by Kody Boye
“Nova?” a voice asked.
Ketrak stood at the foot of the stairs, wearing only a pair of trousers and a light silk shirt. In response, Nova turned his head to look at the man for several long moments before he returned his eyes to the fire, unable to meet his father-in-law’s eyes.
What will he think? he wondered.
“What’s wrong?” Ketrak asked. “How come you’re down here so late? And during a storm?”
“We’re safe in the house,” Nova murmured.
Thunder rolled across the sky and shot an arc of blue lightning over the horizon.
“You know what I mean,” Ketrak said, settling down in the chair beside him. “Did you have another dream?”
“No.”
“Then why are you down here?”
“Because I—”
There’s nothing you can say that won’t scare him, he thought, forcing himself to into the man’s eyes. You’re just gonna have to come out and say it. There’s no other way.
“Something just visited me,” Nova said, straightening his posture. “I don’t know what it was, but it said that I had to help the young man in my visions.”
“The red-eyed boy?” Ketrak frowned.
“Yes. I don’t know why I have to help him, but the spirit—image, whatever it was—said that I needed to be by his side. It said… it said that if I helped him, it would help me in my time of need.”
“What do you plan on doing then? Leaving my daughter for hell knows what?”
“I… I don’t…”
At this, Nova closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
How would he possibly choose between his wife and something else that seemed so important?
“Nova—”
“Please, sir… don’t talk right now.”
“You’ve got to—”
Nova stood. He made his way toward the stairs, but stopped midway.
“Son,” Ketrak said, rising. “You’re blind if you leave my daughter just because something tells you to.”
“I don’t know what that something is!” he cried, turning to face Ketrak. “How am I supposed to know how this will affect me? What happens if I don’t go?”
“Nothing. You—”
“What if my ‘time of need’ is something completely unrelated to me? What if it has something to do with you, or maybe even my wife? What do I do then? How will I know unless I go?”
“You don’t, son. Although if you ask me, you might’ve just been seeing things.”
“I wasn’t just seeing things!”
“How do you know?” Ketrak barked. “How do you know, Nova? I’ve put up with your delusions up until this point because I really do care about you, because I think you’re a good man and an even greater husband. Just because your father told you something in the past doesn’t mean—”
Nova sent his fist into his father-in-law’s jaw before he could think any further.
Ketrak stumbled back.
Horrified, angry beyond belief and unsure what to think, Nova remained steadfast, unsure whether to step forward or let the man be. “You do not talk about my father in that way,” he said, somehow able to keep his voice low and calm. “My father was the best man I ever knew.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting into, boy. You’d leave your wife, just like that, all because something tells you to?”
“It didn’t say I had to!” Nova roared, unable to contain his shakes.
Taking a deep breath, Nova closed his eyes, chastised himself for such behavior, then thought back on what his father had once said as a child—when, during an emotional fit, Patrus had said that he expressed a temper far beyond himself and should learn to control it,.
“I’m sorry,” Nova sighed, stepping forward. “I’ve had problems with my temper since I was a boy, but that’s no excuse to hit you.”
“And I’m sorry for making you angry. But Nova—do you really believe this thing you saw was real? Or your visions?”
“They haven’t been wrong before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Nova stayed silent. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to talk to Katarina,” he said, “before I leave in the morning.”
“You really think this is important enough to make you leave?”
“Yes,” Nova sighed. “I do.”
“Do you even know where the young man is?”
“No.”
“Then how are you going to find him?”
“Look,” Nova said, turning to walk up the stairs. “That’s all I can do.”
He held Katarina for most of the night or paced the room and watched her sleep. Uneasy, afraid, and unsure of the very decision that was troubling his mind, he tried his best to figure out just how he would tell his wife about the figure and how it told him he needed to help someone should he want to be helped, but to no avail. Always, it seemed, he would stop in mid-stride, or mid-thought, then slowly the pendulum would fall back into place.
I don’t know how I’m going to do this, he thought.
Eyes bleary, bloodshot, aching, Nova looked out at the slowly-rising sun and tried to discern just how much time had passed between his initial confrontation with Ketrak and the moment in which he’d tried to return to bed. Bleeding across the horizon, lighting the world with its warring rays over the mountains, he tried to imagine just how and why the sun did what it truly did. Why, of all reasons, would such an entity rise, just to light their land? One would say that it was forced to by the laws of nature, as even though a great distance away the sun operated on the same fundamental level as they, but were it given a choice of its own, would it really rise every day, or once every other day, if at all?
He wished, at that moment, that it would just stay down—that the world, as dark as it was, would remain black. Maybe then he would never have a reason to leave; and maybe, just maybe, Katarina would never wake and ask him why his eyes had lines running through them.
I’ve got to tell her, he thought. She needs to know what’s going on.
