The Brotherhood: Blood (100 page)
“It was Odin who told me to.”
“It was you who said you’d take me as your assistant. Odin may have thought I shouldn’t be there, but you’re the one that freed me.” A tear slipped from Parfour’s bad eye. A mix between a grimace and a smile contorted his face before he let out a single laugh. “Look at me,” the boy said, wiping the tear from his eye. “I’m crying.”
“Release is a powerful thing.”
“You’re hurt because of me.”
“Say no such thing.”
“If I wouldn’t have been there, you could’ve come back with Odin and Nova. Because of me… you got stabbed.”
“Parfour,” Miko said. Grimacing, he pushed himself into a sitting position despite Odin’s protests and set his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I was stabbed because I’d revealed someone’s deepest secret and their truest weakness, not because I took you away from that island.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t cry for me, boy. I’m fine. You have been hurt far worse than I have. I have nothing to complain about.”
Nodding, Parfour took a moment to gain his composure before stepping away from the bed. From there, he made his way to the door, only looking back once before he left.
“Is everything going to be all right?” Odin asked, returning his eyes to his knight master.
“Everything will be fine,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“He woke up,” Odin said.
Nova and the mage brothers looked up. “What?” Icklard asked.
“He woke up,” Odin repeated, stepping forward.
“When?” Nova grinned.
“Not too long ago. I think he’s still awake, but he’s resting. I want the healer to come down and check on him if he’s available.”
“I’ll go find him,” Domnin said, stopping to clap Odin’s shoulder as he made his way toward the upper deck. “That’s great, Odin! He’s all right!”
“Yeah,” Odin said, looking down at his feet as Domnin bounded up the stairs. “He is.”
“Something wrong?” Nova asked.
“It’s just… I don’t know. This whole thing with Miko being stabbed, taking Parfour away from the island… it just seems like a little too much right now.”
“It’s not gonna be any easier as a knight, kid—I’m telling you that right now.”
“I know, Nova. I’m well aware of that.”
Neither spoke in earnest. Icklard, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, let out a breath. “You know,” the younger mage brother said, leaning against the railing. “You could always look at it this way: at least they’re alive.”
“I know,” Odin said. “I’m not—”
“Being out here, at sea, it’s hard to know what’s coming next,” Icklard continued, oblivious to whatever Odin had been about to say. “One day, everything could be fine—the sun could be out, the birds flying overhead, the water cool and calm. The next it could be absolute hell. The waves could be twice, maybe even three times as large as the ship, whipping us around like we’re something that can just be used and abused. Or, even if the sea is calm, we can jump over the side for a swim to cool off after a long, hard day only to have something go wrong. You two are more than aware of what can happen then.”
A splash of tails, flailing limbs and blood splashed across Odin’s visions. He brushed his arms as memories of Nova’s nails sinking into his flesh stirred old wounds to life.
“We know,” Nova said, wrapping an arm around Odin’s shoulders.
“You have to think of it as a day-by-day thing,” Icklard said, glancing at the two of them. “We’re here to do something whether we like it or not. Me and Domnin guide a ship, you three journey across the country so one of you can become a knight. It’s all a matter of how you take the bad that’s happened to make it into something better.
Icklard pushed away from the railing. He arched his back, turned, and started for the upper deck, but not before stopping to glance at the two of them. “You’ve done well,” the brother smiled. “Now you just have to put it to use.”
The mage walked away with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune often heard amongst sailors.”
Later that night, after Nova and Parfour had fallen asleep and Odin lay awake, Miko struggled to rise from bed and fell into the wall. Unsure what to do at first, Odin watched his knight master through thinly-opened lids, waiting to see how he would respond to the sudden reality of his weakness.
He knows he needs help, so why is he trying to get up by himself?
Sighing, the Elf raised a hand and ran his fingers through his hair. A short exhale passed from between his pursed lips and echoed across the wall as a whistle. The sound, as slight as it should have been, multiplied inside Odin’s ears, bouncing off the drum and reverberating across the fleshy inside walls. The pained whistle soon turned into a scream heard not outside his head, but inside.
After several moments of indecision, and after waiting for the Elf to finally realize he could not move on his own, Odin rose and made his way across the room. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
“No,” Miko sighed. “I am not.”
Draping an arm across his shoulders, Miko pressed his weight into Odin’s side and burdened him with the weight of his body. Eyes downcast, hidden behind a fine sheen of hair, there would be little chance of reading his face, if at all.
Proud creatures rarely showed such emotion. The fact that Miko felt the need to do so now forced Odin into an awkward position.
“Do you want your cloak,” Odin whispered, pausing at the door.
“There’s no need for it.”
“Are you—”
“Never corner an injured animal, Odin—it always strikes out.”
A shiver of unease passed down Odin’s neck before he opened the door.
Outside—in the long, double-ended hall—only a flicker of light from the outside world penetrated the darkness to allow one sliver of sight.
“You’re sure, sir?”
“Yes, Odin—I’m sure.”
Shaking his head, Odin pushed his way out into the hall, then waited for Miko to duck under the doorway. Once situatied, the Elf reached out, closed the door, then let out a deep breath, obviously-troubled and in deire straits of pain.
“Miko?” Odin frowned. “Do you need something?”
“Fresh air,” the Elf said. “And to relieve myself.”
