by Kody Boye
“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 site 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.
Odin 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.
“Good evening,” the young man said, looking up as Odin stepped off the last stair.
“I thought I was being quiet,” Odin smiled.
“You were. I just have good hearing.”
“Is it all right if I bother you for a little while?”
“It’s fine.” Parfour closed the book with a single flush of his hand. “Can’t sleep?”
“I haven’t been able to sleep during thunderstorms lately. Don’t ask me why.”
“They seem to be worse in the winter,” the young man shrugged, nodding as Odin seated himself in the chair across from him. “Something on your mind?”
“I want to go back to the place where we burned my father’s body.”
“You mean on the outskirts of town,” Parfour said, waiting for a nod before he continued. “Would you like me to take you, or…”
“I’ve asked Virgin to go along with me.”
“Not to push you into answering, but… is he—“
“The person I’ve been sleeping with?” Odin asked. “Yes. He is.”
“All right then.”
“What about you? Have you found a girl?”
“Unfortunately, no. My service to the church requires me to be celibate.”
“You’ll be a priest soon, you know.”
“I know, but I’m not worried about finding someone to sleep with—at least, not anytime soon.”
“It’ll come in time,” Odin said. “You just have to wait for the right person.”
“Where did you meet him, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Outside the Abroen. I asked if he would take me to the capital and he said yes.”
“Just like that?”
“He’s a bit of a nomad. He only left because… well… you know.”
At that, Parfour offered a nod, immediately dispelling need for further clarification.
After stretching his arms over his head, Odin leaned back in his seat, looked about the room, then allowed his eyes to fall back on his friend, who offered a slight nod of approval before rising and making his way to a tea table, where he filled two glasses full of the amber liquid before returning.
&
nbsp; “You plan on going back to the kingdom,” Parfour said, reseating himself soon after passing Odin’s cup to him. “At least, I assume that’s what you’re doing, all things considering.”
“I have to. I’ve been gone for nearly a year.”
“Most everyone who was here left soon after you disappeared.”
“Icklard and Domnin? Ardut? What about Carmen and Nova? Where’d they go?”
“Icklard and Domnin followed the battalion to the mouth of Denyon and returned with the main human force shortly afterward. Ardut left once the ill and injured here were tended to and Nova and Carmen left three or four days after you left.”
“So they’re already back in the capital. All of them.”
“I assume so, yes.”
“Have you heard any news from Ornala?”
“Other than that they’ve been expanding the town south of the wall to house the refugees from here and Ke’Tarka? No. Not really.”
“So you don’t know anything about Nova and Carmen then.”
“Sadly, no.”
With a sigh, Odin sipped his tea, then bowed his head before lacing his fingers beneath the table, all the while trying to cope with the reality that it would be at least a week once they embarked from here until he would know anything about his companions, if then.
I won’t know if Katarina’s ready to have her child, he thought. Or if Carmen really does have that giant dog.
Hopefully some semblance of normalcy had returned to his friends’ lives. Nova and Katarina deserved to start their family and raise their baby boy, if only because they’d gone through so much together over the past few years, and while Carmen would never necessarily have a normal life until she was reunited with her husband, at least she had the company of others.
“Odin,” Parfour said, tilting his head down to look him in the eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how much I’ve missed.”
“You went through a rough time. You deserved to find happiness.”
“You really think I’ve found it?”
“Do you?”
Yes, he thought. Maybe.
He couldn’t argue that Virgin had done much for his happiness. Without him, he would have never been able to find his way through the Abroen, would have died when the Nagani had attacked him, would never have had the courage to strike Jarden over the head or steal the book and make his flight from the castle. He would have never even made it outside the doorway had it not been for the Halfling’s help, nor would he have escaped the city in the nick of time to escape the Elves quickly pursuing them. Had Virgin not stepped into his life—had he not placed a knife to his throat and threatened to rob him—he would have never went as far as he had and would not have returned in such wholesome conditions.
Were he to say that he had not found happiness in the one man he considered to be the most important person in his life, he would not only be deceiving himself, but the entirety of what had occurred between them.
“I don’t know if I’ve found it,” Odin sighed, tilting his head back up. “I know that I’m happier than I was before.”
“It takes time, recovering from a friend’s death. You’ll probably never be over it, but at least each day brings you one step further out of the pit of despair you’ve been in.”
Odin closed his eyes.
Though he believed heavily in the idea that time would free anyone from the persecution life bestowed upon them, he could not live with the idea that his father would never again grace his life.
After he stood, bid Parfour goodnight, then returned to bed, he only realized once more what he would have to do.
In but a few weeks’ time, he would come to know the Book of the Dead and all its secrets.
