by Kody Boye
“Your magic?”
“Diana,” he said. “Or Gaia, I mean.”
“Ah.” Miko crossed the short distance from the window to Odin’s bed. There, he kneeled to the floor and set a hand on knee, his thumb trailing up to where his first battle scar lay just beneath his trousers. “I never thought it was important enough to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. You’ve never asked about it either.”
“I know,” Odin sighed. “But… well… I just figured you’d tell me.”
“I don’t want to tell you everything, Odin. What good would it do to tell you everything when you could learn it for yourself?”
“I guess, sir.” He looked down at his knight master’s hand. A long, bony finger slid along the surface of his scar, sending shivers up his spine and into the back of his neck. Miko stopped the moment he realized the action.
“It’s still sensitive,” the Elf said, seating himself beside Odin. “Does it bother you much?”
“Not unless I touch it.”
“Your hip?”
“It’s fine.”
“May I see it?”
Odin stood. He loosened his belt, held his trousers in place and lifted the tail of his shirt whilst sliding his pants down to reveal his now-healed hip. The once-knotted mass of purple, blue and black had since disappeared, healed by the natural wonder of his half-human body.
Half-human, he thought, blinking when he felt his master’s hand on his hip.
Did it mean anything to be half-Elf? Did it grant him extraordinary powers of perception or give him the ability to tune in to other people’s emotions? How, exactly, could he know if he had never experienced being human?
I was human for sixteen years of my life, he thought. Miko’s thumb rolled around the ball of his hip, occasionally pressing down as if searching for any defect that may have gone unnoticed. That should give me an idea.
“I don’t see anything wrong,” the Elf frowned, gesturing Odin to pull his trousers back into place. “If it starts bothering you, please tell me. I would not want you to unintentionally injure yourself in battle.”
“I can walk and run just fine,” Odin said, tightening his belt. “You don’t think it’ll cause problems, do you?”
“There are some young men, like yourself, who are injured in a skirmish and cannot fight for the rest of their lives. Of course, even if you managed to be crippled in a fight, you’re still far more useful than an average soldier. Your Gift makes up for any weakness you may have. But no—I don’t think your past injuries will cause you problems. You’re young, and the body has a miraculous way of curing that which we cannot see.”
“Yes sir,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you.”
“Was there anything else you needed?”
Odin shook his head.
“Good,” the Elf smiled, turning away from him. “If you have any questions, feel free to come back.”
For some reason, Odin took that as a sign to leave.
Nova stood near the railing, looking out at the ocean. At this time of day, with the sun almost directly above, most of the men had since peeled their shirts off, revealing flaking or scarred, red skin. Nova himself occasionally scratched at the beard that framed his cheeks and jaw, as if it pained him to have so much hair on his face. The teardrops of moisture that beaded down his face gave Odin the impression that such a thing might be uncomfortable.
“If it’s hot,” Odin said, stepping forward, “why don’t you shave it?”
“Because I like my beard,” Nova smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s about time.”
“Sorry. I was with Icklard and Domnin, then I went to see Miko.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” Odin frowned. “Why? Do you know something I don’t?”
“Not unless you count his looking out the window something you don’t know.”
“Do you think he sees things we can’t, Nova?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s got the blood of two different Elves in him—who knows what he can see.”
Odin shrugged. He nudged Nova’s ribs as a group of men passed.
“You know I won’t say anything,” the older man whispered, slapping his back.
“I know. I just don’t want someone to accidentally hear us and tell Jerdai.”
“You really think he’d kick us off the boat just because Miko’s a Halfling?”
“You heard what Icklard said. ‘Since when does the captain let Elves on his ship?’”
“Yeah,” Nova grunted, turning his eyes back to the ocean. “I guess you’re right.”
With nothing further to say, Odin turned his attention to the sea and watched the gentle waves roll in the water below them. In the long months they’d been at sea, he’d learned that still water was something to be wary of. The night the Sirens had struck the ship, killing a dozen of Jerdai’s men, the sea had been dead-calm, just as it had just before the terrible storm that had almost cost him and Nova their lives. It would’ve seemed that such stillness was meant to be an omen—a foreshadowing of epic proportions that was meant to be viewed and as such prepared for.
“Hey,” Nova said, drawing Odin from his thoughts. “Can I ask you a question?”
“What is it?”
“When do you think we’ll get to where we’re going?”
“I don’t know,” Odin sighed, closing his eyes, baring his neck to the salty air. “I wish I did though.”
When Nova could no longer bear the heat, Odin rejoined Icklard and Domnin at the front of the ship, where they lifted orbs of water for the dolphins to play with. The sleek, shining creatures trailed alongside the boat in glee, squeaking greetings, flipping in circles and twirling just above the surface of the water whenever the orbs of water chased after them.
“They’re mammals, you know?” Domnin said, looking up at Odin.
“I know,” Odin said. “I’ve been told.”
“Fish don’t breathe air,” Icklard commented, raising one of the orbs just in time for a dolphin to jump from the water to capture it between its outstretched jaws. “There’s a few other creatures that breathe through blowholes or through their noses, but I’ve never seen any of them.”
