Brotherhood Saga 03: Death Read online

  Upon arriving at the structure, as cracked and withered as it was from lack of repair, Nova presented himself at the front desk and waited for the man sifting through the records to come and greet him.

  “Hello, sir,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Parfour Jonathanson and the mage brothers Icklard and Domnin.”

  “They should be around here somewhere. Let me have a moment to find them for you.”

  Nova seated himself in the chair beside the door and crossed his arms over his chest while waiting for the secretary to wander through the hallways. Outside—in the cold, darkened sky—the weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worst. Hail once more fell from the heavens in thick, meaty drops the size of his thumbnail and thrust itself at the windows like fists bashing onto a table. At one moment, he thought it would shatter the glass and send those in cots into blots of pain, though when they didn’t he offered himself a sigh and bowed his chin to his chest.

  Get a hold of yourself. You’re too old to be thinking like this.

  Then again, who was to say that age had anything to do with susceptibility to fear?

  A series of footsteps echoed toward him.

  Nova raised his eyes.

  Parfour, Icklard and Domnin stepped forward with the secretary shortly behind.

  “Nova,” Parfour said. “What brings you here?”

  “I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, standing.

  “I assume you’re returning home,” Domnin said. Icklard nodded at his side.

  “Not home… there isn’t one to return to, at least not yet. I meant Ornala.”

  “I’m glad to hear your family is safe,” Icklard said.

  “What’ll you do about Odin?” Parfour frowned.

  “There isn’t much we can do right now,” Nova sighed, allowing his arms to hang limp at his sides. “Honestly, Parfour… Odin’s going to do what he has to do. There isn’t anything we can do to stop or bring him back.”

  “There’s no reason for you to stay here,” Domnin said, reaching out to press a hand against Nova’s shoulder. “You have a life to live, at least until whatever happens next happens.”

  “What will you do while I’m gone?” Nova asked.

  “We’ll do what we always do,” Icklard said, looking up at his brother. “Wait.”

  “I’ll do the same,” Parfour said. “There are men dying that need my help… my guidance.”

  “I’ll see the three of you again,” Nova said, reaching out to shake each of their hands. “Thank you for helping me, but most of all, thank you for helping Odin.”

  Though he needed no acknowledgment, Nova left with pride in his heart that he hadn’t held in moments before.

  “You ready to go after this rain settles down?” Nova asked, carefully arranging their belongings within an empty saddlebag.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Carmen said, shifting through her own meager pack of goods.

  Nodding, but all the more determined to start out once the storm died down, Nova flushed his fingers over the intricate rubies inlaid within his scythe and couldn’t help but sigh when he thought of Odin and how he must have felt.

  Was it different, he thought, than my own father’s death?

  Of course it was—to think anything less was blind, ignorant beyond all means and unforgiveable in the slightest. If anything, he’d at least known the man who’d become his adoptive father throughout his entire life up until the day he turned seventeen. Odin, though—he’d gone five years of knowing their friend without the knowledge that they held a lineage within one another: that, regardless of their differences, their height and their hair, they were one and the same, father and son and bonded in blood.

  “Nova,” Carmen said.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re thinking about something.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

  “I was never good at hiding what was on my mind,” he laughed, securing the final knot on one of the saddle’s many sacks and lifting it over his shoulder.

  “You’re thinking about Odin, aren’t you?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  But you are, his conscience whispered. You know you are.

  Shaking his head, casting his hair from his face and over his shoulders, he turned to survey the horses around them and tried to decide which would better serve their purpose. His eyes first fell to a beautiful black mare, then a chestnut-colored stallion before they eventually came to rest upon the red and beige Cadarian mount Odin had purveyed for them on the outskirts of the desert. He was much more inclined to take it, if only because they could push it more than the other horses. Besides—it held such sentimental value that it seemed wrong not to take it with them.

  After placing the saddle on a rack beside the horse stalls, Nova turned his head down and watched the Dwarf spool marbles into her palm.

  “What’re those?” he asked.

  “Material things,” Carmen replied. “If you want me to be honest, though, my father gave them to me when I was a child.”

  “They’re nice.”

  “I think so. I used to play a mean game of marbles when I was a girl.”

  “You think you could still play?”

  “Probably, but there doesn’t seem to be much use for it anymore.”

  How quickly childhood could go by.

  Crouching down, Nova plucked one of the small spheres from its place in the hay and lifted it before his vision. “Cat’s eye,” he smiled.

  “My favorite one,” Carmen said, taking it from Nova’s outstretched fingers and pressing it back into her bag.

  “You’re not nervous about going back to Ornala… are you, Carmen?”

  “Not particularly. I’d like to return to Arbriter eventually—at least, if nothing ends up going on—but for now I’m content with staying with you. There isn’t much more I can do anyway unless I want to hang around here.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t.”

  “Not really.”

  Outside, lightning cracked the horizon and spilled light across the sky.

  Nova raised his eyes.

  Though he had no idea how much longer the rain would continue, he had a feeling that tomorrow, if they were able to start out, their venture would be thick and filled with mud.

