The Brotherhood: Blood (51 page)

Immortality—eternal life free of death due to age. The concept alone was almost unfathomable—impossible, it seemed, for the very definition seemed too unreal to be true. To exist in an aging world without the fear of dying, to walk across a land teeming with expendable life, to realize that all around you, the things you loved and the people you cherished could die—as much of a gift as it seemed when one truly contemplated the idea that life was precious and was meant to be saved, Odin couldn’t help but see it as a curse.

Eternal life, eternal happiness, to never die; to always suffer, to always remember, to always breathe, to always believe; to always persist, to ultimately resist, and to succumb to the thing that lay in the sky as though it were a diamond unto itself—these were the things mortals dreamed of, the things men went to war for and the reason people killed the innocent over in hopes of making it a reality. It need not matter what their purpose or goal was—it need only be in the minds of some in order to make it a true and concrete reality.

In the end, it seemed to make perfect sense—that immortality, as sought-after by man as it happened to be, was not all it was made out to be.

“Some Elves befriend races who die in what we see as a short amount of time. Because of that reason, because of that
fault,
we live with the pain of knowing that, one day, those they love so dearly will one day die.”

“Have you had friends like that?”

“Until now I’ve only briefly associated myself with humans or other lesser, mortal creatures, mostly because I did not want to grow too attached and therefor create a bond that could be broken. I took a chance on you, because I believed you were important, and I’m taking an even bigger chance on Nova.”

“Because he can die.”

“All living things are capable of dying, one way or another. The flesh is weak. It can be bent, distorted, pulled from the body and formed into whatever shape one desires—we are all matter, a thing that can be destroyed, and we are not without form for a reason. Some die from sickness, others war. Most, however, die from age, leading happy lives until the very day they pass. Elves, though… there is no proof that we can die from the pass of time because there has never once been an Elf whose life has been cut short from eternity by some natural source of the body.”

“Sometimes,” Miko began, “I think of the thing Elves do when their pain is too much to bear. Do you know what that thing is, Odin?”

“Elves have a ceremonious way of ending their lives should the pain of an eternal existence begin to swallow them. It involves cutting our arms open from the wrists to the elbows, then letting ourselves bleed out. We do this in the kind of privacy you can only find in nature, far away from any living thing. Our forest, Odin—Abroen, the home of the Elves—is blessed in human eyes, but cursed through an Elf’s. Do you know why this is?”

Odin shook his head.

“It is because it is said that each tree in the forest has tasted the blood of an immortal,” the Elf said, voice taught, strung like a harp, trembling as though played by false fingers on the faintest hands of man. “Because for each tree that exists in that forest, an Elf has taken his or her life.”

“So that whole forest—”

“Yes, Odin—that whole forest exists to this day because an Elf has let another living thing taste its blood. Do you know what happens when another living creature drinks an Elf’s blood, Odin? Do you know that, should a man, beast or plant ever press its lips to a fair one’s open wrists, that thing will forever be immortal?”

“Nuh-No…. I don’t.”

He could not control the shakes that wracked his body, the pains that trembled within his arms or the throbs of unease that blanketed the hidden corners of his mind. The horrors that the Elf experienced destroyed his whole idea of happiness, of things grand, pure, eloquent and refined. How could something so grand—something so beautiful, so
unreal
—feel so much pain?

“Do not cry for me,” Miko whispered, bringing Odin into his arms.

“I can’t help it,” Odin whispered, trying to fight back the tears that burned down his face. “I don’t know how you go on living like you do.”

“Neither do I,” the Elf said, rocking Odin in his arms. “Neither do I.”

Little consoled him following the episode. He fell asleep crying, his heart torn to pieces, and when nightmares of beautiful creatures of love and earth destroying themselves took hold of his mind, he woke with tears in his eyes just as he had when he’d fallen asleep. Several times, he had to force himself out of bed to grab a kerchief to dab his eyes and blow his nose, for each and every time he closed his eyes he heard Miko’s words in his mind.

Sometimes, I think of the thing Elves do when their pain is too much to bear.

How could anyone live with the thought of doing such a thing, much less the actual desire or inclination to carry the act out? For someone who seemed to have so much when, in reality, he possessed so little, it seemed impossible, blindingly
unimaginable
that the Elf would want to commit an act so painstaking as cutting one’s arms open and waiting until you bled dry. How could
anyone
live the final moments of their life in such unbearable pain and agony?

It is because it is said that each tree in that forest has tasted the blood of an immortal… because for each tree that exists in that forest, an Elf has taken his or her life.

So, it was true—every beautiful thing was and is born of sorrow. A rose, its crimson petals and drops of dew, bears thorns because the other flowers have pushed it away, while an oyster, who believes itself ugly and nothing should be more beautiful than it, hides within its lips a pearl, alabaster beauty in the form of a sphere. Both items bear sorrow, whether clearly evident or not, and both display a meaning that everyone could see, but few every bothered to realize. A bird could fly, a child could die, tears could be shed and the whole world could be torn asunder, yet when dangled before one’s eyes a person would never truly see their purpose unless they were specifically instructed of its merits.

