by Kody Boye
“More than anything else,” Nova sighed, setting an arm across Odin’s shoulders and leaning close. “It helps that I have such great friends to keep me grounded.”
At that, Odin pushed the parchment away.
“It reads all right then?” Nova asked.
“I wasn’t sure how well you could write,” Odin said. “It’s perfect.”
“The man who raised me taught me how to read and write as best as he could, though I think my writing is much better than my reading, regardless of my penmanship. I try my best to write so my wife can read it.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about her not being able to read it. I can read just fine, so I don’t see why she shouldn’t be able to.”
“Thanks, Odin. And thank you for looking at it for me. I just hope that when she does get the letter, she’ll understand why I’ve been away from home for so long.”
“Do you regret coming with us?”
Odin looked up. At first unsure whether or not his friend had heard the question, he sat and watched Nova for any expression that could reveal his true feelings. When none came, he shifted in his seat, all the more aware of just how the words had sounded upon second thought.
Great, he thought. That’s what you get for asking such a personal question.
“I’m sorry, Nova. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No,” Nova said. “I mean, no—you didn’t offend me. And no, I don’t regret coming with you.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“You don’t regret that you’ve been away from your wife for so long all because of me?”
“In all honesty, Odin, I don’t. Before I found you, I’d been plagued with doubts that, if I returned home without completing my mission, the ‘light,’ or whatever it was, wouldn’t help me in my time of need.” Nova stopped to take a breath, as if troubled by the words he had and were about to speak. “I’ve told you this before, but because I didn’t know when my ‘time of need’ would be, I was desperate to find you. And, to add on to that, I was worried that if I didn’t find you, something would happen to my wife or father-in-law.”
“You were never worried about yourself then.”
“I wasn’t. I keep my friends and family above all else, even if that means risking myself in order to do it.”
“It shows,” Odin said. “You wouldn’t have come all this way if you didn’t think this was important.”
“And you know what?” the man asked. “It’s turned out to be important. I didn’t have too many friends back in Bohren, but look at me now—I’m friends with a boy with red eyes who can cast magic and an Elf-creature that few people so far north have ever seen, a fucking Elf, Odin. What more could I ask for?”
“I don’t know.”
The two looked at each other for a moment before they burst out laughing.
Through all of this, Odin realized how much Nova had sacrificed. Here, two years after he had left his wife, he had done what many would have considered little—mad, even, for the fact that he’d left all behind in order to search for someone that possibly wasn’t even real. In a way, it made him realize how important it was to hold on to the things you loved dearly—because, in the end, if you didn’t hold onto those things, and if those things suddenly disappeared without the chance to hold them dear, one would always regret that they never had the chance to appreciate them.
Fourteen long days later, ice started clouding the windows.
Because of the frigid cold that plagued them day in and out, Odin and Nova had been reduced to wearing long-sleeved shirts and underwear that Daughtry had specially provided for them. Nova, now suffering from the beginnings of a cold, sat in one of the chairs, fingers jammed into the armpits of his wool shirt, while Odin stood near the window, watching the crystals of ice form and expand across the panes of glass.
“It’s freezing,” Nova said from his corner, attempting to still his chattering teeth.
“I know,” Odin sighed.
While not as miserable as Nova, he seemed to be getting there. He hoped that his raw, runny nose was a result of the weather and not some bodily ailment. All he needed was to be sick.
“I don’t know why he’d take us all the way up here,” Odin said, the thought he’d been desperate to speak finally revealed.
“It’s got something to do with you,” Nova grumbled.
“Me?” Odin frowned.
“Well, duh. You’re his squire—he has to test you some way.”
“I get that, but he has to make me suffer?”
“You?” Nova laughed. “You’re not the only one suffering.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t bother. It’s not like saying you’re sorry is going to make me feel any better anyway.”
Odin sighed, once again frustrated, and turned to face the window only to find that it was, as it had been before, covered with ice. “Now we’re stuck without anything to look at,” he mumbled.
“You could always go on top, though there’s no way in hell you’re going to get me up there.”
“I didn’t think so, but you don’t have to worry about that because I’m not going up there either.”
“Probably for the best.”
Odin tucked his feet under his legs, all the more thankful for the socks Daughtry had provided along with their winter gear.
“Where do you think Miko got to?” Odin asked, turning his attention back to his friend.
“I have no idea. All I know is that he’s been spending a lot of time with the captain.”
“Jerdai?”
“Yeah. Don’t ask me why.”
It must have something to do with where we’re going, he thought, once again looking at the window.
How far north could they be? Could they have passed the Hornblaris Mountain chain, beyond the distant rim of the continent, maybe even further than that?
“How far north do you think we are, Nova?”
“I don’t know, Odin. If you went up top, you could probably tell.”
“I already said I’m not going up there.”
“Suit yourself.” Nova gasped three quick times, raised his hands, and sneezed. “I swear, I’m going to rip that Elf a new one when he gets back. It’s his fault I’m sick.”
