by Kody Boye
“Something wrong?” Nova asked, setting a hand on his back.
“Where are they?” Odin replied.
“Who?”
“The monks.”
“Don’t know, “Nova laughed. “How come?”
“I can hear bells.”
“So can I,” Miko whispered.
“That must mean they’re nearby then,” Nova shrugged, shifting his pack further up his shoulder.
“You can’t hear that?” Odin asked.
“Uh… no. That’s kind of what I implied.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to be. It’s obvious you two have better hearing than I do. No complaints from me.”
“Let’s keep going,” the Elf murmured, stepping forward. “We don’t want to disturb their ritual.”
No, Odin thought. We don’t.
Though he had no idea what might happen should they cross the monks’ path, he didn’t want to find out.
Taking the initiative, Odin adjusted his slacking pack and continued to follow the Elf across the beach. Nova at his side, the ocean all the more present, he breathed in the clean, salty air and trembled at the sight of such a monstrous entity. Memories of his past breathed new life into his conscience with the simplest of actions. The chill his mind, the waves his thoughts, the breeze his doubts and the ocean his worries—it took little for the beautifully-violent thing to stir his heart.
Butterflies swarming around his head, he thought of a boy and what a year could have done to him.
Parfour.
“Sir,” Odin said, quickening his pace to keep stride with the Elf. “How are we going to ask Beal if you can take Parfour as your next squire?”
“Simple,” Miko said. “I ask, they accept.”
A brief flash of the Elf’s white teeth appeared from beneath the hood of his cloak.
“Sir?”
“There’s no need for them to argue their case with me, Odin. If I ask to take one of the boys and they refuse, I threaten them.”
“Threaten them?” Nova frowned. “What’re you—”
“Oh no,” Odin said. “You’re not saying—”
`”I’m afraid so, Odin.”
“Wait a minute!” Nova said, stopping in his tracks. “What’re you two talking about? What’s wrong?”
“They’re abusing these children, Nova.”
“What? Why—”
“Parents send unruly sons to the islands,” the Elf said, “to show them how much they have—to teach them that they really do have a loving home even though they may think otherwise.”
“The sick bastards.”
“Do you not wonder why the boys would not make eye contact with us or why we barely saw them, if at all, despite the fact that this is a monastery?”
“They were praying,” Odin mumbled. “That’s what they said. That’s why we never saw them. We… we didn’t—” He lost control of his words. Hand tightening to a fist, he reached down and took hold of his sword, rage burning in his heart and flames spouting at the front of his vision. “I’ll kill them,” he breathed. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll kill each and every one of them.”
“Your heart is in the right place, Odin. Sadly, your mind is not.”
“That’s why they were so wary of us,” Nova said, turning his head to look at the two of them. “That’s why we were always being watched.”
“Or scrutinized. Yes.”
“That’s why Parfour didn’t want to do anything that might get him in trouble,” Odin whispered, no longer able to control his shakes. “That’s why he didn’t want to get caught when we were on the beach.”
“Odin—”
“This isn’t right!” he cried. “They can’t get away with this!”
“Nor should they,” Miko sighed. “Odin, there’s nothing we can do at the time being. You’re not a knight, nor do you have the legal authority to take the boys or apprehend the monks. If you tried to take them now, in your current state, you’d be arrested for vigilantism. I dare not think what would happen to me as both your guardian and an untrusted, frowned upon Halfling should someone report us to the authorities as kidnappers.”
“So what do we do?” Odin frowned.
“We take Parfour,” the Elf began, “and return to the castle. Only testimony from the boy himself would convince the court that something should be done. The Tentalin Isles aren’t governed by your king, regardless of what anyone thinks or believes. Only activity that causes harm to the Ornalan people can merit an investigation on foreign soil.”
“Which means—”
“Yes, Odin, Nova. If Parfour is dead, or the monks refuse to give us to him, we may have to face coming off this island as heathens.”
Tension filled the air. Wrought with worry, despair, agony, crime, and everything that could and would be wrong with the world, they sat in the antechamber awaiting Beal’s assembly, all the while trying to maintain a semblance of sanity and secure their troubles.
Nearby, a servant boy stood with his back to the wall, eyes warry and full of caution.
Something’s not right here, Odin thought, trying his best not to squirm in his seat. His eyes.
Calculating, crab-like, centered on each and every one of them at any given time—the boy seemed abstract, unsure of his surroundings, but dead-set on keeping track of everything that went on within the room. From the brief shift of Miko’s hand to the slack, nonreserved drum of Nova’s fingers on the stone table, nothing seemed to go unwatched or unnoticed. For that, it seemed, he was a spy—a rat, some would describe him, keeping track of his surroundings to report back to his emperor.
