by Kody Boye
“How bad does your chest hurt?” the fair creature asked.
“A lot,” Odin said. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and quell the tears, but they came anyway. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It hurts, I know. I’ve had it as well.”
“I hope I don’t give it to you.”
“You won’t. Don’t worry.”
Miko set his hand on the bare section of Odin’s chest and splayed his fingers as far as he could. He then, in brief and efficient detail, channeled purple light from his palm into Odin’s body—a sensation that, while violating to some degree, soothed all but the deepest sources of pain that existed in his lungs.
“Does that feel better?” the Elf asked when he pulled his hand away.
“Yes,” Odin sighed, lips slicked with blood. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Miko whispered, setting his hands on Odin’s sides. “I’ll take care of you while you’re ill.”
“The healer said I was starting to get better.”
“You are, and you will soon be.”
The next several moments were spent cleaning the blood off Odin’s face. A damp rag in one hand, a dry one in the other, Miko took extra care in navigating the chapped folds of Odin’s lips with the damp rag before dabbing his chin and mouth with the dry one. Odin waited for the Elf to stand and make way for the bathing chamber before he pushed himself out of the chair. The sound of running water entered his ears.
“Thank you for helping me,” Odin said, settling back into bed. “Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight, Odin,” the Elf said from the other room.
His voice quelled all fires.
After waking from a peaceful sleep the following morning, Odin blinked and tried to clear his eyes of the haze that clouded his vision. In doing so, he found the room alight in vibrant colors—in hues of white and gold that, while not particular symbolic of healing, seemed to help dispel the pain that lingered in his chest.
“Are you feeling well?” the voice asked.
Startled, Odin threw himself back into the corner, nearly managing to bang his head against the wall in the process. It took him but a moment to realize it was just the Elf sitting between the beds, eyes attentive and face shrouded in what appeared to be slight amusement and concern.
“How long have you been watching me?” Odin asked, wary of the stare before he pushed himself out of the corner.
“For the past little while. I’ve been waiting for you to get up.”
“All… right,” he said.
Smiling, Miko rose and walked to the table, where he gestured Odin to follow.
After sliding out of bed, Odin made his way to where the Elf stood—where, before them, a platter of breads, broth and cheeses lay. “I’ve already eaten,” the Elf said, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “I’m glad you woke when you did. It was starting to get cold.”
Odin plucked a piece of cheese from the plate and slid it into his mouth. While he chewed, he tore a piece of bread away from the small loaf and dipped it into the broth.
“It’s good,” he said.
“I thought so. Eat as much as you like.”
“You don’t care?”
“As I’ve said: I already ate.”
Odin watched his knight master for a moment, then shrugged and slid into the chair closest to the platter and opposite the Elf. The whole while he ate, he watched the creature and noticed his attentive stare, which held him in place.
He just… stares at me, he thought, a bit uneasy at the attention placed on him.
“Is something wrong?” Odin asked, hoping to break the tension.
“No.” Miko blinked, then slightly smiled. “Oh. I see.”
“It’s all right. I’m just not used to having someone watch me.”
“You’ll have to excuse me. It’s customary for Elves to give one another their full attention. You see, I haven’t been around humans—or anything, for that matter—in such a long time.”
“Where did you come from?”
“I… don’t exactly remember.”
“You don’t?”
“No. To be quite honest, all I remember is entering through the Ornalan border. You have to understand that after a while, things around you start to move without you even realizing it. All I know is that I’ve been walking for a long time. You’d understand if you were immortal. I’m sorry I can’t explain further.”
“How did you know I was here then?”
“Call it clairvoyance.”
Does he have the Sight? Odin thought, frowning, unsure what to think but knowing that Elves possessed abilities so uncanny they could not be compared to men.
Rather than dwell on the concept any further, Odin continued to eat. While he knew that the Elf had made it more than clear that he wanted questions to be asked, he didn’t believe the creature would want to be questioned day in and day out. For that, he stuck another piece of cheese into his mouth, swallowed, then asked, “Will we be leaving soon?”
“When you get better.”
Odin nodded, but couldn’t help but sigh.
“I know you’re ready to leave,” the Elf said, “but we need to consider your health, first and foremost.”
“I know. I don’t want you getting sick though.”
“I won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
With no need to question the Elf, Odin pushed the empty platter away and rose from his seat. “Do you want me to run you a bath?” he asked.
“If you’d like, yes.”
He slid into the bathing chamber and went for the massive pump that adorned a stylized network of pipes before the massive wooden bathtub. Hands ready, palms itching, he placed both hands on the massive valve atop the cat-faced pump and rotated it until water began to sprout from its mouth.
“It’ll be ready soon!” Odin called out.
The Elf didn’t respond.
I didn’t need to yell, he thought.
Then again, the Elf had said he didn’t mind loud noises, so what reason was there for him to worry?
