Strength of Fate - 18. Chapter Eighteen + Epilogue

The ocean.

It lapped at Nathan’s face as he tread water. Naked, and taking in the warm sunlight, he scanned the horizon from his low vantage point. No land was within sight. The depths—a deep blue—mirrored the clear sky. He had no memory of his arrival here.

Waves broke against the bow of a distant boat behind him. He turned to find Brohm aboard a small ship, its sails taut against the breeze, and Nathan called out his name. The big man caught sight of him and waved with an affectionate smile. Nathan swam toward him but was unable to make any headway. Grabbing the tiller, Brohm tacked the ship, gaining speed and pulling farther away from him. Nathan called out again, but his voice fell on deaf ears. The ship cut cleanly through the waves, becoming a speck on the horizon before long.

A crack of thunder stole Nathan’s attention, followed by a deep boom he felt in his chest. Dark clouds materialized, blocking the sunlight. Fat raindrops beat upon his head. The water heaved, intensifying with each wave, then crests formed, crashing down onto him.

He spit out brine and coughed, trying to catch a breath, but the storm was relentless. Each swell grew stronger still, rising to impossible heights, towering over him then smashing down. He struggled to stay afloat, muscles burning from the effort. The winds fought well, however, and won the struggle. His energy spent, he allowed the water to take him.

Sinking into the dark as the waves battled above, he held his breath, but the burn in his lungs quickly demanded air. In a final act of submission, he opened his mouth and, with apprehension, inhaled water. The sharp taste of salt was unbearable, but otherwise he found the experience intriguing. He drew in another tentative breath and closed his eyes.

A jagged sensation woke him from his dream.

The bite on his arm was ablaze with agonizing pain. Gasping in shock, Nathan wriggled free from Brohm’s hold as delicately as possible, not waiting to wake him. He stumbled away from the others, using the ragged cliff face to break their line of sight.

An anguished grunt escaped him. No amount of rubbing soothed the pain. This was nothing like the previous attacks he’d suffered. Acidic fire burned from within, travelling up his arm to his chest, his legs, his head. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle another excruciating cry. Through the pain, he wondered if it would subside, or if this would be the end of him.

He collapsed, forced into a foetal position. The rocky ground tore into his face—the sensation a mere prickle in comparison. Each breath was a rigorous struggle. Fear took hold and he tried to scream, but found his voice frozen. He pushed harder, only to utter gurgling rasps.

Then, as though a miracle, serrated edges of the pain began to dull—a wave of agony followed by a reprieve. With each surge, the pain dissipated until it finally vanished. Stones dug into his side, but he didn’t dare risk moving a muscle.

He waited in apprehensive stillness.

After a few minutes, he gambled to take a deep breath. The cool air soothed his lungs, and he rolled onto his back. A blurry kaleidoscope of stars swam in his vision. A flood of emotion—fear and relief—overtook him, and he fell to quaking, muted sobs. He knew what needed to be done. The denial within him had been strong, but the dread of waiting for the inevitable end to come was stronger still.

He stood up gingerly. The ordeal left his muscles aching, but he soon found the strength he sought. He passed by Brohm, thankful to find him still asleep. Cormac, Rabiah, and Theodrik sat around the dying fire, talking in hushed tones. Judging by Cormac’s demeanour, he’d warmed up the daemon much quicker than Nathan would’ve expected.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Rabiah asked.

Their expression shifted to concern as Nathan fell within the small sphere of light.

“Your face is cut. Is everything alright?” Cormac asked.

Nathan stood before them, shaking his head. “Cormac, I’m taking your place.”

The monk stared back in confusion.

“I’m going to be the sacrifice,” Nathan said.

Cormac rose to his feet in a flash. “Absolutely not! Why would you suggest such a thing?”

“There’s something—”

“You have so much life ahead of you. You and Sid—I mean, Brohm.”

Nathan waited until he was sure Cormac had finished. “There’s a reason I need to do this. Theodrik is the only one who knows the truth.” He glanced at the daemon. “I asked to keep it secret. Thank you for respecting that.”

Theodrik offered a solemn nod in reply.

“What truth?” Rabiah asked.

Pulling up his sleeve, Nathan revealed the bite on his arm. She winced at the sight in response. The black veins emerging from the angry scars now reached farther than before, snaking up and down the length of his arm. This surprised even Nathan. The attack he endured must’ve caused it.

“My body didn’t properly neutralize the toxin from the iratxo bite. Theodrik told me my fate, and I had a doctor confirm it. I’ll be dead soon enough.”

Cormac’s brows furrowed from the unspoken conflicts within, but Nathan continued before he could voice them.

“I know you were ready to sacrifice yourself, Cormac. But I’m begging you to allow me to take your place. Succumbing to the toxin is a terrifying way to die.”

“Does Brohm know you’re doing this?” Rabiah asked.

Nathan shook his head. “I debated telling him so many times. He deserves to know, but I selfishly wanted to keep everything as it was.” He turned his attention back to Cormac. “Please, will you let me take your place?”

The monk stared at his feet. “What choice do I have?”

