Strength of Fate - 12. Chapter Twelve

The continuing days fell to routine. Dry, dusty trails led them faithfully eastward, bounding through small towns and villages. Their way remained on regularly patrolled arterial routes, so highwaymen were rare occurrences. While they were of little concern to Nathan and Brohm, not having to deal with bandits was a boon.

Cormac continued to sheepishly voice his concern he wasn’t required to be their guide. In response, Brohm reminded him that his given task was secondary. His trust toward the old monk seemed to be growing, however, much to Nathan’s relief. Travelling days on end with someone tends to reveal their true character, and Cormac’s thoughtful nature was on display for all to witness.

Brohm’s temper had simmered down as well. Perhaps it was because there was nothing to be enraged about in the middle of nowhere, but Nathan didn’t care. He had no doubt Brohm would find something to be angry about once they arrived at Etton Crossing, but for now, if Brohm was happy, so was Nathan.

Nine days into their journey, they reached a drastic change in their surroundings. Instead of tedious grasslands and forests, the eastern road wormed its way over foothills. Beyond, vast mountains loomed.

Cormac slowed to a stop, turning his mount to speak to them. “’Tis where the road gets more treacherous. Last time I travelled it, there were two landslides. I was told they’re cleared regularly, but ’tis a lot of road to maintain.” He gestured in an arc. “Beyond that mountain range is Etton Crossing.”

“Are we travelling over those mountains?” Nathan asked, the memory of Dead Man’s Pass still strong in his mind.

Cormac shook his head. “’Tis a trade route. Nothing that dangerous.”

“What about food?” Brohm asked. “Should’ve we stocked up at the last town?”

Again, Cormac shook his head. “There are traveller inns at regular intervals.”

“Ugh, my favourite,” Brohm said, rolling his eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” Nathan said in a teasing tone. “Let’s get moving.”

They soon reached the first lodging at the foot of the mountain range. Despite there being three hours of light left, they decided to stop for the day for safety’s sake. The ramshackle building, nestled within evergreens, appeared deserted as they approached.

“You sure this is still a trade route?” Nathan asked Cormac.

The monk looked back, distraught. “’Twas many years since I travelled it, but I just assumed . . .”

Brohm pointed at gentle smoke, nearly invisible, rising from the chimney. “Well, somebody’s home.”

He took the initiative and walked up to the nearest window, peering in. A moment later, he waved at someone within. The front door opened, and a man popped his head out.

“Ye’re an early bunch,” he said. “Stoppin’ to eat or stayin’ the night?”

“Both,” Brohm replied.

“Well, get yer horses stabled and c’mon in.”

The inn’s accommodations were best described as limited. There was a common area for eating, and another room lined with cots. Whoever built the place had little concern for privacy.

“Cormac, I thought you said this was a traveller’s inn, not a barracks,” Brohm muttered.

The monk shrugged. “’Tis better than being out in the cold, is it not?”

The proprietor arrived at their table with three tankards of ale. “As I said, ye’re early. Supper’s still cookin’. Name’s Tully.”

“What’s on the menu?” Brohm asked.

“Same as always: beef stew.”

Brohm let out a small groan. “Reckon I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Tully laughed, crossing his arms. “I’m guessin’ ye haven’t travelled this road before?”

“You guessed right,” Nathan said, scratching his arm.

“In that case, I’am bearer of bad news. Travellin’ the pass will be a repeat, day after day. I don’t own th’ place, Etton Crossing gov’ment does. I just keep ’er running. We get traders mostly, but o’ course we sometimes get travellers such as yerself.”

“So you gotta eat beef stew forever?” Brohm asked incredulously.

Tully’s eyes sparkled as he laughed again. “Nah, nah. We take shifts, jus’ a week on, week off. The missus would miss me somethin’ awful if I was here for good, not t’mention me own sanity, eh?”