  The rain continued to progressively worsen throughout the night. Bearing down upon them in great sheets, once more creating thick globules of hail and screaming like some old hag in the middle of a great, deserted wood—the sounds eventually began to wear on Nova’s conscience and tore him from sleep each time thunder would rumble and the wind would hiss along the buildings.

  At his side, Carmen rested blissfully, content with their surroundings and what was going on outside.

  Don’t get mad, he thought, easing himself onto his pillow and the outstretched forearm that lay beneath it. There’s nothing you can do about it, so settle down.

  What he wanted to do was scream, to throw himself from the floor and at the windows to demand to God or the Gods that someone, something stop this horrible, atrocious weather. The knowledge that he would not only cause a scene, but draw every angry eye in the room froze him in his spot and forced him to remain stoic and under the covers.

  “It’s just a little rain,” he whispered.

  A flash of lightning flickered across the sky. A rolling, echoing drone of thunder followed soon after.

  Sighing, no longer able to contain himself or his emotions, he pushed himself into a sitting position, ran his hand through his hair, then set his palm over his forehead and prayed for at least one moment of sleep.

  How could he be so vulnerable to such hellacious situations? He’d never been like this before.

  You know why you are.

  Did it matter that death had recently entered his life—that the doorkeeper, cold and honorable, had opened the threshold and allowed in the spirits of doom and gloom? He figured it h
ad to, at least in one form or another, as his emotions had been off-center for the past week-and-a-half. To think absolutely nothing was wrong with him was to dip a living thing within a boiling pan of water and expect it not to scream.

  “You’re just stressed,” he mumbled, leaning back against the chair that his head had just recently took refuge under. “Give yourself some time. You’ll get over it.”

  Could he really, in the end, get over the death of such a close friend?

  You saved my life, he thought. For that, I can never repay you.

  The rain continued on.

  A bead of moisture slipped from his eye and traced its way down his face.

  It could have been the first time he cried since the entire ordeal began.

  The night rose to morning and struck shards of light across the sky. Haunting the far horizon like some deathly thing creeping into the garden of the living, its hand of mottled, grey flesh spread over the sky and seemed to encapsulate all but one brief glimmer of hope within its mighty fist. First to rise, but surely not last to greet the new day, Nova pushed himself to his feet just in time to see the double doors open and the Dwarf wander in with an oversized hat that covered her entire brow except the beginnings of her eyelashes.

  “Good morning,” Carmen said, without a pause in her beat.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked, unable to restrain the smile that pulled the corners of his lips.

  “I found this in the store across the street.”

  “Did you pay for it?”

  “The man running it gave it to me, so no, I didn’t, but I would’ve and you know it.”

  “Oh, I know. Don’t worry.”

  “It looks like we’ll be dealing with some weather today. Hope you’re in the mood to get a little wet—unless you’d like to borrow my hat, of course.”

  “I’ll pass,” Nova laughed, buttoning his jerkin in place. He turned his attention to the small pack at Carmen’s side and smiled when he realized it must have been full of more of her trinkets. “Are you ready?”

  “Just as soon as we eat. Then we’ll be out the door.”

  A quick breakfast of biscuits and jerky later, they were seated atop the long-haired Cadarian mount and making their way north, away from the city and ultimately the sight of war. A low tune hummed beneath her throat and her hat sturdy atop her head, Carmen ran her fingers through the stallion’s long fine mane and tilted her head up occasionally to look at the darkening sky around them. It would likely rain, give or take the next few hours, but that didn’t necessarily matter, so long as they weren’t ambushed by Marsh Walkers or anything of the sort.

  We’re too far away to be worrying about them, Nova thought.

  Still—he couldn’t help but fear for their safety when it came to the two of them riding atop one beast of burden. Surely Carmen could not strike an enemy with her mace, and while he had a scythe that he could very easily disengage from its sheath at his back, he didn’t feel as though he would be able to maneuver both the horse and keep Carmen safe at the same time.

  “Feeling all right?” Nova asked, looking down at the Dwarf that sat between his legs.

  “I’m all right,” Carmen said, tilting her head up just enough to allow the two of them to look at one another. “Why? Something wrong?”

  “I’m just worried about the trip, that’s all.”

  “Something happen to you coming up this way?”

  “Coming down from Ornala, actually. Me and Odin had to deal with a bunch of Marsh Walkers.”

  “Nasty critters. Not that I’ve ever seen one, but I’ve heard of them. Doesn’t sound like something you’d like to run into.”

  No, Nova thought. They aren’t.

  Taking a breath through his nose, then expelling it out his mouth, he adjusted himself in his seat and reached back to scratch his back, his attention only faltering when his eyes strayed to the sides of the road and the fresh graves that still had yet to be reclaimed by grass and other natural flora.

  No more than two weeks ago, they’d burned their own dead beneath these grounds, all to keep them from coming back to life.

  Rest in peace, my friends.

  He said but a quick prayer before returning his attention to the road.