If anything, it wouldn’t be too hard to find the boy. He could judge by the visions alone that he had to be somewhere high—in a location where structures were built well-above the ground and where towers were more than prevalent. Or, he thought, he would just be leading himself into a wild adventure that had no answer. Maybe the boy didn’t exist at all, nor his plight or the very thing that Nova had seen.
Maybe…
Movement stirred him from thought.
Pushing herself forward, Katarina rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. She didn’t take notice of him until he turned his head and looked her directly in the eyes. “Nova?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
With a deep breath, Nova walked to the bed and settled down beside her. He took her hand in his, offered a slight smile, then began to recount the events of last night. He explained how, after he’d woken from what he considered to be a dream, he’d seen the form of light and just how it had spoken to him. He told of the young man’s plight, of the danger there was were he not to find and help him, and how, were he to find this young boy named Odin, their future would likely be secured for the both of them.
Shortly after he said he needed to leave to see what the whole thing meant, she started crying.
“I won’t be gone that long,” he said, reaching out to stroke the hair out of her eyes.
“You don’t know that.”
“I just need to go where the towers are, that’s all. Who knows? I might only be gone for—”
“You don’t know how long you’ll be gone!” she cried, slapping his cheek as hard as her form allowed. “You don’t know!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, not bothering to touch his face. “I don’t want to put you or your father in any danger.”
“Danger? Nova, why would you—”
“The voice said that it would be there in my time of need if I went and helped the boy, Katarina. I don’t know when
my time of need will be, because it never mentioned if my ‘time of need’ would be something I would go through or something that would happen to you or your father.”
“But how—”
“Look,” he said. He took his face in her hands and stroked the tears away from her cheeks. “I don’t know why I have to help this young man, but for whatever reason it is, I need to go. He’s locked in a tower, Katarina. He’s all alone in the world.”
“I know, but—”
“Please, understand I’m doing this because I don’t want you hurt.”
“You wouldn’t. You—”
Katarina trailed off. The tears that streamed down her face was enough to tear holes in Nova’s heart—to render his soul unconquerable and diminish the fact that he was, like anyone else, a man, one who loved his wife so much that it pained him to leave her stranded like this, upon an isle where no man ever wished his wife to tread.
He needs help, he thought, kissing Katarina’s tears, and only I can offer it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
He took her in his arms.
Her touch was enough to remind him just how much he had to lose.
Cold wind battered him. Harsh feelings destroyed him.
Dressed in his thick winter coat and his long, insulated pants, Nova prepared one of Ketrak’s horses in preparation for his journey and tried his hardest not to falter in the face of such horrors. The scythe, tied near the end of the saddlebag, could be easily accessed should the need arise, while his clothes and rations lay in the bags at the side, threatening to overflow just by bearing one’s eyes down upon them. The old horse, stubborn in its own right, whinnied under the waning winter chill, just as it allowed itself to shake its head and cast its mane to the side.
“It’s all right,” Nova said, stroking the stallion’s neck. “We’re just going on a little trip, that’s all.”
The horse snorted, nudging Nova’s shoulder.
In that moment, it seemed like everything either wanted him to go somewhere or nowhere at all.
Looking up, Nova trained his eyes on the window that opened up to their room and saw Katarina sitting in the windowsill. He didn’t look at her for long for fear that, should he intrude on her privacy, she would leave the windowsill and miss his departure.
I’ll be back eventually. It’s not like I’m leaving her for good.
Before he could return his attention to the horse, Ketrak walked the brief distance of the field and to the stables. Almost immediately, the right side of the man’s face came into view, revealing a darkened jaw.
“Before you go,” Ketrak said, sliding his hand into his pocket. “I want you to have this.”
The mayor pushed a black sack into Nova’s hand. When Nova lifted it to examine it closer, the contents inside clinked together. “Is this—”
“Money?” Ketrak nodded. “I don’t want my son-in-law running around the country without any coin.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Take it, Nova. You’ll need money to bribe someone if you decide to sleep in their barn, and you know that a bed at an inn isn’t cheap.”
“I know.” He looked down at the sack of coin, then to the man before sliding it into his pocket. “Thank you,” he said, reaching out to shake Ketrak’s hand. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”
“I think I do.”
Nova mounted his horse.
His eyes strayed to the window.
Katarina remained in the windowsill, watching.
“Goodbye,” Nova said, turning his eyes on Ketrak. “I’ll be back. Tell Katarina that I love her, please.”
“I will.”
Raising his hand, Nova waved at Katarina, desperately fighting to keep his emotions in check.
As though grasping part of her and pulling her with him, he captured her form in the palm of his hand, closed it into a fist, then kissed his knuckles and brought it to his chest.
In his heart, an ache began.
He tried to console himself with thoughts of home as he pushed his horse into a trot and toward the distant fence—where, near its borders, the househands stood, shivering in full winter attire and waiting for him to depart.
