by Kody Boye
“It’s okay. Really. I like what you got us.”
“Me too,” Nova chuckled, setting the other half of his massive sandwich down. “Gotta give me a little to get the urge to finish what I ate. I didn’t realize how much food we ordered.”
“It didn’t cost that much though.”
“Yeah, but we still got a lot of food.”
Odin nodded. He smiled for what he believed had been the first time that day. “You want to go anywhere else after this, Nova?”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know. Just… around?”
“Sure. It’s not like we have much else to do anyway.”
No, Odin sighed. We don’t.
After lunch, they made their way down the long street that both the infirmary and bar sat on, taking in what they’d already seen. Though Odin didn’t particularly pay attention to his surroundings, as his mind was much too frazzled, he liked the feeling of being with his friend above anything else.
At least he doesn’t hit me.
Then again, he had provoked Miko at a bad time. Would the same thing have occurred if he’d chosen his words more carefully? Could he have avoided getting backhanded if he had simply stated that he wouldn’t rape anyone?
Why would I do that? What makes him think I’d do that?
Up until now, he hadn’t considered the prospect of being with someone—mainly, and in part, because he’d always been focused on getting out of the tower and becoming a knight. He knew he would eventually like to have a family—a home, a purpose, a job and, above all else, a responsibility—but until that time came, he couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t imagine being a husband, much less a father to a child.
“Hey,” Nova said, reaching out to touch his upper back. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Not a whole lot,” Odin said. “I was thinking about what I might do after I become a knight.”
“A family?” Nova asked. Odin nodded. “That’s what I want after I get back to Bohren.”
“You do?”
“Uh huh. I hadn’t discussed it with Katarina before I left, but I’ve always wanted a son.”
“You’d make a good father,” Odin said.
“I hope so. Now that I’m with Katarina, at least I could give my boy everything I never had. Not that it wouldn’t matter if Katarina was wealthy or not, but it does help.”
“What makes you think you’ll have a boy the first time around?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Your Sight?”
“Yeah. All I see is a baby in Katarina’s arms, but I know it’s a boy because she keeps saying, Our son.”
“Do you see yourself in your visions?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
Odin looked up when they came to the end of the road—where, directly at the junction that created an L in the path, a black stone plaque stood, its text too faded to read.
“What do you think it is?” Odin asked.
“I dunno.” Nova stepped forward and bowed his head to the black surface. “I’m guessing it commemorates the village. You know, saying when it was built and what it hopes to accomplish.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“I think they have one in Bohren, though I can’t really be sure.”
“And Felnon’s not big enough to have anything like that.”
“Your home’s been around for a few years though, right?”
“Uh huh. I don’t know exactly how long, but it’s been there since before I was born—I know that much.”
“Ah well,” Nova chuckled. “You want to keep going?”
“I don’t know,” Odin shrugged. As far as he could see, there wasn’t a whole lot up the northern road. “If you want to. I don’t care.”
“I don’t either. I’m just saying—there’s not a whole lot we can do back at the cottage. If your leg and hip were better, we could go spar or something, but that’s out of the question.”
“There’s got to be something to do here,” Odin said. “I mean, Joseph’s friend had a carriage, but I don’t see how they’d raise the horses with no grass.”
“Unless they’re using some kind of magic to feed them.”
“I don’t see how they’d been doing it though,” he mumbled.
As far as he remembered, it took seeds to make plants. Of course, a person could always mate two preexisting plants or flowers himself, but that took work and a careful eye. Grass, on the other hand, had to have a place to grow, as well as soil and enough sunlight and warmth to keep it alive.
It is a globe here, he thought, entranced with the idea of what kind of magic the mages could be using to make their fruits and vegetables. Did it ever rain here?
“Let’s go up the road,” Odin said. “Maybe we’ll find the answer to that question.”
“Might as well,” Nova grinned. “Come on, bud. Let’s go.”
Though they never did find where the townspeople kept their livestock, how they grew their food or whether or not the globe surrounding the village was capable of producing precipitation, the time spent together was well worth the trip. They took the far, northern road back to the village and arrived at the cottage around dusk, just as the sky lost its brilliant hue and the orbs ceased to give off their warmth.
“At least we’re home,” Odin said.
“Yeah,” Nova sighed, “but we had fun, right?”
Nodding, Odin pushed the door open. He’d expected to see Miko at least lying or sitting on his bed, but frowned when he saw that the Elf hadn’t returned. “He never came back,” he said.
“Do you blame him?” Nova asked. “He hit you hard enough to knock you down. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”
“I don’t want him to be gone though.”
“You don’t?”
Odin shook his head and seated himself down on his makeshift bed. “He hit me because he was hurt and confused,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want him to think I hate him.”
“You’re a very forgiving person, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“No,” Odin smiled. “I don’t.”
