The Brotherhood: Blood (5 page)

I guess this is the point where I start acting like a real man,
he thought, sighing.

The moment he turned his eyes up to Karma, he felt as though the pieces of his life would soon begin to fall into place.

He came to accept himself as the boy’s father within the coming years. Slowly, over an amount of time that could only be measured by the passing seasons and the ever-swift growth of the boy who had become his own, he came to realize that regardless of whatever past regards had haunted him and despite the odds so seemingly put against him, Ectris could do just as he pleased in his own life and his son’s—who, regardless of the differences between them, had soon come to call him father the moment he could talk.

When the boy turned seven—when his body, though small, became acclimated to its own—Ectris took it upon himself to give the boy his own practice sword: a right of passage that, while seemingly simple, would one day secure within the boy the military career Ectris himself had never had.

How humble of you,
he thought, reaching out to tousle the boy’s hair.

“Like that,” Ectris said, bracing his hands along his son’s right arm. “Hold it steady, Odin. Bend your forearm just a little.”

“Why?” the boy asked.

“It’ll let you swing faster and move your sword easier. If you keep your arm straight out in front of you, you’ll get it chopped off.”

The child swallowed a lump in his throat. “All right,” he said.

Ectris settled down into a crouch, watching carefully as his son attacked the straw dummy with less than ample ease. It seemed, at many points in time, that the boy was having difficulty maneuvering the weapon around, almost as if it were too heavy or if he wasn’t able to hold it steadily enough. He couldn’t necessarily see why, given that the sword was only two feet long and quite light in respect. That alone was enough to make him uneasy.

Can he not fight?
Ectris thought, his hopes and dreams for the boy slowly crumbling way around him.
Is he—

Odin stopped attacking the straw dummy before him, paused, then switched his sword into his left hand.

How is he—

Immediately, the progress bloomed before him.

“He’s a lefty,” he mumbled, laughing, almost unable to contain the emotions spiraling within him.

He should have known that his son would be more capable using his left hand over his right. By God, he wrote with his left hand, had done so since the horseriding accident last year, when his arm had been broken and he’d been unable to use it for nearly six months. How stupid could he have been?

When the surrealism of the situation began to wear off and was replaced with a casual, more-even pursuit, Ectris braced his hands against his knees and watched his son stab the dummy directly in the torso—then, slowly, disengage his weapon from the figure before twirling and hitting it right in the neck.

Had the sword been metal, Odin would have easily cut the dummy’s head off.

He’ll be fighting for the king someday,
he thought, closing his eyes.

The boy deserved better than he did—much, much better.

“Father?”

Ectris blinked. Odin stood directly before him, a single bead of sweat running down the side of his head and his chest heaving with the effort. “Yes?” he asked.

“Will you teach me how to fight?”

“You know I will,” Ectris said, rising to his feet. “Come on. I’ll show you a few things.”

By the time they settled in for the night, Ectris could hardly make dinner. Between showing his son evasive maneuvers that he should use to avoid jabs and thrusts and allowing his boy to use him as a living, moving target, he felt as though his lungs were about to cave into his chest and his heart was going to stop beating and simply cease to exist.

“Easy there, boy,” Ectris laughed, setting a hand on his son’s shoulder when he approached swinging the wooden sword in front of him. “Put that down. We’ll train more in the morning.”

“We will?” the boy asked, eyes wide with intent.

“We will. I promise.”

After double-checking to make sure that his son had secured the sword at its place near the door, Ectris set about the kitchen gathering up the breads, meats and cheese freshly delivered from both Joseph and another neighbor before crossing the room to arrange them upon the table. Odin, the attentive son that he was, darted into the kitchen to fish for the silverware and plates that they would be dining with and swiftly returned upon the time Ectris finished placing the last of the three platters on the table.

“Did I do well today?” Odin asked, taking his seat at the opposite side of the table and sliding a piece of cheese into his mouth.

“
Why?”

“Because the training is only reserved for those of the royal family,” Ectris shrugged, continuing with his own food and trying his hardest not to give in to his son’s shocked, almost-sad face. “That isn’t to say that common men have never become knights though.”

“How?”

“Sometimes when you do something amazing for your country—like securing a checkpoint on the battlefield, saving a nobleman’s daughter or even just returning home after killing one of the king’s most horrible enemies with his head—the court takes notice and makes even the most common of men into heroes.”

“Do you think I could be a hero, Father?”

“I don’t see why not. If you have drive, you can do just about anything.”

“I don’t understand something though,” Odin said, bowing his head for but a brief moment before returning his attention to his father. “If common men can’t become knights, then that means… that means you could’ve just become a solider.”

