The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “You have nothing to worry about. The lowlands are bad in only a few spots, and not until the very end.”

  “Then we have to go down the pass,” Nova grumbled.

  Miko shook his head. “Sadly, yes. Let’s not worry about that now though.” He retrieved three long, copper nails from his saddlebag and passed one each to Nova and Odin. “Put these in the ground and tie your horses down.”

  “Won’t they run off?” Nova stared at the nail as if they’d been asked to eat it.

  “No. They’re not stupid. They know they’re safer with us.”

  I seriously doubt that, Odin thought, stooping to thrust his nail into the ground whilst taking extra care not to startle Gainea more than she already was. But oh well.

  He trusted his master enough to do as asked.

  After tethering the horses in place, the three removed their saddlebags and set them down. Nova pulled the remnants of last night’s kindling and tossed it in a pile, while Miko traced an invisible circle. The hairs on Odin’s arms immediately stood on end.

  “Do you feel the energy, Nova?” Miko asked, raising his head to look at the human.

  “Yeah. The hairs on my arms and collarbone are itching. Why?”

  “I’m magicking the area around so the fire won’t spread.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “You’re not supposed to,” Odin said, though he himself could make out the invisible ring in the grass—faint, but glowing, as if it were a far-off light twinkling in the distance.

  “Oh.” Nova shrugged. “All right then.”

  The man settled down beside Odin once he stooped to unroll his bedroll. Odin smiled, but grimaced when Miko finished the circle, completing the arc of magic that immediately released a burst of energy powerful enough to make him shiver.

  “Yeah,” Nova chuckled, fingers flourishing in the aftermath. “I felt it too.”

  “It’s for our protection,” Miko said, looking up at the two of them. Had his face been visible, Odin imagined his lips would have been slightly pursued and his eyes solemn but calm. “I wouldn’t put the circle here otherwise.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Nova said. “And I seriously doubt it bothers Odin much.”

  “Not at all,” Odin shrugged.

  Miko nodded. “Odin, could you get the soup, please?”

  “Yes sir,” he said, rising. He fumbled through the Elf’s saddlebag, resting beneath his standing mount, until he found the tube of last night’s dinner. He passed it to his master with little more than a frown. “We have enough food for a little while longer, right?”

  “You don’t have to worry. If we run out, we’ll eat,” Miko said.

  “We can always kill a rabbit,” Nova suggested.

  “Yeah,” Odin frowned, “but how would we kill it though?”

  “I can use magic,” Miko said. “I prefer not to do such a thing, because it’s unfair and puts the rabbit at a disadvantage, but if it comes down to that, I won’t let us go hungry.”

  Miko poured the soup into a few bowls and set them at the foot of the fire to warm. In doing so, Odin began to think about what his master had said and just how sound his words were. What normal man would say hunting an animal at a disadvantage was unfair, especially one who used a bow and arrow or any projectile weapon?

  No man, he thought. Well, no normal man. He’s an Elf—what do I expect?

  “You okay, kid?”

  “I’m fine, Nova.”

  The older man tightened the grip on Odin’s arm. “You sure?”

  “Tired, that’s all.”

  “We’ll rest tonight,” Miko said, passing the two of them their soup when it was deemed warm enough to consume. “Eat up. Since we’ve stopped early, we can all get a little extra sleep.”

  “I can take first watch,” Odin said. “You did last night, sir.”

  “I’ll do it, Odin. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not, sir. It’s just that—”

  “Please, don’t argue with me. You’ve both been out in the heat all day. You deserve all the rest you can get, especially considering what we’re about to endure tomorrow.”

  Odin sighed, spooning soup into his mouth. “All right,” he said, content with the sentiment. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  Miko said nothing. He merely continued to eat his dinner.

  They started down the hill first thing the following morning.

  The danger became evident immediately.

  Starting at the base of the descent and growing ever so slowly as it continued down toward the ‘Ela Alna Pass, the ground began to get bumpy and steep. In short, breathless tones, and in a way that alerted Odin to the fear within his master’s voice, Miko instructed them to take careful steps and to correct their horses when necessary. If they started to get spooked, he said to bend down and take their lower leg to guide it to the correct spot, as to not send them tumbling down the hill and toward an untimely death.

  It’s going to be dangerous, the Elf had said, but we’ll be fine if they don’t get spooked.

  “Shh,” Odin said, calming the mare at his side. “It’s all right, Gainea. Be quiet.”

  She snorted, nudging his shoulder. The gesture was enough to make him smile despite the arduous terrain. How he’d missed her all those years in the tower, and what a surprise it had been when his father had told him that he had brought her from Felnon especially for his trip away from home.

  “She’s a good horse,” Nova remarked, grimacing when his stallion nipped his shoulder. “No!” he cried.

  “Why is he biting you?” Odin frowned.

  “Because he’s nervous,” Miko said. “Nova, tell him it’s all right and stroke his face. He’s only nipping because he’s worried you’ll let him fall.”

  “I won’t let him fall,” Nova sighed. He reached up and ran his hand along the animal’s jaw, stopping to rub the stallion’s one ear. “It’s okay, boy. You’re not going anywhere so long as you’re with me.”

