Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (42 page)

His palm touched the equine’s face.

A series of ripples sounded from brow to cheekbone and then back again.

“You aren’t just a trick of the light,” Odin said, stroking the creature’s face, each time coming back with his hand damp with moisture. “You really are real, aren’t you?”

The horse raised its head to regard Virgin before returning its attention back to its original summoner.

Odin paused, unsure what to do.

The creature began to step back and into the waters from which it had been birthed.

“Are you making it do that?” Virgin asked, stepping forward as if to stop the elemental.

“No,” Odin said. “I
’m not.”

“Why is it—“

A splash of water broke the conversation off in midsentence.

Odin shook the moisture from his face and looked directly before them.

The water elemental was nowhere to be seen.

“Why did it do that?” Virgin asked.

“I don’t know,” Odin said. “I—“

The pad of strange feet sounded on the road behind them.

Without so much as a second though, Odin turned and tugged Virgin along with him.

“You’re saying you’ve never tried to summon an elemental before,” Virgin said.

“No,” Odin replied, grabbing at his hair as he frantically paced the room. “I
’ve only ever tried tricks with the light.”

“And have they ever acted the same?”

“Yes,” he managed, despite the fact that his heart seemed to be beating three times its normal rate.

“What?”

“I
’ve never been able to figure out why my magical constructs have been able to act with a will of their own,” he said, settling down at the very end of the bed and trying his hardest not to tug his hair from his scalp. “My magic teacher once asked me whether or not I was commanding them to do it. I always said no.”

“So you have no control over them?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then why did the equine retreat back into the water?”

“I must’ve slipped,” Odin said. “You know—not paying attention or concentrating hard enough.”

“At least it didn
’t have a will of its own to try and attack us.”

“I highly doubt something I summoned would ever attack us, Virgin.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, I don
’t, but what I’m saying is—“

“What would
’ve happened if that thing tried to attack us?”

“You
’re being irrational,” Odin said, standing.

“I
’m
being irrational? You’re the one without control over—“

“I never said I didn
’t have control!” he cried, stamping his foot on the ground as though it would help confirm his point. “And for your information, Virgin—if it had attacked us, I would have simply turned it to steam.”

“That doesn
’t mean—“

“Look,” Odin sighed, stepping forward and pressing his hands against Virgin
’s arms. “You don’t have to worry about
any
of this, all right? This is
my
problem, not yours.”

“It becomes other people
’s problems when you’re not sure what you’re doing.”

“I was never properly taught. Give me a break, all right?”

“I’m not harping on you.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m—“

“Not?” Odin asked, offering a slight smile when Virgin blinked at him. “Yes, Virgin—you are.”

“Either way,” the Halfling said, stepping away from Odin’s grasp to turn and look out the window. “This is something you should talk to Jarden about.”

“Don
’t worry,” Odin said. “I will.”

“You are saying that your elemental had a will of its own?” Jarden frowned, pouring Odin a glass of tea as he fidgeted within his seat.

“Yes zir,” Odin said. “It did.”

“Would you care to show me what you did?”

“I pushed my hand out toward the water,” Odin continued, mimicking the motion as though he were right there at the end of the shore, “and summoned it from the depths.”

Though the water ring on his finger pulsed into life, the surface of Odin’s tea began to ripple—first slowly, then in rapid succession. A short moment later, the head of a horse appeared from the yellowed moisture and jumped from its place in the glass to prance around the top of the dining table, casting drops of water in its path across the floral linen as it first made its way from its place near the glass to the area Jarden stood before.

“Amazing,” the Elf said.

“Virgin thought it would end up hurting us,” Odin sighed, lowering his hand to capture the creature within an imaginary sphere of air before returning and dropping it into the glass. “He thinks I have no control over it.”

“To be frank, it does
not seem as though you do—though if one were to examine the situation as a whole, it seems as though you have an innate ability to create constructs that embody a particular form of personality.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It can be, yes. Might you be able to do the same with light?”

Odin opened his palm and summoned an orb of fire into it before shaping it into a second horse. This one, instead of jumping from his palm and onto the table, bowed its head, then cast its head back and whinnied.

“You did not force it to make that sound?”

“No, zir. I didn
’t.”

Jarden reached forward to en
capsulate the creature within zirs hand. Immediately, as though thrust into a bottomless pit of gloom, the creature snuffed out of existence. “This is quite fascinating,” the Elf said, eyes flickering first from Odin’s palms, then his face.

“Have you ever seen this before?”

“Seldom, yes, but not often.”

“What have those people done about their powers?”

“For one, they have not had very good luck in creating elementals in use for combat. Normally such a creation would only move to your bidding or react in ways necessary for purpose. Yours, however, seem to do the exact opposite, which leads me to believe that there must be something missing within your natural ability—a bridge, per se, between one link in your magic and the other.”

“I guess that
’s good to know,” Odin sighed.

“”I was not trying to insinuate that you are a mage dumb by nature, as that would be the exact opposite of what I believe you are.”

“Thank you.”

