The Brotherhood: Blood (39 page)

See,
he thought.
Even he doesn’t know everything.

He looked back up. Thoughts of leaving Elna on a boat returned as soon as he took another deep breath, beckoning thoughts of adventure and summoning trembles of unease. Where, exactly, would they be going? Across the border, near the now-near-forbidden deserts of Germa, or would they go further north, near the kingdom of Kegdulan and the mountain chain where the Dwarfs supposedly continued to dwell?

The specific destination, in the end, didn’t necessarily matter, but to know would at least relieve his wandering thoughts. Plagued with worries for the past little while, he’d tried to stop concentrating on the specifics to try and enjoy the fact that he was so far from home in a place he had never been before. For some reason, however, he couldn’t help
but
think about it. His father had often said that he’d worried about such interpersonal things—of family, friends and the people who mattered most—but until just then, he hadn’t really taken that into consideration.

Why worry, he thought, when there was nothing to worry over?

Smiling, Odin looked up at Nova. The man had since left his hood down to reveal the shock of red hair that framed his head and now his face. He reached up to scratch the thin mustache that curved down his upper lip before tilting his head back to yawn. “Tired even before the afternoon,” Nova laughed. “That’s just great.”

Better not,
he thought, returning a wink of his own.
That horse’ll turn its head and throw you off.

The town assaulted him. The sight, the buildings, the people, the air, the life, the thick smell of saltwater and the overwhelming sensation that they’d crossed the world and beyond—everything about the area was unique in a way that, to Odin, made him revel in it even more. Wood dampened from mist shielded the occupants from the weather and made up the overall structure of the town, while those who walked the streets shirtless or close enough bore skin darkened either by location or even from the hot and excruciating sun, which lingered ever so close as if they were at the ends of the earth. The humidity, thick enough to bring about a sweat, forced drops from beneath Odin’s skin without it being overly hot. His cheeks also burned as though wind-burnt and his arms felt like filleted flesh, but regardless, he managed to smile despite his condition.

“We’ll stop to rest before we leave,” Odin said, “right?”

“We will,” Miko said. “We’ll take shelter in a bar until the boat arrives.”

Guess that means he’s not going to tell us,
Odin thought with a troubled sigh.

That didn’t matter though—at least they’d arrived in Elna in one piece.

When they came upon a fishing bar near the end of the dock, they dismounted, led their horses to the stables and pulled their saddlebags off before stepping into the building. Tanned, shirtless men bearing scars on their hands from nets and knives sat at the bar, drinking shots of liquor and eating bowlfuls of fried fish. Most, if not all of the occupants turned to face them immediately upon entering.

Uh oh,
Odin thought.

“What can I help you with?” the bartender asked, eyeing Miko’s massive, hulking black figure with uneasy eyes.

“A room,” Miko said.

The bartender grimaced at the deepness of the Elf’s voice. “Well,” he said, only turning his eyes up when he felt it necessary. “I have one available, but it’s not for free.”

“Of course.”

Miko stepped forward, reached into the side pocket on his cloak, and pulled a few pieces of copper from the pouch before setting them on the table, taking extra care to keep them under his palm until they were within the bartender’s reach.

“Is this enough?”

“Yes sir,” the man said, palming the pieces until they slid into his pocket. “The last room on the left. There’s only two beds, and I’m sorry to say you won’t likely fit.”

“That’s fine.”

“First meal’s free with the purchase of the room. That includes liquor as well. Come back down whenever you’re ready. I won’t forget you.”

The man smiled at the last little bit. Odin imagined it was more out of unease than actual goodwill.

“Yes,” Miko nodded. “Thank you.”

Odin and Nova followed the Elf up the stairs and cast glances at the men staring at them from the bar before they disappeared behind the wooden wall.

Once down the hall and inside their room, they settled their saddlebags near the wall. Nova stripped off his shirt and cast it near the bed of his choice—near the wall, just under the window. Odin immediately went to his master’s side and helped him out of his cloak.

“Are you all right?” Odin asked when the Elf’s face came into view. It’d been the first time since the beginning of the journey that he’d seen any part of the creature.

Well, of course,
Odin thought, taking the gloves and setting them in the chest at the end of his bed.
The sun would’ve bothered him more than the cloak.

He, and especially Nova, suffered the aftereffects of being in the sun for so long. The skin on both of their arms had chafed, while their cheeks, almost constantly exposed to the elements, looked raw and hollow, as though carved from clay and textured with the very sand they’d had to contend with for the past few days.

“Thank
God
we’re finally finished travelling for now,”
Nova said, throwing himself on a bed, clawing and sniffing the clean sheets as if he’d never before seen them.

