by Kody Boye
I’m only fourteen and I don’t even know the full extent of my gifts.
Had he been born into a royal family, then surely he would have had the training he so desperately strived toward, wouldn’t he?
I can talk to animals and set things on fire, he thought, raising his hand to count down just what he could do on his fingers. I can also stitch things up.
What else could he do, he wondered, and what powers lay hidden beneath the surface just waiting to be discovered?
It wouldn’t be much longer now before he broke free of the forest and the castle rose into the distance.
Once he arrived, he would seek out a teacher and have him or her examine his skills.
It seemed to tower into the sky forever and more. Tall, ancient, vast in its scope and even more dazzling in its appearance—like his father had once told him as a child dreaming of one day entering into the Ornalan military, it sparkled like gold and silver and even the faint luminescence of molten pearls and echoed across the landscape a signal of triumph within the three human kingdoms. Such an awe-inspiring site was to be reveled—and, of course, dwelled upon—and while he now sat no more than a mere hundred feet away from it, each and every moment brought him one step closer to the very place he would soon be calling home.
Even from such a distance—which, to Odin, seemed like nothing, given the fact that he was now closer to Ornala than he had been in the past few days—he could see upon the surface of the outer wooden gate a pair of guards making their way back and forth between the two watch towers that flanked the southern wall. Occasionally, one of them would look the horizon and likely point out something they saw—how, Odin wondered, they couldn’t see him he wasn’t sure—but for the most part, they continued their back and forth pace, almost as if they had nothing more in the world to do.
You’ll be there soon, Odin thought. Stay calm.
However true that sentiment rung, he couldn’t help but feel within his chest a growing sense of panic that started first in his fingertips and eventually slid throughout the entirety of his being. A series of shakes—which, at first, began as nothing more than a slight tremble—soon turned into a full-out hysteric fit. Why he cried he couldn’t necessarily be sure, as he felt not an ounce of sorrow or even a shroud of indecision, but as he drew closer to the gate, he began to lose all sense of feeling within his body. Even his hands, bound tightly to the reins before him, remained numb and dead, as if he’d sat or pressed them against the base of his skull for far too long.
It took little more than the fading eclipse of the afternoon to come within the next few feet of the gate.
Odin closed his eyes.
Above, one of the two guards appeared with his crossbow in hand and trained the weapon on Odin from a distance. In response to this action, Odin raised a hand, signifying peace even if it seemed that were not the case.
“What business do you have?” the guard called, gesturing to his companion with a single wave of his hand.
“I’m here to enlist in the military!” Odin cried. “I ran ahead of the Felnon caravan to make sure that the path was safe!”
“Where is your father, boy?”
“Further back, with the group!”
Though it was much too far up and away for him to make out any noticeable expression on the man’s face, Odin felt as though the guard must have frowned, for his face took on a strange disillusion that seemed completely opposite to what his facial appearance should have seemed in the current frame of light.
They have to let me in, he thought. This is the outer wall. It’s not as if I could do any further damage here.
Being that Ornala had been separated into two districts in order to provide added security, it was highly unlikely that he would be refused access, especially if his intentions were to enroll in the military.
“We’re opening the gate!” the guard called down. “Are you armed?”
Odin reached down to grasp the sword at his side. “Yes!” he called back.
“Know that you will be watched.”
The castle’s impressive gates began to move. Shifting, groaning, creaking, squeaking in the sweltering heat of the humid afternoon as gears inside its structure began to force the gate apart—the part in the wooden structure first began as a brief memory of a sliver of earth and then eventually fanned out as it began to open. The gears within two visible outposts turning, the men before them likely grunting and groaning, Odin watched as directly before him the gates opened and revealed to him Ornala’s Outer District—which, by all respects, was just as beautiful as the castle that lay in the distance.
With a simple kick of his foot, Odin gestured Gainea forward and into the housing district—where, before his eyes, he saw a vision of common life that seemed all too reminiscent of Felnon.
This is it, he thought. My new home.
The fact that it seemed so blatantly obvious was enough to make him smile, for it was within that moment in looking at the houses, so crafted and built in the finest of the long-gone Ornalan wood, that he felt his heart catch fire. A strangled cry of pleasure rising in his throat, a series of palpitations in his head, he turned his eyes to look at the world around him and smiled when he caught a series of children running by a teenager and his dog, who, with all the grace in the world, vaulted himself over a pair of men who were carrying what looked like mortar or something similar for crafting houses.
“Hey!” the men called. “Get back here!”
The children directly behind the teenager ducked and made their way through the gap between the two men—laughing, giggling and waving their hands.