  The horse grunted, the force of the exhale enough to tousle Nova’s hair.

  “Sir,” Odin said, grimacing when he misjudged his step. He gripped Gainea’s reins a little too hard to keep himself from falling and received a rumble of disgust in response. “How are we going to sleep?”

  “I’d prefer to get to a point on the descent where we can stop without having to worry about our mounts.”

  “Does that mean we’ll probably end up going until after it gets dark?” Nova asked.

  “Sadly, yes.”

  Nova kicked a rock off the path.

  Slowly, with eyes concentrated and focused, Odin watched it soar down the hill and bounce off the juts and bumps in the earth, its surface flailing as though gifted with unnecessary limbs. When it disappeared from sight, Odin started to reach for his friend, fearing his own body would repeat the same action, but stopped. “Sorry,” Odin said.

  “For what?” Nova asked, the side of his lip curling down. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re gonna get there eventually anyway.”

  “We’ve been going for nearly thirty days.”

  Miko said nothing. Odin didn’t want, nor expect him to. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d reiterated that their journey was not endless, but he didn’t particularly care to hear it.

  Well, he’s right.

  Still, being reminded didn’t help much.

  “Hey, Odin,” Nova said, reaching out to slap his shoulder with his palm. “I’d race you down the hill, but, well, we can’t really do that.”

  “I know,” he laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “We’ll be entertained on the boat,” Miko said.

  “You’re still not going to tell us?” Nova asked.

  “Come on, sir,” Odin added. He couldn’t help but smile at how he sounded. “Please tell us.”

  “I’m not telling you,” Miko said.

  The laugh that followed was enough to inspire warmth in Odin’s heart. It sounded much like something pure—a child, a b
ell, a dove cooing on a cold winter’s night or even a whisper of wind on a hot summer’s day. The world could have ended and yet there would be that one sound—echoing, endlessly, throughout time, a testament to things great, wonderful and magical. To hear such a thing was to grace oneself with the gift of something free, and when Odin caught Nova smiling as well, he realized that he had not been the only one impacted.

  “What?” Miko asked, voice still tinged with laughter.

  “I haven’t heard you laugh before,” Odin said.

  “Neither have I,” Nova added.

  “I like the sound of it.”

  Miko turned his head down. While his face was still hidden behind the hood of his cloak, Odin could still trace the presence of a smile upon the Elf’s lips. “Well, thank you,” the creature said. “I appreciate it.”

  “We’re your friends,” Nova said, reaching over to pat Miko’s back. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about around us.”

  “I don’t,” Miko said, then turned away to guide his horse forward.

  Odin frowned.

  For some reason, it felt as though Miko had more to hide than he let on.

  The moon glowed and cast a haze about the area that made the hills seem haunting and without respect. Coupled with fog, which hung low to the ground and clung to their ankles like incessant children, the world around them was almost completely invisible. Each step taken in blind faith, each look managed with a world of unsurety, they continued toward their destination as though mad, consumed by their desire and enraged by their passion to conquer these slights.

  “Sir,” Odin said, after he nearly stumbled on lose earth for the fifth time in the span of a few moments. “We need to stop.”

  “Yeah,” Nova said. “We do.”

  Nova’s horse slipped.

  Lunging forward, the man pressed his hands against the stallion’s torso and clasped his arms around its sides. It took all of the man’s willpower and physical strength to keep it up, and even then, it faltered a few paces before righting itself.

  “Let’s stop,” Miko said.

  Though they stood on uneven ground, the Elf retrieved the nails and passed them out, pausing to look at Nova’s stallion before returning to his own mount. Odin thrust his nail into the ground, purposely angling it in the hopes that Gainea wouldn’t be spooked sometime during the night.

  “Sir,” Odin said, turning to face his master. “Is there anything you can do to keep Nova’s horse calmer?”

  “I second that question,” Nova said. He, too, secured his horse, near Odin’s. “I don’t want him getting away.”

  “He won’t run,” Miko said. “I’ve told you this before.”

  “I know, but… well… I’d just like to be sure.”

  Miko spaced his horse away from Odin’s and Nova’s—mostly due to its size, but also because of the creature’s solitary personality—before walking to Nova’s mount. There, he raised a long, gloved hand, then ran it over the creature’s face and down its neck before placing it on his shoulder.

  Though he said nothing, Odin instinctively knew his master spoke with the animal. While the air was not filled with energy known for higher forms of magic, it tingled in a way that was reminiscent of earthly things, much like entering an area recently hit by lightning or stepping into a field freshly burned and devoid of life. The wheat beneath your feet, the bones within the earth, the flesh and blood of living things crushed beneath the weight of a body—a brief shiver ran across Odin’s arm and crested the curve of his collar before skirting off his body, leaving him with a sense that he’d just been touched by something he could not see.

  “I thought,” Nova began.

  “He is,” Odin said.

  Nova frowned. He retrieved the saddle from the stallion’s back and set it on the ground to his left. Here, Odin assumed, they would sleep—feet down, heads facing the direction in which they’d just come from. The positioning, while awkward, would take some getting used to, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about rolling downhill.

  Could you stop if you ended up rolling down?

