by Kody Boye
When darkness fell upon the world, Odin found himself all the more wary at the fact that he’d seen neither his father nor any members of the caravan outside the bar’s window.
They’ll be here eventually, he thought, idly toying with the bottom of his empty glass of water.
They’d have to be, he knew, because he’d managed to make the trip in less than a day. If they hadn’t yet come through the gates, they would soon. He knew in his heart that much was for certain.
On the opposite side of the bar, near where the stairs lay in easy access to the second floor, Odin caught a disturbance in the shadows and shivered when he felt a chill wind blow through the open bar’s doors.
What was that?
Could it have been just as simple as it seemed—a wisp of air and nothing more than that—or did the figure that watched him from the shadows seem to have a more deviant purpose?
Unable to know, Odin pushed himself further back into his chair.
Nearby, he caught what appeared to be a small, fleeting form making its way through the door and instantly sobered at the image.
The little girl had returned—this time, however, with a figure in tow.
Great, he thought, bowing his head. Now I’m busted.
The little girl’s father had returned just in time to give him a lesson in dealing with children the wrong way.
When Odin turned his eyes up to allow himself a better look at the figure who’d appeared alongside the little girl, he found himself captivated by a splendid robe that fell all the way from the bottom of the man’s neck all the way to the tips of his toes. Flanked in color in shades of gray and blue, his hood pulled up to hide his eyes but doing little to obscure the strong chin beneath it, Odin watched in horror and fascination as the figure drew nearer.
Is that, he thought.
The smile cresting the curve of the man’s mouth cut Odin off before he could finish his thought.
“According to my daughter,” the man started, gesturing the little girl to move aside so he could step before Odin, “it would seem as though you have a bit of a gift yourself.”
“Yes sir. I do.”
“And from what Anna has also said, you were trying to enlist in the military earlier this afternoon.”
“I tried sir, but my father, he—”
“You’re much too special to be joining the armed forces.”
What? he thought.
“I’m sorry,” Odin said, shifting in his seat to keep his anxiety from overflowing as the little girl danced about the bar, waving her arms as if she were ready to send yet more butterflies into the air. “It’s just… I don’t understand.”
“Understand what, young sir?”
“What you’re saying.”
“It’s not often we see mages pass through these walls,” the hooded figure said, “especially ones of your caliber.” The man paused, waited, then pulled a seat out, but didn’t seat himself until Odin gave him a nod. “Might you possibly know who I am, mister…”
“Karussa,” Odin said. “And no, I don’t.”
“I’m a high mage of the Ornalan court, though I assume that by the look on your face you must’ve already knew that.”
“I had a feeling.”
What kind of man dressed head to toe in robes of such colors were he not a beneficial figure?
“My name is Professor Daughtry,” the man said, reaching forward to shake Odin’s hand before drawing his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I’m the magic instructor here at the castle. I also help king Ournul examine and determine whether or not particular mages are suited for magical apprentice in the midst of pages when they pass through our gates.”
Pages? he thought. Does that mean—
Breath caught in his chest, mind reeling at the possibilities, Odin took a few deep breaths and settled back in his seat, all the while attempting to capture the air he had not been able to inhale.
“Suh-Sir,” he managed, reaching up to rub his throat, which felt as though it’d just been put in a vice. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“It’s not difficult, Odin. We enlist mages within our knighthood based solely on the fact that there seem to be so few of them nowadays, especially within our kingdom.”
“Does that mean—”
“That you will be considered?” Professor Daughtry asked, waiting for Odin to nod before continuing. “Yes. That does.”
“And that means—”
“You will be granted an audience with the king as soon as possible,” the mage said, gesturing Odin to his feet with a wave of his hand. “Come with me, young sir. I won’t have you waiting here all night and going hungry while you’re at it.”
Odin followed the professor and his daughter through the darkened streets. Led by a single, magicked hand, which was illuminated in the most pristine blue light, Odin found himself drawn to the man who seemed to dangle his future within his fingers as they made their way west toward the opposite side of the Housing District. Almost unable to believe his eyes not only because of the way the light was cast off the man’s hand, but at the fact that everything seemed so clear and visible, he drew closer to Daughtry’s side and watched as, slowly, he cast three orbs of blue light out in front of them, which spiraled around Daughtry’s person before setting down in front and to his sides.
“Wow,” Odin said.
“You’ll come to learn that this sort of magic is probably the simplest thing you’ll ever attempt,” the high made said, setting an arm across Odin’s shoulder as he continued to lead him through the streets. “Anna, stay here.”
“But daddy!” the little girl cried from where she skipped in front of them. “I want to go ahead!”
“Fine. Cast your butterfly to let me know where you are.”
Almost immediately, the green butterfly, now with what appeared to be a ribbon-like tail, came into view, then began to circle around where Odin imagined Anna stood.
