by Kody Boye
How could someone be so afraid of loving someone else? he thought. And how could anyone ever disapprove of something as simple as a person’s happiness?
Maybe his questions weren’t locked away in an iron box in a sky, just as he thought they were. Maybe they lay deep inside himself, waiting to surface at the slightest touch.
Father, he thought, then found himself whispering the word.
Just as he thought it would, the answer came to him in the form of a simple memory.
Two years ago, just when he thought things had been going well, his father had caught him using magic for perhaps the final time. At that particular moment, when it seemed that everything was coming down to one final, ultimate choice, he’d questioned why his father had feared and hated magic so much. Now he realized that his father had just wanted to protect him from something that could destroy him.
But how could love destroy someone?
Love, especially one so unnatural, could destroy one’s sense of self, were they not to accept it or had grown up in strict, controlled circumstances. It could be the lance atop the rod—a prod, one could say, that speared the man in the chest without ever being granted or permitted. The rose certainly did hold its beauty, but when grappled could bite and draw blood. Even the innocent things, so small and vulnerable, bore teeth they could use. Love, of course, could be baffling, and in the most horrible sense unsettling, but it could not destroy the person looking upon such a thing from an outside source. To think such a thing was horrifying, but to not understand and in turn repress it? That in itself was plain ignorance, nothing more.
“Is something wrong?”
At the sudden intrusion, Odin looked up. Miko stood no more than a few feet away, watching him from the safety of his hood.
“No,” Odin sighed, “and yes.”
“Would you like to share?”
“I… I don’t know.”
Sighing, Odin set his arms on the railing, careful not to push his weight onto them. He took several moments to gather his thoughts and try to figure out what he planned to say before turning his head up to face his knight master’s shrouded eyes. “Jerdai and Domnin got in a fight about their relationship,” he said, turning, pressing his lower back against the railing. “I guess Domnin was upset about Jerdai not wanting their relationship to be closer. When I asked Jerdai about it, he said that he wasn’t closer to Domnin because he was afraid to be closer to him.”
“Many consider the love of two men to be blasphemous—sick, even.”
“Why? It’s not like it’s any of their business.”
“I don’t know why they would think that, Odin. What I do know, however, is that Jerdai has to consider his employment, despite the fact that he’s in an untraditional relationship.”
“Why would someone care whether or not a… a man like Jerdai carried their supplies?”
“Think of it this way,” Miko said, erasing the distance between them. “If you were a king and, for some reason, believed a black man couldn’t work as well as a white one, would you enlist his services?”
“No.”
“And if a Dwarf refused a mortally-wounded human access to his home because he believed the human would steal his treasure, would you blame him?”
“But the man’s wounded,” Odin said. “The Dwarf should—”
“Would you blame him, Odin?”
Odin started to speak, but stopped. He realized the ultimatum he’d just been given had only one answer. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”
“So do you see why someone wouldn’t want Jerdai carrying their supplies just because he goes to bed with a man?”
“I guess,” Odin sighed. “I mean, I can understand why someone wouldn’t want to hire him because of that, but what’s the reason?”
“Personal indifference, maybe, but who knows. I don’t like to think about these kinds of things, because in the end there’ll always be people who don’t understand or appreciate others for who they are.”
Nodding, Odin looked down at the deck. Just as he expected, Icklard had stayed behind even after his brother had run off. “I don’t like to see people suffer,” he sighed. “Especially my friends.”
“I know you don’t,” Miko said, setting his hands on Odin’s shoulders. “Just be glad that their suffering will only be short lived. Some suffer much worse.”
“I know.”
When he said those words, he meant them, as he did know them.
He didn’t have to look far to find true suffering—as, at times, the world seemed all the harsher against those who were different.
2
One morning, long after Odin had thought of suffering and how close it always seemed to be, he woke to a still, unmoving ship. At first concerned, he frowned, unsure what to think. After a moment, he realized that Jerdai must have stopped the ship for a simple, if somewhat-mundane reason and pushed the idea from his head.
Rolling out of bed, he made his way across the room and into the bathing chamber, where he made sure to grab a washcloth before bending to pick up the barrel of water. He hoisted it onto a table, dipped the rag into it, and sighed when he ran the cool cloth across his face.
Hopefully they boiled it, he thought, cursing himself for not doing so.
Oh well—if he ended up smelling like salt, who cared?
Undressing, he took the next few moments to wash his face, underarms and privates, all the while yearning a real bath and the true clean it would bring. He didn’t dwell on that, though, and instead tossed the rag into a corner before making his way back into their room.
Miko turned away from the window just in time to meet Odin’s eyes.
“Sir,” Odin frowned, taking a step forward. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“We aren’t moving.”
“Oh, that.” The Elf smiled and gestured him forward. Once Odin stood at his side, he set a hand on his shoulder. “Jerdai’s seeking permission to dock in the town of Fisherman’s Point.”
“We’re over the border?”
“We’ve been over the border for quite some time,” Miko laughed, squeezing Odin’s upper arm. “If you think about it in a literal sense, anyway.”