“I do not know what else I can have you do with the ring,” Jarden said, extending his hand and tipping it palm-up. “If you do not mind.”

“Of course not,” Odin said. He slid the ring from his finger and dropped it into the Neven D’Carda’s hand, careful not to dump it into his tea and risk blemishing its magical properties.

“There will be much more to teach you, Odin. For now, though, I would like you to take a book of magics home and study up on it.”

“Which one?”

“The art of combat.”

From a drawer in zir’s desk the Elf pulled a thick, leather-bound tome dyed red and passed it across the distance between them. Odin, who’d barely ever seen a tome so thick throughout his entire life, took the book in hand with a sense of dignity and responsibility he hadn’t felt since adorning himself in the king’s royal clothing and stared Jarden directly in the eyes, careful not to allow his vision to falter less he look rude and unappreciative.

“Thank you,” he said, looking down at the book in hand.

“Go now,” Jarden said. “You will need time to learn about what more you can do in order to better protect yourself.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Odin asked.

From his place in the open threshold, he watched Virgin cross the room several times back to back before he stopped to turn his attention to him. Eyes wear
y, face puffed and cheeks red, he looked anything but mad in that particular moment. Had he to guess, Odin imagined Virgin had to have been crying, if only because of the way the tip of his nose looked burnt and his cheeks seemed more inflamed than usual.

He
’s upset.

Careful to close the door as qu
ietly as he could, Odin unclasped his cloak, set it on the rack, then stepped forward after setting the book on a desk and up to Virgin. The older Halfling barely looked at him before turning his eyes back on the window.

“Virgin,” Odin said.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I was never mad with you to begin with.”

“What
’s wrong then?”

“I
’m not used to being around such dangerous magic, Odin. There’s a reason I chose to be a thief.”

“The magic wasn
’t dangerous in the least,” he sighed, reaching out to set a hand on Virgin’s lower back, but frowning as his companion shied away. “Come on.”

“Come on and what?”

“Talk to me. Tell me how you feel.”

“I feel fucking scared is what I feel.”

“I have more control over my magic than you think.”

“Then how come that damn thing was tossing its head back and forth like it was ready to charge?”

“Because I’ve never been able to summon anything without it acting on its own accord.”

“Which means—“

“I can control them,” Odin interrupted. “I just can’t control their specific behaviors.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Virgin laughed, spreading his arms as if asking for a punch. “
That you can control when and how they come, but not what they can and can’t do?”

“You
’re getting too worked up over this.”

“I
am?”

“Jarden said it happens to some people. It
’s nothing to worry about.”

“Odin—“

“I don’t want to fight over this,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest before bowing his head. “Can we just forget about it for now?”

“Why—“

“I don’t like arguing with people, Virgin. Look—if it makes you feel even the
slightest
bit better, I’m sorry for what I did. I won’t do it again if it really upsets you that much.”

“I just don
’t like feeling like I’m in a situation I can’t get out of.”

“What about the situation we
’re in then?”

“If I really wanted to, I could leave. There
’s nothing stopping me.”

“Then why haven
’t you left already?”

Virgin said nothing. Instead, his shoulders rose and fell before his arms fell slack at his side, fingers tightening around the tail end of his jerkin as if ready to tear it free from his chest.

There we go,
Odin thought, unable to resist the urge to sigh under his breath.

If anything, this little piece of information would finally be out in the open—alone, cold and defenseless, just the way he wanted it.

Virgin turned his head.

Odin tilted his eyes up.

When their gazes met, he thought he saw tears twinkling in the light of the faint, afternoon sun.

“Don
’t ever say that again, Odin.”

“But—“

“You heard me.”

In one swift move, Virgin tore out of the room and slammed the door.

Odin collapsed onto the bed.

No.

He couldn’t have.

There seemed no will in the world to express what he had just done.

As night fell and cast the world in its shades of blue, black and the occasional pearlescent white, Odin found himself panicked beyond belief at the possibility that Virgin had left him for good. Pacing the room, his pursuit endless and not in the least bit sane, he stopped at one point when he thought he heard someone coming up the stairs and threw himself toward the door, desperate to look out the porthole and see who it was that had returned.

When he saw that Virgin had not ascended the stairs, a spike of hurt flared up in his chest.

Look at what you did,
his conscience taunted, prodding the back of his neck with one sick, gnarled finger.
You ran him off.

No. He couldn
’t have. Just because a few simple words had been said did not mean that a man—especially one so seemingly full of love—would run off, did it?

You don
’t know that.

How could he know when he had never been in this sort of predicament before? He
’d slain Kerma, killed Naga, impaled a hulking mass of creature known as an Ogre upon the very tip of his sword, but not once had he ever loved a person so much that he felt as though he could force them away with a simple word, slap or foot. To think that he could have committed such an atrocity was like murdering a baby in its sleep—grand, punishable by law and therefore able to be executed, not even physically, but morally. That alone made Odin realize that if he had really, truly upset Virgin, then his friend—and, possibly, the man he cared much for more than almost anyone else in the world—could be gone forever.