Those words walloped Nathan in the gut. “Please look at it from another angle. My death will open the portal, allowing Theodrik to leave and end the iratxo attacks. You’ll still be alive to continue your work to help those in need.” He hesitated a moment, then let out a sigh. “I realize you felt this sacrifice would be your final act toward redemption. That, I can’t fix for you.”

Cormac finally looked into Nathan’s eyes. “No, you cannot. But if you say your life is forfeit, ’twould be a waste to end mine prematurely. Very well.”

Nathan hugged Cormac tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to ruin this tender moment,” Rabiah said, “but who’s going to do the deed? Kill you, I mean.”

Nathan released Cormac and looked to Theodrik. “I was hoping you could.”

It stared back in surprise. “Do you have a preferred method?”

“Something quick. Maybe break my neck?” Nathan said with a grimace.

“This conversation’s so fucking weird,” Rabiah mumbled.

That statement brought the discussion to a standstill while the four of them processed it. She wasn’t wrong. It was absurd beyond belief.

“Very well,” Theodrik replied after the moment of silence.

Nathan, now unable to make eye contact, busied himself by adding a few dry sticks to the hot coals. They caught fire, a flash of light illuminating the sombre faces surrounding it.

“I guess there’s one last thing worth mentioning,” Nathan said. “My appearance—my face—is a lie.”

Rabiah shook her head. “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?”

“Brohm and I not only hid our names, but our appearance as well. We were told not to speak of it, otherwise the illusion would break.”

She examined his face. “Okay. You’ve spoken it, but nothing’s changed.”

The witch, Morgana, had never been clear how the spell worked, but her warning not to speak of it made it sound fragile. Nathan tried to remember the words Morgana spoke when she purposely broke the spell cast upon her. She immediately transformed from a young to old woman before his eyes.

“It’s magick,” Nathan said. “Magick was used to hide my true appearance.”

Rabiah and Cormac’s eyes grew large.

“So, ’tis the real you I see now?” Cormac asked.

“Yeah.”

“I gotta say, it’s an improvement,” Rabiah said.

Nathan scoffed. “Thanks, I guess.”

“But why share this now?” she asked.

“The spell breaks upon death, so I’d look like a stranger to you. I didn’t want Brohm have to explain it and risk breaking the illusion on himself. He still needs it.” He turned to Cormac. “Please keep this to yourself, okay? Don’t mention it to Brohm, or anyone.”

“But he’ll see you’ve changed,” Cormac said.

“It’s complicated, but we already see each other’s true face.”

The group fell to silence again, and Nathan used that opportunity to leave them and retire to his makeshift bed.

To return to Brohm.

The time had come. Nathan had put it off as long as he could. The regret was overbearing, and he hadn’t even told him yet.

Brohm was still sound asleep. Fumbling in the dim starlight, Nathan found the second oil lamp and lit it. The big man always looked so peaceful when he slept. All emotions washed clean from his face, replaced by a subtle contentment. Nathan hated to disturb such calm, but Brohm deserved the truth. He knelt and caressed the big man’s cheek. Brohm stirred at the touch, his eyes squinting against the glare of the lamp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Nathan tried to speak, but instead choked at the anguish in his throat. He refused to cry. At least, not yet.

Brohm sat up. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, concern straining his voice.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept secret from you, from everyone.”

Brows creased, Brohm leaned closer to him. “What is it?”

Nathan pulled up his sleeve to reveal his arm. “I know you’ve been asking about me scratching. We’ve spent enough time naked that I’m sure you’ve seen this get worse.”

Brohm nodded, only glancing at the bite marks before returning his gaze to Nathan’s eyes. “Yuh, I was worried, but reckoned you’d tell me if it was bad enough.”

“It’s bad.” Nathan pulled his sleeve down. Looking at it made him nauseous. “It’s going to kill me.”

Incredulous, Brohm’s face twitched to a frown. “It might be itchy, but it’s not gonna kill you.”

“The toxin’s still in my blood, biding its time. It’s not just itchy, it’s painful. I’ve been able to hide it from you, but it’s getting worse. Theodrik said it’ll get to a point that I won’t be able to breathe.”

“Wait. That thing knew, and I didn’t? And how’s it know it’s gonna kill you? Can we even trust it?” Brohm’s questions came fast and strong, a spur of anger scratching in his voice.

“I asked that doctor about it, too. He said the same thing.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Nathan reached out to take his hand, but Brohm dodged it with the clear expression he demanded an answer.

“Believe me, I wanted to,” Nathan said, his voice cracking. “But I didn’t want you to worry. I just wanted everything to be the same between us.”

“Bullshit! Nothing would’ve changed.”

“You know that’s not true. You would’ve worried about me.”

With crossed arms, Brohm stared into the dark to avert his gaze.

“Think of the fun days we had at the hotel,” Nathan continued. “Had you known, they would’ve been ruined.”

The big man huffed in reply. Nathan closed the space between them, resting his head against Brohm’s shoulder.

“You’ve got every reason to be mad. Right from the start, I knew keeping it secret was a mistake, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”

Brohm finally spoke again. “There’s gotta be something we can do. Some kind of cure. Something magick?”

