by Kody Boye
After all this time, after so many windows, he still couldn’t understand why Miko took a particular interest in what lay outside, much less what he could be looking at, considering all there was in the distance was an endless mass of blue.
“Sir,” Odin said, sliding the book out of its shelf. He set it on the table and narrowed his eyes on the Elf.
Miko didn’t answer. Odin stepped forward, ready to set a hand on his master’s back, before Nova grabbed his shoulder. “It’s ok,” the older man whispered. “You don’t have to worry about him.”
“He didn’t answer me.”
“He’s thinking about something. I wouldn’t bother him.”
Thinking?
Odin hadn’t considered that. Then again, something so simple as mentally concentrating on something might be even more complex for an Elf. It had to be—as they, obviously, were made different than human beings, molded and shaped in such beauty that they could be considered something like Gods who walked the mortal plane, and in all his time with the Elf, Odin had come to terms with a few things that he’d witnessed in his short time with the creature. Miko, if ever, rarely blinked, he didn’t touch his face unless his hair fell into his eyes, he didn’t scratch any part of his body and he breathed very, very slowly. While a human had to take a breath every other second, Miko seemed only to breathe occasionally, as if he had no use for air and instead processed the very thing they breathed through his pores instead of his throat, much like a spider or any other type of insect would.
This list of things different from himself made him think about what the Elf had said earlier, about the dolphin and how it really wasn’t a fish. Could, he wondered, an Elf like Miko hold his breath underwater for long periods of time, and if so, could he also walk through a valley of smoke without worrying about choking? Such thoughts made him consider whether or not the Elf was hiding magic he used from the pair of them. He’d notice, at times, the air around his master would tingle. He’d always assumed it was because, like all Elves, Miko was a highly magical creature. Now, though, he couldn’t necessarily be too sure.
“Ok,” Odin said, taking a step back. “I won’t bother him.”
“I’m not saying you can’t talk to him. I’m just saying that he might not like to be disturbed.”
Nova patted Odin’s shoulder a few times before walking to the bed that rested against the far wall near the door. There, he slid under the covers, arched his back, then rolled over so his back faced Odin. “Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight,” Odin replied.
He grabbed his book and settled into his chair. There, he opened the tome, ready to read before he realized that the side table didn’t have a candle. He made a mental note to ask the captain if he could acquire one from their storage if they have any.
Which they do. What ship wouldn’t have a candle?
A ship that didn’t want to be burned down would be the kind that didn’t have candles.
Forced with the reality of the situation and the lack of lighting he would have to read in, Odin set his book on the table and grabbed an extra blanket that lay on the back of his chair. He walked over to his master and set it over his shoulders. “It’s cold,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Miko said.
Before Odin could turn and return to the chair, the Elf reached out and touched his wrist. The gesture, so unexpected and sudden, stopped him in place.
“I’m sorry I’ve ignored you, Odin.”
“You haven’t ignored me.”
“Yes I have. You spent most of the day by yourself or with Nova.”
“I’m ok. Don’t worry.”
“That’s the thing. I do worry.” Miko closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then expelled it. He didn’t loosen his grasp on Odin’s wrist. “I feel as though I abandoned you.”
“You didn’t abandon me, sir. I—”
“That’s the thing, Odin—I feel as though I did.”
Odin slid his wrist out of the Elf’s bony-yet-delicate fingers and settled down beside him. Miko looked down at the hand he had used to grip Odin’s wrists, then began to stroke his fingers.
“Do you have arthritis?” Odin asked.
“No,” Miko said. “At least, I don’t believe so. The bones in my hands ache when I’m upset.”
“You don’t have anything to be upset about because you didn’t abandon me.” He reached out to touch the Elf’s back, but stopped short, figuring less contact would be more appropriate in this situation. “Please, don’t think that.”
“I’ve left a lot of people behind,” Miko whispered. “I’ve left so many behind.”
“Sir?”
This time, he did reach out to touch his master’s back. When no futher dialogue came, Odin rubbed the Elf’s shoulder in the hopes that the gesture would spark a response out of him.
None came.
“Miko,” Odin said, leaning in close so he could whisper in the Elf’s ear. “Please… don’t think anything you did was wrong.”
The Elf said nothing.
His eyes watched the outside world—waiting, for what Odin imagined, something he might never see.
-
“Sir,” Odin asked, come time the following morning when the world was alight in color and stained with the essence of dawn. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Odin,” Miko said from his place in the middle of the floor, legs crossed, eyes aware and thumb and index finger pressed together. “Everything’s fine.”