Domnin tossed a orange-sized ball of moisture into the air, smiling when several of the creatures circled beneath the water as if they were sharks or other predatory creatures. “Some say everything came from the water. Supposedly, if you want to believe the legend and what the Seers have said, our world was once a giant ocean, a playground for all things big and small.”
“The Elves rose first,” Icklard said, “in the form of smooth, pale-skinned creatures.”
“They weren’t always beautiful though,” Domnin commented. “They once looked like the things that haunt the marshes near where you’re from, Odin. You know of them, right?”
“The Marsh Walkers,” Odin nodded. He remembered them, more than well if he wanted to truly admit to it. Such things were meant to be avoided—that, when hungry, and devoid of natural food, would take children and even livestock into the marshes and drain them of their blood with twin incisors that rested within their beaks. Contrary to belief, however, these things were not birds—were anything but. With big black eyes, long, bulbous fingers, skin that looked constantly wet and a height of some six feet tall, they resembled an amphibious creature much like a frog or even a salamander. It was for this reason, and from looking at an artist’s interpretation, that he had a very hard time believing what Domnin had said—that such an ugly creature, who appeared to be anything but beautiful, could transform into something so magnificent, so beautiful, so articulate and pure. Miko could have never been such an ugly thing, even in millennia past, so it was for that reason when, in looking at Domnin’s face, Odin said, “I’m not so sure I believe that,” then shrugged, hoping his words hadn’t offended either of his friends.
“Neither am I,” Domnin said. “It’s just what I’ve read
in a few old books.”
“It is hard to believe,” Icklard agreed. “I’m not sure about it myself.”
“We’re trained mages, Odin—we’re expected to look at things from all sides.”
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” Odin said, looking up at the brothers. “I’m just saying I’m not so sure about it.”
“That’s the bad thing about mortality, huh?” Domnin laughed. “It keeps us from seeing the things we want to see.”
“Just imagine what Miko’s seen,” Icklard mused.
Yeah, Odin thought. Just imagine.
Night bloomed darkness.
Outside, a dull orb of white light lit the night sky, extending its rays like petals to a lily that flowered only in the blackest places. It cast an iridescence across the water in a way that made the low-hanging mist shine—seemingly like mushrooms struck by magic and forced to glow for the rest of time.
Stepping from the inside of the boat and onto the deck, Odin scanned the area in search of his knight master, careless as to whether or not his presence would disturb a moment that should rather have been left alone. Miko had stepped out of the room earlier, saying he’d return in a moment, but hadn’t come back since.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found the thing he’d been looking for.
Taking his first deep breath of the cool, night air, Odin drew his cloak around his shoulders and made his way onto the deck. Beneath the crow’s nest, shielded in an octagon in shadow, he experienced a feeling of loneliness he hadn’t felt since Ornala, when he’d been locked in the tower. Around him, light—seeming to beckon him with its pleasant presence—danced and flickered whenever the waves shifted the surface of the fog, taunting him into submission. Out here, alone and without the company of others, it chose to threaten him with solitude, which seemed all the more present in light of the fog rolling from the sea and onto the deck.
“Sir?” Odin asked. “Where are you?”
Something cried out in the distance.
At first, the sound reminded him of a water bird, like those who made nests along the coasts of wooded lakes. After a moment, however, he realized the scream had not been made by a bird, but it definitely could not have been made by a person either.
A monster? he thought, shivering. In this climate, it was any wonder what could be lurking about.
“Miko,” he said, choosing to use his knight master’s name in the hopes the sound would draw his attention. “Please, come back inside. It’s cold out here.”
A figure standing at the front of the deck shifted, back facing him. He recognized the broad shoulders and stepped forward, smiling and relieved beyond compare. “Why didn’t you answer me?” he frowned. “Why didn’t you—”
He stopped speaking.
A tremor rocked his being.
The fog, which had risen to the point where it blocked almost everything from sight, shifted, revealing the large, sleek head of a creature Odin had only begun to dream of.
Lochna, a water dragon from depths of the ocean so deep it was said she rose only once in a thousand years, watched Miko with large silver eyes, intent on the slight, minute movements only a trained gaze could see. About the size of a royal guard’s shield, the silver ovals that made up her eyes caught the moonlight and reflected it back at whomever had the honor of standing in her presence, only further sealing the forbidden pact two of the land’s most ancient creatures could have held.
You’ve called, Halfling, a sound androgynous but bearing feminine qualities said, her voice rolling over Odin’s brow and off the back of his head like pudding spilled but not cleaned up. Your cries are heard, though they are not spoken.
“Thank you,” Miko said, bowing his head.
Tell me: what is it that troubles your kind soul?
“I… I’m afraid,” the Elf said, his voice low, but high enough so Odin could hear. “I’m afraid something horrible is going to happen.”
Why is this?