Still leaning against his shoulder, Nathan shook his head. “Right now, there’s no cure. Even if one were discovered, I’m out of time.”

“What’d you mean?”

Nathan pulled back to look him in the eye. “I’ll be dead in weeks.”

“How? You’re sitting in front of me? You’re fine. How can you be fine and then dead?” Brohm’s anger—the armour holding back his tears—was breaking.

“I told you, I’ve been hiding it. I’m not okay, and I’m terrified.”

Brohm pulled him into his arms with a crushing hug. Nathan returned it, resting his head against his shoulder again, savouring his warmth, his touch, his scent. He held the moment, imprinting it in his mind. He wished his life could end like this, but that would be too easy.

“I’m taking Cormac’s place as the sacrifice.”

Brohm stiffened.

“I’m dead already. Doing it this way will be quick. I won’t suffer.”

“But”—Brohm broke the embrace and looked upon Nathan with an expression of betrayal—“you said after tonight, it’d be just us, together. Was that a lie?”

“No! No, no, no . . .” Nathan kissed his cheek, wetting Brohm’s face with his tears. “I wanted that more than anything. I wanted to spend every second we had left together. Gods! I want that more than anything.”

He pulled back to find tears streaming down Brohm’s face, blending with his own.

“When I told you that, I thought we still had time,” Nathan said. “But I just had another attack. I’ve never felt anything like it. I thought I was dead then and there. Knowing it’s only gonna get worse? I’m so scared, Brohm.”

The big man, eyes filled with tears, tugged him close again. A cascade of guilt overwhelmed Nathan. Guilt for holding back the truth, and now guilt for abandoning Brohm and the heartache he would endure from their separation. Nathan had experienced that before with Graham—the only other person he loved—but what he and Brohm had was worlds different. The sorrow would be that much more devastating, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Time passed until they could cry no more. The tears helped relieve the raw emotion, allowing a sense of acceptance to wash over them, but tears were a meagre salve to mend the loss Brohm would suffer in the days to come. They lay together, face to face. Words—a pale medium to convey their thoughts—were left unspoken. All they yearned for now was to be held in each other’s arms.

 

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

 

For Nathan, it was always darkest before the dawn. During those nebulous hours, ruminations and worries—tiny and insignificant—always compounded in his mind. He admitted that tonight, the bleak thoughts roiling in his head were warranted. Despite this, a wave of relief kept washing over him. Upon learning his fate, the prospect of succumbing to the toxin’s effects weighed heavy on him, yet now, knowing his death would be quick and relatively painless brought a strange modicum of comfort.

The night stretched on forever. If he’d dosed off, he had no recollection of it. Brohm had fallen asleep sporadically, but stirred back to consciousness moments later. Neither of them dared to speak. Words would change nothing now, and could only serve to disrupt the solemn calm between them.

The night sky commenced its languid shift from black to deep blue, heralding the start of a new day. Nathan’s final dawn. The sound of crunching gravel bore down on them. Nathan, lying on his side with a view of the cliffs, was unsure who it was. It didn’t matter. He knew their time together was over. Brohm turned his head to meet their visitor’s gaze.

“Brohm, Nathan. ’Tis time,” Cormac said, nearly a whisper.

Nathan turned onto his back. “Thanks. We’ll be there soon.”

Cormac nodded and returned to the others. Staring at the sky, Nathan watched the stars gradually fade away, and then shook his head in resignation.

“I guess this is it.”

Brohm laid a hand on Nathan’s chest in reply, its warmth radiating through his jerkin.

Nathan continued. “I’m sorry it took this long to tell you the truth.”

The big man rubbed his chest in consolation. “S’okay. I get it. Reckon I wouldn’t’ve, either.”

“But more important, I’m sorry I’m leaving you.”

“Don’t say it like that. This wasn’t your choice.”

“I know,” Nathan said, turning to Brohm. “But I’m still leaving you. I was looking forward growing old with you.”

Brohm’s lip quivered as though the idea had crossed his mind in the past. “You reckon we’d last that long?”

“It would’ve been fun to try, right? With you at my side, I always felt like I could take on the world.”

A tear welled up in Brohm’s eye, threatening to fall. “Gods, I’m gonna miss you.”

He grabbed Nathan’s jerkin and pulled him close for a kiss. It was slow and deliberate. Full of passion.

“I love you,” Brohm whispered in his ear. “I’ll always love you.”

Nathan held him tight. “I love you, too, big guy.”

The embrace lasted for as long as they dared. It felt right to end it by their own volition, and they didn’t want to be interrupted by another visitor. After wiping their tears, they finally rose to their feet. Rabiah, Cormac, and Theodrik stood near the ritual site, respectfully turned away to grant them what little privacy they had left. Upon hearing their approach, the trio turned to face them.

“You ready?” Rabiah asked with the tome in hand.

Nathan offered a hesitant smile. “I don’t think anyone can be ready for this, but yeah.”

“So, how’s this work?” Brohm asked.