Unable to resist the urge to smile, Odin barely heard the guard as he descended the stairs behind him and stepped forward to greet him with a simple nod and a handshake.
“If you’re looking to enlist within the Ornalan military,” the guard said, turning his head and raising his hand to point to the east, “then your best start would be at the recruitment office.”
“I want to see the king,” Odin said.
Red-faced, the guard let out a burst of laughter that dropped Odin’s heart within his chest. “You want to speak with the king?” he asked, still laughing while leaning forward to brace his hands against his knees. “I’m enlisted by the king and I barely ever see him.”
“I need to see him,” Odin said. “Sir, you don’t understand—”
“All I know is that if you want to meet the king, you better get in line. You’ll be waiting months, if not years.”
“But—”
“Go to the recruitment office, young man, and apply for military service there. You may have to wait for your father to arrive before you can be legally signed off and into the king’s service, but it’s worth a shot to try now while the day is still young.”
“Why?” Odin frowned.
“The office will be swarmed come time for nightfall.”
Odin sighed.
With one last look at the man behind him, he dismounted, then began to lead his horse by the reins toward the recruitment office and the stables that lay before them.
“I’m sorry,” the enlistment officer said, bowing his head to the finely-written, completed forms before him, “but unless you have explicit, written permission from your father or guardian, I can’t legally allow you to join the military.”
“But—” Odin began, then stopped when he realized it would be a fruitless endeavor.
Sighing, he turned his attention the windows at the far side of the room and desperately wished at that moment that he’d chosen not to run away and instead was now with the group. At least then he wouldn’t have to face the humiliation that was likely to come when his father stepped through the front gates and into the Outer District to find him alone, likely on the stoop leading up into the inn, waiting for him to return.
There’s nothing you can do, he thought. You might as well just leave.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, giving the enlistment officer one last nod before turning
and making his way out of the building.
Once outside, he collapsed, defeated, on the front steps.
Unable to contain his emotions, he bowed his head, laced his hands together, then took several long, deep breaths.
He’d sure as hell gotten himself into a horrible predicament.
“Excuse me,” a small voice said.
Odin turned his head up.
Standing directly before him in a long white and flower-lined dress was a little girl. Blonde hair and blue eyes startling in the midafternoon light, her expression lined with happiness and a bit of unsurety, she tilted her head to the side to examine his downturned expression, then offered a slight frown when Odin didn’t immediately reply.
What in the world? he thought.
“Yes?” he finally replied, unsure what to think.
“Are you sad?”
Sad?
How could a child know his feelings just by looking at him?
Rather than lie outright and instead choosing to dissuade her from questioning him any further, Odin took a deep breath and sad, “I’m not sad, no.”
“What’s wrong then? Why are you just sitting there?”
“I’m tired,” he smiled. “I’ve been on the road for a very long time.”
“Are you going into the army?”
“I’m trying.”
“You look… special,” the little girl said, taking a few steps back to admire him in detail. “Do you have powers?”
Powers?
“I’m sorry?” he asked, a bit dumbstruck and unsure what to say.
“You know… powers.”
“Like what kind of powers?”
“The kind of powers you can use to make people happy.”
Though he couldn’t necessarily respond to the question if only because he knew nothing of his Gift and couldn’t possibly understand how a little girl could judge just by looking at him that he had a magical talent, Odin straightened his posture, gave a smile, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t have powers that can make people happy.”
“But you do have powers,” she said.
What?
“What’s your name?” Odin asked, extending his arm to shake her tiny hand.
“My name’s Anna.”
“Anna,” he smiled. “That’s a nice name.”
“You have powers, right?”
“Some, yes.”
“Can you show me?”
“I’m not sure how to use them.”
“It’s easy,” the little girl said, cupping her palms together as if she were about to spoon water from a creek. “Just try it. Like this.”
Closing her eyes, the little girl bowed her head and pursed her lips.
From her hands, which began to glow a marvelous shade of green, a butterfly made entirely out of lime-green light was born and began to flutter in the air before her as if it had a will of its own. Laughing, the little girl turned her head up and offered the brightest smile she could give as the construct of light first began to dance in the air, then as it did a few somersaults, feigning human interaction if only by will alone, before it changed its direction and flew directly toward Odin.
Startled by the construct’s closeness, Odin raised his hand to push it aside.
His palm glowed white.
The butterfly disappeared almost instantly.
“Hey!” the little girl cried, stomping her foot on the ground and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s mean!”
“I… didn’t try to do that,” Odin frowned, lowering his palm just as the last tendrils of light began to fade from his hand. Before him, the little girl’s eyes held what could only possibly be tears, signaling the coming of waterworks that would likely draw attention if only by speculation alone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I didn’t mean it. I—”
Before he could finish, the little girl took off into the district, hands to her face and her body seemingly-flying through the air.
