Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (86 page)

“Parfour?” Odin asked.

The young man smiled and raised a hand.

Without so much as a second word in passing, Odin threw himself from the horse and into the boy’s arms.

*

“Life… with… a baby,” Carmen said, trying desperately to keep from repeating the dog’s actions and curling under the newly-acquired sofa.

Her joy over the matter had quickly faded when the child had proven to be a noisy one. How such a small creature could make such a high-pitched sound she wasn’t sure. It seemed at times the windows would shatter, and while she longed to escape it, the weather would allow no such thing, especially since the snow had continued to worsen.

Beneath her feet, Honor whimpered and hid his eyes behind his paws.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “I know what you mean.”

“Babies are noisy,” Ketrak said as he walked into the room. “They’re all like that.”

“I don’t know how long I can take this,” Nova said, tugging his hair as he walked out of the back room. “It never stops.”

“You did this to yourself,” Carmen informed him. “Can’t complain.”

“Nope,” Ketrak smiled. “Can’t.”

“Neither of you are on my side?”

The dog whimpered.

“Even the dog isn’t,” the red-haired man groaned.

“He’ll settle down eventually,” Ketrak said. “That’s the thing with children. They’ll go on and on for the longest time. Then they’re asleep before you know it.”

“Hopefully.”

Though Carmen raised her hands to hide her chuckle, Nova caught sight and narrowed his eyes at her. She merely winked in response. “I think I’m going to go into town and get some bread,” she said, hopping off the couch and heading for the door.
“And before you ask,
no—
I’m
not
leaving because of the baby. We just haven’t had bread for a while and I have a good feeling about the hunters today.”

“I hope so,” Nova said. “I’m getting tired of eating broth and vegetables.”

With a smile, Carmen donned her cloak and gestured for Honor, who followed without hesitation.

She patrolled the snow-covered booths along the side of the street. Her basket in hand, her hood over her head, she scoured the shelves upon which a number of delicacies both edible and not sat and tried to secure within her possession the bread she so desperately wanted.

The bakery
had
to have made bread today,
she thought.

How couldn’t they? This was the capital. The grain and wheat storages were immense, dwarfed only by the outpost towers they lay beneath, and surely were filled with the fruits of last spring’s labor. Where else would it have gone?

If not in the stomachs of the hungry,
she mused.

Sighing, Carmen paused to consider her options and looked down at the dog. Honor—who’d been mostly nonchalant about the entire escapade—cocked his head and offered a slight harrumph.

“Can’t find the bread,” she said. “Someone must have ate it all.”

The dog’s whimpers matched her feelings perfectly.

“They might have some at a kitchens,” a voice said.

Carmen lifted her head. A teenage boy—whom, until that moment, she hadn’t noticed—stepped up
from behind one of the booths and offered a slight frown. “The kitchens?” she asked. “You mean in the castle?”

“
Yessum.”

“Why would it be there? I thought there was a bakery outside the royal walls?”

“There is, ma’am, but the local farmers have no storage. They’ve used it all to feed their friends and family.”

“So the storage is low?”

The boy nodded. “There is bread,” he said. “I know there is, because I saw an official walk by with a loaf. I guess it’s all a matter of whether or not you can get in and get some.”

Nodding, Carmen scratched Honor’s head and turned to look up the street—where, she knew, the gates to the castle would still likely be open, given the situation the city was in. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help.”

The boy merely nodded before shrinking back to his work.

With that, Carmen turned and started up the road.

Though she was given rather incredulous looks by the guards
posted along the gate—both, she imagined, for her size and the dog beside her—she was allowed entrance into the royal grounds and began her trek toward the castle. She’d expected people to be lined up to be getting food. Instead, she walked the path alone, the hero who in her darkest hour quested for those more important.

It’s nothing to be worried about,
she thought.
You just had a different idea. That’s all.

Who was she to say that she had been wrong in envisioning such a thing? For years beneath the Hornblaris Mountains she had been told that humans were fodder—worms only useful for taming and cultivating the environment. They, the Dwarves said, would cut down the forests, would slay the monsters, would establish ground on which could be settled, then fertilize it for their own before their eventual fall
, leaving it ripe for the taking for the true first kind of Minonivna. Dwarvenkind’s outlook on humanity was quite grim, so for her to have such progressive thinking should’ve been impossible. Now, though, it seemed foolish—if not because of an overzealous expectation of her own, but for the idea that the Dwarves could have been right.

Sighing, Carmen straightened her posture and looked up as she approached the castle’s front gates.

“Stop,” one of the guards said, though Carmen did so on instinct the moment he shifted his head. “What business do you have within the castle?”

“I was told there was bread,” Carmen said. “Is there?”

The guards looked between one another before returning their attention to her. “There is,” he said, “but it’s being handed out in proportion to family size.”

“There’s three
.”

“You?”

“Me?” she asked. “I—“

“Is it for your family?”

“Nuh… no,” Carmen said. “It’s for the people who are staying with me. A young couple who just had a baby and her father.”

“There are some whose families are in greater need,” one of the guards replied.

