Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (77 page)

This is bad,
Odin thought.
Really, really bad.

Such feelings of dire ill usually did not come without consequence. He
’d felt it not once, twice, or even three times, but somewhere near four—first with the Kerma, then the Ogres, followed by the undead swarming from Dwaydor and finally before being attacked by the Nagani. Every event had allowed a precognition that could only be explained as supernatural, as the body was said not to be able to predict the matters of the future—unless, of course, it was aided by magic, though not once throughout his entire life had he ever felt any sort of magical connection before said events.

Does he feel it?

He didn’t suffer in vain—that was already obvious, as Virgin’s mannerisms had changed drastically—but could his fellow Halfling sense that something was amiss in the air, that something happened to be watching them from the safety of either a tree or the mountain peaks?

Odin drew in a breath.

He pulled his horse to a stop.

Virgin continued forward, unaware of
Odin’s action.

After turning his head to
survey the area they’d just crossed, Odin reached down, unbuckled the clasp of his sword, then drew the blade out a thumb’s-width from its sheath.

“Something
’s wrong,” Odin said.

Ahead of him, Virgin
halted his mount and turned his head.

The snow continued to fall—softly, as if it had not an ill will in the world.

Though Odin could not clearly see his companion’s eyes, he sensed the same unrest radiating from his person.

“We need to keep going,” Virgin said, run
ning a hand through his horse’s mane.

“Do you know something I don
’t?” Odin replied, tapping his horse’s ribs to ease it forward. “Virgin?”

“I don
’t know anything, Odin.”

“You
’re lying.”

“I
’m not,” the Halfling replied, blinking, his face resembling something of a dumbstruck child caught with his hands doused in syrup and his face covered in oatmeal. “Really, Odin, I—“

Something flickered in the bushes behind them.

Odin drew his sword and turned his horse in a complete circle before he even realized what happened.

It
’s just the wind,
he thought.
Get a hold of yourself.

While the feeling o
f being watched hadn’t lightened, his panicked heart began to regain its regular pace, beating only a few harsh times before it settled.

When he turned his attention back to Virgin, his companion only offered a slight frown.

There’s something going on here that I’m not aware of.

Shaking his head, Odin
sheathed his weapon and allowed the Halfling to lead him on.

They couldn
’t be out of here soon enough.

Not a shard of moonlight managed to penetrate the clouds come nightfall, forcing them to make an early stop near the side of the road.

“What was it?” Odin asked, breathless, almost unable to speak as his heart was pounding so fast.

“I don’t know,” Virgin said. “See why I said it wasn’t a good idea to have a light?”

“I
’m not putting this damned light out, Virgin.”

Each of the
three resounding cracks that followed made him jump.

“It
’s just something curious about us,” the Halfling replied, settling back down into his bedroll. “Don’t worry about it.”

How couldn
’t he?

By the time morning came with its all-too-familiar shade of grey, Odin’s nerves were shot and his heart was on what felt like its last resorts. Even when he managed to pull himself from bed and eat a few pieces of jerky he still felt tired as ever, as if he hadn’t slept a wink in more than three days, and when he crawled onto his horse he nearly fell off, much to his horse’s displeasure, who shook its head and whinnied as if it’d just been struck in the face. Virgin, meanwhile, looked on with sad and unsure eyes, pity shining across his clear scleras and pupils dilated to their full shape.

Great,
Odin thought, dipping his head.
Just great.

He didn
’t think he would be able to continue on much longer, not in these conditions or with this much stress. Though it wouldn’t last particularly long, as Virgin had said they were more than halfway out of the Divide, he wasn’t looking forward to having to sit up at night and worry about whatever it was that might be watching or trying to kill them.

“You have no idea what that thing was last night,” Odin said, stating his words more than
using them to question.

“No,” Virgin said. “I don
’t.”

“Not the slightest clue?”

“No.”

“Could it have been one of the undead?”

“Possibly, but if it was, it wasn’t like any of the ones I’ve heard about.”

“What do you mean?”

“The wandering dead are usually drawn to living creatures because they feel the need to consume them—eat their flesh, hearts, entrails, that sort of thing. If what was following last night was one of them, it was obvious much different than what a usual undead is seen as.”

“So it could be intelligent?”

“It could be, yes, but we’re not even sure if it was one of the undead. Maybe it was merely a deformed human living on the fringe of society and took notice of us because he or she was attracted to the fire.”

“I already know about that,” Odin sighed. “Please don
’t lecture me anymore. I’m tired as it is.”

“
Do you plan on trying to sleep on the horse?”

“I
’ve never been able to sleep on a horse, at least not willingly.”

“Maybe it would do you good
to sleep during the night and me during the day. At the very least, you wouldn’t be worrying about whatever’s in the dark and I could keep watch without having a fire lit.”

“Can I ask a question, Virgin, even if it sounds stupid?”

“Yes.”

“Why is having a fire such a big deal if most everything can see in the dark anyway?”

“The undead can’t. They’re as much human as the people in Harpie’s Summit are, if not less than that.”

“Well, sorry… I didn
’t know that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You grow smarter every day, you know?”

“Today’s not going to be one of them,” Odin sighed, bowing his face into his horse’s neck.

The beast shook its head and let out a slight grunt.

Closing his eyes, Odin tilted his head to the side and took a deep breath.

Snow kissed his lips.

He was out almost immediately.

Torn from sleep by the image of the humanoid creature looking upon them in the near-absolute darkness, Odin thrust himself upright and blinked to clear his vision as the grey world came into focus.