He pantomimed hanging himself with a tongue sticking out for emphasis. Brohm let out a chuckle, but it came out awkward. Tully either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Anyway, I’ll keep yer tankards filled. Just gimme a holler,” he said as he returned to the kitchen.

They thanked him, then—eager to wash the dust from their throats—sipped at their drink. It was warm.

Brohm grimaced. “Reckon I’d go nuts living here before week’s end.”

Nathan snorted a laugh while Cormac presented Brohm with a chiding look.

“Now, now. ’Tis no reason to be harsh. The man provides a valuable service. Yes, I would imagine this job can be hard, yet he seems to be able to weather it well enough.”

“All the more power to him,” Nathan replied. “I’m with Sid. I’d go crazy if all I could eat was beef stew and warm ale.”

Regardless, they all sipped their drinks again. It wasn’t nearly as bad this time. Brohm leaned back in his chair slightly, offering Nathan a sly grin before speaking.

“So, Cormac . . . you killed someone, yuh?”

The monk choked on his ale. Nathan didn’t appreciate Brohm’s bluntness, but kept his mouth shut. Instead, he shot a glance back, expressing his displeasure. Cormac coughed again, yet managed to compose himself swiftly enough.

“I suppose I do owe you a proper explanation—”

“No, you don’t,” Nathan interjected. “It’s your own business, your own life.”

Cormac held up a finger. “You’ve shared your secrets with me. ’Tis only fair I share mine.”

Brohm leaned in, and Nathan followed suit, allowing Cormac to speak softly. Even though they were alone in the large common area, and Tully busy in the kitchen, it was better to keep things isolated from prying ears.

“I had been a loyal monk for many decades. The order, ’twas my life. I still follow the tenets despite my banishment. The most important—what I try to uphold every day—is to help those in need. ’Tis such a simple task, is it not?”

Nathan and Brohm shrugged their shoulders in response.

“After what happened, I was—”

“Whoa, hold up,” Brohm said. “You skipped over the ‘what’. What happened?”

Cormac held his hands together and bit his lip. “On a day like any other, I was tasked with sweeping the upper level of our keep. ’Tis an ancient place. All stone. Quite dark inside, even during the day. I was lost in thought and didn’t hear Nasim—a friend and fellow monk—sneaking up on me.”

“Why was he sneaking?” Brohm asked.

Cormac stared past the walls of the tavern, observing his memories. “We amused each other with antics, harmless pranks. He snuck up on me, grabbed my shoulder, and shouted in an attempt to startle me.” He let out a sigh. “Yes, he scared me. I reacted by flinching. The butt of the broom hit him in the face. Not hard, but enough to cause him to stumble back, right down the long and narrow steps. I had turned just in time to see his face before shadow took it.”

He took an unhurried draught of ale before continuing.

“That face will forever haunt me. I didn’t see what happened, but I could hear it. He tumbled down those rock steps at such terrible speed. His head cracked open at the bottom.”

Nathan couldn’t help but grimace.

“’Twas an accident. Such a stupid thing. Had I been standing away from the stairwell, or even just paying closer attention to my surroundings, I would’ve heard Nasim’s approach. His fate would’ve been a bruise or two, not his death.”

“You got kicked out for that?” Brohm asked. “But you must’ve explained it was an accident.”

Cormac nodded. “I did, but after a trial by my peers, ’twas decided I should be banished. That was my fate, but ‘twas a small price to pay for . . .” He broke down in tears.

To Nathan’s surprise, Brohm reached out and laid a hand on the monk’s shoulder.

“Listen, I’m sorry for being an ass,” Brohm said. “I say things without thinking.”

Cormac sniffled and wiped his eyes. “’Tis your nature, Sid. Don’t apologize for being yourself.”

“But I brought up a sore spot. I was just foolin’. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

Cormac nodded, accepting his apology. “My story, ’twas bound to be told sooner or later. Now you know.”

Silence fell between the three. In the kitchen, Tully poorly hummed a tune. Dishes clanked. In unison, the three drank from their tankards. Nathan wanted to know more but didn’t dare ask. Perhaps another day.

