by Kody Boye
“You’re doing good,” Virgin whispered, clasping a hand around Odin’s right shoulder. “Just keep going at the speed you are and we should be out of here in no time.”
In the near distance, a dog barked.
Odin grimaced. He attempted to pause, if only to discourage anything from looking in their general direction, but Virgin tapped his shoulder and urged him forward.
“What was that?” a distant voice asked.
“I do not know,” another replied. “Probably nothing.”
Ok, Odin thought.
Not only had his heart begun to pound within his chest, but his breathing faltered and his eyes began to cross.
Virgin tapped his shoulder.
Odin nodded.
He continued to push forward regardless of the endless oppression at hand.
When he thought he heard someone drop something in their campsite, he offered only a grimace.
Nearby, what appeared to be a dirt road started from a seemingly-unbeknownst location and stretched into the great beyond.
“Don’t step on the road,” Virgin whispered.
“I won’t,” Odin replied.
A dog barked.
“There is something out there,” one of the Elves said. “We should send one of the dogs to investigate.”
“The dogs have been upset the entire night,” another replied. “It is probably nothing more than another fox.”
“Still, should we not—“
Before the Elf could reply, a chorus of laughter started up and continued on for several long moments before it eventually died down.
Odin closed his eyes.
You can do this, he thought. You know you can.
The night did not bode well.
They continued along the side of the road under the guise of Virgin’s cloak for what seemed like hours. An endless pursuit forward, toward a town they may not even reach come time when dawn peeked over the Hornblaris Mountains, Odin remained silent and tried not to allow his lesser inhibitions to crowd his feelings on the matter, but he couldn’t help but shiver in the chill echoing off the Whooping Hills like a great bird calling out to its mother on a long, lonely night.
You see? he thought. Everything’s just fine.
They hadn’t gotten caught, they hadn’t been followed, and so far as he could tell, the Elves hadn’t a clue that they had been anywhere near there, so who could say that their quest had been hindered?
“Are you cold?” Virgin whispered.
“A little,” Odin whispered back.
“I want us to keep going like this a little while longer, just until we don’t have to worry about the Elves catching up with us.”
“Did they know we were there?”
“I think they might have had an idea, yes.”
“Why didn’t they try and capture us then?”
“We’re criminals who stole one of the most damned texts in all the Elven language. Would you want to come wandering after us if you had no idea what we were capable of?”
“I guess not,” Odin sighed.
When Virgin offered nothing in response, Odin tilted his head up and tried to seek out the moon.
It shone like a piece of white bone. Normally, were they not shrouded under a cloak that hid them, their skin might have glowed, given the night and the fact that what Odin had thought were storm clouds had since disappeared. That alone was enough to make him uneasy with the fact that, were the Elves to have followed their natural intuition, and were they to have come free of the cloak they were under, they might have been captured in but a moment.
Could Elves, he wondered, see through the darkness, and if so, was that not why they hadn’t sent the dogs after them when they’d begun their incessant barking at seemingly nothing?
Does it matter?
Knowing in the end that it really didn’t, Odin pushed his shoulders back, reached up to rub the bridge of his nose, then bowed his head to try and contain the flowering spot of pain blossoming between his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Virgin asked.
“I’ll be better once I get a decent amount of sleep, I think.”
“All right.”
All right? he frowned. Is that all you’re going to say?
In their circumstance, he couldn’t afford to argue or question his companion’s motives, so he chose to remain silent and instead continued to lead them along, careful not to take one step too close in order not to leave tracks for their pursuers to follow. Doing so would surely lead them back down the path they’d just came from, one which need not be followed unless they were truly looking to get captured.
With a short sigh, Odin bowed his head.
The night waned on.
His conscience began to fade.
They stopped to rest for the remainder of the night in a group of trees that lay to the far side of the road. Deeply shrouded by bushes, hanging vines and a fantastic menagerie of flora, they lay nestled beneath a single blanket that did little to fight off the effects of the cold weather drifting in from the north. Odin expected snow to fall, as it seemed much too chilly for it to rain, but when neither came within the first few hours of their arrival, he closed his eyes, pressed his head against his one arm, then tried to go to sleep without having to worry about the weather or the Elves likely pursuing them.
By the time morning came, the first kiss of winter was bestowed upon them.
“I’ve never seen snow this far south,” Virgin said, lifting his hand to catch one of the flakes as it drifted from the sheer-white sky.
“You haven’t?” Odin frowned.
“No. It usually never snows here.”
“How odd.”
Maybe it was because of the mountain chain to the far southeast, or maybe it was simply the Gods granting them a message that said to tread lightly, less they fall into some chained apparatus meant to throw them back. Either way, he couldn’t dwell upon it, as soon the ground would be covered in snow and their tracks revealed whether they liked it or not.
“Are you ready?” Virgin asked.
“I’m ready,” Odin said, hiking the slight pack up over his shoulder and securing it around his upper arm.
