The Brotherhood: Blood (12 page)

“As any good parent should. To be perfectly clear with you, though, not knowing how to use your power is much more dangerous than one would let on.”

“I can imagine,” Odin sighed.

In response, Daughtry patted his shoulder, gestured Odin to his feet, then into the house, where they made their way through the front entrance and into the sunroom. There, Daughtry seated himself on the loveseat below the window and nodded for Odin to sit directly across from him.

The king?
he thought, almost unable to believe it.

Shortly thereafter, a breath of air dissolved from his chest and threatened to make him suffocate were he not to take another.

Sighing, then retrieving the breath he’d just lost, Odin crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his seat, then turned his head up to the ceiling, where he traced the panels above him while trying to discern just what it was he currently felt—fear, possibly, or maybe even unsurety, perhaps even with a touch of unease at the fact that it wouldn’t be much longer until he stood before the man who ruled the country and tried to gain service into his army.

I’ll be considered royalty,
he thought,
if he decides to choose me.

Though the chances of him actually getting picked out from the dozens upon dozens of other royal children were low, he imagined that, if his magical promise was well enough, he may very well be granted permission to be trained in a tier completely unlike those who had come all the way from Felnon in hopes of becoming heroes.

In but a day’s time, he would be standing before the king of Ornala declaring himself as a mage who could possibly change his entire kingdom.

-

He stood before a mirror examining himself in the colors of the king’s kingdom. Brown, gold, with yellow trimming at the short sleeves, his waist and upon the heels of his pants, in boots that appeared to have been made out of the highest quality leather and with his hair pulled back into a well-executed braid—he looked like one of the royal children whom hailed from one of the four of five Golden Cities that blanketed the Ornalan Providence from the east and west and could have very well been mistaken for someone of that very sort were one not to know his lineage or just where he’d come from. With Daughtry behind him finishing the final touches on the belt that he’d taken from his personal collection, it would be no more than a few moments before they embarked for the wall that divided the city from royals and commoners and, ultimately, for the beginning of what could only be considered his future.

Behind him, Daughtry clapped his hands down on Odin’s shoulders, leaned forward, then whispered, “Everything’s going to be just fine. You look great.”

From the threshold leading out of the room pranced Daughtry’s daughter, who skipped in through the doorway and made a dramatic entrance by jumping through the air and spinning completely around before landing on her feet. Dressed in a green dress that matched both her eyes and her magical ability, she looked perfectly ready and capable for a near-grand meeting with the most important figure in the entire country. “Father?” she asked.

If he doesn’t care,
Odin mused,
then why all this fuss over making sure I’m dressed up?

Rather than try and decide just what needed representing in this case, he reached down, clipped his father’s old short sword at his side, then adjusted the hilt until it hung perfectly at his hip, angled down to where it dangled just above his knee and shined in the light streaming in through the nearby window.

Behind Odin, Daughtry examined his figure in the mirror, then gave a slight nod of approval. “Are you ready?” the high mage asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Odin laughed.

The high mage only smiled before beckoning Odin forward.

He stood before the awe-inspiring structure that was the Inner District’s stone gate and tried his hardest not to tremble in the face of something so powerful. Heart flickering within his chest as if it were a bug trapped within a wicker basket, fingers trembling like they’d just been stuck in freezing-cold water, he stared at the gate that would have normally been reserved for large amounts of military forces and tried to concentrate his attention between both the gate and High Mage Daughtry, who currently stood upon the stairs leading up to one of the two doorway entrances speaking to a series of guards about gaining passage into the castle.

Directly beside him, watching the gate with the same amount of interest, was Anna, who reached out and took Odin’s hand when he let it fall to his side.

Ourney,
he thought, unable to resist smiling in such a beautiful moment.

If the little girl had no qualms with the king, then surely things would be just fine for him.

Stepping forward, he freed himself of the little girl’s hand and extended his arm to press his palm to the fine, cold grey stone that separated him from all his life’s desires.

It’ll be but a moment before you enter,
his conscience whispered.
Are you ready?

To describe the emotions he was currently feeling would have been to diminish the grandiose allure that currently sprang within his chest. A butterfly, spreading its wings; a bird, taking its first flight; a kitten, opening its eyes for the first time—these things, and more, were moments that could define an individual being’s life and shape them into the thing they would eventually become, so to stand at the gate and imagine if he was ready could have been compared to trying to dive to the bottom of the ocean, a feat only capable by fish and other fish-like creatures. While he knew that he could not dive to the ocean, and while he knew he was no fish who with its fins and flippers could soar to the deepest depths, he imagined he could do anything at that particular moment, even sprout wings and fly.

