Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (87 page)

“There,” he whispered, cradling the infant close to his chest. “It’s all right.”

A God could not have tested the fragility of it all. A baby, in a man’s arms; a father, holding his infant son; a situation, so grim it appeared nothing could be done—as outside the storm blew on, raining havoc upon the land that was once called golden, and as within her bed a mother slept, there appeared to dangle within the air an hourglass whose spool of sand was endless.
Come,
it would have said.
Test thy might against the eternal winds.
And tested he would be, Nova knew, because as the room filled with sand—swallowing first the boards, then the blankets, then his family and then he himself—he would be made to wonder whether he could do anything to help them, for what man is able to swim a thousand seas, cross ten-thousand leagues, wade through the waters infested by such hellacious fish or even dig himself from beneath the sands of time without first succumbing to defeat? There were no matter of great feats within the world, to be sure—he himself had witnessed many—but in knowing that his position in the world had come full circle now that this child had been born, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could do it.

A few weeks,
he thought,
and I’m already beginning to falter.

The baby’s exclamations in his arms proved happiness—or, at the least, contentment. In that regard, Nova felt he could say he had done a good job, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t help but feel he was failing.

Bohren,
he thought.
Home.

The sweeping hills, the majestic plains beneath, the farmlands lush and rich with food and the people kind and pure: from the tops of the highest northern hills one could look out and see the ocean—could smell the salt and bathe in its splendor—and on winter days the world would resemble a great and magical paradise, for atop this place they were kings in their own domain and could never be conquered.

“Yet we were,” Nova whispered.

Never would his son see those great rolling lands
where he had grown up, play within the streets bathed in dappled sunlight on a fine summer’s day, grace the fields where through their crevices flowers grew, the virgin places of the world that knew not yet of its dangers. That place—it’d been magical. Now his son would never see it.

Someday,
he thought.

“Maybe,” he whispered.

The baby set his head against Nova’s chest.

Nova
sighed.

Home was far away, across many leagues and in a completely different land. But one thing was for sure—they were safe. That was all he could ask for.

*

“Where
’ve you been?” Parfour asked, pouring Odin and Virgin a glass of tea. “It’s been… what? Almost a year now?”

“When did the war end?” Odin asked, accepting the glass and tipping it to his lips.

“About six months ago… which would’ve been three after you left. Why?”

“What
’re you still doing here in Dwaydor then?”

“The people here need help in these harsh times,” Parfour sighed, reaching up to brush his lengthening hair away from his face. Odin couldn
’t help but stare at his milky left eye and managed a smile when the young man caught his attention. “I’m one of the few who can offer it.”

“It sounds like you do good work,” Virgin said, setting his glass down and reaching out to take the young man
’s hand.

“Who is this?” Parfour frowned.

“A friend,” Odin replied, reaching out to clasp Virgin’s opposite shoulder. “Virgin, this is Parfour. Parfour, Virgin.”

“It
’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I admire the kind of work you do, young man
. I may not have the faith I believe I should, but I know that a lot of people depend on it, especially in times of war.”

“Of war,” Parfour said, settling himself down into the seat across from them.

While the young man internally debated the logistics of what Virgin had implied, Odin tilted his head to examine the house that Parfour had claimed as his own. Large, expansive, with more than two floors and adorned in fine creams and whites—glass plates hung on wire rims along the walls and the young man’s ornate but obviously-battle-worn staff was set in place above the fireplace that bloomed with light. To say this house was one bestowed upon a war hero would have diminished its properties, for in light of the situation, Parfour’s enlistment and faith had earned him a rightful home within one of the finest cities in the country.

“They gave you this house,” Odin said, returning his attention to the young acolyte when he finished examining his surroundings.

“They did,” Parfour nodded.

“Why? Or how, I should say.”

“Many of the people who fled the city when it was about to be assaulted took with them their personal belongings—linens, treasures, weapons, that sort of thing. They haven’t come back, and have made no plans to, so the soldiers displaced in the war were offered the homes under the king’s jurisdictions. As to how I got this house, my service happened to be declared exemplary by the king himself and I was given one of the best in the Higher District.”

“It really is a nice house,” Virgin said. “You must be pleased.”

“I am.”

“Are they taxing you on it?”

“I assume they will eventually,” Parfour shrugged, “but right now I’m working off the good will of the people, serving under Father Ahmalya, that sort of thing.”

“You
’re training to become a priest?” Odin asked.

“In time, yes. That is what I
’d like to do with my life.”

“I have no doubts you
’ll get there,” Virgin said, reaching across the table to clap Parfour’s shoulder.

When a smile was bestowed upon Parfour
’s face, Odin couldn’t help but smile himself despite the fact that his emotions seemed all the more conflicted in the presence of such horrific circumstance.  While his heart felt broken, and while his mind seemed more at ease than he could have ever imagined, there lay a conflicting notion within his mind that he could not be happy even though he was at rest with someone whom he considered a very good friend.

“Can I ask you a few questions now?” Parfour asked, breaking Odin out of his trance. “I mean, if you
’re all right with that?”

“Go ahead,” Odin said.

“Why were you gone for so long?”