“He needs me,” Odin whispered, trying his hardest not to cry. “I can’t let him live like this.”

What compassionate,
willing
human being could turn one’s head aside when one cried—when, slowly, and before their eyes, a person or creature was dying? Men can be ignorant, yes, and they can be foolhardy and justified, but not once would they ever turn their back upon another suffering being without feeling in their heart a shred of remorse for the very act they had just committed.

Before he returned to bed, he kneeled before his knight master’s side and squeezed his shoulder.

In two years, he would become a knight, and if in those two years Miko had not succumbed to himself, he would ask the Elf to stay with him—until, at the very least, something came to mind: a purpose that would fulfill his life and keep him rooted to the very existence he was so blessed to have.

Odin wouldn’t let his friend suffer. If he did, he knew he would suffer a fate far worse than death.

“Wake up, Odin! Come on! Wake up!”

“Quit shaking me!” Odin cried, throwing Nova’s arms away from his shoulders. “Where are we?”

“We’re
here!”
Nova laughed. “We’re here!”

“Where’s
here?”

“Hell if I know, but that doesn’t matter because
we’re here!”

Before Odin could even begin to question just where they could possibly be, Nova pulled him out of bed and began to throw additional layers of long-sleeved clothes at him. With little choice other than to assemble himself as fast as he could, Odin pulled a pair of long, insulated pants up his legs, then pushed himself into his hood, all the while trying desperately not to stare at the window which remained clouded over. “You don’t know where we are?” he asked.

Nova didn’t say anything at first. When Odin smiled, however, the man’s lip curled into a smirk, the one corner of his mustache tilting as if he’d just arched an eyebrow. “Miko said to come get you up and dressed.”

“All right.”

After securing his coat into place, Odin pulled his hood over his head and clasped the mouthpiece together. Nova, impatient as ever, began to tap his foot.

Shrugging, Odin reached down, pulled another pair of socks onto his ankles, then pushed his feet into his boots. He took several moments to make sure the laces were properly secured before rising to his full height.

“Ready?” Nova smiled.

“Yeah,” Odin grunted. “I am.”

The two left the room and made their way through the halls. Cold air met them more than halfway to the stairs—a sign that, while ominous, led Odin to believe that their location had to be much more remote than he had initially anticipated.

“
Burr,”
Nova shivered, rubbing his hands together. “Guess it’s colder than I expected.”

The cold only continued to worsen until they stopped at the foot of the stairs. There, the chill seemed to taunt them with its presence alone, slicking white wisps of snow across the stairs and staining their breaths a pale grey.

Coming out into the cold, Odin grimaced and tightened his hold on the hood over his head. The spectacle of sailors dressed in their heaviest winter clothing surprised, but didn’t dissuade him from moving any further. He turned and gestured Nova up with a simple wave of his hand.

Extending far into the distance like a grand, hellish plain, a barren land of snow and ice assaulted his eyes with a stupendous, desolate vision. Of snowdrifts so high they resembled hills, of solid ice the color of bright blue crystal revealed to the world by wind that kicked up its surface and made ringlets in the sky, of an existence so bleak and horrible it seemed not a single breathing creature could live here—in appearance alone it looked like a place of childhood dreams, of fun in the snow and of snowmen that could be built as high as the eye could see. This, however, was no wonderland, and it became apparent just by standing there and looking upon its surfaces that this place was not in the least bit forgiving.

This place—this
winter wonderland—
was hell.

“Where are we?” Odin asked.

“Neline,” Miko said, stepping forward. “This I where we’re going, Odin, Nova. This is where we’ll spend the next year.”

Chapter 6

“Spend the next
year?”
Nova cried. “Are you
crazy?”

“Nova,” Odin mumbled.

“Shut up, kid.” The man returned his eyes to the Elf, flames across their amber surfaces. “What do you plan on doing? Making us
walk
across that?”

“The Globe Village lies far beyond the shores of Neline. It will only take us a few days to walk there.”

“A few
days?
How do you expect us to
live
out there? We’ll freeze to death!”

“I am not stupid, Nova. I know here we are going.”

“Tell me how we’re going to survive out there then!”

“I will make shelters carved out of snow with my magic, then chill them with water to retain their shape. Then, once the three of us are safely inside, I will seal the entrance off in the same manner I created the shelter. I’ll keep us warm with a magical fire.”

“Which won’t melt the structure?” Odin asked.

“No, it won’t. I’ll be able to keep the three of us alive until we reach the village.”

“Why do people live out there anyway?” Nova asked, gesturing wildly to the frozen-over windows. “What
drove
them to?”