“We’ll be leaving in a few days,” Miko said, taking a seat on the floor.

“Yeah, but at least there’s beds on a big boat.”

Odin shrugged and sat down beside the Elf. Miko reached back and undid the intricate series of loops he’d kept his hair in for the past while, along with the braid that lay strung behind his head. When all the purple fell down his back and onto the floor, Odin couldn’t help but stare. He still hadn’t become accustomed to the amount.

“We’ll go and eat later,” Miko said. “Let me rest for a bit.”

“I can wait.” Nova rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow, then pressed his hand against his cheek. “You
need
a little rest anyway. Out of all of us, you’re the one who’s had the most trouble, going around in that cloak the whole time.”

Standing, Odin stretched his arms out over his head and walked to the window—where, outside, the harbor flourished with activity. Small fishing boats and canoes went in and out of the individual docks bringing with them nets full of fish, while fisherman with broad shoulders and strong backs carried them to their specific locations. Some went to the nearby vending stalls, fresh for sale to those common. Others came across the street, where they disappeared directly into the bar.

“Sir,” Odin said, looking over his shoulder when Nova began to snore lightly under his breath. “Can I ask you something?

“You may.”

Odin returned to the bed. He sat down atop it and set his hands on his knees. “A little while ago, I tried making another image, like I did with the water.” He paused, unsure how to continue. “Did Daughtry tell you about that?”

“He mentioned something.”

“Well, a few nights ago, I tried doing the same thing, but with light this time. I made a dog instead of a horse because I wanted to try something new, right? Well… I was only able to keep it going for a little while, and I was just wondering—”

“Why you couldn’t sustain it longer.” Miko nodded. “You tried this when it was dark, correct?”

“When we were coming down the hills, actually. It was the night the fog was on the ground.”

“You were drawing light from places where it wasn’t. The moonlight helped you a little, of course, as the fog itself likely did in reflecting its light, but without a stable source of power it’s difficult to maintain an image for a long period of time. This dog you made out of light—how large was it?”

“You’ll find that happens sometimes, but it usually only occurs when you pull energy from strange places.” Miko set a hand at the base of Odin’s neck. “I’d advice you to be careful when performing such feats. I’m not saying you shouldn’t experiment—because you should, especially since you’re so young—but you have to consider where you’re drawing the energy from.”

“I’m sorry, sir. If I would’ve known, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“I know. I don’t worry about you too much, Odin, because you seem to know your limits. Sometimes, though, it’s not your limits you must consider, but the limits of the things around you.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll give you an example.” Miko raised a hand, but did not cast any magic. “Imagine you are trying to draw water out of a forest, but there’s no stream of pond in the immediate area, nor has it rained for a long time. Where would the water come from?”

“Correct,” Miko smiled, squeezing Odin’s shoulder. “You see, I you were to draw water out of an area where there wasn’t any available source, the magic would draw it out of whatever it could if you didn’t give it a particular target. Say you wanted to draw the element from a tree—the water might come out of the leaves, or it might come out of the bark.
However,
say you
don’t
specify where you want the water to come from.”

“It’d come from anywhere it could,” Odin muttered.

“Right. Because of that, you might end up hurting something you don’t intend to. Did you know our bodies are made mostly of water?”

“They are?”

“Yes. For example: If I wanted to draw water out of nowhere, it would come likely from yourself or Nova. The water wouldn’t come with a simple want, but if you willed it to come with a certain force, you could easily kill a man.”

“I didn’t know, sir.”

“Elementary mages do not explain such things because they never take into consideration the survival techniques needed to survive in the field. Most young men with such powers are trained only to attack and nothing but. I’ve seen squires and pages destroy each other with the simple desire to pull water out of a pond. It isn’t a pretty sight, Odin, especially when you know that these young mages are simply being used and trained for their magical ability. What I’m teaching you is something that you will rarely hear out of a magic teacher’s mouth unless a specific question is asked.”

“It makes you wonder why they even train mages if they don’t teach them properly,” Odin mumbled.

“Yes. It does.” Miko stood. He walked to the window, where Odin had been standing just moments before, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t matter though. Most men die during wars anyway.”

Odin swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Although,” the Elf added, turning his head over his shoulder, “that doesn’t mean there’s going to be a war or that you’ll die should there be one.”

“You mean in regards to Germa and Ornala’s relationship?” Miko asked, waiting for a nod before he continued. “I think it’s petty. Your king, though ample in his right, is unwilling to divide sections of land in order to sate those of his companions. Germa, meanwhile, is pressuring Ournul to do such things even though they have enough territory left to satisfy their people for hundreds, if not thousands of years. The desert it great, Odin, and it is harsh, but those of Germa know how to maintain themselves within such structures.”