Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (25 page)

“Everything will be all right,” the older Halfling said.

“How do you know?”

“Well… I can
’t exactly promise anything, but I do know that we’re getting closer to the capital.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Odin. I’m sure. I’ve been on this road more than once.”

I should have known.

With Virgin at his side, he shouldn’t have had any semblance of fear whatsoever. Knowing that he did seemed to make the situation all the worse.

He expected a pair of eyes to appear from the darkness. Bold, stout, pressed far apart within its white fur and gleaming as though producing its own light source from the center of its head—this thing, in Odin’s mind, stood as tall as a human man and bore a twin-headed crescent crown atop its head, those of which had been sharpened to points likely from the growth of bone they were made up of and the natural wear and tear the elements had to offer. This fear—and, sadly, reality—was enough to chill his heart so much that when he reached out to run his hand over the magical fire, he thought for sure he would burn himself, even though such a thing was almost incapable of happening.

You
’re going to lose your head if you keep this up.

Anxiety born without cause for effect was said to be created by self-made stimuli which came from the innate fear of something happening for no reason. He
’d learned such behavior from his adoptive father, when he once refused him the ability to use his God-given gift of magic, so to recognize it only seemed natural and necessary, for without that distinction he could have realized the behavior as something not created and therefore already instilled within his head. To know that knowledge was to defeat the beast within him—to encage, that thing he once described as, the snarling beast that lay thrashing in his chest, ready to tear him apart.

Virgin sleeping soundly behind him, the fire burning calm yet slowly, Odin trailed his eyes over their darkened surroundings and once more tried not to imagine something watching them.

“All will be well,” he said, humming the tune of an old brave song within his heart. “And the knights shall ride into battle with their swords held high.”

The sleeping Halfling snorted.

Odin jumped.

He turned his head to see if his companion had woken and found
nothing more than Virgin protruding from the bedroll, an arm over his brow and his eyes closed and flickering.

Must be dreaming,
Odin thought, closing his eyes.

How he wished to sleep. To be locked within a world of darkness and calm would have been the greatest gift anyone could have offered him at that moment, but with hours left until his watch was
over, he had little else to entertain him than his thoughts and polishing the hilts and sheaths of his swords. There was only one too many times a man could spit into a cloth and rub it across the shining metal that held his most prized possession.

Sighing, Odin leaned back, propped himself on his shoulders, then tilted his head and bowed his face into Virgin
’s hair.

If his words were any indication, they would arrive at Lesliana in little more than a few days.

Waiting seemed like the most impossible thing to do.

The tracks only continued to worsen as they progressed through their day. Along the skirt of their camp, upon the side of the road, around ruts, loops and bends that seemed impossible to navigate on only two feet—it seemed that this creature had watched them even during their time within the campsite with eyes dull, glossy and sharp and examined them with intense scrutiny that could only come from a being with higher intelligence. Such was its pursuit that when Odin stopped to examine the fact that there seemed to be only one set of tracks leading to the campground and not back from it, he couldn’t help but shiver.

This creature—this
marvelous being
—had made its way away from the camp by stepping on the tracks it had initially made when coming up upon them.

“Virgin,” Odin said, reaching down to grip the hilt of his black sword for reassurance and comfort. “You do see this, right?”

“I see it.”

“You get what I
’m going at… right?”

“If you mean this thing was backtracking its own steps
exactly,
then yes, I get you.”

The idea seemed fit only for intelligence sentient and grander than things that walked on four legs. That alone was enough to weigh the reality of their situation upon Odin
’s shoulders so harshly that he sagged his upper body in an effort to control the emotions he felt. Lost, unsure, afraid and, by all means, absolutely terrified at the prospect of such a behavior—there seemed to be nothing in the world that could have scared him more in that moment, in that crux of time when a brief notion began to bloom into full reality and thought became more than just a roundabout word within the mind.

It
’s following you,
his conscience whispered,
and it’s hiding in the bushes right next to you.

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“Odin,” Virgin said.

A twig snapped behind him.

Odin pulled his sword from his sheath and turned so fast that he seemed to cut the air itself.

Virgin stood no more than a foot away from him, hands raised an
d eyes staring directly down his blade. “Now then,” the Halfling said, lowering his hands as Odin pulled the sword away from him. “Someone’s a little jumpy.”

“How
can’t
I be? You know what’s going on.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”
he asked, unable to control the burst of laughter that followed. “We’re being
followed
by something that’s
fucking smarter than us,
Virgin.”

“I wouldn
’t say smarter than us.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“Clever.”

“Clever?
What animal is
clever?”

“Crows, when given the proper tools, can pluck grub from glass bottles. Same with hawks. They
’ll sometimes drop their prey to crack their skulls and bones to get at the tastier parts.”

For animals to be clever in ways humanlike was to grant upon them intelligence that likened them to the things they shared their world with. That, though simple and demure,
was enough to shatter Odin’s view about the food chain and push his mind toward the greater parts of insanity.

