The Brotherhood: Blood (74 page)

“Sir?” Odin asked.

When Miko did not respond in any way, shape or form, Odin extended a hand and flushed his fingers before the Elf’s eyes, expecting some form of reaction to happen. When nothing did, however, a chill begin in Odin’s heart, one so dark and terrifying that it made every pore on his arms stand on end.

He’s thinking,
Odin thought,
about what he did.

He could not necessarily give pity to the creature for what he’d done. Although he did, in hindsight, understand what may have taken over him, given his blood and just how unbalanced he was, he could not feel pained for the thing that sat before him. Such selfish actions of the human or sentient heart are said to be refusals of admittance, those of which could not be earned with coin or heart. For that, Odin knew, he could do nothing.

“Miko?” Odin asked, pulling his hand away and returning it to his side.

The Elf’s eyes, set to the outside world, stared forward, unblinking.

It was at that moment Odin realized there would be no chance in the Heavens or in Hell that he would be able to break this trance.

With a brief sigh, he pressed a hand against the creature’s back, held it there for several long moments, then began to make his way back to the bed.

Just before he closed his eyes, Odin watched his knight master and thought only one thing.

Is this justice,
he wondered.
Or is this punishment?

The following morning, Nova’s rough hands shook him awake. At first Odin fought, trying to push his friend’s fingers away. Then, slowly, he became conscious enough to hear the words flowing from his friend’s mouth.

“Odin,” Nova repeated, tightening his grip on his shoulders as his voice continued to gain more clarity. “Get up and get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“We are?” Odin sat up, shivering at the morning cold. His ears burned and the bridge of his nose ached.

“Yeah, we are, so get dressed. You can sleep on the boat if you’re still tired.”

Once sure he’d heard correctly and that he was not dreaming, Odin rolled out from under the covers and reached for his shoes. He pulled them on, laced them together, stood, then followed Nova out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind him. He started for the stairs with his friend, but stopped before he could continue, turning to look at the place they’d stayed in for the last few days. It would, most likely, be a long time, if not never, before they came back.

Well,
he thought, tightening his grip on the brass key that rested in his hand.
I guess this is it then—the next part of my adventure.

“You comin’?” Nova asked, tapping his foot on the dull-colored wood.

“Yeah,” Odin said. “I am.”

With one last look at the door, he followed his friend down the stairs, knowing in his heart that this would be the final stretch of his journey.

Chapter 8

As Elna had more than a year ago, and the Neline coast only a few months back, Fisherman’s Point faded with time, leaving them with only glimpses fo strangely-dyed wood, jagged cliffs and the Hornblaris Mountains, which continued to haunt them for weeks on end until they disappeared in a haze of cloud a month later, when nothing could be seen in the distance except water endlessly shifting upon the horizon. At first, the days seemed endless, as though time itself had ceased to exist; then the weeks followed, soon dragging on into the first month. They ate well each day, with fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and those men who’d lived on the sea their entire lives sung of faraway lands that could never be reached within a mortal’s lifetime—of a land beyond the Crystal Sea, where Elves and creatures of old had sailed to one day touch the mainland.

Gradually, Odin fell into his usual routine. He’d rise at almost dawn, walk out onto the ship both to greet the new day and to relieve himself, then slide back into his room until the day wore on. He fished with Nova, spoke with Miko, and played magical games of catch and release with Icklard and Domnin.

Soon enough, the reality of his last year became apparent. When winter came and went, the knights would return to Ornala with their squires, praying under harsh breath and swift whispers that their hard work would not end in disappointment. He thought of everything he’d learned and how, should he be accepted into the king’s army, he would benefit his country.

I can do it,
Odin thought, tightening his grip on the point of the railing, where the ship’s two sides met to become one at the bow.
I know I can.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the warm, morning air and imagined himself among the king’s men. Garbed in fine armor and armed with the finest of weapons, he would be atop his mighty mare, waving at the crowds of men, women and children assembled at the front gates, and he imagined it would be his father’s smiling face he would pick out in the crowd, beckoning to him with a wave of his hand.
Son!
he would cry, laughing and crying at the same time, his voice heard over a multitude of cries and jeers.
You did it!
he would say.
You really did it!