Just before the tub could fill to the brim, Miko stepped into the room and undid the clasp on his purple-lined blue cape before letting it fall to the floor. He then slid his fingers through the intricate knot on his lower robe and parted the folds of fabric. It was at this point, when the Elf was almost naked, that Odin turned his head away to allow the Elf some modesty.
“Is something wrong?” Miko asked.
“No,” Odin said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
When the audible sound of the Elf sliding into the water entered his ears, Odin turned his attention back to the creature and watched as, slowly, he draped his arms across the cylindrical tub, eyes intent on his face and a slight frown poised on his lips.
“Sir,” Odin said, scooting closer to the Elf’s side when he felt it necessary and polite. “I’d like to ask something, if you don’t mind.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s… well… something that’s been bothering me for a while, but… I have very little hair on my body.”
“How old are you?” Miko asked.
“Sixteen,” Odin said, bowing his head. “I know I shouldn’t be bothered by something as little as this, but I can’t help it.”
“You’re young. You’re going to worry about things, especially something as personal as your changing body.” Miko slid away from the side of the tub, rose out of the water until only his waist was submerged, then reached out and tilted Odin’s face up. “May I touch you?” he asked.
“Sir?” Odin frowned.
“I want to examine your facial structure, particularly your ears.”
“Why do you—”
“May I touch you, Odin? I won’t ask more than once.”
Though stern, the voice wasn’t rude—more thoughtful than anything, and rang with vibrations akin to bells tossed by the wind on a warm summ
er’s day.
Pulling his hair back, Odin allowed his knight master to examine his face. In doing so, he exposed to the one and only man whom had ever touched him in such a manner his neck, his jaw, his cheek. His conscience heavy, his nerves ablaze, he remained quiet as the Elf traced the curve of his skull, prying at the hidden nooks and crannies that even Odin hadn’t been aware of. He tangled his fingers through his hair and applied pressure to the depths of his cheeks, drawing his hairline with his fingertip, circling globes of bone around his jaw and the tense curve of his mouth—he searched any and everywhere he could. When he came to his ear, a frown crossed his face.
“This is… not what I expected,” the Elf said, sliding a hand up to the curve of Odin’s ear.
“Sir?” he asked.
“Are you aware that your ears are shaped differently than most humans?”
“They are?”
A flash of light appeared at the side of Odin’s vision, then revolved around his head until it came to rest before him. Directly in line with his eyes, an oddly-shaped replica of an ear lay suspended in the air, trapped within the confines of a purple sphere of light.
“This,” the Elf said, “is how your ears look.”
It didn’t appear normal—not in any respect. From his perspective on the human body and anatomy, Odin had always come to see a man’s ears as perfect—spherical, with only the occasionally bump and tremble near the end of it, where the lobe lay. What floated before him was something amazing—something that, though not pure, elongated and pointed, held jagged curvature, as though someone had just taken a knife and added unique bumps to sections of flesh.
“What does it mean?” Odin asked.
“It means your mother could’ve been an Elf, for one.”
“My mother wasn’t—”
While looking into Miko’s eyes, he realized that his father had never spoken about his mother—not even once, when he’d questioned the man’s motives and just how the woman who should have been raising him would have played a role in his life.
“Your father might not have told you out of fear that you would believe he was hiding other things from you.”
“He’s never mentioned my mother.”
“You were raised alone?”
“By just my father and the midwife.”
“Understandable.”
“Is there anything else that could have made my ears look this way?”
“It’s possible that you could have a distant relative who was an Elf—or at least had some Elf in them—that gave you the recessive trait. You are aware of the dominant and recessive, right?”
“Like farm animals,” Odin said. “My father had a good friend who raised cattle. He said that he tried to raise cattle that passed on the more dominant traits.”
“Right,” Miko smiled. “It’s the same with humans and any other creature. We inherit the features of our mother and father.”
“Is that why you look so strange?”
Immediately horrified by what he’d said, Odin drew in a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” Odin said, bowing his head. “I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did. You’re too handsome to look anything but that.”
“It’s quite all right, and I know you didn’t mean it that way.” Miko gripped Odin’s upper arm. “My hair, eyes, fingernails—all came from my father. My skin was my mother’s gift.”
“What would you look like if you had more of your father in you?”
“My skin would have been darker than that of the men who live in the desert. You must know of the Cadarack?”
“Yes sir. I read about it in a book once. Some black men came to see me on Jordan’s request, though he said that they were Ornalan and not Germanian.”
“Draethel have even darker skin that that. My hair color isn’t natural, though, considering that most Draethel have hair as red as your eyes.”
“Really?”
Miko nodded.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Odin said. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine,” Miko said, turning his back on Odin. “Can you take that bar of soap and wash my back, please?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll wash yours as well—when you’re ready, that is.”
