by Kody Boye
“High Mage Daughtry?” Odin frowned. “Why does he—”
“He said he’s had some clothes made for the both of you.”
“Clothes?” Nova asked. “What about—”
“I don’t need extra clothing. This is what I wear.”
“You don’t get tired of wearing the same thing over and over?”
“No. I don’t.”
They returned to packing with silence and efficiency that should have been impossible given the circumstance they were about to throw themselves into. Here they were—he, Odin, and Nova, his friend—preparing for a trip and a destination neither of them knew, all the while listening to a creature who could very well spell for them a trip dangerous and unnecessary. While he thought, and while he considered the possibilities, Odin found himself looking up and around the room they’d shared together for the near-month they’d been here, mesmerized and mystified by the idea of the coming adventure.
After all this time, after all this preparation, they would finally be leaving.
But where? he thought.
Where he didn’t know, but at that current point in time, he didn’t particularly care. At least they were headed in the right direction.
“Hey, kid,” Nova said, slapping Odin’s arm. “You still there?”
“Yeah.” Odin blinked. “Why?”
“You stopped packing your stuff.”
“Oh.” Odin looked down at the pair of pants spread out in front of him. “I didn’t know.”
Nova slung his pack over his shoulder and ruffled Odin’s hair in the process. Odin, too, finished securing his belongings within the sack before rising to follow both his friend and his knight master out of the room, nerves in tangles and his heart beating ever so fast as they began to make their way through the halls.
The torches, the stone, the ornate rugs, the paintings in which heroes were predicted and the past was returned to the present—he wouldn’t be seeing any of this for some time.
Just like Father.
He should’ve spent more time with him before he left. Miko would’ve understood—would’ve encouraged it, so far as he knew—so to think that they’d spent such a short amount of time together after being apart for so long nearly tore his heart to strings.
A week? he thought, frowning. Was that all the time I got to spent with him?
“You ok?” Nova asked.
“I’m fine,” Odin said, bowing his head.
The older man slid an arm across his shoulder.
Content with his misery and selfishness, Odin continued forward, Nova’s arm around his shoulder and his eyes on his knight master’s dark cloak trailing behind him.
“Everything’ll be fine,” Nova whispered, leaning close so only the two of them could hear. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”
Nova clapped Odin’s back before straightening his posture.
Before long, the massive double doors that made up the front entrance came into view, spilling light into the castle and lighting way for the future that was to come.
Odin turned his head up.
The world seemed to open before him.
“Come,” Miko said, pressing his hand against Odin’s back. “Let’s not keep Daughtry waiting.”
“Oh,” Daughtry said, upon opening the door to see the three of them. “Miko.”
“You’ve met before?” Odin frowned, shifting in place.
“He was one of the men who witnessed my appearance when I came through the front gates,” the Elf said, giving a slight bow of the head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have made it sooner, Daughtry. We were delayed by packing.”
“No. That’s perfectly fine,” the mage said. “Come in. I have your things right here.”
Careful to let his knight master go first, then to allow Nova in before him, Odin stepped through the threshold and scanned the interior of the house with wary eyes, already dreading the emotions currently placating his conscience as if he were a stray apple left out for the worms.
To think, he thought, that you were here before it all went down.
From the threshold that led to the stairwell came a little girl. In a forest-green dress, fancy black shoes and her brown hair in pigtails, she looked to be the very definition of youth, youth with a wild spirit that existed within her dark green eyes, and stopped in midstride upon noticing the strangers in her house. Her eyes immediately fell to Odin—whom, upon contact alone, seemed to widen—before her attention trailed up to Miko’s hulking form.
“Anna,” Daughtry said, gesturing to his daughter to follow them into the room.
“Yes Father?” the little girl asked.
“You remember Odin, don’t you?”
Once more the little girl’s eyes fell upon him. Such a strong gaze should not have existed in a child—so strong that, in fact, it seemed to judge him without actually speaking, to tear him to pieces upon examination and to decipher him without actually conversing. That in itself was enough to make him uneasy, as when the little girl gave a slight nod and a pout of her lip she raised her hand and conjured the butterfly she had summoned all those years ago.
“I remember,” the little girl said.
Odin pushed his hand palm-up and made a butterfly of his own. Together, the summoned constructs flew into the air and danced around each other, almost as if both he and the little girl shared the same thought process and repeated it likewise.
“These are the clothes I’ve arranged for the pair of you,” Daughtry said, drawing Odin’s attention away from the scene before them and to his face. “A few of the villagers were willing to offer up their teenage sons’ clothing. These I had spare for you, Mr. Eternity.”
