by Kody Boye
“Meet our friend,” Nova chuckled.
“Yuh-Yuh-You’re an Elf!” Domnin cried.
“Silence!” Miko hissed. “There’s no need to make it public knowledge.”
Icklard, stunned, stared at the impressive figure before him, only stepping into the room when Domnin gripped his shirt and dragged him in. The Elf secured the door and locked it, turning his eyes on the brothers only when he felt it safe and giving them a menacing glare that surely could have killed were such a thing possible by gaze alone. “There’s no reason for anyone to know except the three of us,” Miko said, watching the mages with cold, unblinking eyes.
“Since when does Jerdai let Elves on his boat?” Icklard asked. “And since when does the King of Ornala allow something other than a human to train his squires?”
“For quite a while,” Miko said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. He glanced at Odin out of the corner of his eye, but soon returned his attention to Icklard and Domnin. “You understand my need or secrecy, do you not?”
“Yes,” Icklard said, glancing down at his feet.
“Excuse us, sir,” Domnin added. He glanced at his own feet as well, but quickly returned his attention to Miko when he realized he’d been disrespectful. “We’ve never lain eyes on an Elf before.”
“I’m not an Elf,” Miko said. “My blood is tainted.”
“Just because you’re half Drow doesn’t mean you’re not an Elf. You can’t help who your parents were.”
“Thank you, sir. Your kindness is not necessary, but appreciated.”
Likely unsure what to say, Domnin looked at his brother, who’d since returned his attention to the Halfling in their midst. Miko reached over and gripped Odin’s shoulder, staring into his eyes. That brief moment of connection seemed like an eternity, but quickly passed when he turned his eyes back to the brothers. “Would you like to stay?” he asked.
“We’ve bothered you enough,” Icklard sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “We barge in here without permission, invade your privacy and make you uncomfortable with our presence. We’ll leave.”
“No… Icklard. Is that your name?”
“Yes sir.”
“There’s no need to leave. A friend of Odin’s is a friend of mine.”
With one last smile, Miko turned and made his way deeper into the room, leaving Odin with a disturbing sense of vulnerability he hadn’t felt since Ornala.
“Do you know where you came from?” Domnin asked, pulling a teapot off its rack in the fireplace.
“I do not,” Miko said, accepting the cup Domnin offered. He set it to his lips, sipped its butterscotch contents, and nodded. “It’s quite good.”
“There’s a shop in town that sells it,” Icklard said, casting a glance at Odin. “We stopped there earlier.”
“Yup,” Odin nodded. He resisted the urge to bite the inside of his cheek.
“Something happen to you?” Icklard asked, looking at Nova, who sat on the bed, still shirtless. “You look—”
“Like hell,” the man laughed. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Tea will fix that,” Domnin said. He accepted an empty cup his brother offered, filled it halfway, then extended his arm toward Nova.
“Don’t worry,” Odin smiled, upon seeing the look on Nova’s face. “It’s good.”
“I’m just not much of a tea drinker, that’s all.” Nova accepted the tea, sipping it soon after. His tongue slid out of his mouth and across his lips. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“Told you.”
Nova chuckled, tipping the cup back to drink. Icklard accepted his own cup of tea and scooted over when Domnin stood, allowing his brother to slide into the extra spot on the loveseat.
“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Miko asked.
“There’s a lot of things I’d like to know, but I won’t bother you with them,” Domnin laughed. He nudged his brother’s ribs, nearly spilling tea in the process. “We’ll ask you later, on a day where it’s not so late.”
“We could speak at dinner, if you’d like.”
“We don’t want to bother you,” Icklard frowned.
“You won’t,” Miko said, glancing at Odin and Nova. “Would you mind if I joined the brothers for dinner?”
“I don’t care,” Nova said.
“It’s fine with me,” Odin added. He looked at his knight master, then Domnin and Icklard before sipping his tea. It seemed to have lost its taste.
“Dinner’s not for quite a while though,” the Elf smiled. “Let’s just enjoy one another’s company before we have to listen to drunk men prattle on about their lives.”
“At least he has someone to talk to,” Nova grumbled, stabbing a piece of meat with his knife. He bit down on the end of the blade and pulled the meat away. Odin couldn’t help but grimace. “What?” the older man frowned.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll cut yourself?”
“If I do, oh well—it’ll heal.”
“But it’ll hurt.”
“Oh well.”
“It’s your tongue.”
Nova muttered something under his breath before stabbing another piece of meat. Odin sighed and picked at his vegetables, not in the least bit interested in his food.
“Did something happen earlier?” Nova asked, setting his knife down.
“No. Why?”