  He highly doubted so, but decided not to think about it for fear of making his growing paranoia worse.

  “Your horse will be fine,” Miko said, pulling his hidden gaze away from the stallion.

  “What did you do?” Nova frowned.

  “I spoke with him, told him everything was all right and that the fog wouldn’t hurt him, that it was just colored moisture and that it would do nothing to harm his person or his companions.”

  “And he said… what, exactly?”

  “Most animals generally don’t speak to their owners. Ask Odin.”

  “Do they?” Nova frowned. “Have you tried speaking to Gainea?”

  “Gainea doesn’t talk,” Odin shrugged. “Well… not really. She hears me better when I use horse magic. I think she might be deaf.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Nova smirked. “She seems sharp as a whistle.”

  “I…” Odin paused, then shrugged. “If you think so.” In one swift motion, he pulled his saddlebag off his mare’s back and settled it down beside Nova’s. “Are we sleeping here, sir?”

  “Yes. It’d also be a good idea to arrange our bedrolls side by side, so we don’t have to worry about getting too far away from one other.”

  “Guess I’ll be in the middle then,” Odin mumbled.

  Nova laughed, slapping Odin’s arm when he bent to set sift through his own saddlebag. Odin then rose to take his master’s bag, looking up at Nova once he’d arranged them side-by-side.

  “I am the shortest,” Odin smiled, rising.

  “You don’t need to tell me that.”

  After the bedrolls were laid out and the sleeping positions made clear, the three shared a small meal of fruit and vegetables.

  Due to the cold, damp air and the location upon which they sat, they wouldn’t be able to make a fire.

  They’d freeze tonight.

  “Get in there,” Nova said, pushing Odin into his bedroll. “It’s colder than hell out here.”

  “I know,” Odin chuckled. “Do you want me to take the first watch, sir?”

  “If you’d like,” Miko said, pulling his cloak tighter about him. “It’s up to you.”

  “I will.” Odin frowned. The way Miko had spoken bothered him, particular for the fact that he’d tightened his cloak around his body and because his voice had been so low.

  He just needs a little rest, he thought. That’s all.

  “Goodnight, sir,” Odin said. “Night, Nova.”

  “Night,” the two replied.

  Sliding into the bedroll until all but his shoulders lay beneath the covers, Odin watched the foggy area with little interest and allowed his mind to wander. Though tired, the buzz from the day’s hazardous travel would keep him awake, at least until the moon began to shimmer in the west. Then, before he had time to fall asleep in the deeper parts of night, he could wake Nova and things would be just fine.

  And tell him to let Miko sleep.

  He couldn’t be sure how long his master stayed awake at night, but it had to be a long time, particularly because the recent changes in his behavior were not in the least bit like him. The Elf seemed tired—unaware, even, of his surroundings or the people he traveled with. Earlier, before they’d ground to a halt for the day, Odin had asked whether or not his master was fine and received no answer, even after he’d repeated himself.

  In the end, though he’d pushed himself to ask once more, Nova had said to leave him alone, and that had been that.

  When he thought about it in detail, it wasn’t as though he could just leave his knight master alone, especially if there seemed a troublesome affair about. For one, he owed the Elf more than he could ever give in return—his freedom, his life, his newfound wings and the ability to fly from the place that had once caged him so. Along with this, his conscience would never rest easy if he ignored the Elf’s emotions. He’d never been one to shut someone out sh
ould they want to talk, nor had he been one to ignore those who obviously needed someone to talk to. Even though he hadn’t had that sort of experience before, he knew that, should the time come when someone needed his support, he could offer it, if only because of his compassion and the way he truly cared for those around him.

  On a whim, when his thoughts seemed too troublesome and heavy for their own good, Odin lifted his hand and ran it through the mist that covered the ground.

  Instantaneously, the haze of moisture parted for his fingers, offering passage to a nonexistent destination before sealing the way once more.

  It’s… not even cold, he mused.

  Then again, was mist ever cold?

  At his left, Nova muttered something. The man rolled over shortly after, leaving Odin to ponder just what had been uttered from his friend’s lips.

  He must be asleep.

  “Nova?” he ventured.

  No response came.

  “Okay,” he mumbled.

  Sitting until the bedroll came up to his waist, Odin held his hand in front of him, palm up, and decided to summon a small orb of light, his sights intent on trying something he’d never done before. With the same method he’d used to shape the water, he twisted and contorted the luminescence reflecting from the moisture and shaped from the moon’s light something that partly resembled a dog. The form, though concrete, was not perfect. The struggle to keep it together was greater than he imagined it would be.

  I’m going to have to ask Miko about it.

  He led the dog around the flat of his hand, making it sit, lay and roll over. After entertaining himself with a few simple tricks, he brought the dog into the air before his face, imagining it swimming through a pool of water. The image started fading shortly thereafter.

  Gotta let this go.

  The construct faded after the thought ended.

  Buzzed, Odin rubbed his eyes and scratched the sides of his head where his hairline ended. The faint hairs on his arms started itching almost immediately.

  Great, he thought. I use magic and now I’m itchy.

  Chuckling, Odin finished scratching an itch before setting his hands on his knees.