The Brotherhood: Blood (7 page)

He’s never hit me,
he thought, panicking, his heart beating a thousand times and more in his chest and his lungs contracting as if they could not absorb the life-giving air within the tent.
He’s never—

“Don’t you disrespect me boy,” Ectris said, grabbing Odin’s chin and tilting his head up so they could once more look into one another’s eyes. “You hear?”

“I… you—”

“I
what,
son?”

“They are? Since when? You think that the king wants boys who can
set things on fire
or
blow things up?
Do you honestly believe that he wants his men killing each other because they can’t control their own powers?”

“
The mages will teach me!”
he cried. “Why can’t you just open your eyes and see—”

Ectris reared his hand back and struck him a second time. “You
will not
fight me on this!” he roared. “I’ll turn us both around and take you back to Felnon if you’re going to disrespect me.”

“You wouldn’t,” Odin said, chest filling with weight. “You… you want me to—”

“Just because I said I would help you doesn’t mean I won’t turn you around. A boy
never
talks back to his father, especially about something as selfish as
using magic.”

Near tears and unable to control the shakes that consumed his body, Odin wrapped his arms around himself and tore his eyes away from his father’s stare.

The man turned, preparing to make his way out the tent. He stopped before he could do so. “Get in bed,” Ectris Karussa said. “Don’t argue with me.”

Odin lay awake after his father went to bed thinking about what his he’d been told. Struck twice and threatened with his entire future, there seemed to be little not to panic about, considering the fact that he now lay beneath a tent that seemed damaged but not by physical means. Beside him, his father slept soundly, his chest rising and falling almost as if there was not a thing in the world to bother him, but Odin knew better. No. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that his father was attempting to prevent him from controlling the one thing he knew set him apart from all the others.

I can’t let him do this to me,
he thought, chords of unease playing in his chest and forcing tears of rage down his face.
What if he tries to get some special treatment for me? What if he tells them he doesn’t want me to use my magic?

Could, he wondered, a parent request that their child not be taught something, especially if that something fell within the line of magical arts? He imagined not, considering that men who served under the king were specifically trained to exploit each and every opportunity possible, but were he to really think about it, he couldn’t help but wonder if his father would put in a request to the highest source—the king, possibly, or even a high mage—to forbid them from teaching his son magic.

Why does he hate something that’s going to help me?

Men with magic were
always
the ones told of in legend—the ones who, somehow, someway, always managed to survive the most gruesome of situations and the most horrendous of wars. What of Arc, who had traveled the Crystal Deserts killing the last of the hideous giants, or even Baelra whom, in her day and age, had saved a separatist group of outcast women that had bore the Gift also? Both figures were regarded in history—were, of course, highly revered as well—and both had used magic in order to make their world a better, safer place. Why was he to be denied such a privilege if he had the opportunity to use it?

This is it,
he thought, sitting up, then running a hand through his hair.
This is where I decide what I’m going to do.

It took only one look at his father to show that the man had been asleep for a very long time.

Sliding out of his bedroll, Odin began to pack as swiftly and quietly as possible—first the sword, which his father had given him at thirteen, went to his belt, secured on his right for easy access, then his bedroll and his saddle came next, both of which fell under either of his arms. While he carried a heavy load, he managed to slide out of the tent without making so much as even a whisper of noise.

Be quiet,
he thought, grimacing at each and every step he took across the campground.
You don’t want to wake anyone up.

In these weather conditions, there was little chance of anyone hearing but a few footsteps, as beneath his feet the only sound made was the squeak of mud beneath his boots. Were one to be awake, however, that would be an entirely different question. A figure stalking across the campsite could surely be seen as a threat and the entire party would be woken, only to find poor Odin Karussa sneaking off in the night after being punished by his father. What a sight that would be.

When he came to the line of mares and stallions situated on the outer edges of the campground, Odin gestured them to be quiet with a simple wave of his hand, then broached the area where his own mare had been situated. Gainea, as had been named by the Goddess of Life, stood on the outer edges of the campsite snorting and flipping water from her mane.

“There were go,” Odin said, securing his saddle atop her back before maneuvering under her stomach in order to clip the harness in place. “We’re going to leave now, ok?”

She nudged his chest with her snout shortly after he climbed out from beneath her.

“Yeah,” he whispered, disengaging the rope that held her to the tree with a simple cut from his sword and gesturing her out of the campsite.

When he left the perimeter of the line of tents, horses and carts that made up the caravan, Odin began to make his way through the forest and toward the road that led through the forest, but stopped before he could get there.

In lieu of his feelings, Gainea bowed her head and sneezed.

Odin turned his attention back to the campground.

Goodbye,
he thought, closing his eyes and trying desperately to fight swarms of emotions from overwhelming him.
I’m sorry it had to be this way.

With a kick of his foot, he pushed Gainea into a trot.

He would forge his own destiny.

The rain startled shortly after he left. Cold, foreboding, grueling, whispering of a hard trip and not in the least bit pleasant, it showered down around him as if he were being punished for his choice and gestured him to turn around, almost as if it were the ghost of his father raging in his sleep.

I’ll turn us both around and take you back to Felnon if you disrespect me.

If any an action were to disrespect his father, this one would be it.

You can’t think about it,
Odin sighed, his thoughts soon falling back to the men at the camp.
You’ve got bigger things to worry about.