“I wouldn’t say anything if I were you.”
“And why not?”
“It won’t do any good.”
Instead of replying, Nova spread out along the couch and brought his knees up to his chest. “I’m going to sleep,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.
“I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“Like anything will.”
Odin couldn’t help but smirk as Nova started taking his first few deep breaths.
By the time the next two weeks came by and bestowed upon them a fresh amount of chill, the men had donned their winter clothing in preparation for what could only be considered the most horrific weather of their lives. Hats, mouthpieces, coats, gloves, fur-lined boots and insulated pants—all clung to each sailor as though they were living, breathing organisms, pulsating with each and every step.
Odin, having braved the cold to examine his surroundings, stepped onto the deck and peered out at the horizon. Chunks of ice floated in the water near the ship—some as large as a small house, others larger than the ship itself. The sight was enough to instill within him a sense of fear, as never in his life had he seen something of the sort.
Will it break? he thought.
“Long time no see, lad,” Jerdai said, clapping Odin’s shoulder and pulling him into his side. “What’re you looking at?”
“The ice.”
“Oh. That. Nothing to worry about there.”
“Won’t the ship sink if it hits anything?”
“Like I said: there’s nothing to worry about.” Jerdai paused, looked around as if trying to locate something, then pointed to the front of the deck. “See those two men there? Those young’uns?”
“I…”
Odin paused. He waited a moment until the deck cleared and he could see the two figures Jerdai had pointed out near the bow before nodding. “Yes. I see them.”
The two men, possibly around his age if not a little older, stood near the front railing, just above where the figurehead rested. Each chatted and pointed at the occasional iceberg, but other than that did quite little. Why they were so important he couldn’t be sure, but upon second examination realized they had to hold some merit, as Jerdai had pointed them out specifically.
“What about them?” he asked after a moment’s consideration.
“Domnin and Icklard are their names. They’re mages. Been with me for around two years, probably since they were around your age, maybe a little younger. Their job is to make sure the boat stays safe if we encounter any trouble.”
“If they’re supposed to help, sir, why didn’t they—”
“The sirens.” Jerdai took a deep breath. He even reached up to rub his eyes. “They tried. You might not have seen or heard them with all the commotion, but they were assisting your knight master. They channeled energy into the clouds to help fight the sharks and other monsters off.”
“How many men did you lose, sir?”
“A dozen, at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, lad. Those men willingly came knowing that they could lose their lives. I just feel bad for their women back home.”
“I don’t think I could do this,” Odin said, examining not only the deck, but the men whose faces appeared tired and devoid of life.
“Good. You’re much better off on land.”
Jerdai squeezed Odin’s shoulder, then took a step forward. He almost left, but stopped. “I’d suggest you be careful if you’re walking near the sides,” the captain said. “The men have been trying their best to keep the water off the deck, but that doesn’t mean they got all of it. You might slip if you’re not careful.”
With one last pat on the shoulder, Jerdai left Odin to his own devices.
Now more curious than ever, Odin walked toward the railing, careful to keep a few steps back. If he managed to slip and go overboard, who knew how easy it would be to save him from the frigid waters.
Or from anything that would want to eat me.
The image of a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth entered his mind.
With a slight shiver, he shook his head and stared at the horizon—where, in the distance, mountainous chunks of ice floated too far off to pose any danger, but threatened with their image alone. Smaller chunks near the side of the boat simply bounced off and drifted away, content with the prospect of life and their purpose within the world.
If they could talk, he imagined they would probably say, You don’t belong here.
Really, though—who did belong here, other than animals? Human men obviously didn’t, for they were no more fish than the birds that drifted in the sky, but what about the other species? The Dwarves dwelled within their mountains, content to mine their lives away, the Elves in their mythical forests to the south of the Ornalan Border, living peacefully and without contempt. The other creatures—those mentioned briefly in his books, but otherwise not talked about—surely couldn’t exist up here. Didn’t Goblins, Orcs, Trolls and Ogres need warmer climates to survive?
I don’t think I’d want to see the kind of creatures that live here, if any exist.
Then again, didn’t sentient beings capable of complex thought exist almost everywhere?
Yes, he thought. They do.
Jamming his fingers into his armpits, he turned and surveyed the area, his eyes once more drawn to the two young mages who stood near the bow. Maybe if he went up and talked to them, they would teach him their ways of repelling ice away from the ship.
“At least I wouldn’t be bored,” he muttered.
And maybe I’ll make a few more friends.
Upon second thought, Odin realized that it might not be in his best interests to be friends with men he would probably never see again.
It’s worth a try.
If anything, he could at least acquaint himself with them.
After crossing the short distance behind the two men, Odin cleared his throat to draw their attention. When they turned to examine him, he said, “Excuse me,” then added, “Can I bother the two of you for a moment?”
