The Brotherhood: Blood (91 page)
You did what you had to do,
Nova had whispered, words long since spoken, but not easily forgotten.
That thing would’ve killed him if you hadn’t’ve got to it first.
Regardless, it didn’t change the fact that he felt as though he’d done something wrong.
Guilt harbored in every man’s heart. Whether he chose to release it from the dock was another story entirely.
Coaxing himself to believe his friend’s words, Odin pushed the thoughts from his head and continued to follow his knight master.
For the next several long, agonizing moments, he stared at nothing but the individual threads in the Elf’s cape, tracing their benign patterns and trying to find out where exactly they ended. He followed one thread for what seemed like ages before it disappeared from sight, though lost to the tapestry or mind he couldn’t tell, nor did he particularly care to. If he found something else to obsess over, he might go insane.
“Hey,” Nova whispered, smacking his shoulder. “Odin.”
“What?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s… they… them—”
“They’re not doing anything to you, so snap out of it.”
“Nova—”
“Look,” the older man growled, reaching across his shoulder to dig his fingers into the fabric of Odin’s shirt.
“They
didn’t do
anything
to us. It was
one Ogre—
one
mad, out of his mind
Ogre—that came into our cave and tried to kill us.
They
didn’t do
anything
to harm us, so get your fucking head out of your ass and quit acting like you are.
Smacking the back of his head, Nova pushed Odin forward, nearly into an Ogre that had stepped out from around the bend in the road. “Child,” she cooed.
“Suh-Suh-Sunskin,” he managed.
“It is good to see your eyes.”
“I… I don’t…” Odin paused. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he turned to look up at the Ogre, surprised when he found no hint of malice in her amber eyes. Concern, maybe even worry lit the orbs inlaid in her head like gold to a figurehead’s skull, but no hurt polished their surfaces and gleamed with anger. “I’m sorry,” he said, near the verge of emotional collapse.
“For what, red-eyes?”
“For doing what I did.”
“Odin,” the Ogre said. Reaching forward, she set both hands over his shoulders and cupped his back in her palms, then tipped his chin up with one massive thumb. “You are aware that life is important,” she began. “For that alone you understand something that many never begin to learn, nor ever truly comprehend. Your shame lies in your youth, child, for you feel that robbing another’s life only serves to further your own. Am I wrong, red-eyed child? Do you not feel shame for taking someone’s heart and crushing it in your hands?”
“Of course I do,” he sighed. “Why would I feel so guilty if I didn’t?”
“Only you are able to grant your aching soul mercy for the act you’ve committed. Bafran sealed his own fate when he took a life young and fertile and ended it in his hands. Had you not protected my son, his life would have ended in pain, misery and sorrow, as would fire-hair’s and quite possibly your own. Are you aware of what we do to those who kill our young?”
“No.”
“Death for them is painful, torturous beyond a sword through the heart. Had Bafran not left the village and chosen to pursue others of our kind, he would have had his limbs cut from his torso and his body thrown to the woods for the pigs. Do you know what it feels like to be eaten alive, my friend? Do you know the agony of having your flesh torn from your body piece by piece until you finally cease to exist?”
“No.”
“Then pray for your heart that it heals, because had you not killed him, and had he killed both you, your friend and my son, his suffering would have been far worse than any death you could have given him.” Releasing hold of Odin, Sunskin turned to face Miko. This time, she didn’t reach out, nor make any attempt to extend any kind of physical gesture. “You leave when the winter passes and the spring is born new,” she said. “That time is now.”
“Yes, Mother—it is.”
“I bid you farewell and good nature in your journeys, my son, as I do you, Nova of the Bohren hills and Odin of the Felnon forests. This may be the last time I will ever see you.”
“Mother,” Miko whispered.
“I am old, Maeko. I am not ancient in blood as you are. I have seen these days coming for a long time now. There is no denying that my life, as important as it may seem, will eventually come to an end.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Nor can I leave my people to journey to the human lands with you.”
“The king,” Miko began. “He… he doesn’t discriminate. He is kind, loyal, just. He would take you in, Mother. He’d keep you safe. He—”
“The human king may not care whose blood I was born from, but surely his people will. My kind has learned the ignoranance of those who bask in gold and bathe in blood, for if you recall, Maeko, it was they who pushed us from their lands, not us.”
“Mother—”
“There is a time for goodbye, my son. That time is now.” Stepping forward, Sunskin set a hand on Miko’s shoulder, and as she did Odin, tipped the Elf’s chin up and forced him to look into her eyes. “My whole life, I have dreamed for a child I could one day look upon, to call my own and share with him the most intimate of things. When my mate died, and when my one and only chance to have a child died with him, the pain and sorrow in my heart nearly destroyed my soul. But then… one day, Maeko, long before the humans walked the beaches and their orbs sang their song, I pulled fish from the sea and found something I dreamed I would never begin to find.”
“Me.”
“Yes, my son. I pulled from the sea a child bastared and abandoned, and in that child of black and white and maroon and silver I found the one thing that saved me from the hell you three experienced when a rogue entered your cave and tried to end your lives. I found my life, Maeko. I found you.”
“Mother,” Miko whispered. “You… you can’t… you can’t do this to me.”
“Forever abandoned from me you are, my son. As one once did to you, I cast you to the waves, to your own and to your sea.”
“Mother!” Miko screamed. “You can’t do this!”
“Leave now, Maeko, or forever be cursed with your final goodbye.”
Words could have never described what a final, solemn ultimatum holds.
With one last look at the creature that had raised him, Miko whispered, “I love you,” and turned toward the forest, only pausing once for Nova and Odin to follow suit.