She opened the book, pulling on a cloth bookmark to unfurl the pages to the correct spot. “It’s quite simple, really. We stand within the larger circle. I’ll speak the words, you three repeat them. It’s in the same language I spoke while opening the portal to the fractional dimension, so you’ll need to speak it phonetically.”

“I don’t get it,” Brohm said nervously.

“Just repeat the sounds she makes,” Nathan said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll speak slowly,” Rabiah said. “But it needs to match exactly what I say, okay? You’ll do fine.”

Brohm nodded in understanding, but his creased brows said otherwise. She beckoned them to enter the circle with her. Theodrik, meanwhile, backpedalled to give them room.

“’Tis needed to hold hands?” Cormac asked.

Rabiah, using a finger to find the first stanza, distractedly shook her head. She then proceeded without warning, speaking the first few words. The three men repeated, albeit with a stumble, but Nathan assumed it was fine because she continued with the next line.

After a dozen set of words, they’d fallen into a rhythm. The silken language had a beautiful simplicity to it—none of the words difficult to pronounce. As they continued, tiny rivulets of smoke rose from the black crystal dust at their feet. Nathan hoped that was normal, and glanced to Rabiah for confirmation, but her eyes were locked on the page. He questioned if she even noticed. Before he could wonder further, the edge of one circle burst into flame. It travelled along the length like a cord fuse, spreading out to the intricate web of designs Rabiah had laboured over during the course of the night. The second circle intersecting the first ignited as well. In the wake of the small flames, the crystal melted and solidified—akin to black glass—holding the shape of the motifs in perfect detail.

“Good,” Rabiah said. “Now, careful not to touch the crystal. It’s extremely delicate, and if broken, will cause the ritual to fail. Also, stand closer to me, away from the second circle.”

“Why?” Brohm asked.

She gave him a disquieting look. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

She ignored him, instead continuing the second stanza, ending any chance to ask more questions. This time, while the words still held their soft pronunciation, they were more complex with a greater number of syllables. Rabiah made a point to slow down for significantly long words so they could repeat them clearly.

The ground shuddered. Subtly at first, almost imperceivable, but with each line spoken, the rock under their feet replied in kind with more force. Rabiah faltered a moment, watching the second circle with uncertainty. Nobody dared to voice their concern or shift from their spot. She continued to read from the tome, raising her voice to be heard over the rumbling. Below them came a deep, violent cracking sound like a massive tree felled in a forest. Undeterred, she spoke the next line, bolstering their resolve to continue. At this point, she was nearly yelling, and they responded in kind.

Upon reciting the final sentence, the ground at the centre of the second circle shattered. Splinters of rock flew in all directions, and a thin line of fire shot out from a fissure, launching into the sky past the clouds before retracting back and holding steady. Aside from the burning pillar, which loomed taller than Theodrik, all fell silent.

The daemon exclaimed a word in its native tongue. If Nathan could guess at its meaning, he assumed: wow!

“You can say that again,” Brohm said with a nervous chuckle.

“What is that?” Cormac asked.

“That’s the portal,” Rabiah said. “But as you can see, it’s closed. It can only be opened by the touch of a soul, a spirit, a ghost—whatever you want to call it.”

All eyes fell to Nathan.

“There’s one more stanza, though,” Rabiah continued. “Compared to the others, it’s short. It’ll create a barrier to trap the soul within the circles. And, uh, it shouldn’t cause any more earthquakes . . . I hope.”

Nathan appreciated her attempt at levity, but did nothing to lessen the fact he would be dead soon. He swallowed back bile again at that realization. No amount of time to prepare for the inevitable could make it any easier for him. He motioned for her to begin.

Raising the book, Rabiah spoke the final set of phrases. The smooth, silky articulations from before had returned, mostly single syllables. The familiarity allowed the three men to enunciate them with ease. Soon, a hissing surrounded them, accompanying the fiery pillar before them. The black glass encircling them bloomed from within—an ethereal blue Nathan had seen once before. The ghosts of Tornel Keep glowed the same hue.

Lost in that memory, he unwittingly repeated after Rabiah. The words, once awkward in his mouth, felt natural now. The three men spoke the final sentence, and the blue haze rose up, surrounding them in a bubble. The translucent walls shimmered like a rainbow, akin to mixing oil and water.

“You all did well,” Rabiah said, closing the tome. “Better than expected, to be honest.”

“What happens now?” Cormac asked.

“Brohm, Cormac, you step outside the field. Again, watch your step. If the crystal is broken, everything will be ruined. Nathan”—she couldn’t meet his gaze—“you stay here.”

Rabiah and Cormac stepped through the wall of the bubble. It shimmered in response. Brohm, instead of following them, turned his attention to Nathan.

“Reckon this is it.”

Nathan sighed, and took Brohm’s hands into his. He was at a loss for words again. Nothing could convey the emptiness he felt. Fate had made its decision, and he had to abide by it.

They’d said their goodbyes already, but Nathan couldn’t release his hold on Brohm without one more embrace. He hugged him, and Brohm returned it with equal fervour. The moment passed fleetingly, but nothing could be done about it. Breaking his hold, Nathan nudged Brohm to leave the circle.