Animals couldn
’t be smart as people. They just couldn’t.

Maybe this isn
’t an animal,
his conscience whispered.
Maybe it’s like a werewolf.

Though not completely sentient, there
was
a form of intelligence within such life that sometimes allowed those special and gifted with magic the opportunity to speak with them. It could be entirely possible that this thing stalking them
was
such a creature—a werewolf, like his conscience had said. Maybe it wasn’t even an animal. Maybe it had a human or Elven master that forced it to do his or her bidding in order to keep those untrustworthy away from Elven sentiments, like a Necromancer binding her will to flesh.

Now you
’re just being ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, he couldn
’t rule any option out, even if that meant deceit and treachery.

“You don
’t think anyone’s set something after us,” Odin asked, falling into place beside Virgin, “do you?”

“I don
’t think so. Why?”

“It just occurred to me, that
’s all.”

“That someone might be setting an a
nimal after us?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because we really can
’t rule out any possibility, that’s all.”

“I don
’t think whatever’s following us has a human or Elven master, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“But it
’s not impossible?”

“No. It isn
’t, but I highly doubt it is.”

“Why
’s that?”

“Because if we had someone following us, I
’d very likely know by now.”

“Why? You can
’t know that.”

“They
’d have to be somewhere close to us to see where we’ve been going, and so far as I know, no one’s been following us.”

“But—“

“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, Odin. Just be content that we’re safe and we haven’t run into any trouble so far.”

So far,
he thought.

Not willing and unable to continue the argument, Odin crossed his arms, bowed his head, then stepped over a root that strayed onto the path in front of him.

If only Virgin could see his point and concern.

There
’s nothing you can do. If he doesn’t think it’s a tame animal, then it isn’t a tame animal.

Fair was fair, he supposed. Virgin could have one theory and he another, but that didn
’t  mean they had to agree on both.

Sighing, Odin turned his head up and looked at the path in front of them.

“Here,” Virgin said, passing his hand over the now-visible, obviously-made road in front of them, “is where the path to Lesliana begins.”

“You mean we
’re almost there?” Odin frowned.

“Yes,” Virgin agreed. “We
’re almost there.”

They camped alongside the road—where, Odin expected, they would likely see a patrol going to and from the capital. Though the fire glowed harsh and the path seemed all but unwelcoming, he saw nothing of the sort, save the occasional woodland critter that would go scurrying by with either a worm of a piece of nut in its mouth.

“Virgin,” Odin said, tilting his head over his shoulder to examine his companion, who lay within the bedroll with an arm over his brow and his eyes set toward what little they could see of the sky.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You
’ve just been quiet.”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“About today?” he asked, pulling the pan of biscuits from atop the cooking setup.

“A little, but not a whole lot.”

“I’m sorry about arguing with you earlier.”

“Eh, don
’t worry about it. We have our differences. I can respect that.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to.”

Testing the warmth of one of the lumps of bread, Odin waved his hand over the food in an attempt to cool their steaming surfaces, then picked one
of the biscuits up and bit the tip out of it. Not yet fully settled, he shrugged, set the biscuit down, then leaned back to examine the slight clearing around them, which seemed to divide into two separate paths.

“This T-road,” Odin said, raising his voice over the dull static of the fire.

“Yeah?”

“Does it lead to other settlements?”

“It does. One outpost tower and another small village.”

“What does the outpost tower watch?”

“The desert to the south of the country you call Germa.”

“Ah,” Odin said. “Is there much to watch for here? I mean, with all the forest around?”

“There’s always something to watch.”

“Have you ever had trouble with bandits or anything of the sort?”

“You occasionally get men who wander in here trying to get their own way, but few of them make it out alive. Some even stumble upon the outpost and end up begging for their lives because of what all they’ve gone through.”

“I would
’ve never been able to make it here,” Odin sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back until his head rested directly beside Virgin’s. “I guess it was faith.”

“Faith?” Virgin asked.

“Do you not believe in it?”

“I didn
’t take you for a man who believed in the Gods.”

“I… don
’t really know what I believe.” Odin rolled over onto his stomach to look directly into his companion’s eyes. “Is that wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“That I don’t know what I believe?”

“I don
’t think so, no.”

“Can I ask what you believe in?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

To think that nothing could exist beyond death was not a hearty measure. It was said that in times after death—when delivered from what was considered the mortal realm and toward what supposedly came afterward—the soul, spirit, Sprite or whatever it was that lived inside each living and breathing
took upon itself the passage of transition that was said to come after the grand adventure they called life. Be it a ship in the sky, a garden full of flowers or a place in the world reserved for those dead and only dead, that place—that
magical after—
was meant and made for creatures who’d lived their lives and then had died. For that reason—and for many reasons other than that, those of which Odin did not want to dwell on—it seemed highly possible that nothing could exist after life, that there could be no ship, no garden, no place in the world reserved for those dead and only dead and no plane upon which the soul could ride, and while mystified by the prospect, it seemed completely terrifying to even believe in such things.