Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (68 page)

“Wow,” Odin said, unsure what to say in
the moments following his companion’s declaration.

What
could
he say when Virgin’s thievery—his tactics, pickpocketing, stealing and ease—had been for the consequence of not only himself, but his family? For one to survive by stealing was to resort to morals lower than that of a bottom-feeding fish, for one who stole need not gain the fruits from labor, but trickery, that of which not only impacted a person’s life, but their self, person and existence. To gain from one was to take from another; to steal from one was to kill another’s brother; to live on the fringe of society by using tricky fingers and taking easy money was to suck the honey from the proverbial teat and make it one’s own. For Virgin to have stolen from people as a child had to have been a pain that he was forced to evolve with—to change, survive, adapt, realize and, ultimately, ground one’s actions into reality.

In hindsight, the fact that Virgin had once tried to steal from him was not something trivial, or in the least bit selfish.

He did it for himself,
he thought.
For his family.

“How long has it been since you last seen them?”
Odin asked.

“My father died some five years ago,” Virgin sighed. “And my mother ended her life out of grief for my father
’s death.”

“I thought—“

“That they lived nearby?” Virgin asked. “In one of the villages? No, Odin. They don’t. When I told you that, I was lying to protect myself.”

Odin closed his eyes.

So it was true. Virgin had lost just as much, if not more, than he had.

Would Virgin
, if given the chance, read from a text so sacred and evil that it was said to drive mortal men mad?

Though he couldn
’t know, he felt as though his purpose in life was coming full circle.

Within the coming months, things would begin to change, likely for the better.

Kalen
’s Rise, unlike Drianna it, seemed to have been constructed purposely as a bridge between the three cities. On both sides of town—from what Odin could see, as his sight was limited within the darkness—two barracks rose up from the ground like great monuments to history and produced inside a glow that could only be the sign of men sleeping therein. Among the streets, women who bore daggers and swords upon their belts ushered children and animals into homes, wary at the sight of strangers upon strong horses, while at the front of the tavern that rose high and strong stumbled men drunk and ignorant of their ways. Some tried to approach women, while others simply made their way down the streets and toward the place they called home—likely to wives unhappy and all the more unsure, children who looked upon them with disdain and confusion, and pets that wouldn’t even bother.

At the stables, Odin and Virgin dismounted, offered their mounts to a stable hand, then
exchanged three copper pieces in exchange for his service.

Inside the tavern, all hell seemed ready to break loose.

At two opposite ends of a table reserved for gambling—cards, it appeared, for the chips stacked to amounts in dozens upon dozens—two men stood with their fists raised and their mouths open in snarls. Both appeared drunk, while behind them either friends or brief acquaintances shouted at the opposing parties, not bothering to keep their voices contained and therefore creating a much greater scene.

Great,
Odin thought, unsure whether to proceed toward the bar and get the night’s meal or to try and intervene.

His question was answered shortly after
his thought, when the man on the left side of the table turned his head and jabbed a hand at them.

“What are
you
looking at?” he asked, stepping toward Odin.

“Nothing,” Odin replied, sizing the man up as he came closer.

Being the same height as the man was, but with broader shoulders and an equally more muscular frame, he had no doubts that he could handle this drunkard should he attempt to strike him. So far, things seemed cool—all the less heated now that the two men had stopped fighting.

“Back off,” Virgin said.

“What did
you
say, pretty boy?”

“We don
’t want nothing to do with your fight,” Odin said, reaching up to brush the man’s finger away from his companion’s face.

Almost immediately, the man lashed out.

Odin dodged a punch.

The man
’s fist nearly connected with his head.

Shit.

Without so much as a second thought, Odin rammed his fist into the drunk’s gut. He fell, knees to the ground, with both hands on his stomach.

“Break it up,” the bartender said, stepping around the bar with a frying pan in hand. “You, there—red eyes.”

“What?” Odin asked.

“Are you a part of this?”

“We’re just looking for a room,” Virgin replied, placing a hand on Odin’s shoulder.

“Come to the bar. The pair of you,” he said, jabbing his fingers at the man on the floor and the man on the opposite side of the table, “get out of here, along with you lot.”

When the crowd began to disperse and they were able to make their way to the bar, Odin and Virgin settled themselves on the stools and leaned forward as the bartender slapped his hands down on the table. “Sorry about that.”

“You get drunks often?” Virgin asked, toying with a copper piece he had between his thumb, middle and index finger.

“Not unless I over serve them, no.”

“Do you?”

“I try not to,” the bartender laughed, guiding his attention to Odin a short moment later. “Are you all right?”

“I
’m fine.”

“I saw the punch. Good dodge.”

“I’m fast,” he replied.

The bartender laughed and turned to fill two mugs full of what appeared to be brandy. “Here, for the pair of you—on the house.”

“Thank you,” Odin said, taking his drink without so much as a second look back.

“You said you were looking for a room, correct?”

“Yes sir. We were.”

“I
’ll give it to you have off for your trouble. Five copper pieces.”

Virgin placed the copper piece he was idly toying with down on the bar, then reached into his sack of coin to pull the rest of the money out.

“All right then,” the bartender said, taking the pieces into his hand. “What would you folks like to eat?”