“I guess,” he shrugged. He glanced at Nova and, finding him still asleep, walked to his own bed, where he bent and pulled a fresh pair of clothes from his chest. “How long will it take him to get permission?”
“I don’t imagine too long. Why? Anxious to see the town?”
“Kinda,” he said, pulling his underwear up his legs. He sat down and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when a fingernail snagged a tight knot. “If you want to know the truth, I’d like to take a bath.”
“As would I.”
Odin smiled. He slid his feet into his trousers, pulled them up to his hips, then buckled them in place, all the while trying his hardest not to look at the faint blotchy discoloration at his hip or the scar on his upper leg.
“Are you all right?” the Elf asked.
“Oh.” He looked up at his knight master, halfway between sliding his belt through the loops of his pants and buckling it into place. “I’m fine. I… was just looking at my scar.”
“Ah,” Miko nodded. “It’s nothing to worry about. Most scars disappear entirely.”
“Sir,” Odin sighed, sliding his shirt over his head. “How long will we be here?”
“As long as it takes Jerdai to gather supplies. The worst scenario would be having to wait for a few days to have fabrics and food imported from the surrounding towns. I assume Jerdai will want to have the sail taken care of, or at least replaced.”
“All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Whatever it takes.”
That afternoon, after Jerdai gained permission to dock, Odin, Miko, Nova and the rest of the crew made their way up the long, angled path that would lead them to the city. Salt and cold buffeted the crew as the reckless tide crashed against the rocky cliffside. Mist, in fine sheens of blue and
white, cascaded through the air, catching the light and reflecting thousands of miniature rainbows, while the occasional gull flew overhead and taunted them with its warring cries. Tears ran down several of the men’s eyes. Some held shirts or kerchiefs over their noses, resisting the urge to sneeze. Odin alone found himself almost unable to keep from squinting to avoid both the harsh light from the overhead mountains and the spray of water in the area.
“Like Elna is to Ornala,” Miko said, immediately drawing their attention, “Fisherman’s Point is one of Kegdulan’s main sources of food.”
“I never imagined setting foot here,” Nova said, sliding a hand into his shirt to scratch his chest.
“Neither did I,” Odin said, then found himself smiling soon after. The simple realization that he had come this far forced so many feelings from him—joy, mostly, but also awe and wonder. He’d never imagined walking the slanted path of a land leagues from home, desperate in pursuit of supplies, nor had he ever dreamed of battling a dying race in the most frigid land known to man. That alone was enough to bring the warmest feelings in his chest and force tendrils of happiness throughout his face.
“Hey,” Nova grinned, slapping an arm around Odin’s shoulder. “What’re you smiling about?”
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I’m just thinking about how far I’ve come.”
“Tell me about it. I can hardly believe I used to work at a farm in Bohren,” Nova said, then paused, as if something horrible had just struck his heart and tore his world to pieces.
“Are you all right?” Odin frowned.
“I’m all right,” the older man said, then sighed, running a hand across his face and through the wisps of hair in his beard. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Katarina.”
“You’ve been away from her for a very long time,” Odin agreed, setting a hand at his friend’s lower back, but unsure whether or not the touch was appropriate. Considering they were friends, he felt he could get away with much and be scolded for little. For that he allowed his hand to stay, and in the moments following his reciprocating gesture, he sighed and asked, “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Nova said, this time tightening his hold on Odin’s left arm. “It’s just… hard, you know, not being there with her and all.”
“She’ll be very happy when you come back home.”
“Her happiness is all that matters to me, Odin. God… when you ever get married, and I hope you never do unless you’re able to commit yourself to a family, don’t ever make the choices I did. Not that I regret finding you, because you’ve become one of the best, if not the best friend I’ve ever had, but… well… I think you can understand what I’m saying.”
“I do,” Odin nodded.
He considered his actions, his feelings, and his duties to not only his friends and family, but his country, and began to realize that his idea of a normal life might not be possible considering the circumstances he’d thrown himself into.
It’s all right, he thought. You have friends.
Friends, if anything, could alleviate the burden loneliness. Besides—he was much too young to even consider a family.
They continued on in silence for the next long while, listening to the sound of gulls and waves crashing against the rocks below. The sun, ever-present, continued to rise, launching itself over the peaks of the mountains as though it were a living entity. It mattered not whether it was a star, as scientists proclaimed and preachers ordained, because in that moment it was no heavenly figure, no blessing artifact. It was, quite simply, a horror, one that bestowed upon them light so harsh Odin expected to become burned.
When it began to seem that the path would never end, Miko spoke. “We’ll be staying in a bar until Jerdai is able to purchase the supplies for the next part of our journey,” he said.
“That won’t take no more than a few days, right?” Nova asked.
“No, but don’t plan on getting out of here too quickly. Anything can happen.”
No need to tell us, Odin thought, drawing a quick breath.
When they stepped off the final leg of the man-made path along the cliffs, a sight rose before them so perilous and daunting his heart stopped beating in his chest.