Those without secrets had nothing to hide. Those that did had everything to lose.
Looking up, Odin had just enough time to catch the boy looking away from him before the door opened.
Stepping into the room, the most despicable man Odin ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon set his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gestured him out of the room. Brown-green eyes indifferent, Beal turned his gaze on the shrouded figure sitting at the end of the room and smiled. “Ah,” Beal said. “I figured it would be you.”
“Oh?” Miko asked.
“No one’s ever requested an audience. That is, no one except you.”
Miko said nothing. He merely shifted his arms away from his chest and laced his fingers atop the table.
“So, gentlemen—what can I do for you?”
“Our presence on the island has ended,” the Elf began. “A year has passed and my squire is almost ready for knighthood.”
“Congratulations,” Beal said, tipping his head in Odin’s direction. “It must be liberating to know that your training is finally over.”
“Yes sir.”
But it’s even more liberating to know that I’ll be putting bastards like you in jail.
It took all of his willpower to keep from lashing out. Hand balled into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm, he lowered his appendage onto his lap and forced a smile, one Beal quikly returned.
“I’m sorry,” the monk continued, settling into a chair at the head of the table. “I assume you didn’t come to listen to me prattle on. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“As you already know,” Miko began, “my time with Odin is almost over. Since he’s almost ready to ascend to knighthood, this leaves me without someone to help me with my current affairs—an assistant, more or less. Though I’d be the last to say that I am completely helpless, I can say without a doubt in my heart that my time with these young men has been some of the greatest I’ve ever experienced.”
“I can imagine,” Beal said. “To counsel young minds and shape them for the future is a brilliant thing. A man can give no better gift to a boy than guidance.”
“Which is why I’ve come to you, Master Beal.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like to take one of the boys back to the mainland with me.”
The room went quiet. Beal did not immediately reply.
And the snake bears its fangs, Odin thought.
“Which boy”? the man asked after a moment of hesitation. As though startled into submission, he reached out to steady himself on the table, but even then, that did little to conceal his quivering lips and shaking eyes.
“Parfour,” Miko replied.
Beal kept his silence.
Odin’s hands tightened into fists.
Nova’s fingers stopped drumming.
The room chilled.
“Why Parfour, dear stranger?” Beal asked. “What purpose would he serve for you?”
“I think you’re asking the worng question, Beal. I think you should be asking what purpose he serves for you.”
“Bastard.”
“I know what you’re doing here, Beal—I know what each and every one of you are doing. I know what the men who sail into the docks of Elna and Ornala are doing, I know what they’re doing when they bring those unruly or incapable onto their boats, and I know what you’re doing when they bring him here.” Miko stood. He circled the table with his arms hung slack and his fingers flushing in a single, rhythmic pattern. As if drumming chords across a harp, he played the situation into his own hands, dealing cards when they came and tossing them when they went. He played the knight and checked the king, struck the queen and destroyed the cavalry. He did all of this thing with his words, not might, and with his eyes set on Beal’s body he advanced forward, pressing himself further into the room as though ready to strike him down. Finally, when he stood no more than a foot away from the Tentalin monk, he dealt the single and final card, the only one that neeed be played. With his head held high and not a slight amount of his face showing, he said, “Tell me, Beal—how does it feel to know that you’re touching something you know you’re not supposed to?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, Beal—I’d like to know, specifically how you keep the boys quiet when you have visitors. Is it that you… trust them? Is it because you… torture them? Is it because you… lock them into little rooms during the day and wait to let them out at night? You know you can’t let all of them out during the day, so you let one or two out, maybe three if it strikes your fancy. That’s why you let Parfour out a year ago when we first arrived on the island, wasn’t it?”
“I said—”
Miko leaned forward. “Tell me,” he whispered. “How do you rape the boys you take into your care?”
Breal lunged.
Miko’s sword was out and resting against the monk’s neck in a moment. “If you move even one breath closer,” the Elf said, “you’ll never have the chance to hurt anyone again.”
“You motherfucking, cunt-breathed bastard.”
“Call me whatever you want, old man—at least I’ll know I’ve never done something as sick and vile as you have.”
“What do you want from me? I don’t care—take it! Take whatever you want! I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”
“I want the boy, Beal—that’s all I ask for. That’s all I want.”
With a final sigh of relief, Odin closed his eyes.
“All right,” Beal breathed. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Just don’t expect to be welcomed onto this island again.”
“Don’t worry,” Miko said. “I won’t.”
They were out of the monastery no sooner than they’d gotten in.
Parfour in tow, they stole along the beach and retreated into the forest.
Bloody, bruised, without the majority of his clothing and his right eye swelled shut, the boy couldn’t help but sob as Miko brought him to the ground and wiped his hair out of his face.