“Theodrik, it’s your time to . . .” Rabiah hesitated, and then wore a cheerless smile. “It’s time to play your part.”

Approaching the translucent bubble, Theodrik was large enough to stand outside and reach in. Its massive hands wrapped around Nathan’s neck with ease. The hold was gentle, yet Nathan instinctively gripped the meaty fingers in an attempt to retain some level of control—a futile attempt considering its strength.

“Thank you, Nathan,” it said. “Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I will be quick. Any pain you feel will be ephemeral.”

Nathan turned his head slightly, looking back at the three observers. Rabiah met his gaze with grim acceptance. Cormac, his head bowed, silently mouthed a prayer. Brohm, eyes brimming with tears, gave him his crooked smile, albeit one Nathan had never seen before. It spoke of pride and love, sadness and fear. It was a smile that said, from this point forward, nothing would ever be the same for Brohm again.

Nathan did his best to return the smile. One that said: be brave.

“Are you ready?” Theodrik asked.

Nathan swallowed and closed his eyes. “Yes.”

There was no hesitation. The grip tightened and forced his neck to an impossible position. He felt a pinch, followed by a terrible crunch.

 

And then, nothing.

 

 

 

♢ ♢ ♢

 

 

 

 

Confused, Nathan opened his eyes. Theodrik stood before him, still holding him up by the neck, but the pressure Nathan felt before was missing. The daemon shifted its stance, then placed something on the ground at its feet outside the circle.

Nathan glanced down and witnessed himself. A limp body. Dead.

He immediately looked away. Gazing upon his corpse brought on a kind of dread he’d never experienced before. Instead, he focused on Brohm. The big man was on his knees—trembling, sobbing. Cormac knelt at his side, trying to console him. Rabiah stared back at Nathan with wide eyes, absolutely rapt by what she saw.

She said something.

It was then Nathan realized he could hear nothing. Somehow, it was beyond silence. Physical sensation was missing as well. He gawked at his hands, translucent blue. He could rub them together, yet the sensation associated with the action was absent. Looking past his hands, he realized he was naked. Despite the inappropriateness of the situation, this brought on a moment of levity. He laughed, or at least he tried to. He couldn’t feel his body shake from the act, nor did he emit a sound.

Looking back at Brohm, Cormac, Rabiah, and Theodrik, he realized they all emanated a soft blue glow. Its source lay just beneath their skin, in perfect sync with their movements. Nathan could only speculate on what he perceived as their own soul, their own spirit.

Brohm rose to his feet and stood before the translucent bubble. The anguish written on his face was too much for Nathan to bear, and he reached out to touch him, but the barrier stopped his hand from crossing over. Seeing this, Brohm ran his hand through the bubble unhindered. Paradoxically, the spirit within Brohm could breach through as well. Perhaps Brohm’s body acted as a bridge to allow it access through the barrier.

His hand reached for Nathan’s face. He hesitated a moment before touching him, then immediately pulled back. The touch caused him pain, and he exclaimed something in reaction. Nathan pointed at his ear and shook his head to indicate he couldn’t hear. Brohm gestured to tell him it didn’t matter, and then spoke again—deliberately this time—allowing Nathan to read his lips.

I love you.

Holding a hand to his chest, Nathan mouthed the same words back to him. Brohm offered a mournful smile and roughly wiped his tears away with his sleeve.

Rabiah waved to catch Nathan’s attention, then pointed behind him. He turned, only to realize he was floating slightly off the ground. To move only required a thought. As bizarre as it seemed, it felt completely natural.

Before him stood the fiery pillar. In the shock of his metamorphosis, he’d completely forgotten about it, along with his whole purpose for being there. He hovered toward it with caution, but found no heat radiating from its centre. Holding out a hand toward it, he glanced back to Rabiah for confirmation. She nodded her head.

Nathan thrust his hand into the fire. The pillar reacted by intensifying, its flames angry at the intrusion. He held his hand there, enjoying the curious lack of sensation. The fire grew to a flat oval, extending the entire height of the pillar before ripping open at its centre, revealing an alien world.

Beyond stood a forest of exotic trees and hanging vines. Instead of green leaves and brown bark, the foliage ran the gamut of colours, from fiery yellows to deep violet hues. Beyond the treeline, a field of tall blue grasses. Further out, the scene fascinated Nathan even more so. Countless islands, seemingly floating in space, dotted a blood-red sky. Each held an incredible bounty of trees and vegetation. Water, its origin unknown, fell off the edge of other islands. The farther the water dropped, the more it spread out before turning to mist. Three moons—all much larger than Nathan had ever seen—proudly stood guard over the isles.

Nathan turned to witness his companion’s reaction. Brohm, Cormac, and Rabiah all stared on in wonder while speaking to each other with excitement. Theodrik stood to one side. Its smile, as usual, was a frightful mess of teeth, but Nathan could easily see past that now. It was a smile of joy—happiness that it could finally return home. Spotting Nathan’s gaze, it stepped closer, dropped to one knee, and bestowed a gracious bow of the head. Nathan, a smile on his face, nodded in return.

