The Brotherhood: Blood (69 page)
In the end, any and all the things a man possessed would one day be gone.
Odin, Nova, Domnin and the captain descended the second deck to witness the damage the previous night had done. Ropes lay strewn over the deck, buckets stood lopsided or on their rounded bottoms, an anchor lay prone, disengaged from its place near the far wall—through the carnage, and amidst a series of men who stood gathering up the scattered supplies, one of the ship’s large sails had been spread out, where several men stooped with needles and spare fabric in hand. Among these men stood the cloaked Miko and Icklard, who each held a hand steady as purple and green magic spread out from along their finger and sewed the sail together like glowing worms crawling over a leaf.
“Icklard!” Domnin cried, running out ahead of the group.
While the two brothers united, gripping one another in a mighty embrace, Jerdai leaned against the wall and lit his pipe, inhaling the tobacco with a sigh. Odin glanced at Nova—who, in turn, glanced at him before they looked out at the wreckage.
“Pretty bad storm, huh?” Nova said, hoping to break the silence that had existed since they left Jerdai’s quarters.
“It was,” Jerdai agreed, pulling his pipe away to exhale a plume of smoke. “It could’ve been a lot worse though.”
Odin nodded. He looked up just in time to see Miko coming toward them, the mage brothers in tow.
“I’m glad the two of you are all right,” the Elf said, then looked up at Jerdai. “And you as well, captain.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jerdai said. “You helpin’ my mage repair these sails?”
“I was, yes. I’ll continue if you’d like.”
“I’d prefer someone help the brothers, if they could. I don’t trust my men with pins and needles.”
“I can help too,” Odin said, smiling when he caught a smirk on the captain’s face.
“You know how to mend fabric, boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then you’re more than welcome to—”
“Excuse me for interrupting, sir,” Icklard said, coming up from behind Miko. He waited for the captain to give his approval or rejection before continuing. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did last night, Odin. And you too, Nova. I don’t think I could ask for better friends.”
“Don’t mention it,” Nova grinned.
“You don’t have to thank us,” Odin added, casting a glance up at Jerdai, who only shrugged and leaned back against the wall.
“Still,” Icklard said, edging closer to his brother. “It means a lot.”
“We better get working,” Jerdai grunted, adjusting the pipe between his lips. “We can’t move until that sail’s fixed.”
“What about the reserve sail?” Domnin frowned. “Couldn’t we use that?”
“We’ll fix this sail,” the captain said, “and use the reserve only if the main one is damaged beyond repair.”
Without another word, Jerdai turned and made his way onto the second deck, where he could easily observe the work taking place.
Odin caught sight of Icklard whispering to Domnin before the two of them walked back to the sail.
“I’m guessing the captain’s not much for the mage,” Nova muttered, looking out at the blue-grey sky.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Odin shrugged.
“Love works in strange ways,” Miko mused, setting a hand on both of their shoulders.
“It doesn’t seem like Jerdai loves him, sir.”
“He does, in his own way. Come, though. Let’s not let this bother us—we’ve got work to do.”
The rest of that morning and afternoon was spent repairing the sail, untying knotted rope and gathering any and all of the buckets they could find. By the time the sun crested the horizon, the sail had been retied, reset and freshly expanded, all to ready it for tomorrow’s journey.
Odin sat near the base of the crow’s skull watching the captain and the mages converse back and forth. Nearby, Nova watched the setting sun, while Miko paced the deck below, arms crossed and hands in the crease of his elbows.
I wonder what they’re talking about,
he thought, looking toward the mages. A quick glance in their direction showed that the captain had disappeared.
Taking his chance, Odin stood and crossed the deck. He knocked on the railing to alert the brothers of his presence before stepping forward. “Hey,” he smiled. “What’s up?”
“Not a whole lot,” Domnin sighed.
“The captain wants to make up for lost time,” Icklard said. “Which means we’ll have to travel by night.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Odin asked.
“It is when you’re not sure where you are,” Domnin said. “See, the storm threw us off course, but we don’t know how much. When this happens, the captain always has us sit out late, watching the stars and using our magic to adjust the sails in whatever direction we need to go.”
“It’s a long and boring process,” Icklard mumbled. “and a bit tiring.”
“I’ll sit up,” Odin said. “I mean, if you don’t care. I won’t get in the way.”
“Of course we wouldn’t. But really, Odin—you don’t have to do that.”
“I will.”
“You’re going to be bored out of your mind,” Domnin sighed. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Odin said. “I’m sure.”
“Hey, kid!” Nova called, waving up at him. “You ready to go in?”
“Change of plans!” Odin called back. “I’m going to sit up and help the brothers tonight!”
Odin sat in darkness. Nearby, the brothers stooped with their legs crossed, pouring over what appeared to be a star map. Every so often, one of them would set his magic-tipped finger to the map, point in the air, then look back at the map again before gesturing the other to adjust the sails. This process, while obviously-common and not in the least bit tasking, seemed to take a lot out of either of the brothers when they began to adjust the sails. When doing so, one would lift their hand, spark it to life with fire, then send several orbs of light into the air in order to view the progress of the sail’s wary direction. Odin watched in mute fascination, mouth agape, as Domnin’s orange orbs danced around the sail and eventually began to shift it to the east—toward, Odin assumed, where they would be docking to get supplies.
But where would we go?
he thought, frowning, tilting his head as the sail began to adust to Domnin’s will.
Kegdulan?