“I mean it. Miko said you forgave your father after he threatened to take you back home. He also said you forgave Daughtry when he apologized for not trying to do more to get you out of the tower.”
“People make mistakes.”
“Yeah, but it’s not easy to forgive the kind like that.”
“I don’t see why I should hate or stay mad at someone after they apologized. All it does is continue to make me feel bad.”
“He’ll be glad to know that you’re not angry.”
“I know,” Odin said. “I’m not.”
With the rising sun came the realization that Miko had not returned—that the angel, so grand and beautiful, had fallen from grace; that the king, so high and mighty, had been brought down; and that the child, whose fate had been foretold from the beginning of time, was slain by the giant. It was for this reason that, as Odin came to consciousness that morning, he sighed. Frustrated beyond belief, he sat up, brought his knees to his chest, and bowed his head.
Why are you still gone? he thought, taking slow, deep breaths. You know I don’t hate you, so why do you have to keep us apart?
Could the Elf have stayed with the woman, or had he kept his distance because he was afraid of what might happen when they met again? Or, Odin wondered, could he be so ashamed of what he did that he could not bear to look upon his face?
Come on, Miko. Please.
His torturous thoughts stopped when an idea hit him.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? How could something so simple, something that required absolutely no contact at all, stay in the back of his mind until just now?
Maybe because I’ve been too stressed out to think about it?
Chuckling, Odin unlocked his hands from the bottom of his knees and extended his wrists, beginning to conjure the image of the white dove his friends from Elna had
taught him to use. Fueling said image with all the grief, pain and hardship he’d experienced from the past few days and what little happiness that had rose from remembering said technique, he brought the bird into existence, its form shimmering to being. A smile crossed his face when it began to jump and flap around his hands.
“Hey,” he said, hoping the sound of his voice wouldn’t wake Nova. “It’s me.”
He paused, not sure how to continue the message. The bird cocked its head, as if it bore intelligence beyond what Odin had consciously passed into it, and cooed. He found himself smirking, because he hadn’t even tried to make the bird react to his pause.
Just keep going.
“I’m not mad at you, sir,” he added, with confidence he hadn’t felt until just then. “Please, come back to the cottage. I… I miss you, and I hate not knowing where you are or how you’re feeling. Please, come back. I want to see you again.”
With that said, he broke the connection between him and the summon and cast it into the air to set it free. It flew a complete circle about the room before disappearing through the northern wall, leaving Odin to sit and wonder whether or not the creature he’d come to think of as his second father would actually return.
What seemed like forever later, Miko stepped into the cottage. He turned and closed the door behind him, but made no move to disrobe.
“Hello sir,” Odin said, standing to cross the room, but taking extra care to keep a safe distance between the two of them. “I’m sorry about what happened a few nights ago. I shouldn’t have questioned your actions.”
“You had every right to. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You were just hurt and upset about what I said.”
“I shouldn’t be hurting the young man I’m supposed to be protecting.”
Miko reached up and pulled his hood from his head. His eyes, now revealed, looked sad and glossed over, like pools sallow and speckled with blood. He imagined the Elf might cry if he said the wrong thing.
“Please,” Odin sighed, reaching out to touch his master’s arm. “Don’t be sad. I forgive you.”
“I don’t deserve forgiveness, Odin.”
“You made a mistake. Everyone makes them.”
“I shouldn’t. What would happen if I made one out in the field or during battle? One little mishap could get one of us killed.”
“You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about.”
“Yes it does.”
“No, sir—it doesn’t.”
For the next several moments, they stood in silence—Odin unsure what to say, Miko likely the same. The Elf was the one who took the initiative. Instead of saying something, he began to pull the rest of his dark clothing off, careful to cast them aside, then walked to the bed that he hadn’t lain for days. There, he undid the clasp of his cape and let it fall to his feet, then descended, drawing the fabric around him like a child would a blanket. “I’m going to bed,” the Elf said, looking over his shoulder.
When Miko lay down, Odin wasn’t sure what to expect.
On sudden impulse, he crossed the room and covered his knight master with a second blanket before the Elf had a chance to do so.
“Thank you, Odin,” the creature said. “I don’t deserve your kindness or respect.”
Leaning forward, Odin draped an arm across the Elf’s back and placed his hand right below the strong ribcage. He held the embrace for what seemed like an eternity.
When he pulled away, Miko rolled over to face the wall.
The gesture began the ache in his heart all over again.
“He apologized then?” Nova asked.
“No,” Odin said.
“What?”
Odin kicked a rock that lay in his path and looked up at his friend. Nova frowned, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “I don’t get it,” Nova said. “I thought you apologized?”
“I did.”
“But he didn’t apologize back?”
