The Brotherhood: Blood (70 page)

After that, Icklard had made no further attempts at communication. Shortly thereafter, Domnin had stood and departed into the ship.

Something must be wrong,
Odin thought, grimacing, the memories stinging like stray bees from a patch of dandelions.

While he didn’t particularly care to get involved in other people’s business, Domnin was his friend, and for that he felt he should know about the inner workings of his relationship with the captain. If he could help, he would, and could, so long as he was given the chance.

No further explanation was needed. Jerdai stared for several long moments, watching him with eyes haunted and like shallow beaches, then sighed before turning his eyes out to sea.

“I’m the captain of a ship—by the Gods, how the hell am I supposed to manage the boat
and
him?”

This time, it was Jerdai’s turn to remain silent. The man continued to look out at the ocean, as if the answer to Odin’s question would appear on the waves. Odin could imagine it now—a maiden, rising from the depths, carrying within her hands a choice of swords: one bronze, one silver and one gold. From these swords a question would be asked—if you would feed your loved one, if you would move into a bigger house, if you would help your neighbors, your friends, your daughters, your wife. When answered, the maiden would offer; and if refused, she would return with the next sword in tow. First would come the bronze, dull, dark and glowing, then would arise the silver—beautiful, pristine, and worth its weight in coin. The gold, however, would be marvelous, and from its surface a family could be fed for years, possibly even a lifetime. A real man, however, would not be seeking money. Instead, he would be seeking the answers to his problems, and it would seem, in most circumstances, they money was not the answer, for the love of another was not weighed in bronze, silver or gold, but in heart—in blood, it could be said, as it was not without consequence could one truly open their heart and reveal themselves to another soul.

After several moments of silence, during which time Odin began to grow uneasy, Jerdai turned to look at him. “It’s not that I don’t care about him,” Jerdai said.

“Hell yes I am, Odin, and that’s what scares me. The churches don’t approve, the people don’t understand—it’s all of it. How would you feel if you couldn’t walk into a temple without getting judged or if you had to worry about losing your job just because someone doesn’t like who you fucking sleep with?”

“But I thought you owned the boat?”

“I
do,
but that’s not the point. The point
is:
if someone doesn’t approve of me or what I do, they can find a different captain to ship their wares or carry their supplies. You as well as I know there’s more than just one captain that knows how to sail a boat.”

At the end of his painful monologue, Jerdai turned and made his way to his quarters, but not before he turned to face Odin one last time. “You were asking why we were fighting about our relationship,” he said. “It’s because I’m too big a coward to care about anything other than losing my job.”

After Jerdai left, Odin stared out at the sea, just as the captain had no more than several moments ago. Lost in the midst of ethereal waves, he tried to find the answers to all the questions he wanted to ask.

How could someone be so afraid of loving someone else?
he thought.
And how could anyone ever disapprove of something as simple as a person’s happiness?

Maybe his questions weren’t locked away in an iron box in a sky, just as he thought they were. Maybe they lay deep inside himself, waiting to resurface at the slightest touch of an old, foreign memory.

Father,
he thought, then found himself whispering the word.

Just as he thought it would, the answer came to him in the form of a simple memory.

Two years ago, just when he thought things had been going well, his father had caught him using magic for perhaps the final time. At that particular moment, when it seemed that everything was coming down to one final, ultimate choice, he’d questioned
why
his father had feared and hated magic so much. Now, though, he realized that his father had just wanted to protect him from something that could destroy him.

But how could love destroy someone?

Love, especially one so unnatural, could destroy one’s sense of self, were they not to accept it or had grown up in strict, controlled circumstances. It could be the lance atop the rod—a prod, one could say, that speared the man in the chest without ever being granted or permitted. The rose certainly did hold its beauty, but when grappled the wrong way could bite and draw blood. Love, of course, could certainly be baffling, and in the most horrible sense unsettling, but it could not destroy the person looking upon such a thing from an outside source. To think such a thing was ignorant, but to not understand and in turn repress it? That in itself was plain ignorance, nothing more.

Sighing, Odin set his arms on the railing, careful not to push his weight into them. He took several moments to gather his thoughts and try to figure out what he planned to say before turning his head up to face his knight master’s shrouded eyes. “Jerdai and Domnin got in a fight about their relationship,” he said, turning, pressing his lower back against the railing. “I guess Domnin was upset about Jerdai not wanting their relationship to be closer. When I asked Jerdai about it, he said that he wasn’t closer to Domnin because he was
afraid
to be closer to him.”

“Many consider the love of two men to be blasphemous—sick, even.”

“Why would it be sick though? It’s not like it’s any of their business.”

“I don’t know why they would think that, Odin. What I
do
know, however, is that Jerdai has to consider his employment, despite the fact that he’s in an untraditional relationship.”

“Why would someone
care
whether or not a… a man like Jerdai carried their supplies?”

“Think of it this way,” Miko said, erasing the distance between them with but a few simple steps. “If you were a king and, for some reason, believed a black man couldn’t work as well as a white one, would you enlist his services?”

“No.”