“Are you all right?”  Virgin asked.

“I’m fine,” Odin replied, blinking, shaking the snow that had accumulated atop him from his head and focusing his eyes on his companion’s back, which remained completely straight and stoic regardless of how cold the weather had become. “What time is it?”

“Midafternoon, I believe.”

“Sorry for sleeping so long.”

“Not to worry. It wasn
’t hard making sure you were still behind me.”

“Has my horse even done anything?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good boy,” Odin said, running his hand along the horse
’s sides before returning one hand to the reins. “Are you cold?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“I can warm you up if you’d like.”

“That
’s all right. Conserve your energy. You need it more than I do.”

“All right,”
he frowned. “You’re sure?”

“I
’m sure.”

“What happened while I was asleep?”

“To tell you the truth, nothing.”

“I don
’t feel like we’re being watched anymore.”

“You
’re always being watched by something, Odin, even if it’s a bird.”

“I know, but still… it
’s a nice feeling, not being afraid that something’s ready to tear your head off.”

“I still think you overreact far too much.”

“Ah well,” Odin shrugged. He tilted his head to the sky and once more tried to seek out the sun, though in the gloom overhead he could make no sense of anything. “Does the sun ever shine here?”

“No.”

“Not even on clear days?”

“I don
’t believe Denyon has much in the way of sunshine. The mountains shroud the sun on both sides, so what little light it does get ends up being like this.” Virgin waved his hand before him.

“I see,” Odin frowned, turning to look at the mountains.

Though not as darkened as they could have been, given the conditions in the sky, they still appeared menacing—haunting, even, as though they were some WRaith following a pair of travelers in their darkest of hours. He shivered, regardless of the fact that the snow was falling, and when he turned his head and caught sight of what appeared to be a slight bead of water flowing across the path, a frown painted his face and a spike of fear slid into his heart. “Virgin,” he said, pulling the reins on his horse to bring it to a halt. “Is this…”

“The place where the mountain bleeds,” the Halfling said.

“What?”

Until that moment—when, for
no particular reason, his vision narrowed and focused on the water below—he had not noticed that the liquid bore the distinct red hue that made it appear as though it were blood itself. Like Virgin had so easily stated when coming upon the sight, a thin trail of the scarlet liquid ran from the foot of the mountains and made its way across the road toward the cliff-like formations on the other side—where, almost unrecognizable to the naked eye, the water shifted into the ground and disappeared entirety.

“Oh,” he said, unable to resist the urge to frown.

“This marks the final day of passage throughout the Divide,” Virgin said, jabbing a finger into the distance where, quite clearly, a brightened blue sky could be seen. “I don’t believe we’ll make it by the time the sun goes down, but tomorrow afternoon—yes, we will.”

“We
’ll be out of the Divide,” Odin replied.

And so close to the mouth of Denyon that we
’ll shit our pants.

A nervous bought of laughter
rose from his chest and echoed forward, reverberating across the rocks at their right and the mountains at their left. The sound, though innocent, gained a horrifying magnitude, and when reflected off the face of darkness resembled something like someone cackling—a witch, perhaps, once fabled to roam the forests of his homeland, or a Harpie sitting in one of the distant trees waiting to swipe down and tackle him or Virgin from their horses. At the sound, Virgin looked up and regarded him with unsure eyes, then shook his head and returned his attention to the path, which had been cleared of almost all snow by the wind or something similar.

You sound like a lunatic.

Lunatic or not, his fear was not unwarranted, especially because of all the horror stories he heard as a child.

Rather than
try and continue his escapade, Odin took a deep breath, expelled it, then gestured his horse over the slight bleed in the path and toward the road that continued on beyond it. Shortly thereafter, he turned his attention to Virgin, closed his eyes, then opened them before asking, “Why is the water red?”

“No one is particularly sure,” the Halfling replied, falling into pace beside Odin. “Some people believe it
’s because the lake that supposedly exists in the deeper spots within Denyon is bordered by red rock—which, in reality, would eventually seep into the water.”

“Wouldn
’t it be more of a dull brown color instead of… well, red?”

“Don
’t ask me.”

Either way, it didn
’t make the sight any more pleasant, because in looking back at the water, he caught what appeared to be minute, yellow particles floating within it, resembling what looked to be pus flowing from a freshly-opened and fetid wound.

Now you
’re just freaking yourself out.

Another short laugh later, he reached up, pulled his hood over his head and adjusted it over his eyes, thankful for the fact that he could only see his companion and nothing else.

“Everything will be fine,” Virgin said, as if sensing Odin’s unease. “Don’t worry. Less than one more day and we’ll be out of here.”

And, Odin thought, hopefully free of any immediate danger.

A growing sense of
dread began to creep over the campsite as Odin sat up and waited for Virgin to recover the sleep he did not have. The fine hairs on his neck on end, his hands and fingers alight with tension, he trained his eyes on the darkness beyond what he instinctively knew was the campsite and tried to make out any finer details in the dark. He could faintly discern what appeared to be the road through his hazy vision, and beyond that what appeared to be the trees beneath the mountain, but any further and he could see nothing else. No pine needles on which rodents could be nestling, no rocks that could be sprinkled about the road, no bark upon the great trunks of trees—things so easily visible in the daylight hours could not be seen even slightly, thus imposing upon anyone who happened to sit up so late at night a feeling of unrest that could not be shaken even if one held a weapon in hand.