The Brotherhood: Blood (83 page)

“Mother,” he whispered.

A grey, solitary figure appeared from one of the mounds and stepped into the clearing, just as he’d done just moments before. At a hulking height of at least fifteen feet, the Ogre had to be male, if only because of his height and the size of his arms. Bulging, knotted with muscle, and larger than his entire body, it turned to face him with a head rounded by creation and molded by necessity.

“
Nafran,”
it breathed, in perfect human and not in the least bit alarmed at his presence. “What are you?”

Nafran,
he thought.
Bastard blood.

It knew what he was.

“I am a child,” Miko said, “of one of your kind. Not in body or mind, but spirit.”

“You have come to seek one of our kind,” the Ogre continued, deep voice reverberating across the short distance and into his ears. “Who is it you seek, Nafran, and why have you come to seek her?”

“She is my mother, kind creature, who plucked me from the sea and took me as her own before the world changed and man became who they are today.”

He’s braver than I’ll ever be,
Odin thought, jumping when Nova set a hand on his back.

You’ve got a point there.

Keeping his silence, Odin readjusted his footing and reached out to steady himself on the tree nearby.

With his hand pressed to the bark and the brunt of his weight balanced on the soles of his feet, he continued to watch the scene unfold.

*

“You are a friend,” the Ogre said, “of the Black Heart.”

“Her child,” Miko repeated, descending to one knee. “I seek to see her one last time, should my involvement with the human race bring about my desctruction.”

“You should have not left the island, Nafran. You were safe here—guarded, protected.”

“I was sheltered here,” he nodded. “too sheltered. I would not have learned what I wanted to learn or seen the things I wanted to see if I stayed here. I would not have—”

“Tainted yourself with the love of mortality.”

He said nothing.

“You have done many things, Nafran; some good, some bad. But what you have not done is realize that, in your doing, you have brought upon yourself a dilemma that you cannot cure. You were safe, and you were sheltered, but most of all, you were vulnerable. You left before your mother could teach you how to hide your heart within your soul. Because of that, you will forever be touched by those who will not always touch back.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Then bring your mortals from the woods and bid them my greetings. Your mother is waiting for you, Nafran Mikaeisto of the Talon’s Black Heart. She has been waiting for a long time. Please… do not make her wait any longer.”

*

Without a word able to pass from either of their throats, Odin and Nova watched as the lumbering hulk of creature approached Miko, keeping as quiet as they could in both their movements and their breathing. A crack of a twig or a quick inhale of breath could easily alert the Ogre to their presence, as well as a possible betrayal on the Elf’s side.

Come on,
Odin thought, brushing against Nova.
Don’t make us wait.

Yeah,
he thought,
they are.

“And in human, no less,” Nova added.

Though words couldn’t be heard, the vibration in the air rattled Odin’s ears and echoed inside his head. The Ogre—head huge, eyes hidden in dark sockets—shifted its bulk from one arm to the other. The slight tilt of its body allowed discernable movement in its face to be seen.

We should be able to hear them.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Odin nodded and bowed his head, watching the two from a slightly-lower vantage point. The curve of Miko’s sword could just barely be made out in the slight jutting fabric of his lower robe.

Did the Ogre see, or even care, about the blade? Would a creature so high and mighty even cower in the face of mortal weaponry or flinch when something half its size drew a shining blade against it?

“You couldn’t tell that was a male?” Nova laughed. “Are you
blind?”

Skin wrinkled by time, darkened by the sun, joints white and cracked from use—the creature Miko called his mother approached. Slowly, with a stunted pace only the elderly could have had, she raised her head every few seconds, face devoid of emotion and eyes invisible even in the blinding, afternoon light. Her color, a dark brown with a slight spattering of yellow along her arms and shoulders, seemed to blend in with the entirety of the backdrop behind her, and as she came nearer Odin took note of the skulls hanging from her neck. Mostly animal, but some human, they dangled from what appeared to be a hardened piece of leather and clanked together with each lumbering movement, symphonic to a creature so powerful it could be felt in her presence. A crown of feather and bones tipped her head and a shawl of fur covered her body, only briefly exposing her sex when she shifted to adjust her height.

When she came fully forward, she stopped, pushed her knuckles into the ground, and craned her head forward to look into her son’s eyes.
“Maeko,”
she said.

Seemingly-startled, the Ogre looked over Miko’s shoulder and stared at him. “Red-eyed child,” she said, lips retracted in a smile to exposed flattened, yellow molars and sharp incisor teeth. “Fear trembles in your chest like a newborn at night.”

Stepping forward, Miko set a hand on the Ogre’s shoulder and slid it down to her elbow, where he laced his arm through the gap between her body and leaned against the massive structure of her left arm. “Nova, Odin—if you would.”

“My lady,” Nova said, stepping forward. “It is an honor.”

Why isn’t he afraid?
Odin thought, watching his friend fall to his knee.
How can he just stand there and… and
do
that?

Lips pursed, but eyes hard as ever, Nova bowed his head the moment the Ogre reached out and set her hand over his entire back. “Who might you be, kind human?” she asked, index finger stroking the length of Nova’s arm.

With weight in his heart and iron in his head, Odin stepped forward and took Nova’s place, only bowing his head when he could no longer bear to look at the creature’s face. Her dark eyes, her hollow cheeks, her flaring nostrils and her expressionless smile—all did nothing to ease his worry, but everything to enhance it. When she touched his arm, he tensed, instinctively tightening his muscles in order to protect himself. But after a moment, when her hand encapsulated his side and her finger stroked his back, he realized she wasn’t going to break him in half or pull his arm out of its socket and relaxed. “You’re not hurting me,” he whispered.

“It was never my intention to harm you, child. Why would I take an infant from the sea and raise him as my own if evil clouded my heart?”

With nothing to say, Odin bowed his head and accepted her touch, willing himself to relax each and every muscle. A few times, he felt a tingle work its way up from his tailbone and stop at his neck, but didn’t think much of it until he remembered her status as the village shaman.

Is she using magic on me?
he thought, exhaling, then inhaling a deep breath.
Is that why I’m loosening up?

“Her touch is healing,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s s houlder. “It heals the sick, eases the weary, calms the frightened.”

“As is the way of the shaman,” the Ogre said, pulling her hand back. “You have nothing to fear of me, child; nor do you, Novalos of Bohren’s Highlands. Come, my son, my friends. Your journey was long and restless. You must east and rest within walls of wonder.”

In the darkened, hollowed-out space of the dirt mound, Odin settled down against the wall and watched a son bond with his mother for the first time. The intimate gestures, touches, looks, eye contact—all spoke of a connection that Odin couldn’t imagine dreaming of, much less having in a physical manner. Like butterflies to a freshly-blooming flower, questions fluttered to his conscience, tickling his forehead and aligning the hairs on the back of his neck.
What,
he wondered, was it like, to have a person who raised you as if they were your own son? Did you feel loved, wanted, secure, peaceful, apathetic to the dangers of the world outside and comforted by a body warm and placid, or did you simply go on existing as though it was no different than having a father instead of a mother? One could say that one type of parent over the other could be interchangeable and that a father, as masculine as he was, could act on feminine ideals, and that women, as oftentimes unthought of as they may be, could assume a more dominating roll in order to discipline a child, but did that necessarily ring true, especially when dealing with something that wasn’t even human?

“There is nothing wrong with your presence,” the Ogre said, turning her head to face the two. “A moment treasured is a moment shared.”