wracked with pain; her mouth, curled in anger; her limbs, trembling—perhaps the worst thing she had seen in those hours of Ashlyn’s birth had been her mother’s eyes, which had gone vacant near the end of it all. It was like she hadn’t been there—like the Gods had taken her to Their immortal plane to do what it was They had to do.

But they’re gone,
she thought.
Gone… gone…

“Gone.”

She fought the images of that terrible night from entering her mind. Hands wrapped in her hair, tears streaming down her face, she trembled as the world around was lost and all that was left was her.

She heard nothing, she felt nothing, she smelled nor saw a thing—the only thing before her eyes was an eternal darkness in which a thing with a flat face and a ram’s horns beckoned to her with one long and jagged finger.

A presence brushed up along her body.

She spun, dagger drawn.

A Kadarian man bearing upon his face the Gaia mark of healing stood in the threshold, arms held out at his sides. “My name is Ramya,” he said. “I’m the High—“

“I know who you are,” Carmen said. “Go.”

She tossed the dagger to the side and turned to face her friend.

“Carmen?” Katarina asked.

“It’s me,” she said, nodding as she fought tooth and nail to walk toward her friend. “I yelled. I yelled for them.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Falling to her knees, she took her human friend’s hand in hers and bowed their heads together.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Katarina said, struggling to remain composed as she followed the healer’s orders. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d do just fine,” she replied.

“Still… thank you.”

Her heart shuddered. The feelings coursing through her body couldn’t compare to anything she’d ever felt before. The sky could have split open to reveal Valhalla great and strong and she wouldn’t have even blinked, for in this moment she realized something greater was happening—not ascension, for what it was all strived for in the great and grand things in life, but revelation.

Katarina screamed.

Carmen tightened her hold on the woman’s hand.

Only one thought occurred to her.

He’s coming.

Then, as if all had silenced, it was over.

The baby began to cry in the moments following his entrance into the mortal world. His choked sobs pitched with the breath of first-birthed air, his sound a tremor of what it was to be alive, Carmen raised her eyes to look on the bloodied infant and reveled in the feeling that came over her. As the healer cleansed the baby with warm water and bright light, Ketrak stepped forward, crying, with a blanket. Nova could merely stare in awe.

“Congratulations Katarina,” the healer said. “It’s a baby boy.”

Nova fell to his knees and sobbed.

Carmen smiled.

Katarina brought the baby to her breast and closed her eyes.

She did it,
the Dwarf thought.
She really did it.

*

They left the town of Harpie’s Summit before the sun began to rise with their packs over their shoulders and their minds set toward their next destination. The snow falling thin, much like dust sprinkled across a desert and covering the land whole, it foreshadowed a day that would likely be cold even when the sun began to peak over the Hornblaris Mountains. Much to Odin’s appreciation, though, everything was peaceful, despite the fact that the road wound uncomfortably close to the mountains.

They could have killed them,
he thought, sighing, grimacing as the front of his head once again lit up with pain.

Though the prior night
’s rest had done much to console his aching mind, it hadn’t erased all essence of discomfort. No longer did his skull feel as though it would cave upon itself and his mind would leak out the exposed cracks in his head, and no longer did it feel like blood would pool from his nose only to be absorbed through his lips and into his mouth. His eyes, while still dampened by the magic, were only slightly clouded, as if he were looking down a dark tunnel and expecting to see the light at the end of it, and though it was likely only the result of atmospheric conditions, he couldn’t help but sigh at the reality of just how much he could have possibly damaged himself.

You
’re lucky,
he thought.

Had he been a normal human, he could have permanently scarred his vision or even his magical ability. The fact that he bore two distinct breeds of Elven blood surely had to have been
his only blessing. He’d heard of men casting spells so dangerous that they lost their hearing, their sight, even their ability to talk. Why the latter occurred he couldn’t be sure, but he imagined it had to have something to do with the innate connection the body shared with the mind. One did not act without decision, did not hear without sound being related through the ears and could not speak without the words being formed first in the mind and then out the throat. For that, it seemed, magic could damage everything, as the body could not exist without the tangible notion that was the mind.

Already thwarted and stumbling over his thoughts, Odin shook his head and looked up to Virgin, who merely stared ahead with
his eyes partially-shrouded by his hood.

“You all right?” Odin asked.

The sound, in such silence, seemed like a clap of thunder exploding over the horizon, and seemed to reflect across the space between them as if it bore more severity than it actually did. In response, Virgin lifted his head and offered a slight smile before reaching out and clapping an arm around Odin’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” the older Halfling said. “Why?”

“You
’ve just been… quiet.”

“Haven
’t you noticed I’m quiet most mornings?”

Yes.

“I have,” Odin said, giving a slight nod as Virgin resituated his hand in the reins. “I dunno.”

“About what?”

“This.”

“This?”

“Traveling so close to these mountains.”

“We should be fine during the daylight hours,” Virgin said. “At night, though… that
’s when I’d be worried.”

“Have you ever travelled through here?”

“I’ve only ever been this far west of the Abroen. I’ve strayed toward the Hills before, and while I’ve crossed them to enter the Three Kingdoms, I’ve never come so far out this way.”