“Thank you,” Nova said, running a hand along one of the simple shirts.
“I assume the three of you are leaving then?”
“Yes,” Miko said. “We are.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that you can’t leave on a boat here. You’re going to have to go to Elna.”
“Elna?” Odin frowned. “Miko, sir, why—”
The Elf raised a hand. “Yes, Daughtry,” he said. “I’m more than aware.”
“Your horses are being tended to as we speak,” the high mage said, stepping up to one of the windows and parting the curtains to look at the outside world. “Would you like extra bags for your clothing, friends?”
“They can fit them in their sacks,” the Elf said. “Right, Odin? Nova?”
“Right,” Nova said.
Still a bit dumbstruck to speak, Odin went about unlacing the pack over his shoulder and securing the clothes within its confines. To think that they would be heading more than halfway across the country to secure themselves a way to their destination was more than a bit unsettling. How long would such a journey take? Weeks, possibly even months?
Why can’t we just use one of the kingdom’s boats? he wondered.
Could their inability to charter a boat from here be because Ornala was not equipped for such travel, or was it because Miko was not truly royalty and would not be allowed such privileges?
Either way, he couldn’t necessarily think about it right now.
After the clothes were packed and tucked away within the sack, Odin rose to his full height and faced Daughtry full-on.
In that man’s dark-blue eyes, he thought he saw a bit of worry for the three of them.
This will be a long journey, his eyes seemed to say. Prepare for it.
“Elna?” Nova asked. “That’s the only way we can disembark?”
“That’s the only way we can leave on a big ship,” Miko said, running his long, bony fingers through his stallion’s mane.
“Why can’t we just charter a boat from Ornala?”
“Because I am not royalty.”
Of course, Odin thought, his suspicions confirmed in but a few simple words. “But sir,” he continued. “Why do we need a big ship?”
“We just do.”
Just do.
The secrecy was starting to
get to him.
“Sir,” he continued, hoping his tone didn’t sound childish and his thoughts irrational. “Does this really have to be a secret?”
There you go, he thought. Now you sound like a child.
He chuckled at the thought.
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Miko said, his smile revealed even from beneath the shroud of his hood. “But yes. It’s a surprise.”
“How long will it take us to get to Elna?” Nova frowned.
“A good while. Have either of you been so far west?”
Both Odin and Nova shook their heads.
“I’ve only traveled north of Felnon,” Odin said.
“I’ve been east,” Nova added, “but that’s because I came from Bohren. This is the farthest west I’ve been my whole life.”
“The terrain gets a little rough as we go along,” Miko explained. “The plains are one thing, but the lowlands are another.”
“How bad are they?”
“Bad enough to merit several extra days of travel if we want to be safe. The lowlands aren’t even the worst of it. It’s the ‘Ela Alna Pass.”
“‘Ela Alna?” Odin closed his eyes, trying to picture the area. Nothing immediately came to mind. “What is that, sir? It seems familiar, but—”
“The pass is a long, descending slope that’s very difficult to travel,” Miko explained, “especially during storms—which, unfortunately, the west has many of.”
“What’s so bad about it?”
“Downhill terrain,” Nova said, “is slick, especially when wet.”
“Our friend is right, Odin. To make matters even worse, grass doesn’t grow on the pass because it’s almost constantly wet. There’s no way for plants to root themselves to the soil, so they constantly get washed away. We’ll have to take extra precautions when traveling this route.” Miko arched his back, stretching the muscles before settling back into place. “So, Nova, to answer your question: we’re looking at a month’s worth of travel.”
“Fifty days?” the man asked.
Miko shook his head. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Nova sighed. “I mean, you can’t help it. I trust you more than I’d trust anyone else.”
Miko smiled.
Odin couldn’t help but do the same.
That night, they sat around a small campfire. Tucked into bedrolls and having just eaten a dinner of soup, the three of them were more than ready to settle down for the night. There was, however, the matter of taking the first watch.
“Sir,” Odin said, raising his voice for the first time since they’d eaten dinner. “Who’s going to take first watch?”
“I’d be more than happy to,” Nova said. “I mean, I kinda dozed off early today.”
“We noticed,” Odin smirked.
Nova smacked the back of his head. Both of them laughed. Even Miko smiled in response.
“If you’d like to take the first watch,” the Elf said, “that’s fine.”
Odin looked up at his master. Garbed in his dark cloak, he looked even more menacing than he normally did beneath the night’s uncanny black sky.
No one will bother us when they see him, he thought, settling down as deeply as he could into his bedroll.
“I’ll do that,” Nova said. “I’ll sit up so I don’t fall asleep.”