“Whatever you have,” Odin said.

Virgin only smiled.

“This snow is only going to make tomorrow worse,” Odin sighed, shrugging his cloak up his shoulders as Virgin bent to stoke the fire. “Maybe we should wait until it clears up.”

“Who
’s to say that won’t happen for a few days?” Virgin asked, raising his head from his work. “Be realistic, Odin—we can’t sit around an inn waiting for the weather to get better. We’re only wasting time and money.”

Yes,
he thought,
but wouldn’t you rather be in here with a warm fire than have to worry about freezing to death?

Preferring not to say anything in spite of his true feelings and the maelstrom taking place outside, Odin closed the brief distance between him and his companion, then settled down next to him with his legs crossed and his arms over his chest.

While the fire had yet to reach its maximum ferocity, the fact that it continued to burn was enough to reassure him that, at least for tonight, things would be just fine.

Virgin raised his eyes.

Odin frowned.

The Halfling set an arm across his shoulder, leaned to the side until their skulls touched, then sighed before settling back on his haunches, bracing his hands against his knees while he continued to stare into the crackling flames, lips pursed and a frown alight on his face.

What’re you thinking about?
Odin thought, tempted to set a hand at his companion’s back.

Without a clear conscience of whether o
r not he should do something, Odin merely sat there replicating Virgin’s action and tried not to turn his attention on his friend. The air was, he imagined, thick and taut, like a piece of muscle on the flank of some mighty beast, and could, if one wanted, be cut with a knife. An image of Virgin drawing his dagger from his jerkin only to cut a piece of the fabled meat from the air entered his mind and forced a shiver to run along his spine, rebound off his tailbone, then strike the base of his skull. That alone caused him to tremble—visibly, it seemed, for Virgin tore his eyes from the fire to look at him.

“Are you all right?” the older Halfling asked.

“I’m fine,” Odin said, once more shrugging his cloak around his shoulders.

“You don
’t think I’m being rash, are you?”

“Yes. I do. I understand your reasoning though.”

“If the weather keeps going at the rate it is,” Virgin said, “and if the Divide continues to allow the snow to pack up like it has been, then there’s a very good chance we might get stuck here.”

“How much longer would it take us to get out of the Divide if we went as fast as we
could?”

“Probably three days.”

“Are you sure it’s worth the risk to try and push through the snow, especially after what happened a few days ago?”

Virgin said nothing. His eyes once more fell back to the fire.

With a sigh more than ready to pass from his lips, Odin turned his head, leaned forward, then pressed a single kiss to Virgin’s stubbly cheek in the hopes that, if anything, it would bring a small amount of comfort to his uneasy friend.

“I
’m going to bed,” Odin said, unsnapping the brooch that held his cloak together and setting it at the end of the bed. “You staying up for a little while longer?”

“Just a little,” Virgin said. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“What you just did.”

Odin said nothing. After wrapping his arms around his older friend and holding him for one more moment, he stood, made his way to the bed, then pulled his boots from his feet before settling down under the covers.

At the foot of it all, Virgin continued to sit, wat
ching the fire with eyes clouded and unsure.

Despite the weather and what could have been presented as a terrifying opportunity, they embarked for Harpie’s Summit in the twilight hours of the morning freshly-fed and ready for just about anything. The wind bitter, the chill breathtaking and the snow falling just enough to where it could become a nuisance if it got any worse, Odin drew the hood of his cloak over his brow until he could barely see the road and tried to still his chattering teeth. As hard as he tried and how desperate his attempts, he could do nothing to keep his body from its natural reactions to the cold.

At his side, Virgin remained quiet—the silent, lone horseman who strayed ahead likely to keep distance between the two of them. Why, Odin couldn
’t be sure, for the Halfling had come to bed sometime after he’d fallen asleep and had wrapped his arm around his waist during the night. For whatever reason it was, Odin couldn’t dwell on it, if only because it seemed fruitless and instilled doubt within his heart.

Great,
he thought.
Just great.

Here he was—atop a horse, shivering in his saddle and unable to keep himself warm—trying to figure out why his companion would not speak or look at him.

What a wonderful way to start the morning.

Shifting, it only to ease his shaking hands that held the reins, Odin raised his eyes and tried to discern just how much further they would have until they reached Harpie
’s Summit.

“Virgin,” Odin said, raising his voice for the first time since they
’d embarked that morning.

“Yes?” his companion asked.

“The Point towns are only a day’s worth of travel apart from one another, right?”

“They are.”

“So we shouldn’t have to worry about cutting ourselves short today, right?”

“No, Odin. We
’ll be fine.”

All right. No need to be so grumpy about it.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, drawing closer to his companion before reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder. “You seem a little…”

“What?”

“Well… grumpy—or, at the very least, not really willing to talk.”

“I
’m sorry.”

“Is something bothering you, Virgin?”

“I’m just not used to being so far away from the Abroen. That’s all.”

“Are you getting homesick?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Nerves, I suppose.”

“Do you not want to leave?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to—because trust me, I’m more than willing if it means I get to stay with you. I guess… well… I’m not really sure how to explain it, if you want me to be perfectly honest.”