◆ ◆ ◆

Tully was true to his word. Each day, they arrived at another traveller’s inn resembling the last—strategically placed within one day’s travel in poor weather. That meant on a clear day, they arrived with hours to spare. It was wasted time, but Brohm and Cormac agreed it was better to lose a day or two over the course of the journey than be caught in the rain in the middle of the night.

Considering the indistinguishable build and design of the inns, Brohm joked they were travelling in circles. Meeting the proprietors of each inn provided the only clue they were heading in the right direction. Curiously, their demeanours were similar, but Nathan supposed they had to be of a particular breed willing to work in such conditions.

For days, they met only a few travellers, and the inns were favourably deserted. Consequently, the shared sleeping quarters were quiet. This evening, however, they were met by a massive trader’s convoy travelling in the opposite direction. The inn was packed, and Nathan envisioned their sleeping arrangements to be insufferable.

“You itchy?” Brohm asked him while eating yet another bowl of beef stew.

Nathan found himself scratching his arm. He smoothed the material of his sleeve and shrugged in reply.

“I noticed you’ve been scratching for a while now,” Brohm continued, pointing at Nathan’s arm with a spoon. “Isn’t that where your bite was?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine.”

That was a lie, but Brohm accepted it as truth and turned his attention back to his meal. The itch had manifested so gradually, Nathan had no idea when it started. But now, being reminded of it, his need to scratch grew. He didn’t dare pull up his sleeve to examine the old wound, and he hadn’t changed his clothes in days. No one had. Given the inadequate accommodations, there was nowhere to bathe or wash clothing. Everyone was filthy—an unspoken understanding during this leg of the journey. Cormac stated crossing the pass took five days, and others they spoke to corroborated that fact. It was currently day four, so he hoped they would reach the city by tomorrow evening. He ardently awaited a bath. At this point, even a frigid stream would feel great.

Nathan managed to achieve some sleep on the creaky bed, but it was short-lived. He woke in the middle of the night to a chorus of snores, and his full bladder demanded attention. With a sigh, he pulled back the blanket and padded toward the exit. A low-burning lantern hung just outside, and he took it to not stumble in the dark toward the outhouse.

After finishing his business, he ambled along the path with no interest in returning to bed. The mountain air, crisp and fresh, filled his lungs—a stark contrast to the stuffy and ripe sleeping quarters. With the low moon hidden by mountain peaks, a multitude of winking stars took centre stage, covering the heavens.

The urge to itch returned. Crouching to place the lantern on the ground, he pulled back his sleeve and winced at the sight. The scar tissue of pinhole teethmarks looked red and raw, though considering the warm lamplight, it was hard to discern the reality of the discolouration. He rubbed it gently, temporarily soothing the itch. Touching it brought no pain, so he assumed it couldn’t be too bad.

The familiar sound of daemon wings disrupted his attention. Looking up, Theodrik’s distinct shape stood out against the canopy of stars. It glided through the air gracefully before landing among the nearby pines. Nathan headed in that direction, leaving the lantern behind on the path between the inn and outhouse.

He blindly stumbled his way through the boughs until he caught sight of Theodrik’s glowing ember eyes. He froze for a moment, doubting he’d ever grow accustomed to the sight, but then used them as a guide toward the hunkered daemon.

“Hello, Nathan,” it said softly as he approached. “I trust your travels fare well.”

Due to the tight space, Nathan was forced to stand beside Theodrik—closer than was comfortable. “Yeah, everything’s good with us. How about you?”

The daemon nodded. “It has been a pleasant journey. We have been travelling through fertile grounds. I have not gone hungry.” It smiled again, revealing its dreadful teeth.

Nathan shied away, leaning into a prickly bough. “What have you been eating? You’re . . . I hope you’re not eating people.”