“Two-and-a-half-months of it was spent traveling,” Odin said, setting both hands on the table. “The rest of the time was spent trying to find peace with myself and my situation.”

“Did you find it?”

“In a way, yes.”

“I’m glad,” Parfour said, extending a hand and setting it over Odin’s upturned palm. “Let me tell you what. Why don’t the two of you stay here for a few days, maybe until the weather gets a little better? God knows it’s only been blizzarding for the past month or so.”

“Yeah,” Virgin chuckled. “We know.”

“How come the two of you only came in on one horse?” Parfour frowned.

“That
’s another story,” Odin sighed. “You’re fine with the two of us staying here for a little while?”

“I have extra rooms. Besides—it
’s a bit lonely, having this big house all to myself.”

“I can imagine,” Odin said.
Standing, he made his way around the table, then stepped into the threshold that led to the stairwell, stopping in midstride to look back at Virgin and the young man he considered to be one of his very best friends.

“Give me a moment to tidy up one of the rooms,” the young man said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Make yourselves at home. I can make dinner once I
’m finished.”

“Thank you,” Virgin said.

Odin only nodded and stepped aside so the young man could make his way up the stairs.

In the back of his mind, he couldn
’t help but feel a burning inclination to head out to the city limits—to the place where, almost a year ago, they had burned his father’s body.

Maybe at the sit
e of the Elf’s death he would find the peace he was so desperately looking for.

“It’s awfully nice of him to open up his home like this,” Virgin said, pulling his shirt over his head and straightening his hair back down his shoulders.

“It is,” Odin agreed, idly toying with one of the loose threads of string on the quilt his young friend had spread along the bed.

“Is something wrong?”

“I just didn
’t expect to see him here. That’s all.”

“Isn
’t it nice knowing we have a friend to stay with?”

“It is,” Odin agreed. “But, well…”
He took a moment to regain his composure before sighing and turning his eyes up at Virgin, who’d since turned to face him with his arms crossed over his bare chest. “He led my father’s funeral.”

“Oh.” Virgin frowned. “I see.”

“The last time I saw Parfour was the night before I left for the Abroen.”

“That has to be hard,” the older Halfling said, seating himself on the bed and setting an arm across Odin
’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.”

“It
’s all right. I can live with it.”

“I know it
’s hard, Odin. I’ve been in your position before.”

“I know.”

“And even though I never once thought of doing what you intend to, I know you’ll eventually figure things out for yourself, whether you use the book or not.”

Whether
you use it or not,
Odin thought, bowing his head when he felt the telltale signs of tears blooming at the corners of his eyes.

When he felt himself capable of restraining such weak emotions, he turned his head up, looked directly into Virgin
’s eyes, then smiled despite the horror pressed within his heart.

“Will you go with me,” Odin said, “when I want to see where it was they delivered my father into the afterlife?”

“You know I will,” Virgin said. “Don’t ever think that I wouldn’t help you.”

Reaching down, the Halfling set his hand atop Odin
’s and laced their fingers together.

Odin closed his eyes.

When Virgin tightened his hold on his hand, it seemed all his worries were erased and things would soon be just fine.

A thunderstorm wreaked havoc across the sky and blighted the city with hail and snow.

Nestled beneath the covers and drawn back against Virgin
’s chest, Odin watched the outside world succumb to anarchy and tried to keep his eyes on things other than the window set into the wall before him. The tiles ornate, the pane of glass shaped like a mushroom, the wooden sill the base beneath its stalk—it appeared something of an anomaly in a house made entirely of human things, and appeared for all purposes to be out of place, but in that moment, it appeared to encapsulate all of nature’s wrath and framed it in a way Odin would have thought otherwise frightening.

Whenever a bolt of lightning arced across the sky, a single, solitary impression of a mushroom would appear in front of Odin
’s vision, ingraining itself in his mind like a hot poker to the flesh of some poor ass.

Great,
he thought, closing his eyes.
Just great.

It could be worse. Considering they could have been out in that weather instead of in a safely-fortified house and a comfortable bed,
his  current situation could be considered heavenly—a godsend pressed upon the world to ease the fractured hearts of those weary.

As Virgin shifted behind him—first stretching an arm into the
air, then setting it across Odin’s waist—Odin briefly considered that even before they had gone to bed Parfour had been awake, reading by candlelight from a book that appeared to be some sacred holy text. Such a notion was enough to make him consider leaving the room to see whether or not his young friend was still up, but if he moved, there was a distinct possibility that Virgin would awaken and ask him where he was going.

“Better not,” he whispered.

Behind him, Virgin grunted.

Od
in was able to contain a snort in response.

At least he
’s having a good night’s sleep.

After a brief sigh and a sudden inclination that he would not be able to go to sleep anytime soon, especially with his companion now beginning to snore and the outside storm growing progressively louder, Odin shimmied out of Virgin
’s grasp, threw his legs over the side of the bed, then crossed the brief distance between him and the doorway before letting himself out.

Once out
of the room, he took a deep breath, looked up and down the wall, then descended the stairs, taking extra care to hold onto the railing.

As he
’d expected, Parfour had remained up into the late hours of night—reading, by candlelight, at the table in the sitting room, a monocle framed over his one good eye and attached by a chain to his ear.