The Brotherhood: Blood (77 page)
“Something wrong?” Odin asked.
“No,” Nova said, glancing back at him. “It’s just…”
“Just… what?” Odin frowned, sitting up when Nova stopped speaking.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
The older man settled down on his bed without another word.
“I said I’m not going outside guys.”
“Aww, come on,” Icklard said. “It’s not that bad.”
“Did you see my arms?” Odin asked, holding them out for emphasis.”
“Yeah, we’ve seen them,” Domnin mumbled, “just like we’ve seen all the other men as well.” Icklard chuckled. Domnin elbowed him in the ribs. “Are you coming or not?”
“I—”
“Look.” Domnin reached into his pants pocket. He withdrew a clear glass bottle with honey-colored liquid inside. “This will keep you from getting burnt up out there.”
“I don’t know, guys.”
“We’ve been bored out of our minds without you,” Icklard said. “You only abandoned us without saying where you’d be.”
“You know I’d either be with you, Nova, or here in our room.”
“You’re never with your knight master,” Domnin agreed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Domnin raised his arms and nearly dropped the bottle of balm in the process. “I’m just saying—we never see him either.”
“Do you even know where he goes during the day?” Icklard frowned.
“No,” Odin said. “I don’t really care where he is as long as he’s not lonely.”
“Lonely?” Domnin asked.
“He’s told me some things about himself that makes me worry sometimes. Don’t worry—he’s all right. It’s just… well, you know how it is.”
“You worry about the people you care about.”
Odin nodded.
“So,” Icklard said, drawing the word out to get both Odin’s and his brother’s attention. “you gonna come out on the deck with us?”
“I guess,” Odin sighed.
“Good,” Domnin grinned. “‘Cause we’re gonna climb the crow’s nest.”
High above the world, the crow’s nest lingered like a dark cloud waiting to spew forth a storm. Ropes, chained to a bird’s roost, dangled from its surface, creating a nest so wide and vast that even the largest spider would have taken pleasure in making its home there. However, no matter how safe or sturdy it looked, it did not quell the fear that rested in Odin’s chest, fluttering like a butterfly desperate to escape the clutches of some fang-toothed, predatory creature. He thought that if he let it go—if he took his first step onto the net and began to climb its tangles—that spider he had seen in his mind would come forward, snatch his butterfly from its cage, and make him fall to his death. His fear, as extreme as it was, caused him to shiver, so much so that he imagined he must look like a spectacle, considering his height and build.
“Odin?” Icklard asked, setting a hand on his arm. “Are you ok?”
“No,” Odin said, swallowing a lump in his throat. A bead of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose.
“Are you afraid of heights?”
“Nuh-Not really.”
Had he truly been afraid of such things, he would have never ventured to the window in that fifth tower on choice days, when he felt like the only person in the world. He would have never stared out at the young men training before and longed for any companionship, and he most definitely would not have thought about throwing himself out it.
One fall,
his words had been.
That’d be all it would take.
It would be the same with the net. If he
did
actually choose to take his first step onto the structure and the wind came up, shifting his next foot or handhold only slightly, it could easily send him falling tens, if not dozens of feet back to the ship—or worse, into the ocean itself.
I can’t do this.
“I can’t do this,” Odin said, looking up at Icklard.
“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of heights?”
“I’m not. It… it’s just… I don’t want to fall.”
“You won’t fall,” Domnin said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Besides—even if you do, me or Icklard can catch you.”
“It’s not that hard to stop someone in midair,” Icklard agreed.
“So don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
“All right,” Odin sighed, stepping forward. He tilted his head back to examine the crow’s nest above them and once more shivered. “How do I do this?”
“Grab on, like this,” Icklard said, grabbing one piece of the rope, “then put your one foot here, then there. Like that.”
Odin waited, watching Icklard traverse the first few feet up the net. The man stopped, tightening his grip on one of the ropes, and let go with his other hand, waving them up. “It’s not that bad,” he laughed. “Come on.”
“Race you to the top!” Domnin jeered.
“You’re on, Dom!”
Domnin leapt onto the net and started up the ropes, soon catching up with his brother. Odin, on the other hand, merely watched them, still unsure about the whole thing.
They’re going to think you’re a pussy if you don’t do this.
“I’m not weak,” he whispered, taking a step forward. “I know I’m not.”
With one last deep breath, Odin took hold of the rope and pulled himself up, doing just as Icklard instructed. Left hand first, then right, followed by each foot, he made his way up the net as though he’d been doing it all his life without a care in the world. Several times, the wind came up and shifted the ropes, taunting his fears and jeering at his advance, but he didn’t fall, not even when he thought he would.
“See!” Icklard called down, laughter in his voice. “It’s not that hard, is it?”
“No!” Odin laughed. “It isn’t!”
“Better hurry up!” Domnin yelled. “You’re going to lose the race if you don’t!”
That’s all right,
he thought, but nodded so Domnin would know he’d heard him.
I’d rather lose the race than my footing.
He continued climbing up the net, stopping every so often to observe the ocean or something that caught his eye. Several times, he thought he saw one of the air-breathing mammals, and even caught sight of a large group of fish that sparkled just beneath the surface of the water, reflecting their light back up and into the air as if they themselves were capable of such luminescence. The sights alone made him regret not at least trying to come up here before.
Oh well. I’m here now.
