The Brotherhood: Blood (31 page)

“It’s all right,” Miko said, helping Odin out of the bed. “There’s a bucket right here.”

Odin had just taken hold of the bucket when another bout of coughs took over. However, unlike the first unexpected cough, blood didn’t shoot out, but instead trickled from his partially-closed lips, as if he were a babe drooling after being freshly fed.

“There,” the Elf said, rubbing his back in small, circular motions. “Does that help?”

“Yuh-Yes,” Odin managed, spitting a mouthful of blood out. “Thu-Thank yuh-you.”

Miko continued to kneel by his side, rubbing his back and humming in low tunes, until the coughing spell ended. Once sure it was completely over, he gestured Odin up, stood, then took the bucket and set it near the door before settling Odin into one of the tableside chairs.

Miko set his hand on the bare section of Odin’s chest and splayed his fingers as far as he could manage. He then, with brief and efficient detail, channeled purple light from his palm and into Odin’s body—a sensation that, while violating to some degree, seemed to soothe all but the deepest sources of pain, that of which existed in his lungs and not in the surrounding areas.

Odin waited for the Elf to stand and make way for the beds before he pushed himself out of the chair. From there, he turned, strode through the room until he came to the bathing chamber, then, as carefully as he possibly could without touching them with his hands, pulled on the sink’s cross-shaped arms and cleaned his hands off before returning to the room.

“Thank you for helping me,” Odin said, settling back and into bed. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Odin.”

After waking from a quiet, peaceful sleep the following morning, one of which seemed particularly peculiar in light of what had just happened last night, Odin blinked and tried to clear his eyes of the haze that clouded his vision. In doing so, he found the room alight in bright and vibrant colors—in hues of white and gold that, while not particular symbolic of healing remedies, seemed to help dispel the pain that still lingered in his chest.

“Are you feeling well?” the voice asked.

Startled, unsure what to do, Odin threw himself back and into the corner, nearly managing to bang his head against the wall in the process. It took him but a moment to realize it was just the Elf sitting between the beds, eyes attentive and face shrouded in what appeared to be slight amusement and concern.

Smiling, Miko rose and walked to the table, where he gestured Odin to follow in the few brief steps it took him to cross the room.

After sliding out of bed, Odin made his way to where the Elf stood—where, before them, a platter of breads, broth and cheeses lay. “I’ve already eaten,” the Elf said, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “I’m glad you woke when you did. It was starting to get cold.”

Odin plucked a piece of cheese from the plate and slid it into his mouth. While he chewed, he tore a piece of bread away from the small loaf and dipped it into the broth.

Odin watched his knight master but for a moment, then shrugged and slid into the chair closest to the platter and opposite the Elf. The whole while he ate, he couldn’t help but watch the creature and notice his attentive stare, which seemed to capture him within his grasp and hold him in place without actually doing it.

He just…
stares
at me,
he thought, a bit uneasy at the attention currently set before him.

“You’ll have to excuse me. It’s customary for Elves to give one another their full attention. You see, I haven’t been around humans—or anything, for that matter—in such a long time.”

“No. To be quite honest, all I remember is entering through the Ornalan border. You have to understand that after a while, things around you start to move without you even realizing it. All I know is that I’ve been walking for a long time. You’d understand if you were immortal. I’m sorry I can’t explain further.”

“How did you know I was here then?”

“Call it clairvoyance.”

Does he have the Sight?
Odin thought, frowning, unsure what to think but knowing that Elves possessed abilities so uncanny they could not be compared to mortal men.

Rather than dwell on the concept any further, Odin continued to eat. While he knew that the Elf had made it more than clear that he wanted questions to be asked, he didn’t believe the creature would want to be questioned day in and day out. For that, he stuck another piece of cheese into his mouth, swallowed, then asked, “Will we be leaving soon?”

With no need to question what the Elf had just said, Odin pushed the empty platter away and rose from his seat. “Do you want me to run you a bath?” he asked.

“If you’d like, yes.”