“Sure,” the taller, darker-haired man on the right said. “What can we help you with?”
“The captain was just talking about you. He said you were mages.”
“That’s right.” The man smiled, then reached up to scratch at a tuft of stubble on his chin. “I’m Domnin, and this is my brother, Icklard.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Odin said, taking scope of the second shorter, fire-haired brother before extending his hand. “My name is Odin.”
While they exchanged greetings, Odin took in the faces of the two men and tried to distinguish one from the other. They were very obviously from the same father, as uncommon as that may have seemed to be from men who lived their lives aboard the sea. Olive-skinned, with square jaws and low-set cheekbones—their eyes were fair but deeply hollowed, and each bore a pair of strikingly-conflicting colored eyes that, for all his understanding, Odin had come to distinguish as familiar traits of mages.
“What can we help you with?” Icklard, the younger of the two, asked, grass-green eyes narrowing.
“The captain said that the two of you keep the boat safe from the ice.”
“We sure do.”
“And we help control atmospheric conditions when there isn’t wind,” Domnin, the eldest, replied. He, too, examined him with his stark-blue eyes—which, in that moment, resembled the finely-coated ice within their near vicinities.
“How do you do that?” Odin frowned. “I mean, keep the ice away from the boat?”
“You want to learn?”
Odin nodded. “If you would be willing,” he said. “I’ve got a gift myself, but… well… I don’t get to practice much.”
“I’m guessing your knight master doesn’t use magic then?”
“Oh, no. He’s the man in the black cloak.”
Domnin said nothing. He looked to his brother, who only grinned. “He’s very powerful,” Icklard said.
“Just the amount of energy he was using,” the older brother added, head shaking and mouth dipped in awe.
“It made us feel very, very insignificant.”
“How?” Odin frowned. “Jerdai said the two of you helped him.”
“Yes,” Icklard said, “but we did little more than feed his magic.”
“We collapsed when the whole thing was older,” Domnin sighed. “We had to be carried back to our room.”
Unsure what to say, Odin kept his silence, jaw clamped tightly and eyes shifting between the brothers. After a moment of reminiscing over the terrible event that had happened those few fateful weeks ago, the mages looked up, smiles on their faces when it seemed that none could be had.
“Oh well,” Icklard said, his sigh not deep, but there. “We tried. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s right,” Domnin said. He straightened his posture and pointed at a nearby iceberg. “Say this iceberg was coming to the boat, Odin. What would you do?”
“Try and push it away.”
“Right. But what if you didn’t have enough power to push it away? What if it was too big?”
“I… don’t know,” he frowned.
“You could stop it from moving fairly easy,” Icklard said. “Watch.”
The shorter brother lifted his hands. Green fire sprouted from his palms, then shot out at the iceberg. Though it did no visible damage, the iceberg stopped moving, suspended in place by green tendrils that wafted around its surface like snakes coiled on a suspect tree.
“That’s one way,” Icklard said.
“But the smaller ones,” Domnin said. “we usually destroy them by sending a bit of magic into their center.”
Domnin raised his hand and summoned at the tip of his fin
ger a plume of orange light. This he shot at the iceberg, then smiled when the thing split into five even pieces before sliding into the ocean. “Not much to it,” he said.
“You try,” Icklard said.
Odin raised his hands, gathered an orb of magic between his two clawed hands, then released it toward a smaller berg. It dissolved into a plume of steam upon impact.
“That works,” Domnin said, fingering his chin. “It’s not as easy to do on a bigger one though.”
“I can imagine,” Odin replied, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Thank you for giving me a little of your time.”
“Hey, it’s no trouble,” Icklard said, raising a hand. He slapped Odin’s hand, then gestured him to do the same for his older brother. “If you get bored, come find us again.”
“Our room’s at the end of the far left hall,” Domnin smiled.
“All right,” Odin said. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head, turned, and made his way back to the stairs, grinning all the way.
“Where were you?” Nova asked.
“Up top,” Odin said, turning to shut the door.
“I thought you were only going to look?”
“I got sidetracked.”
“By what?”
Odin shed his coat, set it in his clothing chest, and sat down on the bed. “I ran into captain Jerdai up there,” he said, “and I asked how he kept the ship safe with all the ice floating around. He pointed to a couple of mages that he pays to keep the ship safe from storms and other stuff.”
“And?”
“I talked to them. They showed me how they keep the boat safe.”
“So you were casting magic with them?”
Odin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It was a lot of fun.”
“I’m glad you found a way to entertain yourself, kid.” Nova paused, sat up, and rubbed his face. “What’d they say about you being there?”
“They said I could come visit them if I wanted to.”
“It sounds like you made a couple of friends.”
Odin reached back to rub his head, not in the least bit sure where the sudden burst of embarrassment had come from. It could’ve been because Nova had a grin plastered over his face, but he didn’t think so. “I guess,” he shrugged.