“Because I feel it.” Miko lifted his head. “In my heart, in my mind… in my blood. I do not know what to do, and I feel it is my responsibility to shield my squire from whatever may lie in his future.”
My future? Odin frowned, shivering, not cold but not at all comfortable. What is—
There is nothing you can do to alter the future, Lochna said, causing Odin’s thought to stab into his brain and inflict the most tremendous of pains in the center of his forehead. And, kind Elf—Halfling, whatever you choose to be—there is nothing I can do to alter it or ease your worries. I am no mage, no Seer, no prophet. All I can say, and all I can tell you, is that despite whatever lies in this young man’s future, it is his to face, not yours.
“I…” Miko stopped. He looked down at his hand, then sighed, a rumble of struggled breath breaking the silence of an otherwise-calm night. “Thank you, my friend. Please… do rest. I will never call you again.”
Before his eyes, Odin watched something he thought he would never see disappear through the fog and into the sea.
2
In the days following his discovery, Odin stayed in his room, preferring his own company than that of others. At first, no one said nor did anything, but it soon became apparent that something was bothering him. Several times, Icklard and Domnin came to check on him, always asking if something had happened or if he had something on his mind. Nova, too, asked, but Odin said nothing, other than that he was sick and wanted time to himself.
At night he dreamed of water dragons and of Elves who asked them questions, while during the day he dwelled on thoughts harsh and unconsecrated, trying as hard as he could to force them from his mind, but to no avail. It eventually escalated to the point where he couldn’t think of anything but the conversation that had taken place between Lochna and his knight master, which only served to further drive his conscience into the pit of agony.
You need to stop, he thought, taking a deep breath. This isn’t going to get you anywhere.
Uncurling himself from the mass of blankets he’d bundled up in, Odin crawled out of bed and made his way into the bathing room, where he looked at the circular, wooden tub they hadn’t used since they left Fisherman’s point. There, he decided he would take a bath, then heat the water up for either Miko or Nova, whomever returned first.
Turning, he grabbed the bucket of water at his side and brought it near the far wall. He set it under a pump, turned its rotating knob, and began to draw water from the sea through an ingenious and somewhat-impossible method that couldn’t have been committed without magic or pressurized system Odin didn’t even want to begin to think about. The process, though tedious and requiring a constant rotation of the pump’s valve, did not take long to complete, given that he was able to cross the distance between the pump and the tub back and forth fairly quickly. Soon enough, he had a tub full of water before him.
“All right,” he muttered, kneeling beside the tub. “Here goes nothing.”
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and looked deep inside himself, locating the fountain that fueled his magical being. Once found, he began drawing energy from it, shivering at the warmth that traveled the length of his arm and toward the water. It bothered him for only a moment until the water started to sizzle. A dip of his finger proved he’d heated it enough for a substantial bath.
At least I’ll be clean, he thought, parting the folds of his jerkin.
Not that dirty water bothered him. He could bathe in it just fine, but he preferred to know what could be in the liquid around him before he stepped into it without any clothing. He’d heard of foolish men developing illness just because they hadn’t bothered to clean their water.
After double-checking to make sure the tub had heated up, Odin stepped out of his trousers and into the bath. Inside, he sunk until only his upper lip remained above its surface and closed his eyes. He took slow, deep breaths, reveling in the water’s warmth and the way it seemed to drown out all but the simplest things.
This feels so good, he though
t.
“Hey.”
Odin jumped, inhaling water in the process.
Coughing, he looked up to find Nova standing in the threshold, hands braced against the wall. “Sorry,” the older man smiled. “I was going to ask if I could get in with you.”
“I don’t care,” Odin managed, pounding his chest. Water ran out the corners of his mouth.
“If you’re modest, that’s fine—I can wait.”
“I’m not modest,” Odin laughed, coughing up more water. “It’s okay. Come in.”
He turned to allow Nova his privacy. A moment later, his friend settled into the water beside him.
“Thanks,” Nova sighed, splashing water on his face. “It feels good to have a warm bath.”
“I’m going to run another for Miko later,” Odin said, lifting a bar of soap at this side. “I don’t think he wants to bathe in our water.”
“I doubt he’d care,” Nova laughed. “Here—hand me that bar of soap.”
Odin slid it in Nova’s hand, then moved over so the man could better wash himself.
“Can we talk now that we’re alone?” Nova asked, sliding the soap across his chest. “I’m worried about you.”
“I know. It’s okay. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Heh,” the man laughed. “Yeah right. Knowing you, you’re keeping something you seen or heard to yourself and it’s eating you alive.”
Crimson lit Odin’s cheeks. Nova chuckled and gently splashed him. “So I was right,” he said, running wet fingers through the soapy curls of hair on his chest. “You know you can talk to me, bud.”
“I know.”
“So why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“All right.” Odin sighed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “A few nights ago,” he said, giving Nova his full attention, “I saw Miko talking to a water dragon.”
“A water dragon?” Nova frowned. “You serious?”
“Uh huh.” Odin paused, crossing his arms over his chest. It seemed so cold despite the warm water that came to his nipples.