He slid into the bathing chamber and went for the massive pump that adorned a stylized network of pipes before the massive, wooden bathtub. Hands ready, palms itching, he placed both hands on the massive valve atop the cat-faced pump and rotated it until water began to sprout from its mouth.

“It’ll be ready soon!” Odin called out.

The Elf didn’t respond.

I didn’t need to yell,
he thought.

Then again, the Elf had said he didn’t mind loud noises, so what reason was there for him to worry?

Just before the tub could fill to the brim, Miko stepped into the room and undid the clasp on his purple-lined blue cape before letting it fall to the floor. He then slid his fingers through the intricate knot on his lower robe and parted the folds of fabric. It was at this point, when the Elf was almost naked, that Odin turned his head away out to allow the Elf some modesty in regards to his person.

When the audible sound of the Elf sliding into the water entered his ears, Odin turned his attention back to the creature and watched as, slowly, he draped his arms across the back of the cylindrical wooden tub, eyes intent on his face and a slight frown poised on his lips.

“Sir,” Odin said, scooting closer to the Elf’s side when he felt it necessary and polite. “I’d like to ask something, if you don’t mind.”

Miko slid away from the side of the tub, rose out of the water until only his waist lay emerged, then reached out and tilted Odin’s face up. “May I touch you?” he asked.

Though stern, the voice wasn’t rude—more thoughtful than anything and rang with vibrations akin to bells tossed by the wind on a warm summer’s day.

Pulling his hair back, Odin allowed his knight master to examine what he wanted. In doing so, he exposed to the one and only man whom had ever touched him in such a manner his neck, his jaw, his cheek and, eventually, his skull. His conscience heavy, his nerves set ablaze by the revelation, he remained quiet as the Elf traced the curve of his skull, prying at the hidden nooks and crannies that Odin hadn’t even been aware of. He tangled his fingers through his hair and applied pressure to the depths of his cheeks, drawing his hairline with his fingertip—he searched any and everywhere he could. When he came to his ear, however, a notion of unease struck his face and the bells stopped ringing. A frown crossed his face and perpetually-darkened his façade.

A flash of light appeared at the side of Odin’s vision, then revolved around his head until it came to rest before him—where, directly in line with his eyes, an oddly-shaped ear lay suspended in the air, trapped within the confines of a purple sphere of light.

“This,” the Elf said, “is how your ears look.”

It didn’t appear normal—at least, not in any respect. From his perspective on the human body and anatomy as a whole, Odin had always come to see a normal man’s ears as perfect—spherical, with only the occasionally bump and tremble near the end of it, where the lobe lay. What floated before him, however, was something amazing—something that, though not pure, elongated and pointed, held jagged curvature, as though someone had just taken a knife and added unique bumps to certain sections of flesh.

While looking into Miko’s eyes, he realized that his father had
never
spoken about his mother—not even once, when he’d questioned the man’s motives and just how the woman who should have been raising him should played a role in his life.

“It’s possible that you could have a distant relative who was an Elf—or at least had some Elf in him—that gave you the recessive trait. You are aware of the dominant and recessive, right?”

“Like farm animals,” Odin said. “My father had a good friend who raised cattle. He said that he tried to raise cattle that passed on the more dominant traits.”

“Right,” Miko smiled. “It’s the same with humans and any other creature. We inherit the features of our mother and father.”

“Is that why you look to strange?”

Immediately horrified by what he’d just said, Odin drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain in his heart, which drummed within his chest as if he were a tender piece of flesh being repeatedly assaulted by an outside force.

You didn’t,
he thought, staring into the Elf’s face.
You couldn’t have.

“I’m sorry,” Odin said, bowing his head. “I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did. You’re too handsome to look anything but that.”

“It’s quite all right, and I know you didn’t mean it that way.” Miko gripped Odin’s upper arm. “My hair, eyes, fingernails—all came from my father. My skin was my mother’s gift.”

“What would you look like if you had more of your father in you?”

“My skin would have been darker than that of the men who live in the desert. You must know of the Cadarack?”