More than aware of this attempt in meditation likely used in order to soothe his mind and his thoughts, Odin crawled out of bed and pulled his boots up onto his feet. From there, he stood and watched his master and just what he may be looking at in the outside world. “Are you looking for something?” he decided to ask.
“I’m sorry?”
Odin frowned. The Elf wasn’t one to ask someone to repeat something. “I asked if you were looking for something,” he said.
“Oh. No. I’m not looking for anything. Why do you ask?”
“You just sit there and watch what’s going on outside. I… I thought—”
“Don’t feel the need to worry about me, Odin. I’m perfectly fine.”
The Elf stood and crossed the room. Hw stopped at Nova’s bed and looked down at the sleeping man.
“He hasn’t woken up?” Odin frowned.
“Not yet.”
“Did you want me to wake him up?”
“Not particularly. I had planned on going up above, but now I’m not so sure.”
“How come?”
“I don’t want to be up there by myself.”
“I’ll go.”
Whatever the Elf’s reasons for not wanting to ascend the deck alone and solitary, he didn’t necessarily care. Instead, he secured a few of the buttons on his jerkin that had popped open last night into place and reached for his sword, but stopped before he could wrap his hand around it. “Should I take my sword, sir?”
“If you’d like. I’m not.”
He won’t let anything happen to us.
If, for any reason, Miko couldn’t defend them, Odin knew he could. His magic had grown tremendously in the past little while, and though the Elf hadn’t personally instructed him in specific manners of the Will, his words of encouragement held more bounty than any spell book would have ever entranced upon its reader.
They left the room as quietly as they could after the Elf garbed his black façade and ascended the stairs, breathing in the scent of morning as they touched down upon the deck. Already men ran back and forth, tugging on ropes and scrubbing the boat. Some even sat in stools near the sides of the railing, fishing poles in hand and bait lingering in buckets at their feet.
“It must always be this hectic up here,” Odin said.
“I suppose,” the Elf shrugged. “I haven’t been on too many boats in my lifetime.”
“You don’t like them?”
“I’m not particularly fond of being somewhere where my feet cannot
firmly rest on the ground.”
Miko adjusted his hood, drawing it further over his face. Why he did it Odin couldn’t be sure, as no one would have been able to see into it even if they wanted to. Even before, when it had been up a slight amount more than usual, the person inside had been shrouded in darkness, his face masked and his expressions all but hidden.
“Would it really be so bad to let them know what you really are?”
“Yes, Odin. It would.”
“How did we get on the ship? It’s not like the captain would’ve just let you on.”
“If you’ve got money, a man will do anything you like, even keep quiet.”
The Elf walked away, but Odin chose not to follow. Instead, he turned and went his own way, not wanting to leave his master but knowing he preferred the silence.
He doesn’t want me hanging around him constantly.
Then again, Miko had asked for him to come up here with him. However, he had to remember that the Elf had wanted one of his companions nearby, just in case the other men started to get suspicious. While Odin didn’t necessarily believe their fellow shipmen would do anything, he couldn’t know exactly. Who could be sure of anything, especially when one of the stranger’s party preferred to keep himself wrapped behind a black persona?
It doesn’t matter.
He stopped when he caught a few figures floating under the water. At first he thought they were dolphins, but upon closer inspection he found them to be anything but. These creatures were bulkier, cart-long and possesed thicker fins and a sharp, almost dagger-like curve to their tails.
What are—
“This the first man eater you’ve ever seen?” Captain Jerdai asked, sliding up alongside Odin. The man offered his pipe, but Odin rightfully declined.
“Man eater, sir?”
“They’re sharks, lad. You’d do best not to fall off the boat while they’re around.”
“I…” He paused. “All right.”
Odin leaned over, wanting to take another look at the school of creatures, but found they had already vanished before he could even do so. “Where did they go?” he frowned.
“Below, most likely. They may not be the smartest fish in the sea, but they’re not stupid either. They’ll know if someone’s watching them.”
“I don’t like not knowing what’s under there.”
“Who does?” Jerdai took a long breath off his pipe. White smoke shot from his nose as he expelled a breath. “Out here on the open water, you’ve got to remember that we’re not alone. There’s more to life down there than just dumb fish who eat, sleep and breed.”
Odin said nothing.
Jerdai, likely thinking he wanted his time alone, turned to leave.
Odin continued to watch the water, almost completely unaware that the man had left.
“All right men!” Jerdai called out. “You better hurry and bathe. It’s starting to get dark and we don’t want anyone unaccounted for when the sun goes down.”