“There,” the Elf whispered, tipping Parfour’s head up to examine his injuries. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be just fine, Parfour.”
“What happened?” Odin asked, falling to his knees at the boy’s side. “What’d they do to you?”
“You don’t want to know,” Parfour managed, bringing his legs to his chest. He shivered as Nova set a blanket over his shoudlers, but made no move to continue what he’d just said. Who could blame him though? Who could blame a boy who’d gone through inexplicable, unmountable tortures, all for the sake of one man’s twisted pleasures? Who could blame him for staring at his feet, losing himself in his thoughts and a world imagined to deal with the harships of his life, and who could blame him when he took his time to muser up the urge to turn his head up, to look into his savior’s dark, hidden eyes and ask the question everyone had been waiting for him to ask? Who could blame the boy when, after an eternity of staring at his feet, he sighed, took a deep breath, and asked, “Why me?”
“It was Odin,” Miko said. “He asked me to take you as my assistant and rescue you from the monastery.”
Parfour broke into tears.
With little time to react, Odin opened his arms and accepted the boy into his embrace.
“'Thank you,” Parfour sobbed, burying his face in Odin’s neck. “Thank you, Odin—thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Odin whispered, setting his hands on the young man’s back. “I’ve wanted to save you since we got on the island.”
The boy screamed.
A murder of crows exploded from the trees.
It took all of Miko’s will to pull the boy from Odin’s grasp and cast him into the deepest sleep he’d ever likely experience.
“What the hell did they do to him?” Nova asked. “It’s like they threw him into a ring and told everyone to have at it.”
“That’s probably what they did,” Odin sighed. “He looked up just in time to see Miko set the boy on Nova’s bedroll, but said nothing in regard to the young man’s ordeal. Instead, he took a deep breath, expelled it, then reached up to run a hand through his hair, all the more troubled at their current ordeal. “I still can’t believe he screamed when I told him that. My ears are still ringing.”
“Anger is expressed in many different ways,” Miko said, frowning when he brushed a piece of hair from the boy’s face. “Some hurt one another, others scream and cry until their purpose has been met. It’s only natural that he would react this way. He’s been abused for months, maybe even years. Be thankful he didn’t do somhing more drastic.”
“He’s going to be ok though, right, sir?”
“He’ll be fine. The only thing I’m worried about is his eye.”
“Is there anything we can do for it?” Nova frowned.
“As it stands, no—I don’t think so. We’d need cold water if we were to bring the swelling down, but the only way to get that would be from the ocean, which wouldn’t work anyway because the salt may harm his eyes. Even if we did go and get it, we’d have to deal with purifying it… which would require a fire… and might draw the monks.”
“You don’t think they’d try anything after what we pulled, do you?”
“I highly doubt it, but there’s no reason to put ourselves in danger. As far as both I and the monks are concerned, we’re nowhere near the beach, nor do we intend to be.”
“What happens when the Anabelle comes?” Odin asked. “What’ll we do then?”
“The monks would be hard-pressed to attack us while there’s a crew of fishermen nearby. Beal’s pride’s been hurt enough—he’ll leave us alone when the boat comes.”
“And until then?” Nova muttered.
“Until then,” the Elf sighed, “We can do nothing but wait.”
No one said anything.
Nearby, bathed in the glory of night and the light of the almost-full moon, Parfour shivered.
In the back of his mind, Odin knew that the boy dreamed of nightmares long past. How, he didn’t know. He didn’t bother to question it. He didn’t need to.
They watched the beach throughout most of the night.
Barely able to sleep and startled at each and every moment, Odin lay awake, watching the slow rise and fall of Parfour’s chest while listening to the low wheeze of Nova’s breath. Behind him, the older man readjusted his position and pressed h
is chest against Odin’s back, likely trying to reap the warmth of his body.
On a night without fire and nothing to guide them, Odin shivered, thankful for his friend’s closeness.
Shrouded in darkness, each shadow became a movement, each snap of a twig and whisper of the wind a man watching from the darkness. Arms poised with weapons, faces lit in sneers, it would take but a moment for them to jump from the shadows and sink their blades into their backs, thereby cutting from the world a life which had horribly wronged them so. It would be glorious, Odin knew, for people who robbed others were horribly-wrong, even when it seemed as though their rights were just.
Forcing the image from his mind, Odin closed his eyes.
He opened them almost immediately.
Shifting, Miko raised his head, black hood a harrowing visage in the darkness. “You can’t sleep,” the Elf mumbled, clearing his throat to smooth his raspy voice. “Can you?”
Odin said nothing.
It doesn’t matter if it’s dark, his conscience chastised. He can still see you.
“Yes sir,” he whispered. “I am.”
Miko raised an arm, beckoning him forward.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’ll wake Nova.”
