by Kody Boye
In the back of his mind, he knew Miko would spare no mercy to someone who hurt him, not even his own mother.
“Was there something you needed?” he asked, taking a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes.
“No.”
“Oh. All right.”
“I simply wanted company. My son spent a long night staring at the firebugs.”
“I wanted to ask you about that,” Odin mumbled, looking down at his hands. “Sunskin… can he… can he…”
“Can he what, child?”
“Can he see things I can’t?”
“How am I to know what he sees and what you cannot?”
“He’ll sit in one spot for hours at a time, staring at nothing but the sea or the fireflies we watched last night. I worry about him. Whenever he gets like that, he won’t answer me. He won’t even move or breathe when he’s looking at whatever it is he’s looking at.”
“Have you considered that there are things only certain beings can see?”
“Yes. Me and Nova talked about that on the way to Neline. Miko’s also mentioned it himself.”
“Then what is there to question if you already have an answer?”
“That’s the thing—I don’t have an answer.”
“Like I said, I am unable to know what you see, nor do I know what my son sees. It would not surprise me if he saw things the eyes cannot see. His blood, though pure, is tainted. His father took root of his mother’s beautiful body and corrupted it in ways that you could not begin to imagine, child. What other reason would a beautiful creature with eyes of gold and skin of silver let such a monstrosity touch her?”
“Are they really that bad?”
“Even the most sinister of Goblins or the most disgusting of Orcs could not begin to match the evil that rests within a Drow’s heart. They say you cannot be born evil, but that is a lie, my friend. That is a lie indeed. Eons ago, when the world was young and the beautiful, White Elves had just built their shining city, a group of men and women broke into a sealed chamber and stole a book that held our world’s most darkest secrets.”
“What book?”
“A book so filthy, so corrupt, that any who touched it lost a part of themselves. Their skin turned grey, their bodies craved blood, so much so that they became vampires—bloodsuckers, things that stalked the night and fed of the weak and innocent. But that is not all the book did. No. Such a book could not taint one so just by touching it.”
“What turned them into Drow then?”
“The magic inside the book blackened their hearts and cursed their blood, their minds, their seed. That magic was Necoromancy, bone magery, flesh summoning, the gift to bring a corpse back to life—nothing inside that book was ever meant to be read, nor should it have ever been written.”
“So the magic inside it cursed them forever?”
“And turned them into a completely different race,” the Ogre nodded. “You must understand, my child—my son is not a pure-bloded creature like you or I. His mind endures an endless state of torture and his body lives in a constantly state of agony just to keep itself alive. He is by no means perfect.”
“What’s the point of living if you’re always in pain though?” he frowned. “Why suffer with it?”
“Because there are greater things in this world than death,” the Ogre said, “especially when there are much worse things to suffer afterward.”
Rising from sleep in a tangled yet elegant grace, Miko rose from his spot on the floor, arched his back and pushed his arms over his head, flexing nearly-gleaming muscles in the light of a new day. He stood there for a moment, reveling in the warmth the sun bathed im in, before turning to face Odin and Sunskin. “Hello,” he nodded, bowing his head. “Good morning Mother, Odin.”
“Good morning,” the Ogre said. “You slept well?”
“As always. You?”
“As always.”
Smiling, Miko stood, grabbed his cape, and secured it around his neck, but not before whipping the folds free of dirt. “Odin,” the Elf said.
“Yes sir?”
“Would you be wiling to walk with my today, maybe experience a little more of the culture here?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe you’re not one for walking.”
“If I weren’t one forwalking,” Odin chuckled, “I don’t think I would’ve asked my father to let me join the military.”
“True,” the Elf smirked. The tip of an exposed ear twitched just before Nova mumbled something under his breath.
Did I just see what I think I saw?
Could the Elf really have heard the sound before it actually happened?
No. That’s just silly.
Even so, he could not doubt what he had just seen.
You learn something new every day, he thought, pushing himself to his feet.
“We’ll be back around midday, Mother,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “Please tell Nova that we won’t be gone for long.”
“I will,” Sunskin said. “Be safe, and stay away from Bafran. Avoid his home and take the easy path. There is no need for conflict.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Bowing his head, Miko gestured for Odin to follow.
“How come you wanted to take me for a walk?” Odin frowned, sliding up alongside his knight master as a group of Ogres passed. “Is it because you wanted to get away from the mound?”
“No,” Miko said. “I want this stay to be benficial to your knighthood, just like your experience in Neline was.”
“What are you going to teach me here?”
“Whatever comes naturally. As you’re probably aware, I’ve never played the role of a teacher, which is why our journey to Neline was fractured and disjointed. I should have made more of an effort to teach you.”
“You taught me things, sir. You showed me how to send better messages with magic, how do defend myself in a fight, how to cope with situations outside my own.”