As they faded away, into the forest and from an Ogre’s heart, Odin thought he heard something.
It only took him a moment to realize it was snot and tears.
Flame licked the night, casting doubt in worry and faces in orange.
Across from Nova and Odin, huddled between the folds of his cape and bedroll, lay Miko, eyes unmoving and gaze not in the least bit faltering. Although the Elf’s sights lay on the men before him, the brutal knowledge that he most likely could not see them floated in midair, biting at Odin’s knuckles and licking his palms like freshly-born pups. Wet, covered in phlegm and seeking out the one thing that connected them to the world, they gnawed at his fingers like they would teats, desperately seeking the lifeblood they needed while still trying to understand the world around them. Sometimes they’d bite too hard and blood would be drawn, while others would simply fall behind, moaning and yipping for their mother to pick them up, then bring them down. Like those pups, Odin wanted but one thing. His chance of getting it, however, was slim to none.
“Soup?” Nova offered.
Odin shook his head. Nova’s attempt to give him food had gone stale the third time around. “Is he even awake?” Odin asked.
“It doesn’t look like it,” Nova replied, setting the pot back in place. “Then again, we both know how much that means.”
“What’re we supposed to do, Nova?”
“About what?”
“About
him.”
“We don’t do anything.”
“
What?”
“We don’t do anything,” Nova repeated. “We
can’t
do anything.”
“You honestly can’t expect me to believe that.”
“And you honestly can’t expect me to believe that we
can
do anything. He’s done this before, Odin.”
“When? What are you—” The brief image of a froazen wasteland was enough to silence him. “Nova—”
“We
can’t
do
anything,
Odin.
Do you understand?”
Nothing could be said to something like that. How could he retort if he had no reply?
Shaking his head, Odin settled down in his bedroll and tried not to look into his knight master’s eyes. Those dull, glasslike purple orbs begged,
screamed
to be looked into. It was as though someone had trapped another being behind a glass wall and expected them to get out. What could they do but beg and scream to be set free if only they knew who was trapped inside?
Is something in there?
he thought.
Is something
really
in there?
Looking into Miko’s eyes, it was hard to tell.
“Do you want me to watch first?” Odin asked.
“No,” Nova said. “Don’t worry—I’ll wake you up when I’m ready.”
“What about—”
“Leave him be. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Only then would the Elf’s mind return.
Dawn breathed its parlor upon the world in blue, grey and orange. Within the birth of a new morning, the sun bled orange as though pregnant and bloated with her child of light. First the clouds glistened, pink with the blood of the innocent, then the sky lightened, the blood wiped away with a cloth but not completely removed. Marked with the essence of the soon-to-be born, the light cut a path through the darkness and gave way to the pure—to the unconsolable, desperate blue of the world.
Opening his eyes, Odin witnessed a perfect Minonivnan dawn on the final eve of his journey.
This is it,
he thought.
This is where the journey ends.
He’d said the same thing, once upon a time, when he looked upon the Lady Annabelle and imagined where its folds would take him. Through the breeze and across the wide seas, past the trees and tall weeds—he once dreamed of that ship taking him to worlds that he could never imagine, to places where his heart would change and his position would grow. Despite his fears—which, at that time, had been so present—he
had
changed, and had grown more than he could ever possibly imagine. He’d crossed the grandest, frozen plane in the whole of the southern world, battled a dying race for life or death, and slept with Ogres thought to be dumb and deaf, all in the scope of three years. He’d done more in that amount of time than most people did in their entire life.
What’s next though?
Service, enlistment, loyalty, death—did they not say that once you gave your life to the king it was his and his alone? Surely you couldn’t control the actions of a nobleman, much less sway him to save your soul in times of need. Only men with red robes and false amends could take your face in their hands and save the one thing you thought you couldn’t lose.
It’s too late to turn back now.
Pushing himself out of his bedroll, Odin slung his shirt over his shoulders and stepped up to the woodline. There, he set his hand on one of the black trunks and looked out at the slowly-bleeding sun, as well as its mother clouds, who slowly but surely faded to black.
What will happen when I get to the castle though?
Nova would be gone—that much was already clear. Miko, though… where would he go? He’d always claimed to be a wanderer, a nomad with no set goal and no choice home. Would the Elf simply walk away one night, never to return and be seen again, or would he come back one day in times of trouble, when Odin needed him most?
No. He won’t leave. He wouldn’t.
Or would he?
Sighing, Odin bowed his head just in time to avoid the stabbing needles of light pushing their way through the trees.
At a time like this, he didn’t need anything else to worry about, much less a guardian who might leave and never return.
“You’re up.”
Odin blinked. “What?”
“I said you’re up.”
Blinking once more, Odin cleared his eyes, surprised to find that he hadn’t been imagining things. Miko sat across from him, cape slung over his shoulders and long hair shrugged over his broad, partially-naked chest.
“Did I fall asleep?” Odin frowned.
I couldn’t have. I’m still sitting up.
“I don’t know,” the Elf said. “I just rose myself. Are you well?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You…” A flicker from one of the remaining dying embers reflected off the Elf’s eyes, allowing Odin to focus on the overall expression. Though not completely grief-stricken, the obvious lack of emotion lit Miko’s face in a completely different light. Cheekbones hollow, porcelain skin dull and without life, eyes black—emotion could pain such fickle pictures on people’s faces, but when within portraits such as Miko’s, the true scope of life revealed itself in the most honest of ways. Frailty, chastity, honesty, trust—all were visible, all physical in a living, breathing light.