The thought of his father forced a warm, if provoked tear from his eye. It traveled down his skin and followed the rugged path of his cheek, where it clung to his sharp jaw with all its might. There, its journey ended, and began just the same. As its short life as human moisture ended, it fell, where it joined the vast, mighty ocean. There, it would live forever, just as he would should he become a knight of fame, honor and valor.

This is it,
he breathed, expelling his breath as slowly as he could, relishing the release of pressure from his chest.
This is where I become a man.

With one last, final breath, he opened his eyes to face his destiny.

It was glorious.

As though thinking better than to potentially risk falling into the ocean, Domnin pushed himself away from the railing and arched his back to stretch his muscles. He rolled his shoulders, loosened the strain in his arms, and smiled, reaching up to scratch his shaven, if somewhat-stubbly chin. “So,” he said, looking from Odin, to his brother, then back again. “What do you two want to do?”

“Doesn’t feel too good to get hit in the face with a flying ball of water,” Icklard agreed. “But hey, Jerdai wasn’t mad for too long.”

The younger, red-haired brother smirked, lighting the tip of his pointer finger in green light. He shot a dart of light at his brother, who quickly raised his hand and stopped it with a bowl-sized barrier.

“This one drives him even more nuts than the water game,” Domnin chuckled. “Especially when we start reflecting light off our barriers.”

“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Icklard explained, repelling a bit of Domnin’s orange magic. “If anything, it’s annoying.”

“Here, Odin—catch.”

Odin ducked before a bolt of magic could hit him in the face. Domnin chuckled, but quickly changed his tune when Odin retaliated with a shot of his own. The snow-white dart of light bounced off Domnin’s shield, then flew at Icklard, who quickly reflected it abck at Odin.

The two of them returned their eyes to Domnin, whose attention was set on the orb of light between his clawed fingers. The white orb of magic pulsed within his grasp, nearly invisible in the harsh glow of the afternoon sun. “I never thought about it until now,” the older brother said, “but you
do
know white magic is rare, right?”

“Dark Elves usually only have purple or dark-red-colored magic,” Domnin said, extinguishing the white orb with a clench of his fist. “White, though… Icklard, do you remember what’s so special about it?”

“Legend says she came over the Crystal Sea to the mainland of Minonivna with the Elves thousands of years ago. She supposedly brought life back to our dying land.”

“Plants bloomed from dead rock under her feet,” the older brother continued, “and animals emerged from their caves to walk alongside her. She raised her arms and seeds fell from the heavens, planting the trees, the shrubs, the grass.”

“She healed the sick and the dying,” Icklard said, crouching down to stare at the wood beneath their feet. “She touched near-dead men and made them young, brought children out of eternal sleep, purified the water tainted with disease and blood. I’m surprised you don’t know about her, Odin. But, then again, she’s not that traditional in mainstream religion.”

“Why not?” Odin asked.

“She was declared a heathen and burned as a witch.”

“They say as she died,” Domnin sighed, “that the animals from the nearby forests came to witness her death. Some… some even say they shed tears.”

“Animals can’t cry,” Odin said.

“They did when Diana died.”

“You know,” Icklard said, standing to his full height. “We’re lucky that people have opened their eyes since then. We wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t.”

“I know,” Odin said, looking down at his hands. He thought of the magic flowing through his blood and how Diana, a woman who had only sought to bring good to the dying land of Minonivna, had been burned because of the gift that had helped so many, that had given birth to all life on the mainland and had made their world habitable again. “It… it makes me sad, knowing that people still don’t understand each other.”

“Me too,” Domnin sighed. “Me too, Odin. Me too.”

“Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have your gift,” Icklard said, reaching out to grip Odin’s arm. “Because sometimes, if you wish you didn’t have something, that something can disappear forever.”

“Ah.” Miko crossed the short distance from the window to Odin’s bed. There, he kneeled to the floor and set a hand on Odin’s bare knee, his thumb trailing up to where his first battle scar lay just beneath the fabric of his trousers. “I never thought it was important enough to tell you.”