“I’m glad you think so, Odin. In all actuality, hwoever, you taught yourself most of those things.”
“How—”
“I showed you few techniques and even fewer methods of defense. Icklard and Domnin were the ones who showed you how to send messages. I merely instructed you in how to send them long distances. And as to combat and dealing with outside situations, you defended yourself and learned to handle things through experience.”
“But—”
“I have done things normal social interaction could have taught you.”
“That’s the thing,” Odin mumbled, bowing his head. “I never had any.”
The Elf stopped in midstride. “Odin,” Miko said, setting both hands on his shoulders. “Such isolation normally drives men mad. The fact that you survived shows you’re capable of handling things most normal individuals cannot.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Odin sighed, trying to turn his eyes up to face his knight master, but unable to do so. “I was locked in a tower for two years—so what? It’s not like I wasn’t completely devoid of attention. I had Jordan and Daughtry, not counting the healer I had when I was sick.”
“That doesn’t matter either—you still had very little interaction with people.”
“I—”
“What’s the longest time the weapons master stayed with you, Odin? What was the longest magic lesson you had, or the longest time the healer spent with you in that tower?”
“I don’t—”
“Then my question is answered.” The Elf pulled his hands away. This time, Odin managed to lift his head to look the creature in the eyes. “Do you see my point?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Strength does not only lie in brawn or brain, but spirit. When trapped, a soul begins to wilt and fade like a flower. When that flower dies—when it finally looses all its petals—it can no longer be saved. The same can be said for the soul. Its fire can only burn for a certain amount of time before it is finally extinguished.”
&nb
sp; “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are stronger than most ordinary men,” Miko said, turning and beginning back down the road. “Sometimes… even stronger than me.”
Odin didn’t know what to say.
As the Elf continued down the road, hair whipping and cape blowing in the afternoon breeze, Odin couldn’t help but wonder why his master had just said that.
His doubts quickly faded as Miko gained distance.
Picking himself up, he took a deep breath, ran his hand over his eyes, and chased his knight master down the road.
If anything, that brief conversation would only strengthen their relationship.
In a dark, wooded area near the end of the village, Miko set his hand on a piece of bark and extended his arm, curling the fingernails on his free hand until each inch-long nailed touched one another.
“What’re you doing?” Odin asked.
“I’m going to show you something you should only attempt in the most dire of situations.”
“What is it?”
“Powerful, powerful earth magic.”
“You mean using the elements from nature?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Odin.”
Bracing himself, Miko pushed his right arm against the tree. Muscles tightening and brow furrowing in concentration, the Elf closed his eyes. Magic tickled the air like sparks from a fire, flickering around Odin’s head and popping his ears. Occasionally, he grimaced and nearly reached up to fumble with them, but stopped upon noticing a change in Miko’s demeanor. What originally appeared to be a troubled, concentrated creature now appeared stoic—calm, clear, and seemingly without a worry in the world.
“Miko?” he frowned. “Sir?”
The Elf pulled away from the tree.
Autonomous, he turned, eyes still closed. His arm, still outstretched, slowly lifted until it rested at an oblique angle. The other did the same. Each fingers spread until the muscles in his hands visible tensed.
“As you can see,” the Elf said, lips unmoving, but somehow able to produce sound, “I have nearly abandoned my sentient inhibitions.”
“Sir?”
“Watch me, Odin. Watch me become one.”
One?
The Elf’s eyes opened. Green fire laced the rims of his purple irises.
Before Odin could begin to say something, the tips of Miko’s bare feet began to change. Curling, twisting from the ground up, roots the size of vines entered the Elf’s ankles and wrapped around his legs, bulging his skin out as though he were afflicted with parasitic worms bent on destroying him from the inside out. What appeared to be only a brief transformation was refuted as his chest began to change color. Black veins spread across quaking abdominals, white sap leaked from weeping pores, and deep groves appeared in his chest as skin softened, then hardened over with bark.
He’s… he’s…
“Changing into a tree.”
Before his head became shrouded in bark. Miko closed his eyes and pursed his lips.
From the tips of his long, sharpened fingernails, tiny, miniscule branches began to grow, spreading like twigs scattered amongst the forest floor. Buds the color of the brightest lime sprouted along the way of these branches until, finally, they bloomed into brilliant, yellow flowers, opening like carnivorous maws threatening to swallow the whole entirel.
The Elf’s body whole, his presence covered in bark, his person began to thicken, building itself layer upon layer, until it appeared to be nothing more than a simple, misplaced tree standing in the middle of the open clearing.
Odin couldn’t believe his eyes.
His knight master—a living, breathing piece of flesh—had just turned into a tree.
“Suh-Sir?” he asked, stepping forward, not sure whether to touch what had just been the Elf or not. “Are… are you there?”
I am here, Miko’s voice said.