Quite the eye that boy has,
Ectris thought, but only nodded in response. “Yes,” he said. “Near Bohren.”

“Did you want to become a solider?”

What do I say to a boy whose dream is to become a knight?

He could say nothing, he knew, to deter someone who was just a boy, and for that he merely straightened his posture, reached up to paw the juice from the meat away from his face, then set both hands on the table, offering but a brief sigh in spite of the fact that the question was so simple yet so complicatedly-complex. “I don’t know if I ever wanted to become a solider,” he said, choosing to offer only the best response he could give. “To be quite honest, Odin, the horror stories you hear of men who go into service are absolutely terrible, and given the strain between our country and the one next to us, I wouldn’t be surprised if war broke out between us sometime soon.”

“You think so?” Odin asked.

“I do,” Ectris sighed. “I’ll tell you something right now though, son, and I’ll be damned if I ever break this promise—I will do
anything
within my power to help you become the man you want to be, even if that means putting you into a situation that may be dangerous.”

Oh well,
Ectris thought, resisting the urge to frown by shoving yet more food into his mouth.
This is expected.

Odin had never been one for physical or conversational interaction with others his age. Why Ectris couldn’t be sure, given his personality and the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of making friends, but more often than not he found his son off to the side, head stuck in a book or sketching something out with charcoal and ink. Even as a baby he’d been like this—this small, quietly-driven creature who seemed to be forcing himself not to interact with anyone and everyone even if they showed some kind of interest in him. Even the other fathers of the village, whom had so desperately tried to introduce activity between their children and Odin, had failed to help his son make any friends. While part of that could be in regards to his eyes—which, to any looking upon him and not knowing the truth, could frighten them away—and though he’d done as Karma had once suggested and kept Odin’s hair long and his ears hidden from view, nothing Ectris did seemed to help his son earn the confidence he needed to socialize with other people.

Knowing in the end that, someday, this would not matter, Ectris bowed his head to his food and continued eating, all the while silently praying that Odin had not seen his facial expression and as such had learned his weakness.

This is bullshit,
he thought.
He’s such a good kid! Why doesn’t anyone want to be friends with him?

Why, out of all the sheep his son could possibly be, did Odin have to be the black one?

“Can I go to bed?” a small voice asked.

Ectris looked up to find his son’s plate completely devoid of food. Even the platter that held the small row of biscuits was devoid of the baked goods.

“If you want,” Ectris sighed, shoving another piece of food into his mouth. “Goodnight, son.”

When he bowed his head to continue his own meal, his mind filled with regret and his heart pained so, he began to believe that nothing he would ever really, truly do would ever bring his son any form of comfort or happiness.

Have I failed as a father,
he thought,
because my son is too afraid to be around other people?

“Go on, Odin! Hit it like that. Slash, thrust, stab, kick! Watch out for the sword!”

His son picked up the routine faster than Ectris had expected. Grinning, almost unable to control the happiness that pulsated his chest and fixated at his seat near the one lone tree that stood on the southern side of the property, he corrected his son when necessary and told him to stable the positioning of his feet in order to not stumble or trip when jumping back or lunging forward. In that moment, it seemed, Odin appeared all the more capable than he had yesterday—when, after a day’s worth of training, he struck the dummy with such force that Ectris thought for a moment the potato sacks filled with sand would break open and spill their nonessential guts onto the ground.

I can’t believe it,
he thought, watching Odin’s intricate thrusts, stabs, twirls and kicks.
This is my son I’m watching.

In the heat of the mock battle currently taking place before him, Ectris explained that, by attacking an enemy’s torso, they would attempt to raise their sword or shield and deflect the blows set toward them. He then said, after a moment’s pause, to target the legs, that, though covered with armor, would be one of the enemy’s most crucial weak points.

“Go for the knees!” Ectris cried. “Kick!
Kick!”

His son lunged forward and struck the pole directly where the enemy’s crotch would have been.

“Goddamn!” he cried, thrusting his hand into the air. “Go Odin, go!”

You’re training him well,
he thought, nodding, pushing himself to his feet and broaching the end of the practice ring, taking extra care to make sure his son was not leaving himself open in any way or form.
He’ll be serving beneath the king someday.

That lone instinct sent flutters of emotion throughout his chest and around the curves of his ribcage.

“Concentrate!” Ectris cried, his heart beating faster and faster as he continued to circle about the ring. “Hit it, Odin! Hit it! Goddammit, son! It’s going to get you if you don’t hit its weak points! Go for its head, its shoulders, its knees, its fucking balls and crotch! Hit it with all you’ve got! Hit it!
HIT IT!”