The Brotherhood: Blood

by Kody Boye

  “It’s not just a cough—it’s the blood cough.”

  “The blood cough?” Ectris frowned.

  Odin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Though he could not see his father’s action or just what he was doing, he sensed his father’s one arm rise and then part over the curves of his hair, where he pushed it away from his face. It took but a moment for Odin to open his eyes and see his father pulling from his belt a canteen. Odin reached for it, but after his father shook his head, undid the cap and placed it to his lips, Odin couldn’t help but smile.

  “There you go, “Ectris said. “The healer, what’s his name? Barmat, Bartus—”

  “Barmut,” Odin said.

  “Yes. Barmut. He said you needed to drink water to keep your throat wet.”

  “All right.”

  Odin took another long drink before settling down on the bed. He watched his father, waiting for him to say something else, before he scooted over and gestured for him to settle down on the bed. “Do you want to rest with me, Father?”

  “One of the guards said they would bring a second mattress up. I can just—”

  “You don’t need to wait. I know you’re tired.”

  “I’m fine, son. Really, I’m—”

  “You’ve got shadows under your eyes.”

  Ectris raised hand, as if to run his fingers under the curves of his eyes. Whether it was a conscious motion Odin couldn’t be sure, as it seemed unintentional, but he didn’t let it get to him.

  “You need your rest,” the man began. “I can’t—”

  Odin shook his head. “Come on,” he said. “The pillow is big enough for the both of us.”

  Thinking his father would argue, Odin reached for the man’s wrist. Before he could grab it, however, Ectris unlaced his boots and crawled in beside him.

  “Thank you,” Ectris whispered, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

  “I am too,” Odin said.

  Without a second thought, he moved forward and into his father’s arms.

  Maybe now he could truly start to recover.

  Throughout the next few days, Barmut the healer continued to bring buckets of water into the tower and apply the solution to Odin’s face through breathing techniques. His father to one side, watching the healer with concern, seemed all the less wary about the practice currently being displayed before him, as if anything it seemed more akin to what a witch doctor would suggest rather than normal conventions of medicine. Odin wanted to beg his father to have the healer stop, as the solution both smelled and tasted horrible, but so far hadn’t been able to muster the courage to do so for feat that Barmut, who was tending to him so well, might feel slighted for it.

  “Sir,” Odin said, pushing the man’s hand away before sitting up. “Am I getting any better?”

  “I think so,” Barmut said, running a hand through Odin’s hair. “Your cough has gone down, correct?”

  “A little.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about, because if your symptoms are starting to lessen, you are getting better.”

  Ectris stood, squeezed Odin’s shoulder, and walked to the window.

  “I still have to stay in bed,” Odin said, pulling his eyes back up to the healer, “right?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s better to relax and stay inside than to move around in the open air.”

  “Is anyone else sick?”

  “A few pages, yes, but not any of the older boys.” Barmut frowned and applied the rag to Odin’s nose once more. “This is strange, because young men such as yourself don’t normally succumb to this kind of illness.”

  “Blood Cough?” Ectris asked. “He’s never had it.”

  “That might explain why he is only just getting it,” Barmut sighed. “Breathe, Odin.”

  Guiding him back down onto the bed, Barmut held a hand steady to Odin’s neck and continued to apply pressure to the rag over Odin’s mouth. Taking slow, deep breaths, in the mouth and out through the nose, Odin found the moisture and solution within the rag to be comforting in that moment rather than complicated, as it seemed to dissuade all source of pain within his torso and throat in but a moment’s notice.

  “I’m going to put some of this on your chest,” the healer said, pulling the sheet down to Odin’s waist. “It might help if you’ve got some of this on your body.”

  “There isn’t anything better you can give my son?” Ectris asked.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, but this is better than nothing. Most young men go for weeks without any kind of medicine. It’s not dangerous, of course—unless you’re coughing so much blood it’s making you pale—but this isn’t a very enjoyable process.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Ectris said, taking Odin’s hand.

  “There’s nothing to be worried about,” Barmut agreed. “As long as you get plenty of rest, you’ll be fine.”

  The door opened.

  Upon instinct alone, Odin pushed the rag away from his face and sat up.

  Weapons Master Jordan stood in the doorway, a slight look of unease and possibly pleasure twisted upon his face. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said, “but someone’s here to see you, Odin?”

  “Really?” Odin asked.

  “Really.”

  Odin glanced from Jordan to his father, who only smiled in response.

  “He’s more than willing to wait if you’re not ready to see anyone,” Jordan continued. Then, after making sure the door was firmly shut, stepped forward and added, “Though if I were you, I’d see him now. He’s come a long way.”

  “Where from, sir?”

