The Brotherhood: Blood (43 page)

With that knowledge, Odin looked closer. Upon closer inspection, the creatures did, in fact, have a hole on their head, just above their eyes and atop the dome of their skull.

“Essentially, yes.” Miko set a hand on the railing and curved his fingers around the wood. “You see, Odin, Nova, the sea holds many secrets from men. While land is easier to explore, and while it may hold secrets of its own, the deep blue sea holds more treasures than any man could ever imagine.”

When he leaned over the side of the boat to puke the empty contents of his stomach, the dolphins shrieked. They did not, in the least, approve.

That night, the three of them wandered their quarters and examined the few decorations that adorned their space. An eating table in the center, a bookshelf resting against the fall wall, a bathing room equipped with a wooden tub lying just beyond the threshold—it would have seemed that all the basic amenities were covered and their entertainment needs would be divulged in books and other small matters. Miko, the least curious of the three, sat by the window, as he usually did at night, and watched the world beyond the boat. Odin raised his eyes from a book that caught his interest to look at his master, a frown striking his face soon after he looked upon his form.

After all this time, after so many windows, he still couldn’t understand why Miko took a particular interest in what lay outside, much less what he
could
be looking at, considering all there was in the distance was an endless mass of blue.

“Sir,” Odin said, sliding the book out of its shelf. He set it on the table and narrowed his eyes on the Elf.

Miko didn’t answer. Odin stepped forward, ready to set a hand on his master’s back, before Nova grabbed his shoulder. “It’s ok,” the older man whispered. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

“He didn’t answer me.”

“He’s thinking about something. I wouldn’t bother him.”

Thinking?

Odin hadn’t considered that. Then again, something so simple as mentally concentrating on something might be even more complex for an Elf. It had to be—as they, obviously, were made different than human beings, molded and shaped in such beauty that they could be considered something like Gods who walked the mortal plane, and in all his time with the Elf, Odin had come to terms with a few things that he’d witnessed in his short time with the creature. Miko, if ever, rarely blinked, he didn’t touch his face unless his hair fell into his eyes, he didn’t scratch any part of his body and he breathed very, very slowly. While a human had to take a breath every other second, Miko seemed only to breathe occasionally, as if he had no use for air and instead processed the very thing they breathed through his pores instead of his throat, much like a spider or any other type of insect would.

This list of things different from himself made him think about what the Elf had said earlier, about the dolphin and how it really wasn’t a fish. Could, he wondered, an Elf like Miko hold his breath underwater for long periods of time, and if so, could he also walk through a valley of smoke without worrying about choking? Such thoughts made him consider whether or not the Elf was hiding magic he used from the pair of them. He’d notice, at times, the air around his master would tingle. He’d always assumed it was because, like all Elves, Miko was a highly magical creature. Now, though, he couldn’t necessarily be too sure.

“Ok,” Odin said, taking a step back. “I won’t bother him.”

“I’m not saying you can’t talk to him. I’m just saying that he might not like to be disturbed.”

Nova patted Odin’s shoulder a few times before walking to the bed that rested against the far wall near the door. There, he slid under the covers, arched his back, then rolled over so his back faced Odin. “Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight,” Odin replied.

He grabbed his book and settled into his chair. There, he opened the tome, ready to read before he realized that the side table didn’t have a candle. He made a mental note to ask the captain if he could acquire one from their storage if they have any.

Which they do. What ship wouldn’t have a candle?

A ship that didn’t want to be burned down would be the kind that didn’t have candles.

Forced with the reality of the situation and the lack of lighting he would have to read in, Odin set his book on the table and grabbed an extra blanket that lay on the back of his chair. He walked over to his master and set it over his shoulders. “It’s cold,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Miko said.

Before Odin could turn and return to the chair, the Elf reached out and touched his wrist. The gesture, so unexpected and sudden, stopped him in place.

“That’s the thing. I
do
worry.” Miko closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then expelled it. He didn’t loosen his grasp on Odin’s wrist. “I feel as though I abandoned you.”

“You didn’t abandon me, sir. I—”

“That’s the thing, Odin—I feel as though I did.”

Odin slid his wrist out of the Elf’s bony-yet-delicate fingers and settled down beside him. Miko looked down at the hand he had used to grip Odin’s wrists, then began to stroke his fingers.