“You have an idea of where we
’re going through, right?”

“There really isn
’t any other way
to
go. The mountains are to our south, these cliffs are to the north.” Virgin waved at the rocky formations to their side—which, while slanted and severely raised, lay covered mostly by trees, as well as obscure rock formations that would have made travelling atop them impossible. “The Great Divide will lead us straight into the land south of the Ornalan Lowlands.”

“You said we should be worried while travelling at night,” Odin said, drawing closer to his companion if only because
of the lingering mountains. “What did you mean by that?”

“We won
’t be able to start a fire, because old wives’ tales say the living dead are attracted to beacons of light, and we won’t be able to cook anything unless we want to risk drawing attention to ourselves. That’s why I requested precooked food and supplies, so we wouldn’t have to worry about animals or the like coming anywhere near us.”

“What kind of animals will we have to worry about?”

“They say there’s werewolves and bears in this area—which, to be quite honest, wouldn’t surprise me—and there’s always a chance the Harpies will come out in search of stray deer or elk. We’ll just have to be careful in this area for the next several days.”

“How much longer do you think we
’ll be in the Divide for?”

“A week, if not more.”

Odin closed his eyes.

A shred of unease
traveled down his spine.

It seemed there would be much to worry about in the coming days.

As the sun rose into the sky, arcing across the horizon and lighting the way it appeared as though their journey would only continue to get progressively worse.

Directly on the side of the road, where it seemed nobody except animals travelled during times cold and when the road was shadowed over, a trail of blood painted the passage in violent splatters for several hundred feet before the corpse of a deer with half its side torn out appeared to their eyes. The sight, foreboding enough to elicit fear within Odin’s heart, made it appear as though something of great and enormous strength had to have attacked it, but the stench was what truly began to overwhelm him. Already birds had begun to gather—as well as smaller, woodland animals, those of which Odin found almost impossible to gauge because he’d never seen such creatures eating meat, much less the fleshy insides of creatures.

“What did it?” Odin asked.

They came to a complete stop directly before the poor creature. A crow, busily thrusting its beak into the bloodied creature’s eye, raised its head and squawked at them.

“I
’m… not sure,” Virgin said, making a move to dismount, but stopping before he could do so.

“What
’s wrong?” Odin asked.

“We should leave. Now.”

“Why?”

“Whatever did this is in the area.”

“How do you—“

Every hair on Odin
’s body rose.

Shit,
he thought, gesturing his horse into a fast trot.

Never did such things happen without some form of fear, without some result of anxiety that came from the sensation of being
watched or stalked. For that Odin pushed his horse into a slight run, which disturbed the snow beneath the horse’s hooves so much it created a mist, displaying their mounts as magical creatures using the currents to guide them. While that did little to console the fear lacing his heart, it did secure the knowledge that they were moving at more than just a brisk pace.

“Odin,” Virgin said, whipping his horse
’s reins in an attempt to catch up. “Slow down.”

“You said—“

“We should be fine. We—“

A deafening roar echoed across the horizon.

Slowly, both of them turned.

No.

It stood near the corpse of the creature with its bloodied muzzle bowed and its teeth distended with flesh. Braced on all fours, but gargantuan in size, it looked about the size of a small carriage that stood content with both the coach and the horses intact. Some ten feet it must have been from nose to tail, and when it attempted to rise on its hindquarters, it had to have been able to stand at least some twelve feet high. Its chest broad, its face short, its teeth bared in a violent snarl and its claws stained with the blood of innocents—its grotesque tongue spilled out over its mouth and its harsh yellow eyes stared the two of them down as if it could kill them by will alone. The lone, pale-yellow V that crossed its eyes and stretched down to the end of its pure-brown snout spoke of evil, of violence in nature and terror in sight.

“Odin,” Virgin said, reaching to grab for the dagger in his jerkin. “Don
’t make any sudden moves.”

“I
’m not,” he whispered.

T
he horse whinnied and pawed at the ground, kicking up snow.

The werebear dropped to all fours and roar
ed.

KILL!
a voice screamed.

Odin lashed out with both hands to claw at the sides of his head.

No.

It couldn
’t have.

“What
’s wrong?” Virgin asked.

“It
’s… in my head,” he said, raising his eyes to regard the creature that stood above the corpse, pawing at the ground with its massive outstretched paw.

“You can hear it?”

“Yes.”

Kill.

“Kill,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s saying kill.”

“We need to get out of here,” Virgin said, turning the horse and beginning to lead it up the road.

When Odin made move to follow, the breath shot directly from his lungs.

Behind them, the bear screamed.

Footfalls could be heard.

Virgin whipped his reins and kicked his horse into a full-out run.

In an attempt to recover his lost breath, Odin opened his mouth and tried desperately to inhale the cold winter air as he reached with his free hand and fumbled for his sword. Much to his disadvantage, the desperate pace the horse kept jostled him to the point where he could barely keep his fingers around the hilt, much less reach for the switch. Panic strummed through his chest and lit his mind anew with pain that could only have come from the struggle of trying to outpace something that was ever so quickly catching up with them.