  “He never said. Just that he came to see you.” Jordan stood to his full height, looked at Ectris, then Barmut before sighing. “Like I said, he’s more than willing to wait to see you, if you’re feeling too ill or don’t want to see anyone.”

  “It’s fine, sir,” Odin said.

  “Are you sure?” Ectris asked, setting his hands on Odin’s shoulders. “He even said that he would wait. You can always just—”

  “He’s the only one who’s wanted to see me,” Odin said, reaching up to set a hand over his father’s. “Send him in, sir. Please.”

  “I’ll excuse myself,” Barmut said, making his way for the exit. “Please rest, Odin. Don’t strain yourself doing anything.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  The healer bowed his head before opening the door. He paused, stared at someone outside as if that individual was about to commit bodily harm upon him, then slipped out without another word.

  “All right,” Jordan said. “Give me a moment. I’ve told him you’re sick, so there’s no need to worry about embarrassing yourself or him. He’s an honest man.”

  Turning, Jordan crossed the room and disappeared out the door.

  “Who do you think it is?” Odin asked, turning to face his father.

  “I don’t know,” Ectris said.

  “He’ll be the only one who’s come to see me.”

  “So? At least someone wants to see you.”

  “I mean… why does this man, out of all the other knights, want to see me?”

  “I don’t know, Odin. Let’s just wait and find out.”

  The door opened. Jordan stepped inside, but left the threshold open.

  Behind him, a huge behemoth of a figure in a dark cloak stooped through the entryway, then rose. His gargantuan height dwarfed Jordan at seven-feet in total.

  “Heh-Hello,” Odin managed.

  “Hello Odin,” the deep-voice figure said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “Yuh-Yes sir.”

  For no apparent reason, as if it were a gust of wind skirting in through the threshold and wrapping around him, a series of violent shakes began to overtake Odin’s body. His heart beat faster, his breathing came in ragged strips, and to his and his father’s horror, he began coughing, but quickly regained his composure when the tremble in the tall figure’s voice stopped reverberating
throughout the room.

  Is his voice doing this to me?

  “You have nothing to be afraid of,” the cloaked person said. “Jordan. Could you please close the door?”

  The weapons master did as asked.

  “I apologize,” the figure said. “I’m not comfortable revealing myself to strangers.”

  “How come?” Odin managed.

  “Let’s just say that I’m not something you would normally see.”

  Ectris stood.

  From the corner of his vision, Odin watched his father’s hand trail to the dagger that lay on his belt.

  How did he—

  “You have nothing to be afraid of, sir,” the figure said. “I have no desire to harm your child.”

  “What are you then?” Ectris asked. “Why won’t you reveal yourself?”

  “If you would stand back, I will.”

  It began as a performance art that could have been described as something ethereal—something, for all intents and purposes, that did not seem normal or was not regularly practiced within the standardized life of human sociology. The figure first lifted his hands and began, ever so slowly, to pull his gloves off, which revealed a porcelain-white structure of hands that were tipped with the darkest shade of purple nails, of which had been sharpened to points resembling daggers.

  “What are you?” Ectris asked.

  Next, as though a choir entering the chorus of a long melody, the figure revealed the same pearl-white skin, albeit on a bare chest which lay divided into two halves of muscle. Seemingly-hewn from the mountains to the east themselves, this train of muscle, sculpted entirely to where each of the figure’s ten abdominal muscles could be seen, continued up the torso until it ended where two equally-impressive and defined pectoral muscles lay—the small, dark nipples atop them revealing the figure’s sex as male.

  “I’m nothing to be afraid of,” the mystery man said, undoing the lower half of the cloak to reveal a skirt of pure white with trees sewn into its surface.

  “Why did you come up here like this?” Ectris asked.

  “His appearance is… not normal,” Jordan said.

  Odin caught sharp toenails of the same purple color on the man’s feet.

  “Please, do not be frightened when I reveal my face. I am not here to hurt you.”

  With that, the man lifted his hands, undid the clasp of his robe, and let his hood fall back.

  To say that the choir had sung the chorus and the stage manager had set foot the most awe-inspiring performance of the last hundred years would have diminished just what Odin was seeing. It seemed, for a moment, that his eyes could not comprehend what lay before him, that his mind could not function without the visual inputs that lay connected within his eye sockets, and for that it took several long moments for him to truly take in the figure standing before him. When Odin was able to grasp a hold on the figure, however, his heart stopped beating in his chest.

  Is he…

  This creature—obviously not in the least bit human, for his facial features put even the most handsome man’s to shame—looked upon the two of them with dark, purple eyes that seemed to capture within them the essence of the world and everything that it entailed. Situated beneath a series of impressively-slanted brow bones, his façade eventually descended into beautiful madness by encapsulating his face with high cheekbones and hollow crevices below them. His jaw strong, but shaped, angled once to appear as though a near-perfect straight line and then twice to where it appeared a crescent. His chin—rounded, almost perfectly, and not in the least bit cleft—completed his face into the awe-inspiring creature that he was. Perhaps his most-striking feature, however, was his hair—purple, just like his eyes and brows, that spilled from the roots of his head, down his chest and back and onto the floor beneath him, the bangs of which had been braided perfectly and cut short to end near the bottom of his face.