Theodrik rose and turned back to the group, offering its farewell. They returned it in kind with waves of goodbye. Careful not to disturb the intricate crystal designs with its clawed feet, Theodrik stepped through the portal. After reaching past the treeline, it ran with a heavy gait, catching the wind with its powerful wings, and lifted off the ground. It glided majestically through the air before disappearing from their view.

Without giving it much thought, Nathan slid a hand across the threshold of the portal. His translucent fingers, while still blue, appeared solid on the other side. Reaching farther in, up to his elbow, Nathan realized he felt something for the first time. It tingled as though he’d fallen asleep on his arm.

He turned to show the rest of the group, only to find Rabiah at the edge of the bubble, frantically waving her arms in warning and yelling something. While he had no idea what she was saying, her message was clear, and he immediately pulled his hand back. Upon seeing this, she let out a sigh. Nathan slumped his shoulders, wishing she had explained all the rules before they’d started this, but assumed they would’ve been talking for days had she tried to explain every detail.

Rabiah gestured for Brohm to join her, speaking to him, then pointing at the edge of the black glass circle. Brohm shook his head, then glanced to Nathan with new tears threatening to form. Cormac gently pulled him away, having him sit down, and then took his place at Rabiah’s side. Both the monk and Rabiah offered a raised hand—a silent goodbye. Nathan returned it, but kept his gaze on Brohm. The big man sat hunched over, hands covering his face as he cried.

Before Nathan could consider doing anything else, Cormac laid his foot atop the glass circle and leaned his weight onto it. A crack formed, and the bubble immediately collapsed, along with the portal.

Nathan was free in more than one way. Physically, but also emotionally. Had someone asked him to describe it, he would’ve said it was like standing in an empty room devoid of colour, but even that was an inadequate description. He still hovered before Rabiah and Cormac, however he perceived they no longer saw him. Their eyes focused past to the distant city beyond.

Willing himself to move, he floated toward Brohm’s slouched form. Seeing him in such pain should’ve been devastating, yet instead of sadness, Nathan felt nothing. Even attempting to consider the concept of sadness was like grasping smoke—impossible. Regardless, he knew he loved Brohm, despite the notion becoming as hazy as his vision.

He reached out, laying a hand—now nearly transparent—on Brohm’s back. The big man shifted and turned toward him, eyes searching blindly. Nathan moved his hand to Brohm’s cheek, and he reacted. It wasn’t pain, but he clearly felt something, and he touched his face in reaction to it. With growing enthusiasm, he grasped at the air, his hands drifting through Nathan’s invisible form.

Nathan should’ve smiled, but had forgotten how. Even though Brohm was right beside him, he found it difficult to recognize his face. The haze wasn’t black or white, it was the absence of everything. He should’ve been frightened, but the trivialities of fear were beyond him now. Oblivion was almighty and all-consuming, and he welcomed it with open arms.

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

A delicate breeze carrying the mixed scent of grass and wild flowers woke Brohm from his slumber. Sunlight filtered through fluttering curtains, dancing across his closed eyes. Distant birds, their song a complex suite of trills, drifted on the wind. He’d slept in again, not that it mattered. Sleep was the only thing he had energy for.

Nathan had visited him in his dreams again. Brohm could never remember the details, but that wasn’t important. All that mattered was to see his smiling face again. Eyes still closed, he reached under the blankets to Nathan’s side. The mattress was painfully cold. It always would be, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept the truth. A ball of anger welled up within his core. He was tired of this self-loathing, but too often he found himself in a hole with no memory of falling in. He kicked the sheets off the bed roughly in an attempt to force himself up. Instead, he remained on his back and stared at the ceiling—his will summed up to nought.

No.

Baring his teeth, he coerced his body upright, turned, and planted his feet on the floor. He slapped himself across the face.

“Stop it!”

Voicing his anger tended to break the train of negative thoughts, but only temporarily. Another blow stung his cheek. And again, harder still. He felt a fool doing so, but the violence of it helped in its own way. It brought him back to reality. He knew Nathan would’ve never wanted him to linger on the pain—the heavy loss he carried—but try as he might, it was stronger than his will.

Tears burned his eyes. After all this time, how could they still flow so easily?

“Stop!” he cried out, slapping himself again, but the blow was a pale semblance of the previous strikes.

Brohm needed out of this room. Stomping to the wardrobe, he donned the first thing he laid his hands on, and slipped into a pair of boots. He managed to reach the door, about to unlatch it, when the bedside table beckoned him. He eyed the drawer.

With a long sigh, he lumbered across the room and pulled the drawer open. Within sat a solitary piece of paper, neatly folded in two. He bit his lip, hesitating a moment before making a decision. His thick fingers fumbled at the paper, as though fighting against his choice to take it. He slid it carefully into his breast pocket and headed downstairs.

The common area was mostly empty and mercifully silent. Since Nathan’s death, he had no patience for laughter. Anyone’s joy invoked a blind rage within him—a familiar mood that only brought trouble. One particularly hard night, he managed to get into a scrap with a too-happy guy with a big mouth—that asshole, Ollie. As soon as the blood flew, Brohm managed to stop himself and apologize to the man, but that did nothing to mend the broken nose he’d given him.