“How… how did you—”
By touching the tree and gathering its presence inside me, I have been able to take my essence and transform into the construct you now see before you.
“But this means—”
Yes, my friend—this means every rock, every tree, every leaf could be watching you.
“Don’t they already though?” he asked, trembling, still unsure about the entirety of the situation. “The mages say trees and plants have feelings of their own. Doesn’t that mean they have thoughts as well?”
Nature does as nature pleases. It watches you or it does not; it pleases you or it does not; it lives for you or it does not.
“Do you want me to—”
No! I forbid you to try any such magic unless I specifically request you to. What I have done can takes months, years to learn. By doing such a thing, you are isolating yourself away from the powers of others. You could very well trap yourself into the very thing you are trying to transform into should your will not be strong enough.
“All right. I won’t do it.”
Good. Now stay back. I’m going to return to my original form.
As asked, Odin stayed put, bracing himself for the retransformation. It occurred as the original had—first with the layers breaking down, then with the branches on his hands returning to his body. The flowers wilting, returning to buds, then disappearing, the bark fading into skin—by the time the Elf’s original form returned, his cape and lower robe became visible, flapping in the wind as though nothing about him had changed. Strands of his hair slowly became visible as the bark that imprisoned it faded into nothing but keratin.
“This is why you brought us so far out,” Odin said, blinking as the Elf returned to his natural self. “Because you didn’t want Nova to see.”
“I didn’t want to frighten him or the Ogres that live here. Not many know that mages are capable of turning themselves into plants and rocks.”
“But I thought that mages couldn’t turn themselves into anything that didn’t have a mind.”
“Who says such things don’t?”
“They—”
“You’ve got to understanding something, Odin—just because someone tells you something doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“So this lesson has two meanings,” he smiled.
“True indeed,” Miko said.
“You’ve returned,” Sunskin said.
“What took you so long?” Nova grumbled. “And where the hell were you?”
Miko shot Nova a dirty look. The man scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was teaching Odin about the area,” the Elf smiled, setting a hand on Odin’s upper back. “Right, Odin?”
“Right,” he smiled. “Really, that’s all.”
“Like I’ll believe that for a second,” Nova mumbled. A sigh escaped his lips, but soon made way for a smirk. “Well, at least I know you didn’t ditch me.”
“We have no reason to leave you here,” Miko said, settling down on the floor beside his mother. “How long have you been awake, Nova?”
“For a little while. Not too long.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t bring you along. I figured we’d let you sleep.”
And avoid any potential fallout, Odin thought, grimacing as a shiver traveled down his spine.
“I’m glad you returned,” Sunskin said. “I was getting worried.”
“About what, Mother?”
“I was afraid you’d run into Bafran.”
“We stayed far away from him,” Odin said. He, too, settled down on the floor, this time beside Nova. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Not if we can help it,” Nova added.
“Good. I’m glad you see it that way. There’s been enough trouble as it is, what with those humans ringing those damned isntruments.”
“The monks?” Nova frowned.
“Monks, humans, worshippers of God or Gods or dirt—I care not what they believe or practice. What I care is that they’ve been coming into our forests and threatening the children with their presence.”
“The orbs don’t hurt them,” Odin asked,
“do they?”
“No. Humans are stupid, pathetic creatures, dear child. That is not to insult you or yourself, Nova of Bohren, but it is true. Their ways are tailored to fit the mold in which they were made.”
“She’s right,” Miko nodded. “They’ve been doing this since they’ve come to the island.”
“Too long for me to count,” Sunskin sighed. The rumble in her chest and throat that followed continued on for several moments afterward, trembling like a bell struck by a hammer. “Let us not talk of such things though. If it becomes necessary, we will simply destroy our village and move. We have done it once. We can do it again.”
Nodding, Odin crossed his legs, set his hands in his lap, and looked up at the Ogre.
In her dark, nearly-invisible brown eyes, he thought he saw a tear form.
That tear showed fear.
That tear showed hurt.
“Nova?”
“Yeah?”
“How come we think we have the right to take anything we want even when it isn’t ours?”
“We?”
“Us,” Odin mumbled. “People.”
“Oh.” Nova frowned. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Bowing his head, Odin closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying as hard as he could not to envision a mighty creature showing weakness in the most intimate of moments. Before—when young, ignorant, arrogant, and especially apathetic—he used to think that only women and children cried: that the weak, who couldn’t control their emotions, chose to let it out rather than hold it in. In those days, he used to think men with swords and arrows were incapable of feeling such things, much less creatures and monsters from lore and legend, so to imagine that after all this time, he’d been led to believe such things seemed impossible—juvenile, even. Who thought, much less believed that only choice individuals felt pain—that monsters couldn’t scream and sentient beings could not sing? Who instill these beleifs? Who said that Ogres were dumb, stupid monsters, and who said magic couldn’t, and shouldn’t, exist?