Theodrik appeared amused by the idea. “Of course not. I know your kind view me as a monster, but I do have standards.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No offence taken. And to answer your question, I have been enjoying the many manner of wild beasts roaming the countryside.” Theodrik tilted its head, its burning eyes piercing through him. “I feel you mean to ask something of importance.”

Nathan’s eyes darted about, refusing to return its gaze. “What gives you that idea?”

“It is written on your face—clear for all to see—a disquiet within you that refuses to relinquish control. Please, speak your mind.”

Nathan sighed. “It’s about that iratxo bite. You asked if there were any lingering effects, and I said no. That . . . wasn’t the truth.”

Hesitant concern drew across Theodrik’s features. “Nathan, please describe what has happened.”

“Last winter, after it healed, sometimes I felt stabbing pain in my arm and chest. Then I fell into that waking coma. When I recovered a few weeks ago, everything was fine, but these past few days, the bite has started itching.” He rolled up his sleeve. In the dim light of Theodrik’s glowing eyes, he could barely discern the scars. “You can’t see it—”

“I can see quite clearly. May I?” it asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

Nathan held it out. As before, with surprising care, Theodrik cradled his arm in its clawed hands, hunkering down further to inspect the scars.

“This appears quite different from when I last examined it.”

“I know. What does this mean?”

A rumbling emerged deep within Theodrik—a long, heavy sigh. “If you had consulted with your healers when the pain began, they may have been able to neutralize it.”

“But . . . not now?”

“I am sorry, Nathan. What you are experiencing is the final stage of the toxin. It is only a matter of time before you succumb to its effects.”

He chuckled nervously. “There’s gotta be something I can do. Etton Crossing is a big city. There’s bound to be healers who can do something.”

Theodrik shrugged despondently. “Anything is possible, but I do not wish to give you false hope. In my land, no healer can arrest the late effects of the toxin, and these are healers who are quite familiar with iratxos.”

Nathan looked at his arm. “What if . . . I have it amputated?”

Theodrik shook its head. “It would do no good. The toxin is within your essence, your whole body.”

Nathan felt dizzy and fell to his knees on the bed of dry pine needles. Their scent, always a comfort to him, did little to soothe him now.

“How long do I have? What’ll happen to me?”

Theodrik sat, yet still towered before him. “Like all aspects of the toxin, it is a slow process. The stinging pain you experienced will return, however, it will grow progressively worse. By the end, you will lose the ability to use your muscles. You will not be able to take a breath. You will suffocate.”

Nathan shut his eyes. “Please let this be a nightmare,” he whispered. “Just wake up.” He took a deep breath, cognizant of the fact he was able to do so. The fragrant pine needles filled his senses, and he tried his best to calm himself, but a growing knot in his stomach fought against him.

“I am sorry, Nathan. The advice I give you is to make the best of the time you have left.”

“Please don’t mention this to anyone, okay? Brohm can’t know.”

Theodrik shook his head, appalled by the statement. “He cares deeply for you. He is your knight. You cannot hide such a fact from him.”

Nathan stifled a sob. “I can’t do that to him. I want our time left together to be good. If he knew, he’d just worry.”

Theodrik rumbled a sigh again.

“I’ll tell him when I can’t hide the symptoms anymore,” Nathan said.

“While I do not agree, it is your choice to make. I will not utter a word.”

“Thank you, Theodrik.”

The daemon stood. “I am sorry to have caused all this pain, Nathan. My existence here is the root cause of all of this.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re just as much a victim, brought here against your will.”

“There should be solace in the knowledge that those responsible are dead, yet I feel none.”

“Cormac, our guide, once said death is the easy way out.”

Theodrik offered a solemn nod. “Wise words.”

It scaled the pine trees, their boughs bending under its weight. Upon reaching the top, it leapt into the air, catching the wind within its wings, and soared into the night.

