The Brotherhood: Blood (49 page)
“I…” Odin sighed. “I thought of the same thing. I shouldn’t grow attached to them.”
“It’s a matter of concern for your wellbeing, that’s all. Although…” The Elf smiled. “I can teach you a way to stay in contact with them.”
“Even though they might be leagues off?”
“Yes. Right now though, I want you to go to bed. I’m happy to say that we’ll be where we’re going soon, but not for at least another few days.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Goodnight.”
Miko slid his hand down Odin’s arm, graced his wrist with his fingers, then settled down onto the floor,.
Before Odin walked to his own bed, he considered the notion of communicating with people leagues away and wondered why magic couldn’t have been more prevalent in the world.
If only things were simpler. Maybe then people didn’t have to suffer.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” Domnin said, moving aside so Odin could step into the room. “I was in the kitchen cleaning dishes when you visited.”
“It’s all right. Your brother said you were busy.”
When Domnin turned upon closing the door, he revealed a trait that hadn’t been visible beneath the frame of his hat. A shock of grey, starting at his temple and rounding his skull, lined his head as if he were a skunk or some other mammalian creature, blessed by nature with a premature strike of grey that undoubtedly aged him beyond his years.
Could it have been from magic?
he thought, blinking, trying his best not to stare. He’d heard such things before—that magic, when used in uncontrolled and boundless amounts, could age one far beyond their years—but never once had he seen something as fabled as a sorcerer’s streak.
Rather than continue to stare, Odin took a deep breath, expelled it, then asked, “Where’s your brother?”
“He’ll be back. He went down to the kitchen to make us some treats.”
“Treats?”
“Have you ever had milk chocolate?” Domnin asked, licking his lips. “It’s one of the best things you can have.”
“I haven’t.”
Domnin smiled and reached up to rub his neck.
Until that very moment, during which time the brother reached back to rub his neck, Odin had been unsure of how yesterday’s revelation would affect his outlook on the older brother if at all. Surprisingly, but much to his relief, it hadn’t.
Why would someone be bothered by something as simple as that?
It didn’t necessarily matter. Like it or not, those without conscience could keep to themselves.
“Is something wrong?” Domnin asked, blinking, blue eyes radiant with question.
“Oh no,” Odin smiled, feeling stupid and all the more knowing of his past feelings. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Here—sit down. I should’ve offered you a chair when you walked in.”
Odin shrugged and took his seat in the chair he’d occupied yesterday, while Domnin sat opposite, stretching his arms out over his head.
Just before he could begin to say something, the door opened to reveal Icklard, prim and proper and carrying a tray covered with small brown squares. “Hello,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s all right,” Odin said.
Domnin stood and plucked a square from the tray. After popping it into his mouth, he closed his eyes and clapped Icklard’s shoulder. “You always did make the better chocolate.”
“Thanks,” Icklard smiled. “Try a piece, Odin.”
“That’s all right. I’m ok.”
“No. Really—go ahead.”
“I don’t want to take something I didn’t make.”
“A couple of pieces won’t hurt us.”
“Besides,” Domnin said, plopping back down into his seat. “It’s not that hard to make.”
“Not at all,” Icklard said, extending his arm and the tray which sat atop his palm. “Try a piece.”
With little choice other than to do just that, Odin reached forward and slid a piece off the pan. He nibbled the side, just to make sure he wanted to eat more, before sliding the square into his mouth.
“Like that?” Icklard grinned.
“Yeah,” Odin smiled, reveling in the velvety aftermath of the sweet. “I do.”
“Good thing you got it from one of the best chocolate makers around,” Domnin laughed.
“You
never
want to have bad chocolate,” Icklard agreed. “It ruins the whole experience.”
After pushing a third chair opposite Domnin and Odin, Icklard settled down and took a piece of chocolate for himself. He closed his eyes, slid a piece of chocolate to the side of his mouth likely so he could suck on it, then said, “Damn. I should’ve brought milk.”
“No worries,” Domnin said. Odin shook his head in agreement.
“It’s better with milk, really. I remember reminding myself to bring some, but then I got to thinking about how low on milk the ship can get and decided not to.”
“Making chocolate does tend to use a lot of milk,” Domnin agreed.
“We don’t want to get the captain angry.”
“Aren’t you two… well… more important than the other men?” Odin asked.
“Not more important, per se,” Icklard said.
“We’re just more talented than the others,” Domnin added.
Icklard nodded. He and his brother slapped hands before swiping another piece of chocolate. Odin, on a whim, decided to take one as well.
“So, Odin,” Domnin said. “You getting bored yet?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “My knight master said it wouldn’t be long before we’d be where we were going.”
“I bet you’re excited to finally setting off again,” Icklard smiled.
“Icklard told me about all you three have been through,” Domnin said. “Thinking there’s road runners on the pass. Wow.”
“Road runners?” Odin frowned.
“Another word for bandits,” Icklard said. “It’s surprising you haven’t run into any trouble on the way down. Most knights have to kill at least a few road runners on their way down the pass.”
“I think they’re afraid of him,” Odin mumbled.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Domnin laughed.
“He’s a brute, that one,” Icklard chuckled. “If I were a bandit, I wouldn’t want to attack him either.”