“Do you have arthritis?” Odin asked.

“No,” Miko said. “At least, I don’t believe so. The bones in my hands ache when I’m upset.”

“You don’t have anything to be upset about because you didn’t abandon me.” He reached out to touch the Elf’s back, but stopped short, figuring less contact would be more appropriate in this situation. “Please, don’t think that.”

“I’ve left a lot of people behind,” Miko whispered. “I’ve left so many behind.”

“Sir?”

This time, he
did
reach out to touch his master’s back. When no futher dialogue came, Odin rubbed the Elf’s shoulder in the hopes that the gesture would spark a response out of him.

“Sir,” Odin asked, come time the following morning when the world was alight in color and stained with the essence of dawn. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Odin,” Miko said from his place in the middle of the floor, legs crossed, eyes aware and thumb and index finger pressed together. “Everything’s fine.”

More than aware of this attempt in meditation likely used in order to soothe his mind and his thoughts, Odin crawled out of bed and pulled his boots up onto his feet. From there, he stood and watched his master and just what he may be looking at in the outside world. “Are you looking for something?” he decided to ask.

Whatever the Elf’s reasons for not wanting to ascend the deck alone and solitary, he didn’t necessarily care. Instead, he secured a few of the buttons on his jerkin that had popped open last night into place and reached for his sword, but stopped before he could wrap his hand around it. “Should I take my sword, sir?”

“If you’d like. I’m not.”

He won’t let anything happen to us.

If, for any reason, Miko couldn’t defend them, Odin knew he could. His magic had grown tremendously in the past little while, and though the Elf hadn’t personally instructed him in specific manners of the Will, his words of encouragement held more bounty than any spell book would have ever entranced upon its reader.

They left the room as quietly as they could after the Elf garbed his black façade and ascended the stairs, breathing in the scent of morning as they touched down upon the deck. Already men ran back and forth, tugging on ropes and scrubbing the boat. Some even sat in stools near the sides of the railing, fishing poles in hand and bait lingering in buckets at their feet.

Miko adjusted his hood, drawing it further over his face. Why he did it Odin couldn’t be sure, as no one would have been able to see into it even if they wanted to. Even before, when it had been up a slight amount more than usual, the person inside had been shrouded in darkness, his face masked and his expressions all but hidden.

The Elf walked away, but Odin chose not to follow. Instead, he turned and went his own way, not wanting to leave his master but knowing he preferred the silence.

He doesn’t want me hanging around him constantly.

Then again, Miko
had
asked for him to come up here with him. However, he had to remember that the Elf had wanted one of his companions nearby, just in case the other men started to get suspicious. While Odin didn’t necessarily believe their fellow shipmen would do anything, he couldn’t know exactly. Who could be sure of anything, especially when one of the stranger’s party preferred to keep himself wrapped behind a black persona?

It doesn’t matter.

He stopped when he caught a few figures floating under the water. At first he thought they were dolphins, but upon closer inspection he found them to be anything but. These creatures were bulkier, cart-long and possesed thicker fins and a sharp, almost dagger-like curve to their tails.

What are—

“This the first man eater you’ve ever seen?” Captain Jerdai asked, sliding up alongside Odin. The man offered his pipe, but Odin rightfully declined.

Odin leaned over, wanting to take another look at the school of creatures, but found they had already vanished before he could even do so. “Where did they go?” he frowned.

“Below, most likely. They may not be the smartest fish in the sea, but they’re not stupid either. They’ll know if someone’s watching them.”

“I don’t like not knowing what’s under there.”

“Who does?” Jerdai took a long breath off his pipe. White smoke shot from his nose as he expelled a breath. “Out here on the open water, you’ve got to remember that we’re not alone. There’s more to life down there than just dumb fish who eat, sleep and breed.”

“All right men!” Jerdai called out. “You better hurry and bathe. It’s starting to get dark and we don’t want anyone unaccounted for when the sun goes down.”

With freedom and abandon that seemed completely natural for such a situation, men ran for the side of the boat, stripping from their shoulders and waists their clothes and cheering as they flung themselves over the railing and into the water. Odin watched, awestruck and horrified, as their bodies sailed through the air until they eventually plummeted down and into the ocean some fifteen to twenty feet below.