With freedom and abandon that seemed completely natural for such a situation, men ran for the side of the boat, stripping from their shoulders and waists their clothes and cheering as they flung themselves over the railing and into the water. Odin watched, awestruck and horrified, as their bodies sailed through the air until they eventually plummeted down and into the ocean some fifteen to twenty feet below.
“Is it safe to jump that far down?” Odin asked, fingers sliding up to his shirt and the top button.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Miko said. “As long as you don’t land on your stomach.”
“Yeah,” Nova said, stripping naked. “That wouldn’t be too much fun.”
The older man walked to the side, took one glance at the water below, then hurled himself over. Odin watched him fall until he splashed into the water and emerged a brief moment later. “Come on!” he called up.
Careful to pull his shirt off without losing it to the slight wind that whispered across the ocean, Odin undid the clasp on his belt and had just begun to pull his pants and loincloth down his legs when he realized that Miko made no move to undress. “You’re not coming?” he asked.
“No,” the Elf said. “I have no intention of revealing myself to these men.”
“You’re going to have to do it sometime.”
“I understand, but now is not the time.”
Stepping forward, Odin looked over the railing and swallowed a lump in his throat when he realized just how far down the drop was.
Just don’t land on your stomach, he thought, steadying himself on the railing. Just don’t—
He slipped.
Falling, quickly, toward the ocean that seemed to grow so vast and impenetrable as he eclipsed the air, he realized he would land on his belly unless he corrected his position. With little time to do that, he closed his eyes and flung his body to the right.
Water exploded around him.
His side numb, his arm all but useless, he clawed at the sea with his better side in a desperate attempt to keep himself upright. Liquid shot into the open spaces of his eyes and nose, blinding and drowning him at the same time, while directionless he whipped his limbs to and fro, clawing for anything and everything that might give him a better sense of his surroundings.
I can’t breathe, he thought, almost tempted to laugh even though the situation was so dire. My God. I’m going to die out at sea just by jumping into the ocean.
His thoughts slipped.
His chin fell to his chest, head heavier than ever.
Just as he thought he was going to drown, a resisting force grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him free of the ocean’s waves.
“You all right?” a voice asked.
After coughing a mouthful of water up, Odin looked up to see Nova, eyes alight with concern and dancing with flames of unease. “Yeah,” he managed, spitting the last of the water out. “I’m ok.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t hurt yourself when you fell. What happened?”
“I slipped.”
Nova grimaced. “That sucks.”
“Yeah. It does.”
Odin pushed Nova’s hand away from the back of his neck when he figured he could swim by himself. Now that the numbness had faded, he found maneuvering through the water surprisingly easy, despite its chill and the slight ache that throbbed in his ribs.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Nova asked, lingering close. “It looked like you hit the water pretty hard.”
“I did. My ribs ache.”
“Well… I don’t know what to tell you.” The older man shrugged, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “If you need help, don’t be afraid to ask. I’m more than willing to lend a hand.”
“I know.”
Odin reached up to run his hands through his hair. Although he wished that they were in a tub rather than in the open ocean—mostly so he could use soap, but also so he wouldn’t have to worry about the ‘man eaters’ he had seen earlier—he could deal with cleaning himself off with just the sea water.
“We’re going to smell like salt once we dry off,” Nova laughed, splashing a little water onto his face.
“We are?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you know the water has salt in it?”
“I didn’t.”
“Guess you really do learn something new every day, huh?”
“I guess.”
Nova laughed. He slapped water at Odin.
More than ready to reciprocate, Odin pushed his hands under the water and was just about to send a magic-forced blast of moisture at his friend before he topped.
The air, once lax and free of any substance, thickened.
Skin crawling, what felt like the inklings of magic tickled the tips of his feet, simultaneously jarring his legs closer to his body on instinct alone.
“What?” Nova laughed, splashing him a little. “Why’d you stop all of a sudden?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
The playfulness in Nova’
s voice disappeared, as if capped over with a globe and forced to germinate under less substantial circumstances. He reached out to touch Odin’s shoulder, but stopped when the younger man shook his head.
“It’s just… I… I don’t—”
“It’s just what, Odin? Tell me.”
“Something isn’t right.”
“What isn’t right?”
“We need to go back up,” he said, heart thundering in his chest. “How are we—”
“There’s ropes on the side, buddy.”
He looked up. Just as Nova had said, thick, corded bundles of rope dangled from the sides of the ship in one single, interconnected mass, which resembled something of a tattered spider web in the half-light currently permeating the world around them.
“Come on!” Odin cried. “We’ve got to—”
Just before he could finish, a single, low note pierced the silence of the note.
All movement ceased. Even the ocean herself seemed to stop at that very moment.