“You’re moody.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yeah you are.” When Nova smirked, Odin turned his head down and slid a piece of carrot between his lips. He grimaced at the sharp flavor that penetrated the inside of his mouth. “Look, bud—why don’t you just tell me and get it over with.”
“I think I had some money stolen.”
“You think?”
“I gave three silver pieces to the old woman to pay for our lunch and butterscotch.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Shh!” Odin growled, casting a glance at Miko and the brothers, who sat a nearby table. “When she came back with the butterscotch, we asked how much the meal was and she said she could’ve lied and gave us an outrageous price. But since she was a ‘good old bird,’ she didn’t. I… I thought I’d give her the silver pieces I took to pay for our day out.”
“Why didn’t Miko say anything?”
“Icklard and Domnin paid me back.”
Nova sighed, shook his head, and picked his knife up. “Lesson learned, huh?”
“Yeah,” Odin muttered. “It is.”
“You plan on telling him what happened?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, on one hand, I don’t want it on my conscience, but I don’t want to lie either.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Odin. It was stupid enough giving an old crone silver without asking her to give you change, but feeling guilty after you got your money back is even worse.”
“I didn’t get my money back—Icklard and Domnin gave it to me.”
“Same thing.”
Decided it would be best to let the day’s previous happenings go, Odin took a deep breath and continued eating, glancing up at his knight master every so often. The battle that wageed in his head sent his heart into overdrive, forcing it to pump blood into his desperately-starving mind. He had all the time in the world to decide what to do, but the longer he put it off, the longer he’d feel the way he did.
“If you were me,” he asked, “what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” Nova said. “I’m not you.”
Odin smiled.
By the time they returned from dinner the bar had started to die down. Normally, Odin would have to sit up and wait for the commotion to settle down before he could go to sleep, as it seemed that any and everyone on the floor beneath was much too loud and would not allow the other patrons to sleep. Tonight, however, was another story entirely. Even if he had to wait for the patrons of the bar to leave or go to bed, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Too many things ran in his head—thoughts of lies,
deceit and hard-earned silver.
When he was more than sure that Nova had fallen asleep, Odin crawled out of bed and made his way to the window, where Miko sat watching the night. The Elf turned his attention to Odin a moment later, after he’d realized his squire had roused from sleep. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“There is, sir.” Odin took a deep breath, not sure if he would be able to tell the truth. The fear of consequence ran amok in his mind and birthed within his skull a flower in the shape of a skull—a thing with hollow eyes and dead, rotting teeth. It taunted him for several long, undeterminable moments, in which he merely stared into the Elf’s gleaming eyes, before finally he expelled the breath, longing for its presence once it left his chest. “The silver pieces I took from our fund earlier, to pay for our day,” he said, grimacing, his fingers instinctively curling into his palms. “I… I gave them to an old woman who worked at the bakery.”
“Oh?”
“Yuh-Yes, sir—I did. She… she came back to the table with our butterscotch and asked if we wanted to pay now or later. When we asked what she would charge, she said she wouldn’t lie, then said that many people here would trick you out of your money. I ended up giving her the silver based on her honesty, but after we left, Domnin said I could’ve been tricked.”
“You could’ve,” the Elf agreed, “but no matter.”
“What?” Odin frowned. “Sir, aren’t you… you mean you’re not—”
“You learned your lesson. There’s no need to dwell on a mistake unless you continue to make it.”
“You’re not going to punish me?”
“Why should I punish you when you’ve done nothing wrong?”
“But sir… I gave away our money, your money.”
“Money is but a material possession. There’s no reason to own it unless we have need for something.”
“I just feel like I’ve done something wrong,” Odin sighed, unable to mee the Elf’s kind eyes. “That’s all.”
“Odin,” Miko laughed, setting his hands on his shoulders. The Elf waited for him to face him before he continued. “Everyone makes mistakes. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes sir.”
“I made a… no. No.”
“Sir?” Odin frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It has to be something.” He pulled away and looked into the creature’s eyes. “You were going to say something.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Yes you were.”
“No—”
“Then why did you stop?”
It began as the metamorphosis of a flower whose leaves only opened at night. A long jaunt, a deep dark pool, a world of ash and the things that soon came to overcome it—it took little to see just what was happening when staring upon his knight master, and for that he trembled as, quickly, with pace he had never intended, it continued. The Elf’s eyes darkened; his lips, pale but purple, faded into the flesh of his mouth; and his face, usually enamored with expression, turned to nothing but a blank slate. It was something Odin had seen before—when, in the cottage on the island of Neline, something had happened to the Elf that rendered him completely stupefied. Catatonia was a beautiful thing, Odin mused, when used to the utmost degree. One could merely retreat into their conscience when the world began to swallow him whole. It was not, however, something blessed, especially not in something so beautiful as Miko. Rather, it was a curse—a destiny, it could be said, for the things that ultimately should not exist.