They stood on the outskirts of Dwaydor in full winter attire staring at a place where, almost a year ago, an Elf had burned. Wrapped in a coat so thick Odin felt as he would be swallowed by its thick layers and its fur-lined interior, he shifted in place as if fumbling through the maw of some great predatory rodent and tried to keep his emotions intact, but to no avail. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, snot filled the insides of his nose, and the horrible cold seemed all the more willing to destroy him in a place where emotions could not be summoned to attend the weak-hearted.
This is it, he thought, bowing his head to shield his eyes not only from his friend and companion, but to recant on the past.
He had, once upon a time, thought and said those words on the way home from Ohmalyon—when, nearly two years ago, he and the man he had not known was his father looked upon the Ornalan Coastline and saw in the distance the shining figure of a castle. It had been in that moment that he believed his future would be intact, that he would soon become a knight and would one day lead another squire of his own, to defend their kingdom from any outside force. That moment, as distant as it seemed, was all the more clear in his mind, if only because his previous thought had once more led him to things that had happened long ago.
“Are you all right?” Virgin asked.
“I don’t know,” Odin said.
He did not lie, as in retrospect he could not discern his emotions for what they really were. There seemed an ounce of materialism within his mind, that of which came from the moments they had shared and the time in which they had spent together, and there was obviously an immense amount of gratitude for the fact that the Elf had taught him so much. For that, he couldn’t understand just what he was feeling, as it seemed in moments of great distress that sadness ruled everything and kept any good soul from relating what they currently felt.
I’m sad, Odin thought, and want to cry.
But he couldn’t, of course, for Miko had said that human emotions were for the weak—that crying for someone, dead or not, was to reveal a weakness that could be easily exploited. Any intelligent person would be able to see that someone crying was, in fact, vulnerable, and could as such use it to their advantage, but wouldn’t any intelligent creature know that such actions were the result of a deeply-rooted method in which all sentient life had been crafted?
Not knowing what to say or do, Odin tilted his head up and looked at Parfour, who had since crouched down near the side of the road.
“It’s never recovered,” Parfour said, tilting his eyes up at Odin when the patch of scorched earth was revealed from beneath the snow. “Not once.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Odin asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe the grass just wasn’t ready to grow back and was just waiting. Or maybe it means something more. Maybe…”
Maybe… what? Odin wondered.
That the earth lay testament to his father’s passing—that the grass, upon which the birch and bark had been set, had mourned for the Elf’s passing; that the land, so old and full of wonder, had marked this place as something great: as a cannon to all living creatures to know that something great and wonderful and old and mysterious had given its life o save its progeny? It could be said that the earth, when greatly wounded, could cry out in pain—that Gaia, so great and mighty, could mark the passage of time in ways that normal men could see—but if that were the case, then why would it be marked here, in such forms of scorched grass, if not in the form of something wonderful, like a tree or even the gentle formation of rocks in the shape of something wonderful?
“I want to say a prayer,” Parfour said, standing, taking a few steps back and lacing both hands together before allowing them to fall, conjoined, over his waist. “Is that all right with you?”
“It’s fine with me,” Odin said.
In truth, a prayer might have been just what he needed.
Parfour bowed his head and closed his eyes. Odin did the same, though didn’t bother to wait and see whether or not Virgin would reciprocate.
“Dear God,” the young acolyte said, his voice pure, strong and focused despite its obvious tremble. “I call upon you today to know
that we mourn the loss of the creature you created and respect the decision you held in calling upon his service in the great land of Heaven. As one of your disciples, and as one of your children, I know how difficult the decision must have been to take our great friend away from us, but I know that you did not do so out of ignorance or arrogance. Please, hear my plea—keep our friend safe and within your heart, beneath your arm and behind your rib, and please, allow us the strength and courage we need in order to continue on with our lives. It is without you that all men are lost, and in such times of pain and sorrow, we cannot afford to wander blindly without your candle. Amen.”
“Amen,” Odin and Virgin said.
A slight wind came up and disturbed the snow on the patch of scorched earth.
Odin closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.
Virgin tightened his arm around his shoulders.
It would seem in such dark moments that happiness could not be found.
“Are you sure you have to leave now?” Parfour asked, shivering in three layers of clothing as Odin secured his horse’s saddle across its stomach and checked to make sure all of their belongings were safe and sound. “You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
“I know,” Odin said, turning to brace his hands on his young friend’s shoulders. “I need to get back to the capital, return to my king and let him know that I’m still alive, regardless of whatever rumors are currently spreading throughout the kingdom.”
“All right,” the young man sighed, tilting his head down to stare at the boots on his feet.
Odin closed the distance between them, wrapped an arm around Parfour’s shoulder, then planted a firm kiss against the young man’s brow. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home. It means the world to me.”
“Come back soon, won’t you?”
“I will,” Odin smiled. “I promise.”
Virgin lifted his head from his place in the stable and offered a slight smile and nod.
“Well my friend,” Odin sighed. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”
“Not goodbye,” Parfour said. “‘See you later.’”