“He said, ‘I should be the one apologizing’ and, ‘I shouldn’t be hurting the young man I’m supposed to be protecting,’ but not that he was sorry or ashamed of what he did.”
“He doesn’t know how to apologize to you, Odin—that’s all.”
“I know.”
Another rock soared through the air, this time colliding with a house. It only barely missed the window. “I need to quit doing that,” he mumbled.
“Odin,” Nova said. “Listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re not keeping anything from me, are you? You two didn’t get into a fight or anything?”
“No, we didn’t. He seemed… unsure about coming back.”
“Do you blame him? It was the first time he’d seen you in days.”
“I expected him to be glad that I forgave him, not… well… depressed.”
“He’s different from us, you know? Besides—we can’t expect him to react the way we want him to.”
“I know.”
Another sigh escaped his lips, but this time he managed to resist the urge to kick a rock. Instead, Odin crouched down and picked up one of the stones. He examined its surface and pondered why it was white until Nova set a hand on his back.
“You need to talk again. He needs to apologize for hitting you.”
“He did.”
“As far as you told me, he didn’t apologize. Let me finish though.” Odin nodded. Nova waited another moment, likely expecting Odin to counteract, then took a deep breath. “As I was saying,” he continued, “he needs to apologize for hitting you, and you need to make sure he understands that you apologized. It sounds like he shrugged off what you said because he didn’t think he deserved an apology.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You said he rolled over after you stopped hugging him, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what makes me think that.” Nova pried the rock from between Odin’s clenched fist. “Pretty rock. You gonna keep one?”
“How come?”
“Don’t you want something to remind you that we were here?”
“I… guess.” He hadn’t ever considered taking home a souvenir.
“Well, I know I’m keeping one.”
Rather than pocketing the rock Odin had just held, Nova reached down and fingered through the patch until he found a stone worth keeping. He slid it into his pocket, then took Odin’s hand and set the rock in his palm.
“You could’ve taken mine,” Odin said.
“I know, but I want you to keep this one, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Like I said, talk to him again, all right?”
“I will, Nova. Don’t worry… I will.”
“You want to talk about it?”
Miko looked up. He’d only risen from sleep because Odin had asked to speak with him, though rather than secure his cloak around his naked upper torso, he’d wrapped it around himself and remained placid, eyes dull and face devoid of expression. “No,” the Elf said, then sighed, “but we have to.”
Sitting down, Odin crossed his legs and set his hands in his lap. He waited until the Elf raised his eyes, then to see if he would speak. When he didn’t, Odin took a deep breath and decided he would have to go first. “You know I meant it when I said I was sorry,” he said, “right?”
“I know your apology was sincere.”
“But do you know I meant what I said?”
Miko said nothing at first. Gradually, he expelled a breath from his pursed lips and nodded. “I didn’t want to believe it, but yes, I do.”
“Why didn’t you want to believe it?”
“Because I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
“You made a mistake, sir. Like I said, I don’t blame you. If I were you, I probably would’ve hit me too.”
“You would?”
Though his choice in words had been a bit harsh and one-sided, Odin nodded. They
at least held some semblance of honesty, especially given the situation. “I called you a rapist,” he began. “I know I won’t ever understand what you go through, but I can try and understand how bad the urge must have been.”
“I hope you never feel so great an urge, regardless of what I told you. It… is all consuming. Devastating. Breathtaking.”
Slowly, with grace that seemed impossible given the situation, Miko pushed himself to his feet and set his finger to his arms, then began to dig his fingernails into his flesh. Sharpened, horribly, to vicious points, they cut through skin like knives and brought forth blood so black Odin wondered if it was not blood but sludge. In turn, it took him several moments to recover; and when he did Odin grabbed the Elf’s wrists and managed to pry them apart, but not without slicking his fingers in blood.
“Nova!” Odin screamed. “Nova! NOVA!”
Nova burst into the room from the outside world and forced himself between the two of them, grabbing Miko’s bloodied hands. Somehow—and how, Odin felt he would never know—Nova forced the distraught Elf against the wall, pressing their bodies together like two lovers tangled in a frenzied fit of cannibalism.
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Nova screamed, slamming his chest into Miko’s with all his might. “STOP!”
“Let go of me,” Miko said, voice still devoid of its conscience. “I have to end it. Now. Before I hurt somebody.”
Before he hurts somebody? Odin thought. Does that mean—
He couldn’t think further.
Odin pressed up against Nova’s back.
With the combined weight of Odin and Nova against his body, Miko gave in. He stopped moving, struggling, even screaming. Instead, he bowed his head into Nova’s neck and remained silent, his body free of all struggle and his breath nearly inaudible in spite of the violence wreaking havoc through the room.
Finally, when the words began to make sense, they became stutters—long, drawn-out vowels that only bore one word. “I,” it was. “I… I—”
