The Brotherhood: Blood

by Kody Boye

  “Odin!” Icklard cried. “Nova! What’re you two doing here? You should be inside!”

  “We came to check on you,” Odin said, somehow managing to force a smile.

  “I only tagged along because of the kid,” Nova grumbled. He pushed himself upright and leaned against the wall, taking extra care to grab onto one of the chairs in the process.

  “Where’s Domnin?”

  “I don’t know,” the man said, reaching up to tangle his hands through his hair. “I… I think he’s up with the captain, but I’m not sure. I came back by myself because of the storm.”

  “You don’t know where he is then?”

  “No!” Icklard cried, collapsing beside Nova. Even in the darkness Odin could make out the tears glistening in the man’s eyes.

  “You couldn’t send a message?” Nova asked, grunting as thunder cracked overhead.

  “I… it’s… I can’t concentrate. The boat’s moving too much and I can’t fix an image on him.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t, ok! Dammit!” Icklard cried, tossing a plate into the wall. It shattered upon impact, sending glass raining through the air and onto the floor. “I can’t do this kind of shit when I’m upset! It fucks the magic up because I don’t have a clear head!”

  “What about,” Odin began, then stopped.

  Can I—

  “The rain,” he said, staring out and at the open world. “Icklard, does it—”

  “Skewer magic?” the younger of the two brothers asked. “Yes. It does.”

  “Should I even—”

  “No! Don’t!”

  “I don’t under—”

  “In this kind of weather a message will evaporate faster than you could ever imagine. They’re supposed to trap light, or at least harness it. But look—there is none. No moon, no stars, no nothing. If you try to make something out of nothing you’re only going to hurt yourself—or worse, get killed.”

  “We’re going to the captain’s quarters then,” Odin said, reaching out to set a hand on Icklard’s trembling shoulder.

  “We’re doing what?” Nova asked.

  “You heard me.”

  “You’re crazy, kid! We’ll die out there.”

  “No,” Icklard sniffled. “We won’t.”

  “All right!” the mage called, holding one hand steady on the railing while the other gripped an exposed metal bar. “I’m going to keep the wind and rain off the two of you while you make your way around these stairs, then up them. All right?”

  “How?” Odin cried.

  A splash of water sent them into the nearby wall. Odin coughed, while Nova spat the salty liquid out of his mouth with a low curse.

  “I’m going to place a barrier around you while you walk,” the fire-haired brother said. “It won’t do much more than hold the water off, but if I can help—and control—it, I’ll try to get the moisture off the wood. Hold on to whatever you can and try not to slip. I don’t think I could catch you before you flew off the edge.”

  A lump developed in Odin’s throat. “I can get the water off the wood so you can keep the barrier in place.”

  “Yeah. All right. Good. Ok.”

  “You ready?” Nova asked.

  “Yeah,” Odin said. “I am.”

  Turning, he gave Icklard a thumbs up before he and Nova started across the deck. A thin, orange haze wrapped around their bodies and hovered close to their skin—so close, in fact, that it sent the hairs on the back of Odin’s neck on end and caused gooseflesh to rise along his skin.

  It’s all right.

  “It’s just the magic,” Odin said, raising his voice so Nova could hear him.

  “I know,” the older man called back, tightening his grip on Odin’s sleeve. “Pay attention. We don’t want to go overboard.”

  Putting forth the best effort he could, Odin eased his feet toward the walls and kept his hands where he might be able to grab onto something. While doing this, he swept his eyes over the deck in front of them, drying it before their feet touched ground and the rain could penetrate through the magical barrier surrounding their bodies.

  “We’re getting closer,” Nova said, clapping his back. “Come on, Odin—just a few more steps and we’ll—”

  Before the man could finish, a mighty wave crashed into the side of the boat.

  Odin lost his balance.

  Nova slammed into the side of the deck so hard Odin swore he could’ve lost consciousness.

  When his friend pulled away from the wall, fresh blood flowed down his nose. “I’m all right,” he said, smiling through bloody teeth. He reached forward and took hold of the wet railing. “Hold on to my hand, Odin.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Come on—we gotta keep moving.”

  Reaching forward, Odin gripped his friend’s hand, surprised at the strength it held. He’d expected the shock of a possibly-broken nose to unsettle Nova, if even in the slightest bit. Surprisingly, though, it didn’t seem to, and despite the fact that fresh blood continued to ooze down his face, the man’s grip remained strong, willing him forward even when he didn’t think he couldn’t.

  “Are you coming?” Nova laughed.

  “Look out!” Icklard screamed.

  This time, a wave larger than Odin had ever seen reared its mighty head. He froze, tightening his grip on Nova’s hand almost instinctively.

  Could this have been the monster Jerdai had spoken of—the reason why he said that men were better off on land?

