The Brotherhood: Blood (27 page)

Days later, after what seemed like an eternity of suffering in bed, the healer kneeled at Odin’s side, running a damp rag over his face, chest and upper arms. Several times, he asked Odin to inhale from the cloth, damp with water and solution. Though he said it would help his breathing, it only served to make him more miserable.

“If it were a physical wound that I could see, yes—I most likely could. In cases like this, however, it would be like you asking me to lift a metal object you swallowed out of your stomach. How would I know which side of the object wasn’t sharp if I couldn’t see it?”

“But Master Jordan said you were looking at the insides of my lungs.”

“I can’t
literally
see them though.” The healer paused. “I don’t know how to describe it, but to explain it as simply as possible, it’s like looking at a gem and seeing the tiny flaws in it. You can’t see the
very
flaw—like you could see how a piece of cheese was cut with a knife at an awkward angle—but you can see the bubbles that were trapped during the gem’s creation. Do you understand?”

“Sort of.”

“Good.” Barmut set a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “Like I said, just get some rest and stay in bed. If you need to go to the bathroom, do so, but go right back to bed.”

Odin nodded before the healer took his leave. He rolled onto his stomach and hoped that the sudden movement wouldn’t start enough coughing fit. The reminder alone of his personal body functions revolted him to no end. Here he was—in a tower, having to use a bucket to relieve himself—when he could just as easily be escorted down to the castle and use the sewer system there.

During his train of thought, the door opened.

At first, Odin thought Barmut had returned for something, but when he raised his head and found that it was Jordan who stepped into the tower, he frowned and pushed himself up with one elbow. “Sir?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

Jordan closed the door—quietly, as if he were treading into dangerous waters and ready to watch the witch herself. “Your father is here,” he said.

“Already?”

“I wrote to him days ago. The messengers are quick. You know that they stop for little.”

The lapse of silence that followed forced Odin to realize that, in but a few moments’ time, he would be talking to the very man he had run away from all those years ago.

“Don’t worry,” Jordan said, kneeling to meet Odin’s downturned gaze. “Your father
wants
to see you, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t plan to yell at you.”

All right,
Odin thought, waiting for the door to reopen and his father to step in.
Here he comes.

Several long moments passed without anything happening. It could have been a blessing, as it gave him ample opportunity to brace himself for whatever was to come, but it could also be seen as a consequence, for it felt for each moment that passed he was being sawed open and forced to lay prone for eagles and other animals to tear his innards out of his body.

The moment the door opened, Odin saw the man who could be none other than his father—a man whom, by all respects, appeared the same as he had before, save for several days’ worth of stubble on his face and a few streaks of grey in his hair.

I’m a child,
he thought,
awaiting a beating.

“By God,” Ectris smiled, falling to his knees beside the mattress. “Look at you. You’re so… you’re so grown up.”

“I’m sorry I ran away,” Odin replied, unable to restrain the tears that coursed down his face in the following moments. “I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to come here.”

“I should never have threatened you like that,” Ectris said, opening his arms. “I hope you still love me even after all this time apart.”

Instead of answering, Odin slid into his father’s arms, where he resumed to bow his head into the curve of the man’s shoulder and cry. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

Ectris—who, likely, only just realized he had yet to hurt his own son’s emotions—smiled in return. “Your weapon’s master tells me you’re very sick.”

Though he could not see his father’s action or just what he was doing, he sensed his father’s one arm rise and then part over the curves of his hair, where he pushed it away from his face. It took but a moment for Odin to open his eyes and see his father pulling from his belt a canteen. Odin reached for it, but after his father shook his head, undid the cap and placed it to his lips, Odin couldn’t help but smile.

Odin took another long drink before settling down on the bed. He watched his father, waiting for him to say something else, before he scooted over and gestured for him to settle down on the bed. “Do you want to rest with me, Father?”

Ectris raised hand, as if to run his fingers under the curves of his eyes. Whether it was a conscious motion Odin couldn’t be sure, as it seemed unintentional, but he didn’t let it get to him.

“You need your rest,” the man began. “I can’t—”

Odin shook his head. “Come on,” he said. “The pillow is big enough for the both of us.”

Thinking his father would argue, Odin reached for the man’s wrist. Before he could grab it, however, Ectris unlaced his boots and crawled in beside him.

Throughout the next few days, Barmut the healer continued to bring buckets of water into the tower and apply the solution to Odin’s face through breathing techniques. His father to one side, watching the healer with concern, seemed all the less wary about the practice currently being displayed before him, as if anything it seemed more akin to what a witch doctor would suggest rather than normal conventions of medicine. Odin wanted to beg his father to have the healer stop, as the solution both smelled and tasted horrible, but so far hadn’t been able to muster the courage to do so for feat that Barmut, who was tending to him so well, might feel slighted for it.

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, because if your symptoms are starting to lessen, you
are
getting better.”

“A few pages, yes, but not any of the older boys.” Barmut frowned and applied the rag to Odin’s nose once more. “This is strange, because young men such as yourself don’t normally succumb to this kind of illness.”

“Blood Cough?” Ectris asked. “He’s never had it.”

“That might explain why he is only just getting it,” Barmut sighed. “Breathe, Odin.”

Guiding him back down onto the bed, Barmut held a hand steady to Odin’s neck and continued to apply pressure to the rag over Odin’s mouth. Taking slow, deep breaths, in the mouth and out through the nose, Odin found the moisture and solution within the rag to be comforting in that moment rather than complicated, as it seemed to dissuade all source of pain within his torso and throat in but a moment’s notice.

“I’m going to put some of this on your chest,” the healer said, pulling the sheet down to Odin’s waist. “It might help if you’ve got some of this on your body.”

“There isn’t anything better you can give my son?” Ectris asked.

“No, sir. I’m sorry, but this is better than nothing. Most young men go for weeks without any kind of medicine. It’s not dangerous, of course—unless you’re coughing so much blood it’s making you pale—but this isn’t a very enjoyable process.”

Weapons Master Jordan stood in the doorway, a slight look of unease and possibly pleasure twisted upon his face. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said, “but someone’s here to see you, Odin?”

“He’s more than willing to wait if you’re not ready to see anyone,” Jordan continued. Then, after making sure the door was firmly shut, stepped forward and added, “Though if I were you, I’d see him now. He’s come a long way.”

“Where from, sir?”

“He never said. Just that he came to see you.” Jordan stood to his full height, looked at Ectris, then Barmut before sighing. “Like I said, he’s more than willing to wait to see you, if you’re feeling too ill or don’t want to see anyone.”

The healer bowed his head before opening the door. He paused, stared at someone outside as if that individual was about to commit bodily harm upon him, then slipped out without another word.

“All right,” Jordan said. “Give me a moment. I’ve told him you’re sick, so there’s no need to worry about embarrassing yourself or him. He’s an honest man.”