“Tell me, Odin—where might your father be?”
“I’m… not sure,” he replied, unsure how to answer the question. “I thought he would be here tonight, but…”
“What?” Daughtry asked.
“I guess they haven’t arrived yet.”
“Where did you come from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Felnon.”
“Ah. The warrior’s village.”
“You know of it, sir?”
“There’s not a man alive in this part of the country who doesn’t know of Felnon,” the high mage said, flushing his hand out and in front of them. “Especially considering the war heroes who have risen from there.”
Rather than recant history lessons within his head, Odin drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders, then tilted his head up to the sky—where, in the deep, awe-inspiring darkness, he saw two shooting stars, closely pursued by their tails of light.
“Have you made a wish?” Daughtry asked.
“Sorry?” Odin frowned, turning his attention back to the high mage.
“You haven’t heard the saying? ‘Make a wish upon a shooting star?’”
“I haven’t, actually.”
“Well, you’d best do it now while we’re still out in the open, otherwise you might miss out on the chance of your lifetime.”
Though doubtful that such a thing was likely to happen, Odin bowed his head, closed his eyes, then, beneath his breath, began to make his wish.
I wish, he thought, to be considered by my king to enlist within his royal army.
Odin tilted his head up.
While his wish seemed all the more obvious in light of the current situation, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d just made what he considered would be a life-changing decision.
Above, the shooting stars fell on.
Odin almost dared to ask if he could have more than one wish.
He woke beneath a quilt so vast it nearly drowned him to dwell beneath it. Suffocated, as it lay so close to his mouth, and sweating for the fact that
the blanket was made of so many layers of fabric, Odin pushed it off his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed, trying his hardest to gain consciousness.
At first unsure of where exactly he was, he merely stared at the floor, at his sock-covered feet and the wood panels below him.
In but a moment, it dawned on him—when, from the downstairs floor, he heard the sound of footsteps and realized he was not in a room with his father, but in the presence of one of the high mages of the royal court.
I’m here, he thought, almost unable to believe his circumstance. I’m really here.
He pushed himself off the mattress, then crossed the short distance between him and the window. There, he looked upon the Outer District of the most famous city in the entire country and at the stone wall that separated the royals from the peasants.
Shivering with excitement, he pushed himself into his boots, then exited into the hall. There, he looked up and down the corridor, then, as swiftly but softly as possible, descended the stairs.
I can’t believe I’m really in his house, he mused, looking first at the pictures hanging on the side of the walls, then to the grand, nearly-golden wood beneath his fingers.
To think that he had stayed in such a lavish place nearly discomforted him, for the moment he stepped at the foot of the stairs he began to dwell on his father and just where he could have spent the night. He had the money, of course, to stay in the inn, and it surely would have been a fine experience. However, there was also the likelihood that the caravan hadn’t yet made it to Ornala and was still in the wilderness—where, beneath the trees, they had only just rose and began to pack the camp.
Unable to think about the consequences of his actions any longer for fear that they would stir up unpleasant emotions, he raised his eyes.
Directly across from him in the kitchen, Daughtry stood over what appeared to be the beginnings of some kind of pastry cake, calm and content with the fact that he seemed to have the house to himself.
Has he seen me?
Stepping forward, Odin braced his hand on the threshold, then knocked three times on the wall.
Almost immediately, Daughtry lifted his head. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Odin replied.
“Good morning. I hope you slept well.”
“I slept fine,” Odin replied, taking his first few steps into the ornate kitchen. “Thank you for letting me stay with you last night.”
“There’s no reason to thank me. I’m just doing what I think is right.”
“It means a lot, sir.”
“It’s no trouble. Really, Odin—it isn’t.”
“I wouldn’t be here were it not for your daughter.”
“Yes… she’s quite the whimsical one,” Daughtry said, turning to wash his hands in a sink fully-equipped with a pipe system. “I’m glad she told me about you.”
“How did you end up finding me?”
“She didn’t run too far off after… well… you ‘burned her butterfly up,’ as she so eloquently put it. She’s a bit sensitive in that regard, but she gets over things quickly. She was naturally interested in you because there’s not many mages in the capital anymore.”
“Where did they all go?”
“Most have died off. Some left to go expand their knowledge with the Elves. Others have… well… left, per se, though they’re still conscripted into the king’s army. Being a mage can be a lonely life.”
“Sir… if you don’t mind me asking, where’s your wife?”
“She passed away two years back, when Anna was only five.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She gave me the best thing I could ever have,” Daughtry smiled. “That little girl is my life.”
“I can tell you love her very much.”
“Come—sit. Let’s discuss while this cooks.”