  The rain was held at bay either by divine intervention or miraculous luck for the rest of the afternoon and early into the evening. Unease wavering at the back of his neck and sparking alight the hairs on his arms, Nova navigated the horse directly down the center of the road and tried not to allow his eyes to falter toward the darkness around them, which seemed all the greater due to the fact that the moon had not yet risen from behind the clouds.

  “Nova,” Carmen whispered.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Why are you being so quiet?”

  I don’t know, he thought.

  Maybe it was because he felt as though someone—or, more likely, something—was watching them, or maybe it was paranoia caused by nothing more than instinctual fear of the dark. While he’d never considered himself a coward or anything of the sort, it took very little knowledge to realize that in such pitch-black darkness, anything could be watching and one wouldn’t even know it.

  “Nova,” Carmen said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “Why I’m being so quiet.”

  “Do you feel like something’s watching us?”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “I’ve felt like that for the past little while too.”

  Surely the horse would have been spooked had something been following them, wouldn’t it?

  Now you’re overthinking the matter, he thought, sighing, the hairs on the back of his neck only continuing to stiffen as the moments continued on. Come on, Nova—get a hold of yourself. You can do this.

  “Of course I can,” he whispered. “Nothing to be afraid of here.”

  A twig snapped nearby.

  Before him, Carmen unclasped and drew her mace.

  “Do we have a light?” Nova whispered, pressing a hand to the Dwarf’s back.

  “I don’t. Do you?”

  No.

  “No.”

  The twig snapped once more.

  The source of the sound became more discernable as whatever it was marched through the nearby outcrop of trees and proceeded toward the road. Though unable to see the creature in pure, concrete detail, it was easy enough to see that it was well over eight feet tall, enough to put his six-foot form atop a horse of the same height to shame. Carmen, who sat before him trembling with her mace drawn and held at the ready, drew back against him as if to seek comfort, though whatever comfort she wished upon herself Nova could not give.

  Do we run?

  Didn’t animals predatory and of violent nature always pursue fleeing pray—a sign of weakness, a message of defeat, an atonement of selflessness so strong and powerful that any and all things evil and cruel would want to pursue and chase down with the utmost authority?

  In those brief moments following his initial thought, Nova knew full and well that it would be impossible for them to run from whatever creature this was. For that reason, he steadied his grip on the reins and reached back to free his scythe from its sheath, which came out and whispered in the darkness the scratch of metal along the inside of rough, broken-down leather.

  “Come at us,” Carmen whispered. “Know our wrath.”

  Nova gritted his teeth.

  The creature fell to all fours and began to progress slowly.

  Like a cat stalking its prey—whether it be a bird, a mouse or even a worm—it began first by pressing forward and then circling them. The horse blind, possibly by darkness or even by fear, Nova forced the stallion to turn in tune with the stalking creature and waved his scythe about the air in an attempt to create a sign of danger that could possibly shoo the thing away. From his current vantage point, he felt as though he could identify the creature, if only because of its lupine form and long, extended snout, but
a part of him didn’t want to believe that they were being stalked by a werewolf or anything of the sort.

  “Do you know what it is?” Carmen whispered.

  “Yeah,” Nova said. “I do.”

  The creature stopped pacing them.

  The horse whinnied.

  The werewolf stood to its full height and spread its arms at its side.

  Nova lashed out.

  The creature dodged.

  Carmen flung her mace forward and caught the creature hard enough to cause it to yip.

  The horse screamed, then took off down the road.

  Carmen flew back into Nova’s chest and would have fallen off had she not reached up to tangle her fingers within the horse’s mane.

  “Ouch ouch ouch!” she cried, bowing her body forward and grabbing onto the reins. “Why is he running! Why? Why!”

  “It must’ve hurt him,” Nova said.

  Behind them, the creature kept pace at least a breath away. Panting, grunting, whispering under its breath a growl that could be signal for a pounce—Nova kicked his feet into the horse’s ribs and held his scythe steady at his side as they continued north and up the long road that led directly from Ornala to the city of Dwaydor. Heart racing, mind about ready to collapse within his skull, he turned his head just in time to see the creature’s outstretched claw bearing down upon him.

  Nails screamed across his armor and drew blood across the horse’s flank.

  The creature screamed.

  “WHAT HAPPENED!” Carmen screamed.

  “IT GOT THE HORSE!” Nova cried. “IT FUCKING GOT HIM!”

  The werewolf roared.

  Nova wrapped his arm around Carmen and pulled her from the horse.

  At a speed undeterminable if only by the pace at which they flew through the air, he fell to the ground with the Dwarf clutched to his chest and his scythe hanging near his side. The impact alone was enough to force the air from his chest, drowning him in a sea of fear and sorrow, while his back screamed bloody murder like a child lost from its mother and wandering about the dark alone. Help me, he would have said, had he the breath or notion to do so, but in that moment it need not matter, for as they came to a grinding halt Nova felt on his back a million shards of pain bearing down upon him from each and every impression of his armor.