Once at the top, Odin pulled himself into the nest with Domnin and Icklard’s help, then stopped to take a breath before pushing himself into a sitting position. Here, at the top of the world, the glaring heat of the sun burned the planks beneath their feet, forcing Odin to readjust his position or risk getting burned. After a moment, however, Ickalrd reached down and channeled magic into the wood, chilling its surface to a bearable temperature.
“I don’t know how long that will last,” Icklard said, “but it’s better than nothing, right?”
“Definitely,” Domnin greed, scratching his beard.
“Are you going to keep that?” Odin asked, watching Domnin toy with the hairs on his chin.
“I don’t know. I might.”
“Oh, he will,” Icklard grinned. “Jerdai likes it.”
“Shut up!” Domnin laughed, slapping his younger brother’s arm.
“Well, he does.”
“Have you two been better since…” Odin paused. “Since… uh… you know?”
“Oh,” Domnin mumbled. “You must’ve heard about the fight.”
“No one was talking about it, at least as far as I know. I found out about it only because I heard Jerdai swearing at himself at something one morning. I asked him what was wrong, so he ended up telling me. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“It’s all right,” Domnin said, running a hand through his hair. “But to answer your question, yeah—everything’s been fine.”
“Jerdai’s been better,” Icklard agreed.
“Except he’s still keeping us a secret.”
“He just doesn’t want to lose his job, that’s all.” Odin sighed. “I mean, I can understand how that must feel, but he’s doing it to keep your livelihood safe.”
“I guess you’re right,” the dark-haired brother agreed.
“Hey,” Icklard said, sliding an arm around Domnin’s upper back. “We came here to have fun, didn’t we? Don’t get down on us.”
“We did,” Domnin agreed, looking up at them. “Sorry, Odin.”
“It’s ok. Don’t worry about it.”
Odin stood and took hold of the wooden barrier that encircled the crow’s nest. The rocking boat made him nervous, especially considering the fact that it seemed his footing could easily be disarmed and he could go plummeting into the deck or ocean below, but he figured he would be all right. The brothers wouldn’t let him fall.
“It’s beautiful,” Odin said, looking out at the area before them.
“It is,” Domnin nodded, taking place behind Odin. “It looks like it could go on forever.”
“It pretty much does,” Icklard muttered.
“Wait.” Odin paused, squinted, and pointed at something in the distance. “What is that?”
“What do you see?”
“Uh… Islands.”
Like animals silently stalking their kill, four islands of various shapes and sizes crept from the ocean, rearing heads that had not been seen until that point. Though not completely visible from their vantage high above the boat, they looked to be covered in dense foliage—pine, it seemed, though he wouldn’t know until they got closer. The longest and most-intimidating island curved in places like a jagged sword waiting to slice through the mainland at its most vulnerable moment.
“Oh no,” Domnin breathed.
“What?” Odin asked, panicked. “What is it?”
“Tentalin.”
Uncertain, Odin turned to look at the islands, tightening his grip on the railing as a wave came up. Whether that action had been physical and caused by the ocean or metaphorical and created by his emotions he didn’t know, but didn’t particularly care.
At that moment, he realized why Miko had kept their destination a secret
“No,” he whispered.
“Odin?” Icklard asked. “Is something wrong?”
“He kept it a secret because that’s where we’re going.”
“Where?” Domnin frowned.
“Tentalin,” Odin said, looking back at the two of them. “We’re heading toward one of those islands, guys. And I’m going to be leaving for one of them.”
Chapter 9
Uncertainty rose in his chest as he followed Icklard and Domnin down the net, plaguing him with fears, doubts and worries. His first dealt with the islands and which one they would be staying at, while his second and possibly most important beckoned to question where they would be sleeping. They couldn’t stay out in the open on any of the islands. Goblins, Orcs, Ogres, Trolls—each inhabited an island of their own and each posed a danger in their own way.
It’s going to be all right,
he thought, taking slow, deep breaths. The wind came up, tousling his hair over his eyes. He thought he would fall when his fingers slipped from the rope and he tried to grab, but managed to keep a strong grip with his other hand.
As long as I don’t kill myself before I get down.
Funny, how things seemed to work that when someone tried to accomplish something greater with their life. A man could serve the king and choke on a piece of meat; a woman could have the happiest of lives within the church only to trip and break her neck; a child, prancing about, could stumble across a bear and then be eaten alive. If anything, those that tried to better themselves somehow managed to destroy the good part of their existence by trying too hard.
At the bottom of the net, Odin joined the brothers and descended onto the first deck. Already a group of men had congregated near the railing, cavorting at the sight of a new and possibly-dangerous place. Among them stood Jerdai, who kept a fair distance away from his frlocking ship hands if only to maintain a level of superiority to keep his men from doing anything too stupid.
“Sir,” Odin said, pushing his way through a group of men who stepped in front of him. “There must be some mistake. We shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jerdai agreed, “but we’re in the right place.”
“What?”
“Your master has asked me to bring the three of you to the Tentalin Isles.”
“No fucking way in
hell
am I going there!” Nova roared, nostrils flaring as he pushed two shiphands out of his way. “Turn this boat around, Jerdai.”
“I can’t do that, Nova.”
“You could always leave.”
Odin looked up. Miko offered a comforting touch to one of the men Nova had pushed out of his way and gently nudged him out of the path. The hulk in black stood before Nova, staring him down with eyes no one could see.