◆ ◆ ◆

By late afternoon the following day, they’d managed to break free of the narrow mountain pass. From their high vantage point and with the western sun at their back, their destination—Etton Crossing—stood on the horizon, commanding their attention. Massive, towering walls enclosed the circular city, with farmlands surrounding it. The mountain range extended in an arc toward the north end of the city, however its peaks were diminished to craggy, copper-hued bluffs.

They’d finally arrived, but reaching the city meant descending a series of switchback roads along the mountainside. This slowed their progress significantly. Upon their arrival at the bottom, the sun had nestled itself within the mountain peaks, painting a vast, jagged shadow across the city and surrounding countryside. A growing patchwork of squat buildings hugged the side of the road the closer they reached the city. General stores, taverns, and inns all vied for the attention of exhausted travellers, but their ramshackle presence did nothing to attract Nathan. After over a fortnight of travel, and with more coin than he’d ever amassed in his lifetime, he wanted to spoil himself.

The sturdy stone walls of the city grew to massive heights as they rode closer. Only now could Nathan truly appreciate their grandeur. The western entrance—rising up to an archway many storeys high, and wide enough to comfortably accommodate many horse-drawn carts—beckoned them. However, before they could reach it, a massive iron portcullis was lowering to bar their way, and the three spurred their horses in hopes of making it through.

No such luck. Brohm and Cormac looked on as Nathan approached one of the armoured guards standing outside the gate.

“We’d like passage into the city.”

The guard adjusted the grip on his halberd and eyed him passively. “You got your pass?”

“Pass?” Nathan asked. “No. How do we get them?”

The guard thumbed over his shoulder. “You can get visitor passes at the main government building, centre of the city. Giant domed place. You can’t miss it.”

Nathan laughed incredulously. “How are we supposed to get a pass if we can’t get in?”

“Sorry, city gates are closed sundown to sunup. You need a pass to enter during those times. Come back tomorrow morning.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “There’s plenty of inns to stay the night.”

Nathan huffed his annoyance, but nodded respectfully to the guard. It wasn’t his fault the city had absurd rules. Wearing a long face, he returned to Brohm and Cormac.

“I was looking forward to staying somewhere nice tonight,” he said.

Brohm shrugged. “Don’t worry, l’il buddy. As long as the bed is comfy, we’ll live.”

Without much trouble, they managed to find a decent inn to rest their weary heads. As before, Cormac had his own room, and Nathan and Brohm shared another. While no bath services were available, hot water, lavender soap, and soft towels were provided in their private room. The two stripped bare as soon as the door was shut, and standing in the warm lamplight, they washed the dusty road from their bodies.

Nathan, having briefly forgotten his fate, was reminded again upon scrubbing his arms. The hot water across the angry scars felt good, and for a time, the itching was gone.

Now clean and dry, all Nathan wanted was Brohm’s touch. He led the big man to bed—inordinately more comfortable than any they’d slept on recently, and a faint reminder of their night at Remich. Brohm moaned in mock rapture as he stretched out, eliciting a chuckle from Nathan as he snuggled up against him.

“It’s nice just us again, yuh?” Brohm said.

“It is,” Nathan replied, trailing a finger across his broad chest. “I’ve been thinking . . . if you managed to escape Helmsley Keep without me, where you think you’d be now?”

Brohm shifted to look Nathan in the eye. “Without you? I don’t even wanna think about that.”

“But let’s say you got away. What would you do?”

Brohm’s brows knitted in bewilderment. “I dunno. It doesn’t matter. We’re here, now. Together.” He wrapped Nathan up in his arms. “Why would you ask that?”

Nathan blinked against the risk of tears. “Sorry. I don’t know.” He nuzzled his neck, kissed it. “I can’t imagine what I’d do without you, though.”

He rested his head on Brohm’s chest, listening to the powerful beat of his heart. His arm itched again, but he refused to acknowledge it. Weighing the pros and cons, he wasn’t sure he could bear keeping it a secret from Brohm. It was deception against the only person he loved, but nothing could be gained by revealing the truth.

He’d tell him when the time was right.