by Kody Boye
“Don’t worry,” Odin smiled, upon seeing the look on Nova’s face. “It’s good.”
“I’m just not much of a tea drinker, that’s all.” Nova accepted the tea, sipping it soon after. His tongue slid out of his mouth and across his lips. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“Told you.”
Nova chuckled, tipping the cup back to drink. Icklard accepted his own cup of tea and scooted over when Domnin stood, allowing his brother to slide into the extra spot on the loveseat.
“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” Miko asked.
“There’s a lot of things I’d like to know, but I won’t bother you with them,” Domnin laughed. He nudged his brother’s ribs, nearly spilling tea in the process. “We’ll ask you later, on a day where it’s not so late.”
“We could speak at dinner, if you’d like.”
“We don’t want to bother you,” Icklard frowned.
“You won’t,” Miko said, glancing at Odin and Nova. “Would you mind if I joined the brothers for dinner?”
“I don’t care,” Nova said.
“It’s fine with me,” Odin added. He looked at his knight master, then Domnin and Icklard before sipping his tea. It seemed to have lost its taste.
“Dinner’s not for quite a while though,” the Elf smiled. “Let’s just enjoy one another’s company before we have to listen to drunk men prattle on about their lives.”
“At least he has someone to talk to,” Nova grumbled, stabbing a piece of meat with his knife. He bit down on the end of the blade and pulled the meat away. Odin couldn’t help but grimace. “What?” the older man frowned.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll cut yourself?”
“If I do, oh well—it’ll heal.”
“But it’ll hurt.”
“Oh well.”
“It’s your tongue.”
Nova muttered something under his breath before stabbing another piece of meat. Odin sighed and picked at his vegetables, not in the least bit interested in his food.
“Did something happen earlier?” Nova asked, setting his knife down.
“No. Why?”
“You’re moody.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yeah you are.” When Nova smirked, Odin turned his head down and slid a piece of carrot between his lips. He grimaced at the sharp flavor that penetrated the inside of his mouth. “Look, bud—why don’t you just tell me and get it over with?”
“I think I had some money stolen.”
“You think?”
“I gave three silver pieces to the old woman to pay for our lunch and butterscotch.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Shh!” Odin growled, casting a glance at Miko and the brothers, who sat a nearby table. “When she came back with the butterscotch, we asked how much the meal was and she said she could’ve lied and gave us an outrageous price. But since she was a ‘good old bird,’ she didn’t. I… I thought I’d give her the silver pieces I took to pay for our day out as a token for her honesty.”
“Why didn’t Miko say anything?”
“Icklard and Domnin paid me back.”
Nova sighed, shook his head, and picked up his knife. “Lesson learned, huh?”
“Yeah,” Odin muttered. “It is.”
“You plan on telling him what happened?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, on one hand, I don’t want it on my conscience, but I don’t want to lie either.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Odin. It was stupid enough giving an old crone silver without asking her to give you change, but feeling guilty after you got your money back is even worse.”
“I didn’t get my money back—Icklard and Domnin gave it to me.”
“Same thing.”
Deciding it would be best to let the day’s happenings go, Odin took a deep breath and continued eating, glancing up at his knight master every so often. The battle that waged in his head sent his heart into overdrive, forcing it to pump blood into his desperately-starving mind. He had all the time in the world to decide what to do, but the longer he put it off, the longer he’d feel the way he did.
“If you were me,” he asked, “what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” Nova said. “I’m not you.”
Odin smiled.
By the time they returned from dinner the commotion in the bar had started to die down. Normally, Odin would have had to sit up and wait for the patrons to settle down before he could go to sleep, as everyone on the floor below was too loud. Tonight was another story entirely. Even if he had waited for the patrons to leave or go to bed, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Too many things ran in his head—thoughts of lies, deceit and hard-earned silver.
When he was more than sure that Nova had fallen asleep, Odin crawled out of bed and made his way to the window, where Miko sat watching the night. The Elf turned his attention to Odin a moment later, after he’d realized his squire had risen from sleep. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“There is, sir.” Odin took a deep breath, not sure if he would be able to tell the truth. The fear of consequence ran in his mind and birthed within his skull a flower the shape of a skull—a thing with hollow eyes and dead, rotting teeth. It taunted him for several long, indeterminable moments, in which he merely stared into the Elf’s gleaming eyes, before finally he expelled the breath, longing for its presence once it left his chest. “The silver pieces I took from our fund earlier, to pay for our day,” he said, grimacing, his fingers instinctively curling into his palms. “I… I gave them to an old woman who worked at the bakery.”
“Oh?”
“Yuh-Yes, sir—I did. She… she came back to the table with our butterscotch and asked if we wanted to pay now or later. When we asked what she would charge, she said she wouldn’t lie, then said that many people here would trick you out of your money. I ended up giving her the silver based on her honesty, but after we left, Domnin said I could’ve been tricked.”
“You could’ve,” the Elf agreed, “but no matter.”