If anything were to hinder his progress other than the rain, it would be a man having recently awoken to find one of the horses gone. There would, he knew, be a search party, after which they realized young Odin Karussa had disappeared. Along with that, his father would likely pursue him up the road on his giant black stallion in a full-out gallop. If that were to happen, there would be no way for him to possibly escape the persecution he so desperately deserved.

Bracing himself for the worst that could possibly happen, Odin turned his head up and watched the trees and surrounding forest.

Under the dark, barely-moonlit sky, almost anyone or anything could be watching him. An animal, a bandit, a werecreature, perhaps even a Marsh Walker, an amphibious creature known not so far north but for travelling long distances to hunt prey—practically anything could be watching him within this forest at this given time. To think that he’d only thought of all the troubles a man could run into while alone just a few hours ago seemed to only solidify the notion that he would not be safe until he broke out through the northern road that eventually led to the capital itself.

“And here I am,” he laughed, “doing just what my father told me not to.”

So far away from the group and beneath the oppressing shriek of the rain, no one would hear him scream.

Shaking his head, he pulled his cloak tighter around his body and ran his hand along the horse’s neck, sliding his fingers through the slick hair beneath his fingertips and giving her but a moment’s notice before making her take off into a fevered push.

He continued on for the next long while without feeling any sort of dread or worry. Observing the forest, taking into account the creatures of the night which played or hunted upon another and allowing his eyes to stray to the road in front of him, he watched a pair of raccoons run across the road and heard an owl hooting in the woods in front of him. Things seemed fine—even peaceful, considering the light of his current situation—but it wasn’t until that moment, when taking into consideration his situation and how tired he was, that he realized something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Odin pulled his horse to a stop.

For a moment, he couldn’t discern just what it was he felt. A short moment later, however, the realization came to a stunning climax.

No.

It took less than a breath’s worth of time for him to realize they were being watched.

Beneath his weight, and beneath the oppressing tide of nature, Gainea shifted her body to and fro while waiting for Odin’s next command and snorted, as if disapproving of the situation or the fact that there seemed to be a horrible omen hovering in the air. In response to this, Odin placed a hand against her neck and gently tapped her sides with his heels, urging her forward in but a moment’s notice.

Frustrated, uneasy and afraid, Odin kicked her sides and tugged her reins so her head would pull back and toward him, but no matter what he did he couldn’t seem to make her to move. Even a simple whisper of words, those of which normally calmed her nerves and made her move forward, did nothing to erase the fear that must have currently laced her heart.

It’s all right,
he thought, sighing.
She’s just having a moment.

He waited, stroking her neck with his freezing hand, and watched the woods around them, trying to imagine just what could possibly be watching them from beneath the thicket of trees or even from the heights of the lingering branches. It was said that werewolves still existed in these parts—that, regardless of the great hunt that had once taken place, a few managed to exist—but if they happened to be watching them he couldn’t be sure. Even if he
could
know, he didn’t necessarily
want
to, but that was beside the point.

Slowly, but assuredly, Gainea began to take her first few steps up the road since pausing in midstride.

Odin sighed.

Directly before them, he considered the reality of his situation and began to grow uneasy at the fact that, soon, they would have to stop, if only because both he and his mount needed rest.

After taking a moment to deliberate on his situation, Odin turned Gainea off the beaten path and began to follow a range of rocks that was bound to lead to a cave at some point.

Please,
he thought, leading her deeper into the woods.
Give me a cave—a thicket of bushes at the very least.

For some reason, he didn’t think he’d find what he was looking for soon.

After following the wall of rock for what seemed like ever, he bedded down inside a cave and tried to go to sleep, but found himself unable to do so for the nerves wracking his conscience and unease prickling the minute hairs on his arms. Muscles in knots, back in pain, skin cold and his breath fading rapidly in and out of his chest, he forced himself to try to fall asleep, but found himself unable to do so for fear that, while sleeping, something would surely step into their personal sanctuary and force them out by death or will.

This is ridiculous,
Odin thought, trying as desperately as he possibly could to try and will his body to rest.
Why can’t I go to sleep?

After drawing the bedroll tighter around him, he pressed his hand to the fabric above his body and thought, for one brief moment, of channeling his aggression into the warmth he so desperately needed to keep from what he considered would be a sought-after death from damp clothing.

No,
he thought.
Don’t.

Given his inability to control his magic, there would be absolutely no chance for him to simply heat the fabric, much less keep it from catching on fire despite how damp at was.

In the end, he decided to suffer.

Over the next few hours, which seemed to roll by endlessly and without regret, he tried to imagine himself being swallowed by darkness and eventually caved in to the lesser emotions that plagued him so. He bawled, sobbed,
cried
and wished desperately to go back to the group, to apologize to his father and say that he only wanted a slight understanding of his Gift, about how to control it without destroying himself and the things around him. They could work something out. He could take a job at the castle, shining boots or even cleaning rooms, and send the money home in exchange for allowing a skilled mage to train him in his abilities. There would be no pain, no suffering, no dread, worry or consequence, as within the hands of someone who knew what he or she was doing there could be no possible outcome of which could harm him. They could even have him practice on inanimate objects and train him to use his powers for simpler things, like cleaning or helping others. He need not learn how to use his gifts for military purpose. They…