Sometimes, things came crashing down, while at others things fell apart. Often than not, something broke the cycle of eternity and disrupted it. Life, death, salvation, imprisonment, destiny, fate, fortitude, honor, security, a man’s life and a woman’s sadness—no matter the cause, no matter the significance, there was always something to break the chain and begin it anew.
Now, as Nova led his horse down a road to a place he did not know, he took one last look back at his home, closed his eyes, then began to whistle under his breath, if only to reassure himself that everything would be just fine.
Part 3
1
“Good. Very good. Now, hold it there a little while longer.”
Watch it burn, the man could have said. Watch it burn.
Suspended in midair by little more than pure thought, a white ball of flame hovered between a young man and his teacher who sat idly by watching the feat with kind eyes and a rational expression. Smiling, ecstatic, the teacher gestured for the boy to lift the flame first into the air, then to his left and right before asking for it to be trailed into a figure-eight. This thing—this grand symbol of infinity—seemed even to burn within the air after the ball of flame fell back into place, and offered what many would have considered an affinity of knowledge and strength. These were gifts that rarely existed beyond these mortal walls, for they were not taught outside a place and time in which the most honored dwelled. It was for this reason that when the teacher told the young man to release the flame that the boy curled his hand into a fist.
Much like paper crumbling under pressure, the flame shrunk, hissed as fire does when fuel is added to it, then pulsed and burped a plume of white before disappearing altogether. Thus ended a physical demonstration of the often-metaphorical but concretely-physiological aspect of the Will—the one great source of energy that could never be seen, but always touched.
The teacher, in hysterics, thrust himself to his feet and clapped.
“Very good, very good!” the man said, clapping so hard that for a moment the boy wondered whether or not the man’s wrists would snap from his arms. “Very good, Odin. Very good.”
Professor Daughtry’s face lit up in a smile. Odin barely nodded.
“Hey,” the man said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Cheer up. You’re doing great.”
Odin’s muscle tensed under the pressure of touch, as if he’d just been struck, and reacted as if he were a shelled animal baring its defenses.
In response, one of the few high mages of the kingdom of Ornala pulled his head back and offered a frown. “Does it hurt when I touch you?” he asked.
“No,” Odin said.
Yes, he thought.
As though sensing something was wrong, the professor pulled his hand back and allowed it to fall slack at his side.
“I’m sorry for your conditions, Odin.”
“Don’t be.”
Because you’re not. You don’t care because it doesn’t affect you at all.
Living, alone, with his daughter in the Outer District, in a place that was separated from royal imprisonment—this man, this high mage, had not a thing in the world to worry about, for his life was just as simple as any common man’s would be. He could get up in the morning, make himself breakfast, go off to work, make his royal wage and then return home that evening to kiss his daughter goodnight before leaving himself to his own devices. But here he was—Odin Karussa, of Felnon descent, and sixteen-years-old—imprisoned in a tower for a crime he had yet to commit. To think that Daughtry, though kind, actually cared for him, would have been idiotic, and for that Odin bowed his head and stared at the floor—that same, dirty floor on which he had spent the last two years of his life.
Daughtry, in res
ponse to this unspoken accusation, began to gather his things—first the sack he routinely carried to the tower, then the leather-bound book that had become a staple in their lessons. He stared at this for several long moments, as if judging its form, before pushing it out to Odin, who merely raised his head.
“Here you go,” the magic man said.
“Sir?”
“It’ll help,” Daughtry smiled, pressing the tome into Odin’s hands. “I know you like to read, but textbooks can get a little boring after a while, especially considering that you’ve probably read most, if not everything about the kingdom. At least this will keep you entertained and learning.”
“Are you sure you want me to have this? What if I—”
“I’d prefer if you wait for me to be present before you attempt any of the magic, but I won’t stop you. You’ve got a better grasp on your powers than most boys your age do.”
“That’s because you’ve been helping me.”
“Yes, but it takes talent and skill to use magic, as well as hard work.”
“Thank you.”
Before turning to leave, the high mage stopped.
“Have a good day,” the man nodded, pulling the hood of his long robe over his head.
With a simple knock, the guards in the outside world opened the door and let Daughtry out of the tower.
It was with this exit that Odin began to come to terms with something.
His shoulder stung.
Maybe being touched did hurt after all.
Nightmares haunted him. A baby shrouded in a cloak; a storm brewing overhead; a purple-pink fire flowing from long, delicate fingers and into an infant’s chest—all this, but for what? A memory, a thought, a manifestation of something he had heard or read—what, he wondered, could this possibly be, if not a message from some outside source wishing him to remember something he could not have possibly experienced?
Just rising from sleep in a fit of unease and torment, Odin sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. A faint, yellow-gold light washed through the window, signifying the rise of the sun on the opposite side of the world. The sight alone was enough to make him consider just how good it would feel to go out and bask beneath its rays.