  And so it was, Odin thought, swallowing a lump in his throat, that the beast raised its head.

  “And swallowed us whole,” he whispered.

  He had little time to contemplate the question, because in the next moment, Nova pushed him to his chest and crushed him against the wall.

  A wave of water crashed down on them.

  Nova coughed.

  Odin simply quivered as the orange barrier dissolved.

  Icklard!

  “Icklard!” Odin screamed, pushing Nova away from him. “Where are you!”

  “I’m fine!” the brother called back. “I can’t stay out here! The weather’s too bad!”

  “What about us!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  Odin caught sight of Icklard fleeing into the ship before another, smaller wave crashed onto the deck.

  “We better keep going,” Nova said, snaking their fingers together. “Come on, Odin!”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to die out here?”

  “No.”

  “Then come on!”

  After tightening his grip on his friend’s hand, Odin forced himself up the next few steps, desperate to maintain footing on the slimy, weather-soaked wood that seemed to be covered with algae even though that wasn’t even possible. Whenever he slowed down, either from exhaustion or doubt, Nova pulled him along, even managing to drag him up a few steps when he slipped and nearly fell back down the stairs.

  “There,” Nova said, taking a deep breath when they stepped onto the second deck. “See? It’s not too far.”

  “I know,” Odin gasped, glancing at the captain’s quarters that stood no more than half a dozen feet away

  After taking a moment to recover from their near death-defying escapade, Odin took the next few steps, tightening his grip on Nova’s hand. He looked up at his friend, forced a smile, and guided the two of them across the deck until they came to the door.

  There, he opened it and threw the two of them inside without any preparation.

  “Odin a voice asked. Odin looked up. Both Domnin and Jerdai sat in the corner of the room, huddled together under a mass of blankets and pillows. “What’re you doing here?” the older brother continued.

  “Icklard was in hysterics,” Odin said, turning his head just in time to see Nova close and bolt the door. “Are you two all right?”

  “We’re fine,” Jerdai sighed, running a hand across his forehead. “You two are the biggest fools I’v
e ever seen. Walking on the deck in a storm like this.”

  “He’s my friend,” Odin growled. “Mind your own—”

  “Don’t, Odin.” Nova set a hand on his shoulder before he could continue. Once sure Odin wouldn’t say anything else, Nova raised his eyes, expelled a breath, then asked, “You got any extra blankets?”

  “Yeah,” the captain said. “In the cabinet.”

  Without the ability to produce a white dove or the surety that his message would be delivered, Odin settled down on the floor beside his friend and shivered at the feel of Nova’s clammy skin. With the rain bearing down upon the ship and thundering across the windowpanes, he couldn’t help but imagine the water sliding over his skin—thick, lengthy globules that took on a life of their own and traversed the entirety of his body. At one point he shivered, thinking he was still freshly-wet, but quickly ceased to hake when Nova wrapped his arms around his chest.

  “Hey,” the older man whispered, brushing his lips against Odin’s ear. “It’s all right. We’re safe.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well… I really don’t.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Jerdai said, pushing himself up on one elbow. “The ship was built to withstand this kind of weather.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He’s sure,” Domnin said.

  For the first time since they’d settled down, Odin took notice of the closeness between the two men. Contrary to previous statements, Jerdai didn’t seem to particularly care, but he didn’t completely ignore the younger man either. Several times, he set an arm across the mage’s chest or leaned in close and whispered something in his ear before readjusting his position. The simplicity of the relationship surprised Odin. For some reason, he’d expected more—or less, in hindsight, considering what Icklard had previously stated.

  He said they only see each other every so often.

  Even then, didn’t two people who saw each other even on a semi-regular basis act a certain way when they were together?

  No, he thought, letting out a short breath. You can’t expect people to act like anything.

  He’d learned such lessons when in a tower—when, at dinnertime, the guards would bring him cold food, or how Daughtry seemed to completely isolate his true feelings about his conditions in order to teach him without any guilt or doubt. Even Nova, whose moods he could usually predict, was just as erratic and unexpected, so to think that Domnin and Jerdai would react to one another in a particular way was absolutely ignorant beyond compare.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Nova asked again. “You’re not moving.”

  “I’m fine,” Odin said, taking one last look at Jerdai and Domnin before setting his head on his arm. “You think Miko will know what happened?”

  “He’ll know,” Nova said. “Don’t worry, Odin. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  The following morning, Odin woke to the most surreal dawn he had ever seen. The blank, grey sky, extending far into the distance, washed out any trace of color that had existed the previous day. There was no sun, no clouds, no birds flying through the sky or making any noise. Even the air, though calm, felt weighted down, as if the wind were blowing from above. Despite these bleak circumstances, however, everything seemed calm—undisturbed in a manner that felt eerily wrong.