“Are you sure you want to carry that?”
“I can. Don’t worry.”
“All right.” The older Halfling paused, toying with the exposed hilt of his dagger. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Just checking. You seem a lot perkier than you usually are.”
Maybe because I finally got my first decent night’s sleep in the past three days? he thought, but decided to say nothing.
Instead, he stepped out of the line of trees, then pressed both feet into the snow, testing its thickness before turning to examine his companion.
“You coming?” he asked.
Carefully, as if stepping onto a lake covered with ice that would break with one false step, Virgin pushed his foot into the snow before tilting his head up to offer a slight smile.
“You’re telling me you’ve never seen snow?”
“Not this far south, no.”
“Have you ever been near the edge of Ornala?”
“Not particularly, if you want my honest answer.”
“Question,” Odin said, turning to lead them up the road now covered with a sheen of ice.
“What’s that?”
“If you’re the thief that you claim to be, who did you pick on so far down here? It’s not as though you could steal from Elves that easily—at least, not judging from what we just did.”
“The Point towns that line the Dark Mountains are fairly accessible.”
“You’ve mentioned them before, but I don’t know a whole lot about them.”
“The Point towns are the three settlements that were established in the early days of humanity to coincide with the treaty that the Elves maintain their share of land and the humans not try to claim it. Drianna, Kalen’s Rise and Harpie’s Summit were all built in order to
bring peace between the two races.”
“You said Harpie’s Summit,” Odin said, drawing closer to his companion. “Why is it called that?”
“It’s the first Point town, and also the closest to the Harpie’s Peak, which is notorious for its native Banshee population.”
“Why would they name a town after such a wicked thing?”
“Because the town has since been fortified in order to handle the frequent attacks they endure,” Virgin shrugged. “I don’t know. Call them crazy, sure, but they manage to thrive and have a fairly-stable population, though I wouldn’t want to live there.”
“People actually live there?”
“Yeah. We’ll likely be passing through there if we plan on getting horses in Driana, which is the town we’re closest too.”
“All right.”
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Virgin laughed, slapping an arm around Odin’s shoulder and pulling him into his side. “Besides—I doubt we’ll have to worry about Harpie attacks, especially with the snow. Those whores don’t like flying in rain anyway.”
Rain is nothing like snow, Odin thought.
Regardless, he decided not to dwell on it and instead focused on the path before them.
It wouldn’t be much longer before they stepped foot within Drianna.
The snow progressively worsened until they were forced to settle down for the night. Trapped between a crop of rocks fit only for smaller animals and lesser primordial creatures, they draped their single quilt over the two largest rocks in sight and brushed the snow aside to place a magicked fire to keep them warm. Their scant pack filled only with days-old biscuits, jerky and a can of soup, they ate light and tried not to look into the snowstorm as it continued to grow more dreadful.
I wonder if it’s hitting the jungle, he thought, unable to help but frown.
Being so far away from the north and where the snow usually hit the worst, he could have never imagined having to deal with such hellacious weather, as never in his life had he heard of such a thing transpiring within the south. Then again, he would have never known about this chain of land in past months had he not picked up a map, so who was to say that such events couldn’t have happened before—unless, of course, Virgin was right and that snow seldom did fall here.
“Are you cold?” Virgin asked.
“Sort of,” Odin thought, only noticing that he’d been shivering because of his companion’s words.
“Come here.”
With little else to do, Odin scooted away from the fire and fell back against Virgin, who draped his cloak around them and wrapped his arms around his abdomen.
“Thank you,” Odin whispered, pressing his back into his companion’s chest.
“Is that better?”
“Yes.”
“Are you warmer?”
“I’ll warm up soon enough,” Odin sighed, channeling magic into the cloak and around their bodies. “What about that?”
“Much better, if you ask me.”
“I wish it wasn’t snowing.”
“So do I, but there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it, can we?”
Though he could offer no word in response, Odin’s mind eventually began to entertain fantasies of things far more wicked than the average snowstorm—much like, for example, the Harpies, who could be torn from their roosts and into the countryside in search of food.
“Virgin,” he said, opening his eyes to look back into the white wasteland. “Where do the Harpies hunt?”
“So far as I know, only within Denyon. Why? Are you still worried about them?”
“What do they eat?”
“Probably whatever they can get their hands on. They say there’s wild cattle populations in the Dark Lands, though I’m not one to ask whether that’s true or not. You didn’t answer my question though.”
“Sorry?”
“Are you worried about the Harpies?”
“To be honest,” Odin said. “A little.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Odin. I highly doubt they’d be trying to navigate in this weather.”
“I guess,” he mumbled.
As the frigid cold continued to blow across the Great Divide, marking its progress in heaps and barrels, Odin couldn’t help but feel as though he were back in the past, upon the grand island of Neline and enduring weather that could have killed him so long ago.
The Kerma, he thought. Miko.
Tears would have slipped from his eyes had he not the courage to shy them away.