Dipping the bar into the water, Odin ran it along his master’s strong back and took a few deep breaths.
He would have to learn to watch what he said.
“There’s a storm coming in.”
Odin looked up from his place at the table to find his knight master sitting by the window. Though he couldn’t particularly see his master’s eyes that well in the mute, blue light of early evening, he could tell that the Elf was very interested in the happenings taking place outside.
“Can you smell it?” Odin asked.
“Yes. Can you?”
“The air’s damp.”
“Not many men realize that happens when a rainstorm is coming.”
“Is it going to be bad?”
“I’m not sure.”
Shivering, Odin drew his legs up onto the chair and locked his feet below his knees before turning his attention back to the world outside. The weather had gradually chilled over the last little while, almost to where it became almost unbearable to sit without a blanket, but the slight sway of the trees and the ominous movement of clouds seemed to make the world all the more horrible. Miko, meanwhile, remained still, barely moving at all. Even the rise and fall of his chest had stopped, as if he’d just taken one last deep breath before throwing himself to the sea.
He’s very strange, Odin thought, frowning.
That didn’t necessarily matter though. He’d become accustomed to the slight habits the Elf had. From the way he barely blinked, to the times he hardly moved, to the way he rubbed the bones in his fingers and stroked them as if they were kittens mewling for their long-dead mother. Maybe he had arthritis, or maybe it was a subconscious habit he committed whilst looking into the world. If the former were true, that could be a possible reason as to why he stroked his hands, why he fidgeted with his fingers, even popped his knuckles, especially during colder times.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Odin asked, suddenly aware of the lack of conversation. “A blanket, anything?”
“A blanket would be fine, thank you.”
Odin stood, made his way to the cabinet, then pulled a quilt out. He crossed the brief distance from the cabinet to his master and, carefully, as to not startle him, pressed it over the creature’s naked back, unrolling the corners and smoothing the fabric against his body.
“Thank you,” Miko said.
Odin touched the Elf’s back and, in the moments that followed, wondered whether or not he was allowed to do so. When Miko said nothing, however, Odin straightened his posture and looked out the window, where he tightened his grip on the quilt until it lay balled beneath his fingers. Taught muscles stiffened under the initial pressure, but soon uncoiled and settled evenly across the shoulder blades afterward.
“It’s going to be cold tonight,” the Elf said.
“Do you want me to start a fire?”
“Not now. If it gets colder, I’ll make one.”
“I can do it. Really, I—”
Miko turned his head. Odin closed his mouth, all the more aware of how he sounded. “All right,” he said. “I was only offering.”
“Thank you, especially for the blanket.”
Odin squeezed the Elf’s shoulder before returning to the table. Tucking his bare feet under his thighs, he continued to watch Miko until, a short moment later, he was struck with a longing for his master’s companionship.
Why do I feel like this?
He’d never felt anything like this in his life, much less during the time he’d been locked away in the tower. Of course he’d wanted interaction, as that seemed to be the primary reason for existing in a world filled with people, but he never necessarily ached for it, like he’d just been struck by a fist or even bludgeoned with a
mace.
“Can I come sit with you?” Odin asked.
“Of course you can.”
In but a few short steps, Odin crossed the room and settled down on the unoccupied bed next to his master. Miko pushed his arm back and slid the blanket over Odin’s shoulders in response.
“Is that better?” the Elf asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to ask if you can be by me. I know how it feels to be by someone who cares about you.”
“I haven’t felt like this until just now.”
“You had your father and midwife back in Felnon,” Miko said, which surprised Odin, considering he hadn’t once told the Elf where he’d come from, “and in the tower, you had Jordan and your magic teacher. Here, you have my presence. It’s natural to be wanted.”
“I’ve always thought it made you selfish.”
“It doesn’t. Even I desire companionship.” The Elf smiled. “I don’t think we have to worry about being wanted anymore. We have each other.”
Odin leaned against the Elf. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Miko draped an arm across his shoulders. “No,” the older creature said. “Thank you, Odin. Thank you.”
Thunder exploded overhead.
The man—dressed in a heavy, soaked cloak—willed his stallion to go on, regardless of the fact that every little bump sent pins and needles into his cold, aching body, like daggers cutting away at his flesh.
How long, he wondered, had he been going through this rain, since he’d forced his horse to venture through it despite weather and the mud slicking the roads?
I’m almost there, the man thought, leaning against the stallion’s neck. Not too much further. Not much—
Ahead, he could see the faint outline of a castle amidst the rain-torn world and the darkness pressing upon him.
Had he come all this way, to Ornala, to find the very boy he’d been searching for all these years?
“Yes,” he whispered. “I… did.”
Tangling his fingers into the horse’s mane, he managed to push himself into a sitting position. Tired, struggling to keep his eyes open and cold beyond belief, he rode this way for the next little while until he came to the castle’s outer gates.
