The Brotherhood: Blood (57 page)

“Hell yeah I do.”

Nova joined him on the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them, gaze set on the buildings opposite them. “We’ll be here for a year,” the man nodded. “It seems like a nice place, don’t you think?”

“From what little I’ve seen, I’d say yes.” Odin’s attention fell to the ground. A single, white rock rested at the end of his shoe. He kicked it, sending it soaring over the road and onto the other side of the street. “At least we don’t have to worry about being cold, and it seems pretty big.”

“I had no fucking clue when he said we were staying out here for a year. I thought he meant
there,
outside.” The two fist jabs that followed made Nova’s point more than clear.

“He wouldn’t take us anywhere he didn’t think we could go. He already said that.”

“Maybe to you, but not me.” Nova took a deep breath and expelled it. A smile perked his lips soon after. “Anyway, let’s keep walking, if you’re up for it.”

“I am,” Odin smiled. “More than up for it, actually.”

“Sir?” Odin frowned. “Are you all right?”

Since returning to the infirmary from his excursion at the mayor’s house, the Elf hadn’t said a thing. Instead, his attention had been set on the series of windows that lined the wall near Odin’s bed.

He’s always looking out the window,
he thought, frowning.

Though he’d come up with a few ideas as to why Miko looked out windows so much, he couldn’t be sure of any of them, as each and every idea that entered his head seemed clouded and off-center. One thing he questioned was the Elf’s mortality and how, because of his age, and because the world shifted to rapidly before him, he might possibly like to lock things into his mind, to instill within himself a sense of purpose that would make his life knowledgeable. Another, and the horrendously more sinister of the two, was how Miko could, possibly, be thinking about the ones he loved and just what he would do when they died. It seemed perfectly reasonable to have such thoughts with an indefinite lifespan, and for that Odin tried to relate the feeling mutually, if only so he could try and understand it himself, but he found himself unable to do so.

Just when he thought he’d made a connection, he sighed, realizing Miko’s sudden turn of his head was because of something he had seen outside and not, in fact, because of his own or Nova’s presence.

Come on,
Odin thought, turning his attention to his sleeping friend.
Why aren’t you awake when I need you to help me with him?

Did Nova know about the Elf’s doubts, his worries, his insecurities and his trials, or did he just not try and help because he figured he couldn’t? He knew Nova to be a caring man—a person whom, in all respects, would help another should he or she be in need of such things—but he couldn’t necessarily be sure, as he hadn’t seen him interacting with too many people. However, he’d seen such interaction to know that he wasn’t unfriendly. From his kindness to his father, to respecting Miko and being friendly with the bartender back in Elna, there seemed to be little lack of compassion within his friend’s body.

Odin said nothing, instead drawing his blankets up to his waist and leaning against the headrest. After a moment of waiting for any further response, the Elf returned his attention to the window, eyes hidden beneath his hood but more than obvious with their intent.

I don’t think I’ll ever really know what goes on in his head.

The fact that Miko suffered so was enough to unsettle him so much that he thought for a moment he would begin to shake. Here he was—a young man, only sixteen, trying to find his way in the world whilst attempting not to fall—having to deal with a creature who was so superiorly advanced than him both physically, mentally and possibly spiritually. It seemed impossible to even try and consider such things, and to even think he could alleviate his master’s problems seemed completely out of his abilities. Such was the way in the world, Odin figured, when relating to such creatures, and so with his heart unsure and his conscience all the more tainted, he finally said, “I don’t want you to suffer.”

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Miko seated himself on the bed beside Odin and spread himself out lengthwise. He set his feet—bare, but seemingly-clean—on the footrest so he wouldn’t get the bed dirty. “You said I suffered,” the Elf said, his voice low possibly so only Odin could hear. “Why do you think that?”

“I want you to be able to talk to me,” Odin continued. “I… I don’t like seeing you looking out the window at something I can’t see.”

“I don’t like thinking about things I can’t see,” Odin repeated, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “I know it sounds bad, but… I grew up not knowing a whole lot about a lot of things—me, my magic, the world outside of Felnon and what was going on around me when I was locked in the tower.”

“It’s natural to think about such things when you’ve been sheltered your whole life.” Miko draped an arm over Odin’s back. “You need to weaken the empathy you feel towards others, Odin—it will save you much pain and suffering.”

“I’m not going to stop caring just because you tell me to.”

“I never said—”

“Yes you did, sir!” he hissed. “You said I need to weaken the way I feel about others because it will save me the grief of wondering how they feel.”