“I don’t know,” Odin shrugged. He stayed silent for a moment, watching the brothers banter between one another about the chocolate, before speaking. “I feel safe around him.”
“A squire should feel safe around his master,” Domnin said. “It’s natural for that kind of bond to develop. You probably think of him as a kind of father, even after this short amount of time.”
“Suh-Sort of.”
Why he stuttered he couldn’t necessarily be sure. Maybe it was because Miko had been compared to his father, or maybe it had been for the fact that the declaration seemed all the more set in stone. Since they’d left Ornala, and since he’d met the Elf to begin with, he’d never considered Miko to be more than a friend, a tutor to instruct him in the ways of chivalry and the world. Now, however, the simple meaning of friendship had taken on a whole new perspective.
“Odin?”
“Yeah?” he asked. He was unsure as to which of the brothers had spoken.
“Are you all right?” Domnin asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his arms. “I just got distracted thinking about something.”
The brothers shrugged. Odin watched them for a moment before he remembered what Miko had once said about their relationship being split up.
“I’ve been worried about not being able to see the two of you again,” he said. “My knight master said he could teach me how to stay in touch.”
“We can do that,” Icklard said. “Right, Domnin?”
“Right.”
The two stood and gestured Odin into the far corner of the room. A desk—obviously divided between the pair, since different books and parchments with distinct handwriting lay on each side—rested in the corner, near where he would soon stand as soon as he crossed the room.
“All right,” Icklard said, turning to face Odin when they’d arranged themselves in opposite corners of the room. “There’s a few ways to do it, but me and Domnin always use the image system.”
“Image system?” Odin frowned.
“Yeah,” Icklard said. “Like this.”
The man held his hands out. A series of small lights sprouted along his fingers, then came together to form a small bird that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Icklard did the same. Soon, an orange and green canary stood atop both of their palms.
“Oh,” Odin smiled. “I’ve done that before.”
“If you use a simple form, like a small bird, you can release it and let the surrounding energies feed it through its flight.”
“It’s safer for everyone and thing involved,” Icklard said. “We don’t want to kill anything on accident.”
“No.” Odin shook his head. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Anyway,” Domnin continued, “with a small form, you can use a small amount of energy and keep it going. From there, you can speak and will the sound of your voice into the image. Then, after you set it free, it’ll keep the message until me or my brother release it.”
“We won’t have to worry about someone interfering with our messages?”
“No,” Icklard said. “If you’re worried, you can enchant it so only we can receive it. All that takes is a little extra will.”
“Right,” Domnin said. He spread his fingers. The bird, channeled with little more than thought, remained still in the man’s hand. “We’re going to teach you how to do this. It’ll give your knight master one less thing to do.”
“Though he will probably want to experiment anyway,” Icklard added, “just to make sure you know how to do it.”
Domnin raised the bird to eye level, whispered something under his breath, then animated it. With the bird jumping around his hand and flapping it small wings, Domnin raised his eyes and asked, “Ready?”
“I’m ready,” Odin said.
After setting the bird free, the animated messenger of light flew across the room and landed directly on Odin’s shoulder—where, on contact, light static began to buzz within his ears.
“Now,” Icklard said, “All you have to do is reach up, touch the light, then ask it to reveal its message.”
“Reveal your message,” Odin said, reaching up to touch the bird.
Hello,
Domnin’s voice said.
I see you, Odin.
He smiled and cast a glance at his friend. The man raised his thumb.
“There,” Domnin said. “Now that you’ve touched the messenger, you can release its magic back into the air.”
Odin willed the bird to vanh. Like his own images of light before, the bird’s form gradually faded until it disappeared.
“I’m going to send my own message,” Icklard said, “but I’m going to go one step further.”
“How is that?”
“If oyu put a little extra will into your message, you can have your face embedded into the magic.”
Icklard whispered something to his bird, then released it.
The moment it landed on Odin’s shoulder, he touched it. The bird flew out in front of his face, hovered before his eyes, then stretched and reassembled until an image of Icklard’s face from the neck-up appeared.
This is how it works,
the image of his friend’s face said, lips moving, eye blinking.
“That’s neat,” Odin said.
Just like Domnin’s bird before, he released Icklard’s image.
“You try,” the older brother encouraged.
Odin raised his hands and conjured an image of a bird. Though slightly larger than the canaries the brothers had summoned, the dove cooed and flapped its wings, turning to face Odin. Everything looked real, snow-white and albino, except for its slightly-transparent eyes and claws.
“Do you normally add behaviors to your summons?” Icklard asked.
“I… don’t really add them.”
“You don’t?” Domnin frowned.
“No. My teacher at the castle asked the same thing. I’m not sure if I do it without thinking about it or… what.”
“Did you have early instruction when you were young?”
“No.”
“That could explain it.”
“I only started to control my magic when I was fourteen.”
“My brother knows the mechanics of magic much better than I do,” Icklard said, leaning against the desk. “I’ve tried to tell him to go teach at the castle, but he won’t have it.”
“I’m not leaving you on this boat by yourself,” Domnin said. “You know that.”
“Anyway,” the younger brother groaned, “send the dove to us, Odin.”
Odin brought the bird close to his face, whispered, ‘I hope this is right,’ then channeled his facial movements into the construct. When he finished, he flung the creature into the air.
Both Domnin and Icklard came forward to view his progress.