Great, he thought. Just great. I made a little girl cry.
Rather than risk the exposure and being chastised for something he hadn’t intentionally done, Odin stood, lifted his saddlebag over his shoulders, then began to make his way toward the inn—where, he hoped, he could find at least a little peace until his father arrived.
He needed all the help in the world in that regard.
He held no money within his personal collection, no food of which he could eat and nothing he could barter with in exchange for services. For that, he seated himself at the table closest to the entrance to the inn, set his saddle at his feet, then began his long and notorious wait for what he considered would be the most horrendous moment of his life.
He’ll kill me, he thought, sighing.
Surely if punishment or a near-death experience did not fall upon his shoulders, he would be chastised beyond compare—skinned alive, some would say, emotionally rather than physically, and it would be in that moment whilst receiving the harshest berating of his life that Odin, in the midst of all these people, would feel smaller than he had throughout the entirety of his existence.
Sighing, he touched the glass of water that sat no more than a breath away from him and fingered the moisture that beaded down and along its surface. He was, surprisingly, shown mercy in regards to his situation, for he’d been given the drink free of charge. The kindness there could only have been because of his age—or, at the very least, because he was here without his father and any money in the entire world.
Could he, he wondered, possibly request the barkeep or even the cook to let him do a simple job in exchange for one small meal?
I’ve never worked before, he thought.
Though he knew all-too-well that such a thing would come at a high price, given the fact that he was in the capital and nowhere else, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would once again have mercy bestowed upon him if only for the fact that he was so young.
That’s ridiculous.
Who was he to kid himself over such sophisticated manners? It would take much more than simply washing the dishes or preparing food he barely knew how to cook to get a meal in exchange for his services.
Bowing his head, Odin stared directly into the glass of water and tried to make out the slight reflection of his face, all the while silently praying that he would not have to worry about encountering any more trouble, at least until his father arrived and beat him within an inch of his life.
Would the caravan arrive tonight, or would it stop early and camp on the outskirts of the city?
Unable to know, he lifted his glass of water and drank.
He would have to wait whether he liked it or not.
To keep his spirits high and his attention set throughout the day, he watched the bartenders and the people they served as if they were animals currently sprawled out before one another expecting to be watched. Some lifting their hands in grand flushes, others speaking in tones and voices that Odin found almost unbearable to listen to, he watched over the course of several hours as men became too staggeringly drunk that they had to be physically removed from the bar by armed guards and as waitresses carried trays upon trays of food to almost each and every table within the settlement. With each platter set down he felt the familiar stab of pain within his gut—that feeling of which one had gone without food for much too long—and every time he caught one of their eyes he begged, silently, for some form of mercy. Feed me, he would have said, had he the voice or the inclination to speak up and ask for pity. I’m here alone and I’m hungry.
When darkness fell upon the world, Odin found himself all the more wary at the fact that he’d seen neither his father nor any members of the caravan outside the bar’s window.
They’ll be here eventually, he thought, idly toying with the bottom of his empty glass of water.
They’d have to be, he knew, because he’d managed to make the trip in less than a day’s worth of time. If they hadn’t yet come through the gates, they would soon. He knew in his heart that
much was for certain.
On the opposite side of the bar, near where the stairs lay in easy access to lead up to the second floor, Odin caught a slight disturbance in the shadows and shivered when he felt a chill wind blow through the open bars doors.
What was that?
Could it have been just as simple as it seemed to be—a wisp of air and nothing more than that—or did the figure that watched him from the shadows seem to have a more deviant purpose: something that, while obscured, could easily be revealed in but a moment’s time?
Not able to know, Odin pushed himself further back into the chair he currently sat in and turned his attention to the barkeep—where, from his current perspective, he could see the slightly-aged man talking to the waitress who appeared ready to leave and embark home for the night.
Nearby, he caught what appeared to be a small, fleeting form making its way through the door and instantly sobered up at the image.
The little girl had returned—this time, however, with a figure in tow.
Great, he thought, bowing his head. Now I’m busted.
The little girl’s father had returned just in time to give him a lesson in dealing with children the wrong way.
When Odin turned his eyes up to allow himself a better look at the figure who’d appeared alongside the little girl, he found himself captivated by a splendid robe that fell all the way from the bottom to the man’s neck all the way to the tips of his toes. Flanked in color on both sides in shades of grey and blue, his hood pulled up to hide his eyes but doing little to obscure the strong chin beneath it, Odin merely watched in horror and fascination as the figure drew nearer.