“Sir?” Odin asked.
When Miko did not respond in any way, shape or form, Odin extended a hand and flushed his fingers before the Elf’s eyes, expecting some form of reaction to happen. When nothing did, however, a chill begin in Odin’s heart, one so dark and terrifying that it made every pore on his arms stand on end.
He’s thinking, Odin thought, about what he did.
He could not necessarily give pity to the creature for what he’d done. Although he did, in hindsight, understand what may have taken over him, given his blood and just how unbalanced he was, he could not feel pained for the thing that sat before him. Such selfish actions of the human or sentient heart are said to be refusals of admittance, those of which could not be earned with coin or heart. For that, Odin knew, he could do nothing.
“Miko?” Odin asked, pulling his hand away and returning it to his side.
The Elf’s eyes, set to the outside world, stared forward, unblinking.
It was at that moment Odin realized there would be no chance in the Heavens or in Hell that he would be able to break this trance.
With a brief sigh, he pressed a hand against the creature’s back, held it there for several long moments, then began to make his way back to the bed.
Just before he closed his eyes, Odin watched his knight master and thought only one thing.
Is this justice, he wondered. Or is this punishment?
The following morning, Nova’s rough hands shook him awake. At first Odin fought, trying to push his friend’s fingers away. Then, slowly, he became conscious enough to hear the words flowing from his friend’s mouth.
“Odin,” Nova repeated, tightening his grip on his shoulders as his voice continued to gain more clarity. “Get up and get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“We are?” Odin sat up, shivering at the morning cold. His ears burned and the bridge of his nose ached.
“Yeah, we are, so get dressed. You can sleep on the boat if you’re still tired.”
Once sure he’d heard correctly and that he was not dreaming, Odin rolled out from under the covers and reached for his shoes. He pulled them on, laced them together, stood, then followed Nova out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind him. He started for the stairs with his friend, but stopped before he could continue, turning to look at the place they’d stayed in for the last few days. It would, most likely, be a long time, if not never, before they came back.
Well, he thought, tightening his grip on the brass key that rested in his hand. I guess this is it then—the next part of my adventure.
“You comin’?” Nova asked, tapping his foot on the dull-colored wood.
“Yeah,” Odin said. “I am.”
With one last look at the door, he followed his friend down the stairs, knowing in his heart that this would be the final stretch of his journey.
Chapter 8
As Elna had more than a year ago, and the Neline coast only a few months back, Fisherman’s Point faded with time, leaving them with only glimpses fo strangely-dyed wood, jagged cliffs and the Hornblaris Mountains, which continued to haunt them for weeks on end until they disappeared in a haze of cloud a month later, when nothing could be seen in the distance except water endlessly shifting upon the horizon. At first, the days seemed endless, as though time itself had ceased to exist; then the weeks followed, soon dragging on into the first month. They ate well each day, with fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and those men who’d lived on the sea their entire lives sung of faraway lands that could never be reached within a mortal’s lifetime—of a land beyond the Crystal Sea, where Elves and creatures of old had sailed to one day touch the mainland.
Gradually, Odin fell into his usual routine. He’d rise at almost dawn, walk out onto the ship both to greet the new day and to relieve himself, then slide back into his room until the day wore on. He fished with Nova, spoke with Miko, and played magical games of catch and release with Icklard and Domnin.
Soon enough, the reality of his last year became apparent. When winter came and went, the knights would return to Ornala with their squires, praying under harsh breath and swift whispers that their hard work would not end in disappointment. He thought of everything he’d learned and how, should he be accepted into the king’s army, he would benefit his country.
I can do it, Odin thought, tightening his grip on the point of the railing, where the ship’s two sides met to become one at the bow. I know I can.
Closing his eyes, he br
eathed in the warm, morning air and imagined himself among the king’s men. Garbed in fine armor and armed with the finest of weapons, he would be atop his mighty mare, waving at the crowds of men, women and children assembled at the front gates, and he imagined it would be his father’s smiling face he would pick out in the crowd, beckoning to him with a wave of his hand. Son! he would cry, laughing and crying at the same time, his voice heard over a multitude of cries and jeers. You did it! he would say. You really did it!
The thought of his father forced a warm, if provoked tear from his eye. It traveled down his skin and followed the rugged path of his cheek, where it clung to his sharp jaw with all its might. There, its journey ended, and began just the same. As its short life as human moisture ended, it fell, where it joined the vast, mighty ocean. There, it would live forever, just as he would should he become a knight of fame, honor and valor.
This is it, he breathed, expelling his breath as slowly as he could, relishing the release of pressure from his chest. This is where I become a man.
With one last, final breath, he opened his eyes to face his destiny.