While Daughtry went about adding the final touches to his pastry cake, Odin seated himself at the long dining table and placed his hands before him as he waited for the man to finish. It took less than a few moments for the cake to be placed into the oven, which glowed bright with flame, so when the high mage seated himself directly across from him, Odin found himself staring not at the man, but at the depiction of the Crystal Desert hero of Arc the Cyclops-Slayer behind him.
“Yes,” Daughtry said, turning to examine the painting. “He was one of a kind, that one.”
“Is there any truth to that legend?” Odin asked.
“In the south there is. Here, I believe, not so much.”
“Sir… you said something about meeting the king.”
“Oh. That.” The high mage smiled, revealing perfectly-straight, well-kept white teeth. “Yes. I’ve requested an audience with the king. It should be answered in a few days, given the importance of this meeting, but you’re welcome to stay with me until then. I’m aware that you have not a penny on you.”
“My father was the one carrying all our coin,” Odin sighed. “Sir… have you heard any news of the caravan from Felnon arriving yet?”
“No, but I’ve yet to set foot outside this morning.”
Frowning, Odin turned his eyes down to his hands and took a moment to fiddle with his thumbs before he returned his attention back to the mage in front of him. As kind as Daughtry was, and as generous as he seemed to be, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some alternative purpose for both this meeting and arrangement.
Of course there is, his conscience whispered. The king wants battle mages.
“Sir,” Odin said, allowing himself a brief amount to determine what he would say. “You said that I would be considered for the honor of becoming one of the king’s knights.”
“I did,” Daughtry replied.
“And you said that there aren’t that many mages within the kingdom anymore, much less in the entire northern part of the world.”
“That’s correct.”
“Does that mean the king wants—”
“Battle mages?” Daughtry smiled. “Yes, Odin—it does.”
“I know there’s been conflict between us and Germa,” he said, allowing his arms to fall slack at his sides, “but does that mean there will really be a war?”
“To be perfectly honest, I highly doubt it. The king’s call for soldiers has only been made because King Ournul believes there may be an assault on the kingdom sometime soon, though there is no proof of that as of now.”
“What do they want?” Odin frowned.
“Our resources, territory, space. You would do well to know that the Germanian people are frustrated with the lack of territory they were given when the Three Kingdoms were assembled.”
“But they have the entire desert.”
“That’s my point exactly.” When Odin offered a frown, Daughtry sighed and reached up to run a hand through his short brown hair. “Many of the Germanian people are tired of living in the sweltering heat and as nomads. The lack of water in that part of the world is completely unforgiving.”
“Why not form a treaty with Ornala to extend the kingdom then?”
“Our king doesn’t want to give up any territory.”
“Why?”
At this, Daughtry frowned and reached up to set a hand against his chin. He idly toyed with the corners of his lower lips, as if he were expecting hair to suddenly spring up from beneath his skin and grant him a mustache fit for the most diligent of men, but when no further response came, Odin couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
Even he doesn’t want to answer me, he thought.
Then again, such a thing was to be expected. If there was really wrong within the kingdom—which, at that moment, Odin couldn’t help but feel there was—then surely the king would not want to admit mistakes within his judgment. He was, of course, expected to uphold his title to the fullest, and were he to falter within his choices, the people would surely react harshly, and would even go so far as to demand that a new king be put in Ournul’s stead.
With a short sigh, Daughtry laced his fingers to
gether, turned his head up from his place at his hands, then said, without judgment in his voice, “There’s been unease between our kingdoms since the Germanian people elected their new king.”
“Why is that?” Odin asked.
“Conghul, the Cadarian who was elected into office, was chosen because he has promised his people freedom of the restraints their world has put upon them. The shortage of water, the lack of food, the absence of the security to live another day—the Cadarack is not a place many people would willingly live, so it’s perfectly understandable that they’ve had problems with wanting to expand their territory. Ournul, however, feels that excising a piece of our land to sate the Cadarians will only lead to further riots when they demand that more territory be made.”
“I’m guessing the chunk of land they’d be given wouldn’t be enough then.”
“So far as we understand, the amount of Cadarian people within Germa is double, maybe even triple that of our own country. It’s King Conghul’s belief that since there are so few people within our country, we should be willing to give some of our land up.”
“It’s not our fault that they have more people than we do.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Daughtry rose and began to round the table. Hands locked at his lower back, head downturned, Odin briefly considered the notion that the conversation had troubled the mage far more than he had initially anticipated, but when the high mage stood directly behind him and set both hands upon his shoulders, Odin tensed and turned his head to the side in order to avoid the man’s eyes.
“The lack of mages within our kingdom,” the professor said, “is something that the king has been concerned about since his father passed and left him with the kingdom of Ornala.”
“They’re dying out,” Odin said.
“Correct. That is why there’s such a high demand for those who can use magical powers—why men like myself, even though we’re little more than scholars who know the arts of the supernatural, can still continue to live in comfort.”