“It’s sound advice—”

“For who? Someone who doesn’t care about the people around them?”

“I
do
care about the people around me, boy.” Miko stood and walked around the bed. Odin found himself drawing back into the corner, in the space where the headrest met the wall and the world seemed all the safer. “You’re the one who started this conversation, not me.”

“I… I don’t know what to tell you then,” the older man sighed. “From the way you explained everything to me, it sounds like you asked something and he got offended when you questioned his answer.”

“See my point?” Nova continued. “He got upset when you questioned what he thought was sound advice. Knowing him though, I don’t think it was just your question that made him react that way. Something’s bothering him.”

“That’s why I tried to ask.” Odin set his hands on his knees and stared at his feet. “Just look at all the good that did though.”

“You tried, that’s all that matters. If anything, he’s probably feeling guilty about what he said to you.”

“He just
left
though.”

“Right… after he got mad at you.”

Sighing, Odin stood, grimacing when his hip began to throb as though he’d just walked a thousand leagues and back. He said nothing, but he did reach down and set a hand over the area, if only to try and console himself of the pain that currently spiraled down his side.

“We just got to face the fact that we’ll never understand him,” Nova said, rising from his place on the bench just outside the infirmary. “He’s too old and too complex for anyone to understand him, I think. You could probably talk to him until the day you die and only know a little about him.”

“You know what, Nova? You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Odin kicked a stone harder than he should have. It went flying into the building opposite them, leaving a small, if still-noticeable chip in the wood. “Great. Look what I did.”

“He’s right about one thing though, buddy—you
do
need to quit beating yourself up about everything, or thinking that something you did is going to hurt someone else.”

“I guess I’m just that kind of person.”

“And you probably always will be. But hey, look at it this way—not everyone has a heart of gold.”

Odin looked over at his friend. Nova smiled, reached back to scratch his neck, then slid that same hand onto Odin’s shoulders. “Do you really think that?” Odin asked.

“I do.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

As he had for the past few nights, Miko returned to the infirmary incredibly late, past the time in which the sun had fallen across the horizon and the world lay shadowed in pale grey. Nova, who had been diligently sitting up with Odin per his request, had since fallen asleep in the armchair and now lay with his head tilted to the side of the room, mouth agape and snores echoing forth from his lips. It had been intended for the man to be his companion—to, for lack of better terminology, keep him from sounding or perceiving the situation to be awkward upon the Elf’s return. However, with that plan shot out of the water, Odin could do little than stare at the creature whom had taken him in despite the outrage and the cruel torment he’d been put through.

“Hi,” Odin said when he felt the room too quiet, raising a hand in friendly greeting.

With the hood over his face, Odin had no way to tell what his master might be feeling. The Elf’s facial structures had become second knowledge after such a long time of being together, and while different from other humans, emotions were universal—true, even, for creatures who bore sentient intelligence and who could express themselves with things other than words.

Miko moved to the table that sat near Odin’s bed. There, he set a foot on the wooden chair, tested its strength by applying pressure, then settled down in it. “There’s nothing to talk about,” the Elf sighed, turning his head up to face him. “Nothing you wouldn’t understand, anyhow.”

“I can try,” Odin replied, “like I did on the boat.”

“You may try, but you’ll never know the things I feel. I pray to the Gods you
never
feel as I do, Odin. This… this
thing…
it’s like someone’s tying the organs that let you breathe together and slowly making you drown in your own blood.”

Yes!
he thought, hoping the pure joy of the thought wouldn’t somehow be communicated through his facial expressions.

“Like an animal, I experience these urges, though they are much more complex than what, say, two rabbits feel. Their instinct is natural, as is mine, but theirs lacks sentient thought.”

Odin nodded. Even if he knew what it was like to be with another person in such a manner, he still didn’t think he would know what to say. In that regard, he was ignorant, but he could understand it to a degree. “You’re feeling trapped then,” he said.

“Trapped would be a good way to describe it, yes. A simpler way to relate it to you is to compare what I feel to the desire of greatly wanting something. I know you’ve experienced want in your life, Odin. You know how it feels when you want, or at least believe you want something more than anything. Imagine that, but multiply it as though your life depended on it—as though, at any moment, your entire existence could come down to one single moment.”

That sort of the feeling was the reason Odin dreaded ever getting excited about anything. The sheer disappointment one felt when that something
didn’t
happen could kill happiness—self-esteem, even, and make a person feel less than themselves. To greatly want something and then be denied of it was a horrible tragedy, as the feelings within one’s heart for such a thing was often so great that perfect moments were envisioned only to be torn down moments later.