“That’s a good idea,” Miko nodded. “It’s easier to doze off if you lie down.”
“Goodnight, Nova,” Odin said. “Goodnight, master.”
“Goodnight,” Nova said.
“Sleep well, Odin,” Miko replied.
Closing his eyes, the image of a boat large enough to carry an army of men came to mind.
It set sail, destination unknown.
The above sun beat down with such unrelenting force that, come midafternoon, both Odin and Nova had stripped their shirts off and had tied them around the tops of their heads. Oddly enough, however, Miko seemed unaffected by the heat, and still wore his black façade as if it were nothing more than a simple shirt or bowtie.
Maybe it doesn’t bother him, Odin thought, raising a hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. He is an Elf, after all.
It was possible that Elves could control their body temperature. However, if one truly thought about it, why would Miko have asked for a blanket the night of the storm if he was capable of such a feat?
He didn’t have his cape on, he thought, shifting in his seat.
“Hey, Odin,” Nova drawled, voice hazy and rough. He leaned forward until their shoulders touched. “You got any water?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching down to retrieve one of the many canteens from his pack. “Why? Where did yours go?”
“The damn thing had a leak.”
“I can share.”
“Thanks bud. You’re a lifesaver.”
Nova tipped the canteen back and took a short swallow before passing it back. After securing it back in its place, Odin raised his head to survey the land before them. Bare, save for a few scattered pockets of trees along the sides of the roads, the plains seemed to go on forever, extending into the vast distance in hues of yellow and gold grass and weed for what seemed like eternity.
“It’s plans land for a good while,” Miko said, noting Odin’s observation. “There’s very little to look at out here.”
“I’ve noticed,” Odin said. “Aren’t you hot, sir?”
“No. Why?”
“We’re dripping sweat,” Nova laughed. The sound of his voice lacked its normal enthusiasm.
“Don’t worry. The weather doesn’t bother me.”
“How?” Odin frowned.
Miko shrugged.
That’s the best answer I’m going to get right now.
The Elf had remained silent for most of the morning. Odin only recalled him speaking only once or twice, if that.
There’s not really a whole lot to say.
What could they speak of if not their own personal matters—their lives, their hardships, their troubles and their insecurities? There were no landmarks to point out and make casual banter, no pools of water at which to stop and secure their canteens, and there seemed to be little in the manner of the joking to be done. There was, essentially, very little to actually converse over, so silence would ultimately rule the majority of their travels should dialogue not be initiated.
“Hey kid,” Nova said. “Wanna play a game?”
“What kind of game is it?” Odin asked.
“It’s a ‘who can beat the other to the hill first’ kind of game.”
Nova kicked his horse into a run, laughing like a madman as he gradually got further and further away.
“Better go catch him,” Miko said.
“Are you sure?” Odin frowned.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Miko reached over and set a hand on his shoulder. “Go. Have fun. Besides—if he falls off, someone needs to be there to catch his horse.”
No one ever said heatstroke was fun, Odin thought with a slight smile.
After kicking his horse into gear, he pursued Nova in the hopes that somehow, someway, he could still catch up.
The next few weeks took them across the plains. Skirting across the boundaries of the Ke’Tarka Military Outpost, through the other smaller, unmapped villages and settlements that dotted the lands and around isolated areas of forest broken apart from the Felnon providence—it seemed their pursuits were taking the longest time in the world, but to no regard.
Tired, sunburnt, and more than ready to have this stretch of the journey over with, Odin lifted his head out of his horse’s mane to find the blinding sunset stretching across the sky in hues of orange, pink and purple.
There, in the near distance, the land began dropping—first slowly at first, then falling out of view completely.
“These the lowlands?” Nova grunted, tightening his hold on his stallion’s reins to still its incessant movements.
“Yes,” Miko nodded. “We will have to be very, very careful here
.”
“I see grass,” Odin said. “I thought you said there wasn’t any?”
“Here, on the top of the incline, there is. Further down, it starts thinning out until it all but disappears.”
“This is where we’ve gotta watch the horses,” Nova said. “Isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Miko dismounted. When the giant horse made a move to follow, the Elf raised his hand, stilling the creature. He bent and set a hand on the ground, holding it there for a moment. Not once did he run his concealed nails through the blades of grass or pull any of the soil out. He then raised his head and said, breathless and as though he’d just run a thousand leagues, “You may want to dismount and consider letting the horses rest.”
“But it’s not dark,” Odin frowned.
The sun had not yet fallen to the horizon, but it would soon enough. With the colors bleeding from existence and the lapse of dark blue spilling from the west, it would not be long before the stars would be beckoned forth to twinkle into existence.