He’d read much of the country beneath the mountains—of how, in choice locations along the coast and closest to the Hornblaris, Dwarves had abandoned completed stone villages and outposts in favor of homes within their mountains. These places, it was said, had been the basis for the kingdom, and it was only when the Kegdulanian king had decided to form his country that any human activity had been present. Before, very little had existed there beyond wildlife, much less sentient creatures who happened to live in the shadow of the mountains, and it was for this reason that Odin pondered on the political climate between Kegdulan and Germa in light of the desert country’s position on Ornala.
Why, Odin wondered, did the Germanian king not want parts of Kegdulan? Was it because of how barren it was, for the fact that the farming was more severe and the space more wrought with untamed nature, or was it simply because he simply saw Ornala as a better prospect?
Rather than think about the politics and the climate that surrounded them, Odin shook his head, straightened his posture, then crawled to sit between the brothers. He watched Icklard take his turn sending green orbs up to examine the sails before asking, “Where are we?”
“On course,” Icklard sighed. “Finally. Thank God.”
“I thought the storm blew us off though?”
“Apparently it didn’t,” Domnin shrugged. “But then again, we’ve been adjusting the sails for the past few hours.”
“We don’t have anything to worry about then?”
“Not unless the wind comes up and decides to push us back.”
Pulling his legs to his chest, Odin watched the two brothers scrutinize the maps pressed before them—one a hand-drawing of the land, another the star locator their attention had been set on for the past few hours.
We’re good then,
he thought, tightening his grip just below his knees.
“You can go to bed,” Domnin said, looking up.
“Are you sure?” Odin frowned. “I mean, it doesn’t bother me. I can stay up.”
“You might as well go to bed, Odin. There isn’t much you can do anyway.”
“All right,” he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Thanks for letting me camp out.”
“And thank you fo the company,” Icklard smiled. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Domnin added.
“Goodnight,” Odin replied.
He made his way for the stairs, thankful that this part of the night was over.
“You’re back,” Miko said.
Odin nodded, pushing back against the door to make sure it had firmly shut. He turned the bolt and laced the chain before turning to face his knight master. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to stay out,” he said.
“Don’t be. I don’t mind.”
“Still…”
Deciding it would be best not to get into a battle of wits, Odin sat on his bed and leaned forward to undo the laces on his boots. Once both were off, he leaned over the metal footrest and opened the chest, setting both boots inside.
“How was it?” Miko asked.
“How was what?” Odin frowned.
“The night.”
“All right, I guess. It’s dark out there.”
“It is,” Miko agreed. The Elf stepped away from his bed and toward Odin’s. After a moment, Odin patted the place beside him, gesturing him to sit but with one gesture. “You did a good thing, staying out there with those brothers.”
“They’re my friends,” Odin said. “I’d do anything for them.”
“It’s not often you find someone so willing to help another.”
“I know,” he said. “More than well.”
He thought of the castle and how the only people who had ever helped him was the mage and the weapons master. The healer had come in his time of need, but only because he’d been sick, and his father—he’d come out of redemption, to free the troubled soul that had rested within its cage of flesh and trekindle the flame of a fire that had long since burn out.
“I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” the Elf said.
“You didn’t, sir. I… I mean... it’s not your fault.”
“There are times when I speak without considering how my words will sound.”
“It’s ok. I know you didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Thank you, Odin. It means so much to know that I haven’t offended you.”
“I’m not easy to offend,” he smiled. After a moment of silence, Odin sighed and reached forward. His hand met the Elf’s naked lower back, where he slid it along the muscle until he came to rest his palm on his side. “We’re both tired,” he said, setting his head against Miko’s shoulder. “We should get some sleep.”
“We should,” Miko agreed.
Standing, breaking the physical connection they just had, Miko started for his bed, but not before turning and whispering a short goodnight.
Odin watched the Elf crawl between the covers before he uttered his own goodnight.
“Dammit!” Jerdai cried.
Odin stopped, unsure of whether or not to step up onto the second dock. While he didn’t think the captain would mind his presence, he didn’t want to intrude on a private moment.
Instead of immediately taking his last step off the stairs, Odin waited, watching the captain’s movements. Until then, he hadn’t realized the man had set a hand over his face.
Something’s wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Odin stepped forward. “Sir?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
Jerdai raised his head. Fresh blonde stubble lined his face, while his usually-calm, brown eyes possessed lines that criss-crossed the whites of his eyes and bled into his pupils. “Nothing’s wrong, son. You have nothing to worry about.”
Though he didn’t necessarily believe the answer, Odin nodded. His first thought led him to believe that something was wrong with the ship—that the sail had torn, that they’d lost one of the anchors, that there was a leak and they were slowly-but-surely going to go under who knew how many leagues away from land. Shortly thereafter, however, he realized that the sails were in perfect order, that losing an anchor was highly unlikely, and that a leak, if one were present, would have surely spread like wildfire.
That doesn’t mean something
isn’t
wrong.
He didn’t dwell on that thought. He did, however, think of something else.
Earlier that day, after he’d just risen from sleep and come out onto the deck, he’d seen Domnin and Icklard sitting near their favorite spot—at the bow, just above the wooden maiden. Usually they would’ve been talking so early in the morning, making casual banter or telling jokes that they’d heard from the sailors, oftentimes so lewd that Odin himself found them hard to believe. But, as he’d come to behold, something had been wrong. Whenever Icklard would say something, Domnin would shake his head or shrug. Then, when the younger brother would reach out to give a friendly touch, the elder would brush the gesture off, or push Icklard’s hand away. This behavior eclipsed to where, after he’d been touched one too many times, Domnin had actually slapped his brother—hard, it seemed, for Icklard’s entire torso shifted to one side and he reached up to touch the shoulder that’d just been slapped.