Brohm stood at the bottom of the stairwell, considering his options. Leah, with a tray in hand while gathering dirty dishes, saw his confusion. She approached him, leaving the tray behind.

“Hey, Sid. Did you sleep okay?”

She knew enough to keep her bubbly self to a minimum, and Brohm loved her for it.

“Yuh, I guess,” he said, shrugging.

Leah reached up to gently cup his cheek, her hand cool against his face. “What did you do? It’s all red.”

“It’s nothin’,” he said, subtly nudging her hand away.

“Edgard’s probably got something still warm from lunch. You want a plate?”

Brohm shook his head.

“C’mon, you need to eat something.”

“Not hungry. Maybe later.”

Leah glared at him a moment before her features softened. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I worry about you.”

Brohm ground his teeth, but not because of her concern. During the time Nathan was stuck in his waking coma, she and Brohm had grown close—like a sister he never had. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her, and that irked him. She deserved so much better than that. He leaned down and, much to her surprise, gave her a hug. A giggle—one Brohm hadn’t heard since his return—escaped her lips. She was so small in his arms, yet her heart was bigger than anyone he knew.

“Yuh, I know you do,” he said. “I’ll be okay. Reckon I just need more time.”

She kissed his red cheek. “Then I’ll be waiting for you.”

Brohm fought back tears again. His emotions always sat so close to the surface, and nearly anything set them off. It was exhausting.

Leah returned to her work, leaving him standing lost again, unsure what he wanted. Slits of sunlight poured in through the windows, calling him outside. With no reason to fight it, he stepped onto the veranda and leaned forward against the railing.

The courtyard was deserted, but voices carried out from one of the outbuildings. Men working, doing something. The familiar rhythm of Zoe’s hammer on iron echoed from the backyard. Brohm was so disconnected from the happenings of the guildhouse, he had no idea how it ran itself. Nathan and Brohm had put in the work to establish it, but now he questioned his involvement. He couldn’t decide if he still wanted to be part of it. Without Nathan, what was the point?

Behind him, the door opened. He realized now it always squeaked, and that irritated him, yet he never could be bothered to oil it. A familiar shuffle drew near.

“Hey, Cormac,” he said, keeping his gaze to the courtyard and road beyond.

The monk’s hand touched his arm in greeting before leaning against the rail beside him, but otherwise he said nothing. Much to Brohm’s disbelief, he’d grown to appreciate Cormac’s presence. Never had he been so wrong in judging someone. Right from the start, Nathan saw the truth in Cormac’s actions. Brohm, in stark contrast, had such a difficult time accepting the monk. All his life, Brohm observed others twist the word help as a way to deceive. Ulterior motives were often the goal. If he were honest with himself, he could be just as selfish, but Nathan had changed all that.

“I hit myself again,” he said.

“I will admit ’tis a questionable form of coping,” Cormac replied with a friendly smirk.

“Yuh, I know. But it’s easy.”

“It might be easy, but it doesn’t contribute to long-lasting results. Don’t be hard on yourself, Sid.”

Despite Cormac knowing Brohm and Nathan’s true name, they’d agreed to never speak them.

“It’s been weeks since we got back, but every day still feels like the first,” Brohm said. “I hate feeling this way. I know he’d be mad at me.”

Cormac laid a hand on Brohm’s arm again. “The pain you feel, ’tis heartache. How could he be angry at you for loving him?”

Brohm huffed in reply.

“We’ve talked about this before. You just need to give it time,” Cormac said.

“Yuh,” Brohm drawled, “but how long is this gonna last?”

It felt like the day Nathan left him on the bluffs north of Etton Crossing would never fade. After the magick blue circle collapsed, Nathan disappeared. Yet moments later, something touched him. There was no way to know for sure, but Brohm was convinced it was him. It didn’t last long, though, and he crawled on his knees like a madman, reaching out blindly. In hindsight, he was ashamed by his behaviour, but try as he might, he couldn’t accept Nathan was gone. What troubled Brohm most was his ignorance of what became of him. Rabiah couldn’t provide an answer, and Cormac’s response brought more confusion than clarity. He spoke of faith in the gods—belief in something larger than all of them. Cormac believed there was something after death, but what that entailed, no one could know or comprehend. Was it possible Nathan was beside him now? Was he somewhere else? Or just gone?

During that time, Brohm felt just as lost. His mind unwilling and unable to function. While he’d never spoke of it—maybe one day he would—Brohm was relieved Cormac came back with him instead of staying at Etton Crossing. He never asked his reason, and didn’t want to know. During their long trip back to the guildhouse, the monk managed to break through his defences and help him cope with his loss. Brohm couldn’t have imagined riding that road alone with only his grief to keep him company.

“I have an idea that might help pull you out of your rut,” Cormac said. “Every day, you need to complete a task. Something positive.”

Brohm sagged against the railing.

“Fret not. The task need not be monumental.”

Considering his words, Brohm turned his attention past Cormac, pointing at the door. “It squeaks.”

“Perfect! Let’s fix that. Lead the way.”