  Taking care not to wake Nova, Odin slid out of his friend’s grip, stood, and walked to the window. There, he set a hand on the glass and leaned against the wall, watching the still water below.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

  Odin jumped, but nodded. Domnin came up alongside him and looked out the window.

  “It is,” Odin said. “Do you think the ship’s all right?”

  “If anything,” the mage began, “the sails were torn or we lost a few buckets and some rope. The worst we could’ve lost was an anchor, but even then, those are weighed down fairly well.”

  “We weren’t supposed to live through that, were we?”

  “I don’t think so,” Domnin sighed. “You want to know what I think, Odin?”

  “What?”

  “I think our world works in very strange ways. Men travel the sea in hopes of fame and fortune, then somehow manage to survive even the strongest storms, while newborn infants die just because their mothers didn’t have proper care during childbirth. Horses reject their young, while the occasional fox or wild dog will welcome the smallest rabbit into its home, mothering it the way its own mother could not. Then there’s a young man like you, who was locked in a tower for more than two years and probably would not have ever come out and was welcomed in the arms of a stranger that found him through divine intervention.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Odin whispered. “It seems so—”

  “False?” the mage asked, then smiled when Odin’s lips turned down into a frown. “I don’t know why we survived, Odin; and while I don’t know the why or how, that doesn’t matter, because we can all live another day. You can continue to travel the land with your friend and master, and, someday, become a knight; my brother can return home to the woman he loves; and I…”

  “You’ll… what?” Odin asked.

  “I can continue to be with the man I care about,” Domnin said, looking up at Jerdai. “And while he may not care about me as much as I care about him, at least I know I’ll be there for him just one more day. Right?”

  While Odin couldn’t necessarily understand or relate to everything Domnin had just told him, he nodded. He did, at the very least, understand that they had lived another day, and for that they should be never be ungrateful for the things they had.

  In the end, any and all the things a man possessed would one day be gone.

  Odin, Nova, Domnin and the captain descended the second deck to witness the damage the previous night had done. Ropes lay strewn over the deck, buckets stood lopsided or on their rounded bottoms, an anchor lay prone, disengaged from its place near the far wall—through the carnage, and amidst a series of men who stood gathering up the scattered supplies, one of the ship’s large sails had been spread out, where several men stooped with needles and spare fabric in hand. Among these men stood the cloaked Miko and Icklard, who each held a hand steady as purple and green magic spread out from along their finger and sewed the sail together like glowing worms crawling over a leaf.

  “Icklard!” Domnin cried, running out ahead of the group.

  While the two brothers united, gripping one another in a mighty embrace, Jerdai leaned against the wall and lit his pipe, inhaling the tobacco with a sigh. Odin glanced at Nova—who, in turn, glanced at him before they looked out at the wreckage.

  “Pretty bad storm, huh?” Nova said, hoping to break the silence that had existed since they left Jerdai’s quarters.

  “It was,” Jerdai agreed, pulling his pipe away to exhale a plume of smoke. “It could’ve been a lot worse though.”

  Odin nodded. He looked up just in time to see Miko coming toward them, the mage brothers in tow.

  “I’m glad the two of you are all right,” the Elf said, then looked up at Jerdai. “And you as well, captain.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jerdai said. “You helpin’ my mage repair these sails?”

  “I was, yes. I’ll continue if you’d like.”

  “I’d prefer someone help the brothers, if they could. I don’t trust my men with pins and needles.”

  “I can help too,” Odin said, smiling when he caught a smirk on the captain’s face.

  “You know how to mend fabric, boy?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then you’re more than welcome to—”

  “Excuse me for interrupting, sir,” Icklard said, coming up from behind Miko. He waited for the captain to give his approval or rejection before continuing. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did last night, Odin. And you too, Nova. I don’t think I could ask for better friends.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Nova grinned.

  “You don’t have to thank us,” Odin adde
d, casting a glance up at Jerdai, who only shrugged and leaned back against the wall.

  “Still,” Icklard said, edging closer to his brother. “It means a lot.”

  “We better get working,” Jerdai grunted, adjusting the pipe between his lips. “We can’t move until that sail’s fixed.”

  “What about the reserve sail?” Domnin frowned. “Couldn’t we use that?”

  “We’ll fix this sail,” the captain said, “and use the reserve only if the main one is damaged beyond repair.”

  Without another word, Jerdai turned and made his way onto the second deck, where he could easily observe the work taking place.

  Odin caught sight of Icklard whispering to Domnin before the two of them walked back to the sail.

  “I’m guessing the captain’s not much for the mage,” Nova muttered, looking out at the blue-grey sky.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” Odin shrugged.

  “Love works in strange ways,” Miko mused, setting a hand on both of their shoulders.

  “It doesn’t seem like Jerdai loves him, sir.”

  “He does, in his own way. Come, though. Let’s not let this bother us—we’ve got work to do.”