“Who’s taking first watch?” Odin asked.
“I will,” Virgin said.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry, Odin. I’ve had enough sleep the past few nights to know that I’m probably better off than you.”
There was no arguing with that.
Closing his eyes, Odin took a slow, deep breath, then expelled it.
Had he watched the air before him, he imagined he would have seen his breath.
He thought he heard the flutter of wings and opened his eyes to find the world dark and unforgiving.
Beneath the shroud of the quilt, it would have appeared they had embarked upon the final frontier, as the world seemed distraught and filled with agony. The snow—which no longer produced its own luminescence and instead lay stagnant like some retched toad peering up from a bog—continued to flutter about as if it were a creature with wings. Fairy dust would have been a marvelous term to describe it, had he been a child indoors and looking out and upon it, but in that moment, Odin couldn’t help but feel as though the depths of insanity had been birthed upon their wings. Any sane or rationale man would have been able to see that the magnitude of their predicament had increased tremendously, for it was within the depths of darkness that one would have been able to look out and see just how horrible the situation had become. It was for that reason that, during his time looking out and into the black nothing, Odin felt anything but safe.
As if he were the very last man on earth, he turned his head up and looked out into the darkness.
Directly behind him, Virgin continued to sleep as though nothing was going on. His hands at Odin’s abdomen, locked together by fingers and sleet, burned a bright red, as if they’d just been freshly scalded in the hottest water possible, while the constant ebb of the Halfling’s breath produced an affect akin to the water evaporating into steam, which repeated itself every few moments and brushed across Odin’s ear like a pair of lips frozen and blue. Such a thing might have brought him comfort had they been in less torrential circumstances, but because they were not, he couldn’t help but shiver.
This is Hell, Odin thought.
How could it not be when it seemed never to end—when outside, the world appeared torn and bleeding? It would have been fit to say that the ground beneath them was not, in fact, ground, and instead was the back of a creature made of things soft and worldly. Shifting, it would have been, for the things it carried were impure, and moving forward it would have continued, attempting to shake them free to devour them whole. The very snow could have been its fur, lost to the torments of mange and freed by agitation, while the cold itself this grand thing slowly succumbing to the reality of the darkened world. It would have seemed perfectly capable, as such things are usually possible in extreme situations, but it seemed not to matter in a moment where everything seemed to come together and eclipse as one major whole.
In but one breath of time—when he couldn’t help but feel as though lost and filled with the utmost regret—Odin found himself shivering not for the cold, but the fear that ran his heart and laced his veins.
“Virgin,” he whispered.
Though he didn’t turn to see just what his partner did, Odin could feel the Halfling’s body tense and instantly recoil. Virgin’s legs, which had been spread out and around his hips, curled back, while his hands immediately tightened to the point where it felt he’d just been struck in the stomach. His breath lost, his body trembling, Odin fell forward and pushed
his hands into the snow while Virgin coughed and shifted in his place.
Above, the quilt, pregnant with snow, began to bow.
“Virgin,” Odin repeated, turning his eyes up. “Virgin! Virgin!”
“What?” the Halfling asked.
“Get up!”
“What’s wron—“
The quilt collapsed.
Snow exploded over the scenery.
Virgin was instantly covered.
In the following moments, no movement came from beneath the snow.
Stunned and unable to move, Odin merely stood there, shivering in the cold and waiting for something to happen.
What are you doing? his conscience chided. Get over there!
In but a moment he threw himself forward and began tearing the snow from his partner’s form. Hands burning and nose running to the point where it seemed his snot would turn to icicles, he thrust his fingers into the sheer white mass and strained for the quilt that had to lie just beneath the surface.
No.
He couldn’t find the quilt, no matter how hard he tried.
Where could Virgin have gone? Had he thrown himself short despite the obvious rocks that pockmarked the ground? It should have been right there, right in front of him and between the two rocks, yet he could see nothing. Not even the rocks were visible in the darkness and beneath all the snow.
“Virgin!” Odin screamed. “Virgin!”
He expected lightning to strike overhead—to signal the coming of a storm so great and fierce only it could have torn the world asunder—but instead there was nothing. Not even the snow let up in spite of the fact that he was now in the open and completely vulnerable to the elements.
Raising his hands, Odin began to channel white fire into them, all the more ready to free his companion from the snow’s oppressing weight.
A thought occurred to him.
Were he to move snow from one location and atop of another, who was to say that Virgin would not be covered even more?
“Virgin! VIRGIN!”
A growl sounded behind him.
He spun.
His swords were out within a moment.
Standing directly before him with their lips snarled and their shoulders hunched forward were three wolves, which appeared to be black specters in a world without life. Their eyes—almost like black pits of nothing—watched him with a cunning ferocity he feared and revered at the absolute same time. He’d never been one to cower under the stare of regular animals, to turn his head to shy away from earthly persecution, but in the face of these horrible creatures, he couldn’t help but tremble.