  To say this creature was anything but beautiful would have destroyed the word of humanity, to falsify a term and to thereby create something near horrendous out of it. It was for that reason, in looking upon the creature before him, that Odin found his breath caught in his throat and his lungs desperately pulsing in an attempt to breathe.

  “Are you,” Odin started, then found himself unable to finish.

  “An Elf?” the creature asked. “In a way, yes.”

  “You’re not Elf!” Ectris spat, drawing his knife in but one fluid movement. “Stay away from my son, bastard-blooded thing.”

  “How did you get past the border with that on you?” Jordan growled, stepping forward but straying his hand to his sword in the process. “Why, I should have you deported and sent to jail for this offense.”

  “I assure you,” the creature said, “that I am an Elf, though my father was not.”

  “You’re a sick Half-Blood!” Ectris went on. “Inbred, vile, half-breed piece of—”

  Jordan, who continued to press forward, stopped in pace when the Elf cleared his throat, a sound comparable much to shifting stone upon the side of a mountain.

  “My father,” the beautiful creature said, “a Drow, also known as a Dark Elf or the Scourge, bedded a creature of the fairer race. My mother, she was pure Elf, and should not be considered whatever you may be thinking, good sir, for she was but an innocent victim in this regard.” The Halfling blinked. Though no discernable emotion lay on his face, Odin thought the thing looked sad, possibly for its mother whom had likely come under assault by the venomous creatures that he himself was very much a part of. “I am here for the goodwill of your son. Please, put your weapon down.”

  Aided by a secondary, yet just as vile look from Jordan, it took but those single words for Ectris Karussa to sheath his knife. “If I even think you are going to hurt my son, I’ll kill you.”

  “Understandable.” It turned its eyes on Odin. “What is your name?”

  “Uh-Odin,” he gasped.

  “Odin.” The creature smiled, stepped forward, then fell to a knee. He offered his hand palm-up, unlike the traditional handshake. “My name is perhaps too complicated to explain, but you may call me Miko.”

  “Miko,” Odin said, repeating the name under his breath. “Just Miko.”

  “Unisto if my shortened family surname, if you must know.”

  “All right.”

  “I introduce myself only to assure you that I mean no harm. You will find that most enemies prefer their names to be secret, even to those they trust the most.”

  “Then how do we know you don’t want something?” Ectris asked.

  The creature named Miko stood and crossed the room in but a few flush movements. Legs swift, arms propelling him forward, he stood before Ectris and stared into his eyes for several long, undeterminable moments, and despite the height difference between the two of them, Ectris made no move to back down. The higher creature—whom, in that instant, could have been considered something of a God among men—stared at Ectris until the man started shaking.

  “May I set my hand on your shoulder, Odin’s father?”

  “Why?” Ectris growled, tears breaking down his face. “What do you want from me?”

  “To assure you that my touch is gentle.”

  Ectris turned his head down. In response, Miko set a hand on the man’ shoulder, then drew closer, placing his opposite palm on his lower back as well.

  “From my touch,” the creature said, “do you feel as though I would hurt you, much less an innocent child?”

  “No,” Ectris gasped. “I don’t.”

  Miko turned to face Odin. “Would you like to feel my touch, Odin?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “You would only have to touch my hand. If you feel as though I pose any threat, I will leave you be and never return.”

  “You don’t… I mean…”

  Although he had yet to finish, and while the idea of the creature leaving so involuntary led Odin to believe that this might have been nothing more than a chance meeting, Miko stepped away from his crying f
ather and crouched to kneel at his bedside. He extended his head, kept his fingers together, then tilted his hand palm-up. It took but a moment afterward for Odin to reach forward and touch the surface of his skin.

  “There,” Miko smiled. “How does that feel?”

  “Smooth,” Odin said, almost unable to comprehend how there could be so few lines upon the creature’s palms when it seemed that a variety of muscles had to have made them up. He continued to press his fingers into the dips and turns of the creature’s hand until he realized his action. Embarrassed, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” the Elf said. “It’s only natural to be curious.” Miko slid his hand out from under Odin’s, then moved it up his arm until it rested on his shoulders. “You’re very sick, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve got the Blood Cough.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m aware, but it isn’t a pleasant feeling at all.”

  “Have you had it, sir?”

  “Yes. I have it quite often, actually. It’s the result of my mixed blood—I catch things here and there that most normal, pure-blooded species only have once.”