Father’s not here,
he thought, sighing.

At that current moment, he couldn’t force himself to believe that his father’s presence would be warranted in such a particular situation. Surely the man knew what he was doing—what, in that moment, he prepared to accomplish—so there was no use in debating on whether or not he wanted the man to experience the first astounding moment it was life.

Directly above, no more than a few dozen feet away, Daughtry raised his hand and gestured the two of them forward.

Anna, as cheerful as ever, mounted the stairs and began to skip up them.

Odin, on the other hand, remained in place, frozen by fear and stupefied by the fact that he was now going to meet the king of Ornala.

It’s ok. Calm down. There’s nothing to worry about.

Was that really true though when, of all the times in the world, his future was at stake?

No.

In the bottom of his heart, the heights of his mind, and the small spot in his chest where his heart lay, he knew he could do this, even if the naysayers believed otherwise.

“Odin!” Daughtry called down. “Come on! Our appointment is at midday!”

Midday…

Whilst turning his attention to the sky, he found that the sun was almost directly overhead, signifying that it was, indeed, almost time to meet the king.

Cast in shades of gold, in silver, with towers that extended to the sky capped with triangular black points that resembled something like caps upon an old creature’s head—it extended into the sky to the point where Odin found himself craning his head back as far as he could. To the side, a series of men and women walked up the road, leading behind them young children who had possibly only just arrived in Ornala for formal education, while in the distance what appeared to be rows after rows of pages trained in the art of battle, wielding wooden swords and practice staffs and twirling them throughout the air.

“Welcome to Ornala,” Daughtry said, spreading his arms out in front of him.

Jewelers lined the roads, fine stalls filled with freshly-grown vegetables and meats filled booths alongside the pathways, some men sung, danced, women wove clothing on machines far more advanced than anything Odin had even seen—one woman was even painting at the corner of the road, depicting upon a piece of white canvas the construction of Ornala some hundreds upon hundreds of years ago.

“I can’t believe it,” Odin breathed, leaning against the side of the northeastern wall to take an even closer look at the surroundings before him. “It’s… it’s…”

“Pretty!” Anna cried.

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty.”

While waiting on the pair of them to continue on, Daughtry crossed his arms over his chest, stared at the sky, then let out a sigh that immediately attracted Odin’s attention.

They were escorted, by a series of guards armed to the tooth and nail, through the northeastern entrance and led down a series of halls depicted in flushed colors of red, gold and brown. Paintings adorning their surfaces ever so occasionally in magnitudes that could only have been made by royal men, torch scones hanging on the wills filled with straw but as of yet unlit, Odin found his attention drawn to the far east shortly after his eyes lay on such marvels, where a row of windows that ran along the entire wall looked out and at the royal gardens below and depicted a springtime scene that could have only been possible from such a high ways up. Whilst walking, the guards remained silent, almost as if they possessed no lips or noses, and flanked both sides of their small group perfectly, as if at any moment one of them would draw a weapon and turn and stab one of them to death.

It’s perfectly natural,
he thought, eyes straying to the sword at his side.
I’m armed, and he’s a mage—a high mage, no less.

Though he knew more than perfectly well that these guards could disengage him were they really of that regard, Daughtry could slaughter them easily. Such was their unease around the man that the third guard who stood to the high mage’s right managed to stray but a few feet away, toward the wall and the windows that lay ever so near.

“We’re coming up on the king’s throne room,” one of the guards said, his voice deep and off-kilter. “Be ready.”

How he could be ready Odin couldn’t necessarily be sure. In that regard, he simply held his head high as possible and prepared for the best—and, sadly but more than possibly, the worst.

When they stood before a series of double doors that were guarded by not two, but four guards on each side, Odin took a deep breath and held it in his chest, hoping that, at the very least, it would keep him from panicking in the presence of such a noble man.

It began as a single red carpet leading up the throne room. Rich, intricate, with a depiction of the country’s official white flag with twin swords embroidered halfway up the path and the walls flanked on both sides by windows that allowed the light to stream in through intricate brown and gold curtains—Odin found his eyes drawn first from the scope of the room to the very throne upon which the man who ruled the country sat: whom, from his perspective, appeared to be all the more confident in his position, eyes set ahead and staring straight toward him, as if he could see each and every false pretense and unease that lay within Odin’s very hard.