“Greater need? You mean one of the royal families?” The words left her mouth faster than she could think them. Harsh, barbed, filled with venom, they struck even her as they planted their fangs into the cold reality of the world. “One of the families who can afford to have more than one child?”

“Ma’am, please don’t—“

“I’m not arguing with you,” Carmen said. “I’m merely saying. It’s a woman and her child. Her husband is a veteran. He went to
war.
In
Dwaydor.
To stand between
you
and
them.
I was there with him.”

“That doesn’t make a difference.”

“What were
you
doing?
Standing
here, in front of a
gate
behind
two stone walls?
Is this really what this country thinks of their warriors? In the Dwarven world, we give our veterans benefits based on war accomplishments, not on whose dick we came from.”

The men stiffened. “Ma’am,” one said. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Or what? You’ll throw me in jail? At least there I’d get fed.”

“We won’t give you another warning.”

While her heart and mouth told her to press forward, her head told her that getting thrown in jail for insubordination would do her no good.

Turning, she started down the road.

She heard no whispers from behind.

“I couldn’t get any bread.”

After relaying the story to Nova—whom, upon her arrival, had stepped forward—Carmen sighed and shifted before the stove. Her humility in the matter was only further stricken by the expression on Nova’s face—which, while not disappointed, appeared concerned.

“It’s ok,” the red-haired man said. “You tried. That’s all that matters.”

“I was told the food was given out based on how big the family was,” she replied. “Based on how
many times a member of the royal family thought he needed another heir.”

“That’s the way the country works. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“Well, it’s fucking dumb if you ask me.”

Nova shrugged. Carmen shook her head, cast her cloak from her shoulders, then hung it up before the fire to
dry. She took note of the silence and craned her head to look out the other side of the kitchen. “Where’s Katarina?” she asked.

“Sleeping with the baby,” Nova replied. “Her father’s down for the afternoon in his own room.”

“Ok.”

“Why don’t you go up to your room, Carmen?”

“That room is not my room,” she replied. “That’s another room upstairs.”

“Yes, it is, but we want you to stay in it.”

“I feel more comfortable down here.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, I can sleep in front of the fire,” she said. “And two, I’m down here if anyone needs anything.”

“You’re just up the stairs if we need you,” Nova laughed. “You need some time to yourself. You’ve been going nonstop since we left Arbriter.”

“It’s keeping me busy.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

Carmen frowned. Though she wanted to reply, the usual retort was not at the tip of her tongue.

He could be right,
she thought.
I could be overworking myself.

A glance into the living room painted a picture of the last few weeks—of a deerskin arranged before the fire for her to sleep atop or beneath.

“Ok,” she said, nodding, the tone in her voice drastically lower than it had been before. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll make dinner,” Nova nodded, following her as she rounded the corner to ascend the stairs. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Carmen. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

Carmen nodded.

The only sound she heard on the way up was the stairs creaking below her feet.

*

The tempest was great. Like a gargantuan devil that spun through the hills and took anything in its path upon a land that he had once called home, it warped around the house to the point where he seemed to be able to feel its power. Raw, overwhelming, like the force of a voice projected from the foot of a mountain to reach its highest peak—it struck him not with its direct impact, but its intended consequence, which rattled his body to the point where he could hardly keep from shivering.

It’s fine,
he thought.
We’re safe.

He’d closed the door to try and keep the warmth in—mostly for the baby, but also for his wife—but so far it’d done little to help. Already his son was wrapped within his father’s coat, the one his grandfather had bestowed upon him so many long years ago. Framed within the hood’s halo,
beneath the red fur, he appeared something like an angel, sleeping there all content, yet regardless he could not shake the feeling that he could be doing something more.

What, though?

Gathering firewood from the nearby forest, learning to shoot to hunt with the men, learning the tricks of trade of leather and skin-working in order to make better necessities for themselves—it seemed no matter what he thought there was no purpose. The firewood was done, arranged neatly within the box by the place, and with no game there was no reason to shoot, let alone try and learn to properly tan a hide. Even the offers of work as a hired sword for the caravans running within the Golden Crown were incomprehensible. He couldn’t abandon his family—not now, not in this climate, and especially not with a newborn baby.

It seems like there’s nothing I can do.

Sighing, he reached up to stroke the beard covering his face and cast a glance at his shoulder at his wife, whose body had in his absence drawn to the makeshift cradle Carmen had built from a few planks of wood.

Katarina’s hand—so feebly drawn in sleep—seemed to extent toward the one possibility that made this suffering worthwhile.

Him.

At this, the baby began to stir. His short whimpers, soft yet easily discernible, cut through the night like a jagged key loosened from its piano and entered his ears with an urgency he felt only a caretaker could dictate. His heart fluttered, his lip quivered, and his eyes instantly gravitated toward the child whom no more than a few weeks ago had just been born.

Slowly, as to not disturb Katarina from sleep she did not often have, Nova crossed the room and crouched down beside the cradle. “Hey,” he whispered. “Buddy. It’s ok. I’m here.”

Konnan Eternity opened his eyes to regard his father with the same golden orbs his father had been born with. Face scrunched in discomfort, fists writhing at his side, he opened his mouth as though to let out a wail, then stopped as Nova took him into his arms.