“What?” Odin frowned. “Sir, aren’t you… you mean you’re not—”
“You learned your lesson. There’s no need to dwell on a mistake unless you continue to make it.”
“You’re not going to punish me?”
“Why should I punish you when you’ve done nothing wrong?”
“But sir… I gave away our money, your money.”
“Money is but a material possession. There’s no reason to own it unless we have need for something.”
“I just feel like I’ve done something wrong,” Odin sighed, unable to meet the Elf’s kind eyes. “That’s all.”
“Odin,” Miko laughed, setting his hands on his shoulders. The Elf waited for Odin to face him before he continued. “Everyone makes mistakes. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes sir,” Odin said. “I do.”
The following morning, Nova’s rough hands shook him awake. At first Odin fought, trying to push his friend’s fingers away. Then, slowly, he became conscious enough to hear the words flowing from his friend’s mouth.
“Odin,” Nova repeated, tightening his grip on his shoulders as his voice continued to gain clarity. “Get up and get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“We are?” Odin sat up, shivering at the morning cold. His ears burned and the bridge of his nose ached.
“Yeah, we are, so get dressed. You can sleep on the boat if you’re still tired.”
Once sure he’d heard correctly and that he was not dreaming, Odin rolled out from under the covers and reached for his boots. He pulled them on, laced them together, stood, then followed Nova out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind him. He started for the stairs with his friend, but stopped before he could continue, turning to look at the place they’d stayed in for the last few days. It would, most likely, be a long time before they came back.
Well, he thought, tightening his grip on the brass key that rested in his hand. I guess this
is it then—the next part of my adventure.
“You comin’?” Nova asked, tapping his foot on the dull-colored wood.
“Yeah,” Odin said. “I am.”
With one last look at the door, he followed his friend down the stairs, knowing in his heart that this would be the final stretch of his journey.
Part 8
1
As Elna had more than a year ago, and the Neline coast only a few months back, Fisherman’s Point faded with time, leaving them with only glimpses of strangely-dyed wood, a jagged cliffside, and the Hornblaris Mountains, which continued to haunt them for weeks until they disappeared in a haze of cloud a month later, when nothing could be seen in the distance except water shifting upon the horizon. They ate well each day, with fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and those men who’d lived on the sea their entire lives sung of faraway lands that could never be reached within a mortal’s lifetime—of a land beyond the Crystal Sea, where Elves and creatures of old had sailed to one day touch the mainland.
Gradually, Odin fell into his usual routine. He’d rise at almost dawn, walk out onto the ship to greet the new day and relieve himself, then slide back into his room until the day wore on. He fished with Nova, spoke with Miko, and played magical games of catch and release with Icklard and Domnin.
Soon enough, the reality of his last year became apparent. When the next winter would come and go, the knights would return to Ornala with their squires, praying under harsh breath and swift whispers their hard work would not end in disappointment, and depart would the knights who had trained them so. With all this in mind and the reality bearing down upon him, Odin thought of everything he’d learned and how, should he be accepted into the king’s army, he would benefit his country.
I can do it, he thought, tightening his grip on the railing. I know I can.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the warm, morning air and imagined himself among the king’s men. Garbed in fine armor and bearing the finest of weapons, he would sit atop his mighty mare, waving at the crowds of men, women and children assembled at the front gates, and he imagined it would be his father’s smiling face he would pick out in the crowd, beckoning to him with a wave of his hand. Son! he would cry, laughing and crying at the same time, his voice heard over a multitude of jeers. You did it! he would say. You really did it!
The thought of his father forced a warm, if provoked tear from his eye. It traveled down his skin and followed the rugged path of his cheek, where it clung to his sharp jaw with all its might. There, its journey ended, and began just the same. As its short life as human moisture took its final bow, it fell, where it joined the vast, mighty ocean. There, it would live forever, just as he would should he become a knight of fame, honor and valor.
This is it, he breathed, expelling his breath as slowly as he could, relishing the release of pressure from his chest. This is where I become a man.
With one last breath, he opened his eyes to face his destiny.
It was glorious.
“It’s awfully calm today,” Domnin mused, leaning against the railing. “Don’t you think?”
“Don’t fall,” Odin warned.
“We won’t fish you out,” Icklard chuckled.
“Yeah right,” Domnin laughed. “You’d be jumping right in after me.”
“Don’t count on it, brother.”
As though thinking better than to potentially risk falling into the ocean, Domnin pushed himself away from the railing and arched his back to stretch his muscles. He rolled his shoulders, loosened the strain in his arms, and smiled, reaching up to scratch his stubbly chin. “So,” he said, looking from Odin, to his brother, then back again. “What do you two want to do?”
“I don’t know,” Odin shrugged. “I’m fine just standing out here.”
“You’ll get bored of that quick,” Icklard smiled, smacking Odin’s arm. “But you already know that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’m tempted to make a sphere out of water, except I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“A sphere out of water?” Odin frowned. “What would you do with that?”