Breathe, a voice whispered.
Odin did, and considered his place in the world.
Before them, like a giant crossing the lands in which the beginnings of humanity were said to have risen, the Hornblaris Mountains lifted to the sky as far as the eye could see. Gold, rubies, sapphire, emeralds, and every other jewel imaginable caught the sunlight and reflected it back into the sky, speaking of treasures that could not be touched and air that could not be breathed. It was, as could have been described, breathtaking—darkness exhaled from the lips of the Gods and formed by the boundaries of time. This, in and of itself, could have made any man tremble, as in looking upon it Odin felt his heart faltering and his muscles twitching beneath his skin. His eyes, however, were soon disarmed, and eventually fell to the city below.
Entombed within a clearing in the woods, whose bark had been darkened a deep black by moisture, it appeared to be nothing more than a few scant houses built without care and in haste. But as they grew closer, the city expanded, hidden within the nooks and crannies shielded by an army of trees that expanded like parasols carried by the finest of royal women.
“Look at it,” Nova said, loosening his grip on Odin’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It sure is bud.”
“The Dwarves built it because they liked the view,” Miko said, setting a hand on both of their shoulders. “But like most Dwarves and even some men, they couldn’t stand the heat and salt, so they left it completely abandoned.”
“I thought they built their cities from stone?”
“They did,” Miko said, then pointed.
Odin turned.
Dotted along the cliffside were the artifacts in which history had been settled. Torn, broken, reduced to shambles by the test of time and the horrors of nature—the stone monuments that had once housed some of Minonivna’s smallest peoples remained standing, despite the fact that soon, the sea would reclaim them.
“So much for taking the time to build a city,” Nova grumbled. “Please don’t tell me we’ll be staying in some place big enough for only Dwarves.”
“Not at all,” the Elf smiled. “I think you’ll find our friends left quite the lodgings.”
As Miko had said, the Dwarves had left behind quite the place to stay in. Complete with high, extended ceilings, darkened wood and hearths that resembled monsters, the bar was welcoming after many long months of sailing not only for its offerings, but its placement.
It’s almost as if they left it here for humans, Odin thought, blinking, watching the bartender fumble with several plates covered with food.
Either way, it didn’t matter. When the bartender set a plate of ribs, freshly-steamed vegetables, and a small bowl of soup before him, Odin could hardly believe his eyes. He glanced at Nova, who seemed just as surprised, before turning his attention to his knight master—whom, as always, remained hidden under the cloak. Though he couldn’t see the Elf’s face, indifference wafted from his relaxed stature and faint breaths.
“Thank you,” Odin said, glancing up at the black man who’d served him.
“No need to thank me, lad,” the Kadarian said, his voice thick but pleasant. “Just doing my job.”
The man nodded, smiled, and disappeared into a room alight with fire, where several women amidst the company of only a few men laughed and began to dance around a table.
Once sure that he hadn't been imaging things or their meals had not been confused with another patron’s, Odin lifted a rib and bit down, somehow managing to suppress a moan when rich sauce exploded from the depths of the meat. He turned to face Nova, whose face had since become lathered in the stuff.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Odin asked.
“Hell yes,” Nova managed between bites. “Thanks, Miko.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” the Elf said, cutting a slice of meat with a thin knife.
Odin frowned. His knight master’s voice hadn’t been filled with the pride it usually had, with the confidence that marked him as strong and more than capable of a genuine being. For some odd reason, it sounded as though he were depressed.
Is he still suffering from Neline? he thought, frowning.
It wasn’t unlikely, considering the depth of the depression the Elf had fallen into, but even then he couldn’t know. It seemed too complicated a matter, too deep a topic, to actually discuss or bring out in the open.
For that reason, Odin decided to remain quiet and instead focused his attention on the food in front of him—which, at that moment, seemed all the less appetizing.
Hours later, Nova fell asleep, leaving Odin to sit up and wait for the Elf by himself. The time spent waiting in the candlelight, though grim, was not without effort. He decided to research the land and see if he could find their next destination, if only to entertain himself. He read about the desert that they seemed to be so close to, which they were unlikely to visit if only because of the conflicted political climate, the outer, ‘forbidden’ Judarin Isles, and the Tentalin Isles that rested within the gulf of the Three Kingdoms.
We wouldn’t be going there? he thought. Could we?
So far as he could tell, there couldn’t be any other places to visit. The Judarin Isles were, as the book had said, ‘forbidden’ and rumored to be protected by both the Gods and their jagged coasts, and as he’d already anticipated, they couldn’t be visiting the desert. Besides—even if they did, the Cadarack lay within a completely different kingdom, so how would they get there, much less without mounts?
To Odin’s knowledge, they couldn’t be going anywhere but the Tentalin Isles.
Just as he started to turn the page to the section of the individual Isles, the doorknob clicked, signaling the insert of a key. Odin froze, waited, then sighed when the door opened to reveal his knight master. “Sir,” he said, closing the geography book that sat before him. “Where were you?”