Brohm frowned at him, but the monk stood undeterred.

“Alright. Fine.”

He headed to the backyard—to Zoe’s workshop—with Cormac in tow. Noticing the shift in light from the doorway, Zoe stopped hammering and glanced his way.

“Hey,” she said.

Despite living in the same building together for over half a year, Brohm never felt the need to befriend Zoe. Her aloof nature spoke louder than words, and he respected the boundaries she clearly displayed. She had nothing to prove, and a part of him envied such confidence. More than once, he’d heard from guild members commenting on her skill. He figured that helped.

Cormac’s head squeezed between Brohm and the doorframe. “Good afternoon. We’re in need of an oil can. ’Tis something you have?”

Zoe nodded and opened a nearby cabinet. Its contents were well organized, matching the entirety of the smithy.

“Bring it back when you’re done, okay?” she said, handing Brohm a can of oil with a spigot on top.

“Yuh. Thanks.”

Not wanting to intrude any further, Brohm retreated from the workshop and returned to the veranda. The front door hinges were rusty and would need to be replaced, but for now, a few drops of oil made a world of difference. Swinging the door open and closed was now a silent affair.

“How do you feel now?” Cormac asked.

Brohm hated to admit it, but the monk was right. For a short time, he felt normal again. He nodded reluctantly.

“You see?” Cormac continued. “Forcing yourself to do something stopped your mind from focusing on the grief.”

Brohm gave him a thin smile.

“Now, I’m sure there are many small tasks that need doing around here,” Cormac said. “I want you to create a list. Each day, complete one task and scratch it off. Remember, the size of the task isn’t important. ’Tis doing the task that matters. ’Tis the feeling of accomplishment that will help you.”

“Okay.”

“Even better, if you need help, come find me.”

The monk patted Brohm on the back, and then reentered the guildhouse, making a point to swing the silent door a few times before shutting it.

Brohm leaned against the railing again. After any brief respite from his grief, he always found it difficult to fight back its inevitable return. This time, however, the blanket of sorrow had lightened. There was no denying Cormac had a gift for helping others. Brohm wished he’d accepted it sooner.

The oil can still in hand reminded him of Zoe’s request, and he returned to her workshop, finding her in the process of bending hot iron.

“Thanks. Can you put it back, please?” she asked.

“Yuh, sure.”

He opened the cabinet and returned the can to its home, careful to place it just as he’d seen it. Not wanting to trouble her any further, he stepped outside.

The long grass, the treeline covering the ravine, and mountain peaks filled his view. More than once, Brohm caught Nathan seemingly lost gazing upon it, and spoke of its beauty. There was no denying its winsomeness, but he believed Nathan perceived something more. A pang of regret welled within him, and he wished he’d asked him to explain it further. Perhaps the more time he spent surrounded by nature, studying it, he’d come to understand Nathan’s fascination.

The grass swayed hypnotically in the breeze. A smile crossed his face, recalling the time they’d spent sprawled there. He stepped into the long grass, but couldn’t find the spot from his memory. Perhaps the grass had bounced back after being flattened—he wasn’t sure—but it didn’t matter to him. After stomping a new area flat, he laid down at its centre. Taking a deep breath, he drew in the earthy aroma mixed with the freshly broken grass. Clouds lingered, in no hurry to be anywhere. Birdsong, distant yet ever-present, caught his ear. Was there more to it? What was he missing? If only Nathan could just tell him.

Brohm’s only remaining connection to him was held in his breast pocket. He’d read it so many times that he could probably recite it from memory. But to see it—his pen strokes scratched onto the paper—made it seem like he was there with him now. Slipping his fingers into his pocket, he gently pulled the paper free and unfolded it, steeling himself for the inevitable.

 

Brohm,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I woke up with the pain again, but it’s still early morning, so I’m writing this while you sleep. You look like a giant, adorable, snoring lump under those blankets.

In case I never get a chance to tell you the truth, I’m dying from that stupid bite. The toxin is in my blood. When Rabiah brought us to that doctor, I asked him about it, and he said there was no cure. I won’t describe the outcome, but it’s terrifying.

I’m sorry I never told you. I agonized over it so many times. I just don’t want you to worry. I want to finish this mess with Theodrik and enjoy whatever time we have left.

When we first met, I pushed you away. Sure, I explained my reasons why, but had you not stayed by my side, the world I know would’ve been dull and grey. I just wish we had more time together.

I can’t put into words how much I love you. I won’t even try. Just know you’ve made me a better person, and I hope I’ve brought you the same joy you’ve given me.

I’m sorry I had to leave you, but it was never my choice.

Forever yours,
Nathan

 

It surprised Brohm to find a smile on his face. Every time he read the letter, he’d fall to inconsolable sobs. Sometimes, he’d be unable to finish it. Folding and slipping it back into his pocket, he laid a hand atop it—the only way to have Nathan close to his heart.

“You made me a better person, too,” he whispered. “Thank you, Nathan.”

The grass swayed again, bringing him back to the world around him. It would take time to heal from the loss, but now, he knew each day would be better than the last.

 

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