“We toss it back and forth,” Icklard smiled. “It gets pretty wild at times, especially when we start running around the deck.”
“We always end up hitting someone with it,” Domnin confessed.
“The last time we played, Domnin nailed Jerdai right in the face.”
Odin grimaced. “Ouch.”
“Doesn’t feel too good to get hit in the face with a flying ball of water,” Icklard agreed. “But hey, Jerdai wasn’t mad for too long.”
“Yeah, after I cleaned dishes and tidied his room for a month,” Domnin muttered, rolling his eyes.
“Bet you didn’t get laid for a while.”
“Do we really have to bring that up?”
“Hey! I’m just saying!”
“Anyway,” the older brother mumbled. “I bet we could get away with it if Odin played.”
“I don’t know,” Odin said. “I don’t want to get us in trouble.”
“You won’t get in trouble. Miko’s paid your way onto the ship.”
“That doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want though.”
The younger, red-haired brother smirked, lighting the tip of his pointer finger in green light. He shot a dart of light at his brother, who quickly raised his hand and stopped it with a bowl-sized barrier.
“This one drives him even more nuts than the water game,” Domnin chuckled. “Especially when we start reflecting light off our barriers.”
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Icklard explained, repelling a bit of Domnin’s orange magic. “If anything, it’s annoying.”
“Here, Odin—catch.”
Odin ducked before a bolt of magic could hit him in the face. Domnin chuckled, but quickly changed his tune when Odin retaliated with a shot of his own. The snow-white dart of light bounced off Domnin’s shield, then flew at Icklard, who quickly reflected it back at Odin.
“See?” Domnin laughed, catching the single orb of light within his outstretched palm. “It keeps you entertained.”
“Especially when you get a crowd,” Icklard said.
“Is that how you get caught?” Odin smirked.
“Pretty much.”
The two of them returned their eyes to Domnin, whose attention was set on the orb of light between his clawed fingers. The white orb of magic pulsed within his grasp, nearly invisible in the harsh glow of the afternoon sun. “I never thought about it until now,” the older brother said, “but you do know white magic is rare, right?”
“No,” Odin frowned. “I didn’t.”
“Purple is too,” Icklard added. “I had only heard of it before your knight master helped us fend off the Sirens.”
“Do the colors mean anything?”
“Dark Elves usually only have purple or dark-red-colored magic,” Domnin said, extinguishing the white orb with a clench of his fist. “White, though… Icklard, do you remember what’s so special about it?”
“It’s known for its healing properties.”
“Ah!” Domnin grinned. “I remember now. Like Diana.”
“Yeah.”
“Diana?” Odin asked, blushing when both brothers turned to look at him.
“You don’t know who Diana is?” Icklard frowned.
“No.”
“Diana,” Domnin said. “Also known as Gaia.”
“The Goddess of Life,” Icklard finished.
“Oh,” Odin nodded. “All right. I know who you’re talking about now.”
“Legend says she came over the Crystal Sea to the mainland of Minonivna with the Elves thousands of years ago. She supposedly brought life back to our dying land.”
“Plants bloomed from dead rock under her feet,” the older brother continued, “and animals emerged from their caves to walk alongside her. She raised her arms and seeds fell from the heavens, planting the trees, the shrubs, the grass.”
“She healed the sick a
nd the dying,” Icklard said, crouching down to stare at the wood beneath their feet. “She touched near-dead men and made them young, brought children out of eternal sleep, purified the water tainted with disease and blood. I’m surprised you don’t know about her, Odin. But, then again, she’s not that traditional in mainstream religion.”
“Why not?” Odin asked.
“She was declared a heathen and burned as a witch.”
“By the Elves?”
“By the Elves,” Icklard said.
“Why?”
“Because she heralded the rise of Necromancy,” Icklard replied, “though only because she was saving those who should not have passed on anyway.”
“They say as she died,” Domnin sighed, “that the animals from the nearby forests came to witness her death. Some… some even say they shed tears.”
“Animals can’t cry,” Odin said.
“They did when Diana died.”
“You know,” Icklard said, standing to his full height. “We’re lucky that people have opened their eyes since then. We wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t.”
“I know,” Odin said, looking down at his hands. He thought of the magic flowing through his blood and how Diana, a woman who had only sought to bring good to the dying land of Minonivna, had been burned because of the gift that had helped so many, that had given birth to all life on the mainland and had made their world habitable again. “It… it makes me sad, knowing that people still don’t understand each other.”
“Me too,” Domnin sighed. “Me too, Odin. Me too.”
“Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have your gift,” Icklard said, reaching out to grip Odin’s arm. “Because sometimes, if you wish you didn’t have something, that something can disappear forever.”
“Sir,” Odin said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Miko turned from his place at the window, purple eyes calm but curious. “Yes,” the Elf said. “You know you can.”
“I was just wondering,” he began, settling down on his bed, “why you never told me the story behind my magic.”