“And if a Dwarf refused a mortally-wounded human access to his home because he believed the human would steal his treasure, would you blame him?”

“But the man’s wounded,” Odin said. “The Dwarf should—”

“Would you blame him, Odin?”

Odin started to speak, but stopped. He realized the ultimatum he’d just been given had only one answer. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”

“So do you see why someone wouldn’t want Jerdai carrying their supplies just because he goes to bed with a man?”

“I guess,” Odin sighed. “I mean, I can understand
why
someone wouldn’t want to hire him because of that, but what’s the reason?”

“Personal indifference, maybe, but who knows. I don’t like to think about these kinds of things, because in the end there’ll always be people who don’t understand or appreciate others for who they are.”

Nodding, Odin looked down at the deck. Just as he expected, Icklard had stayed behind even after his brother had run off. “I don’t like to see people suffer,” he sighed. “Especially my friends.”

“I know you don’t,” Miko said, setting his hands on Odin’s shoulders. “Just be glad that their suffering will only be short lived. Some suffer much worse.”

“I know.”

When he said those words, he meant them, as he
did
know them.

He didn’t have to look far to find true suffering—as, at times, the world seemed all the harsher against those who were different in one shape or another.

One morning, long after Odin had thought of suffering and how close it always seemed to be, he woke to a still, unmoving ship. At first concerned, he frowned, unsure what to think. After a moment, however, he realized that Jerdai must have stopped the ship for a simple, if somewhat-mundane reason and pushed the idea from his head.

Rolling out of bed, he made his way across the room and into the bathing chamber, where there he made sure to grab a washcloth before bending to pick up the barrel of water. He hoisted it onto a table, dipped the rag into it, and sighed when he ran the cool cloth across his face.

Hopefully they boiled it,
he thought, cursing himself for not doing so.

Oh well—if he ended up smelling like salt, who cared?

Undressing, he took the next few moments to wash his face, underarms and privates, all the while yearning for the comforts of a real bath and the true clean it would bring. He didn’t dwell on that, however, instead opting to finish up, toss the cloth into the corner and make his way back into the main room.

“Oh, that.” The Elf smiled and gestured him forward. Once Odin stood at his side, he set a hand on his shoulder. “Jerdai’s seeking permission to dock in the town of Fisherman’s Point.”

“We’re over the border?”

“We’ve been over the border for quite some time,” Miko laughed, squeezing Odin’s upper arm. “If you think about it in a literal sense, anyway.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. He glanced at Nova and, finding him still asleep, walked to his own bed, where he bent and pulled a fresh pair of clothes from his chest. “How long will it take him to get permission?”

“I don’t imagine too long. Why? Anxious to see the town?”

“Kinda,” he said, pulling his underwear up his legs. He sat down and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when a fingernail snagged a tight knot. “If you want to know the truth, I’d like to take a bath.”

“As would I.”

Odin smiled. He slid his feet into his trousers, pulled them up to his hips, then buckled them in place, all the while trying his hardest not to look at the faint blotchy discoloration at his hip or the scar on his upper leg.

“Are you all right?” the Elf asked.

“Oh.” He looked up at his knight master, halfway between sliding his belt through the loops of his pants and buckling it into place. “I’m fine. I… I was just looking at my scar.”

“Ah,” Miko nodded. “It’s nothing to worry about. Most scars disappear entirely.”

“Sir,” Odin sighed, sliding his shirt over his head. “How long will we be here?”

“As long as it takes Jerdai to gather supplies. The worst scenario would be having to wait for a few days to have fabrics and food imported from the surrounding towns. I assume Jerdai will want to have the sail taken care of, or at least replaced.”

“All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Whatever it takes.”

That afternoon, after Jerdai gained permission to dock, Odin, Miko, Nova and the rest of the crew made their way up the long, angled path that would lead them to the city. Salt and cold buffeted the group of at least one-hundred or so as the reckless tide came in and crashed against the rocky cliffside. Mist, in fine sheens of blue and white, cascaded through the air, catching the light and reflecting thousands of miniature rainbows, while the occasional gull flew overhead and taunted them with its warring cries. Tears ran down several of the men’s eyes. Some held shirts or kerchiefs over their noses, resisting the urge to sneeze. Odin alone found himself almost unable to keep from squinting his eyes to avoid both the harsh light from the overhead mountains and the spray of water in the area.

“Like Elna is to Ornala,” Miko said, immediately drawing their attention, “Fisherman’s Point if one of Kegdulan’s main sources of food.”

“I never imagined setting foot here,” Nova said, sliding a hand into his shirt to scratch his chest.

“Neither did I,” Odin said, then found himself smiling soon after. The simple realization that he had actually come this far forced so many feelings from him—joy, mostly, but also awe and wonder. He’d never imagined walking the slanted path of a land leagues from home, desperate in pursuit of supplies, nor had he ever imagined battling a dying race in the most frigid land known to man. In such a short amount of time, he’d come much further than he’d ever imagined and made friends with people and things he could never have even begun to dream of. That alone was enough to bring about the warmest of feelings in his chest and force tendrils of happiness throughout his facial muscles.