“I could have brought you a bucket.”
“I would have asked for one had that been what I wanted.”
He’s more stubborn than either of us will ever be,
Nova once chuckled, a faint memory stirred within Odin’s mind in the face of an Elf.
No reason to fight with him. Just do what he says and everything will be just fine.
“Excuse my ignorance, sir.”
Miko said nothing. The Elf merely leaned into Odin’s side and allowed him to assist him down the hall and up the stairs.
Up top, in a world dark and full of sea-born mist, Miko broke away from Odin’s hold and stumbled to the railing. Odin nearly pursued, but stopped when he heard the steady stream of urine hitting the water below.
“It’s quiet out tonight,” Miko whispered, readjusting the waist of his lower robe. “Peaceful… unlike some things during the day.”
“The birds aren’t out tonight,” Odin nodded.
Miko smiled.
Stepping forward, Odin took hold of the railing in front of him and looked out at the ocean. Though nothing but glowing mist could be seen, warping amidst the water into shapes of beauties and horrors, he expected something to reveal itself—a lone gull, a brief flash of a fin, an ancient, mythical dragon. He looked at his knight master to see if he, too, felt something was amiss, but found nothing more than the demure expression he’d worn since the day he woke.
“I want to talk to you about something, Odin.”
“Yes sir?”
“Do you remember what I told you about being attached to mortals?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what else we talked about?”
Odin had no choice but to nod. “Yes sir. I do.”
“Then you know that I could have easily died in that bed.”
“But you didn’t. That’s all that matters.”
“No, Odin. It isn’t.” Turning, Miko set a hand on Odin’s shoulder and bowed his head. It took the Elf a moment to regain his bearings, but when he did, he set his other hand on Odin’s opposite shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “If something ever happens to me,” the Elf began, “I’ve taught you all that I thought was necessary. I will not lie though—I was ignorant, foolish, indecisive. You should know how to treat a wound and look for poison. You should know how to look at a bird and tell which way is north. You should know how to do many things, yet I haven’t taught you any of them.”
“What are you saying, sir?”
“You’ll always be able to learn something new. If something happens to me, don’t blindly run off on your own—seek someone who can help you. That’s the only way you’ll ever guide your way through grief.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Odin?”
“Are you afraid something’s going to happen to you?”
“This is the first time I’ve been injured in as long as I can remember. I doubted my mortality. I exposed my weakness. I forgot I could be killed.”
“That doesn’t answer—”
“There isn’t an answer to the question you’ve asked. I am no seer. I can’t tell the future.” Miko paused. He turned his head up to look at the barely-visible stars, then returned his attention to Odin. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, then said, “Take me back to our room. We’ve spent enough time out in the cold.”
Odin nodded.
He couldn’t help but catch a faint glimmer of doubt in the Elf’s eyes before they descended into the ship.
A faint rustling drew Odin from sleep.
At first unaware of the source of the sound, he opened his eyes and scanned the inside of the room, panic thrumming the chords in his chest and adrenaline pounding the base of his lungs. A fire started at the pit of his stomach, then rose into his chest, threatening to drown his throat and force a gasp of air from between his lips. Somehow, though, he managed to contain the strained exhale, trapping it behind the flap of his throat and sealing it with a purse of his lips as he listened for the slight noise to start up again.
A floorboard creaked.
A faint whisper of fabric deafened the silence of the room.
One slight breath raised the hair on Odin’s neck.
It’s coming from the end of my bed,
he thought, desperate to move, but unwilling to reveal his state of consciousness.
It’s—
“Odin,” the voice whispered. “Are you—”
“Dammit Parfour!” he hissed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Why?”
“I thought someone was in the room with us.”
“Oh,” the boy mumbled. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake anyone up.”
“You’re more likely to do that by being quiet,” Odin sighed, parting his hair from his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“What’re you doing up?”
“I… uh…” Parfour paused. His eyes fell to his feet a moment later.
“You… what?” Odin frowned.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you just wake me up then?”
“Because I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to talk about this.”
“Come on,” Odin said, sliding his boots out from under his bed. “Let’s go out in the hall.”
“Won’t they still be able to hear us?”
“Not if we go further down, near where the painting of the ship is.”
Content with his answer, Parfour nodded and withdrew to the opposite side of the room. While the boy pulled his shoes on, and while Odin loosely tied the knots of his jerkin into place, Nova and Miko continued to sleep as though not a thing had transpired. Nova’s light but raspy snoring, Miko’s silent but recognized breath, Parfour’s whispered but obvious indecision—all blanketed the tension in the room with an invisible cloak that made it all seem unreal. Odin himself found it hard to stay quiet as he made his way to the door and slid the key into the lock, as the knots in his chest only continued to tighten with each passing moment, but did so for fear of waking the others and causing a scene.
Parfour had come to him in the confidence. If the boy wanted to talk alone, they would. There was no other option.
Outside—in the long, moonlit hall—Odin let out a long, drawn-out exhale and closed his eyes. Head buzzing, he set a hand on his brow and wiped a few beads of sweat away.
“Are
you
all right?” Parfour chuckled.
“Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”
“Why were you holding your breath?”
“I didn’t want to wake Miko up.”
“Would you breathing really have woken him up?”
“What do you think?”
