by Kody Boye
As asked, Miko settled down on the floor beside Odin.
“Good morning, sir,” Odin said.
“Good morning Odin, Nova.”
“How’d you kill them?” Nova frowned. “You don’t have a bow.”
The Elf raised a fingernail. The tip glistened with blood. “The nature of hunting is to do it as fairly as possible. While I may not agree with using projectile weaponry to kill such creatures, I’ll do it, if only out of necessity. Hunting like an animal is much more difficult than one would imagine.”
“You killed it bare-handed?” Odin frowned.
Of course he did. Why else would his nails be covered in blood?
“Yes, Odin. I did.”
“How’d you manage that?” Nova smirked.
“I’m not as raucous as I appear to be, Nova. I am an Elf after all.”
“I’m not saying you’re loud or clumsy, but how can you hunt bare-handed when you’re so big?”
“Very carefully,” Miko smiled. “Very, very carefully.” Odin chuckled. The Elf flashed a grin and set a hand on Odin’s back. “I trust the two of you slept well last night?”
“I slept fine,” Nova said. “Odin?”
“I did too.”
“Good,” Miko said. “I was worried that you might be cold in just your bedrolls.”
“My people have no need for shawls or fabrics,” Sunskin said, looking up just as she went to work preparing the rabbits. “I am sorry if you were uncomfortable, fire-hair and red-eyes.”
“We were fine,” Odin smiled. “Don’t worry.”
Nova nodded his agreement.
“Would you like to take a walk?” Miko asked. “I’m sure you’d both appreciate a breath of fresh air.”
If only he knew, Odin thought.
It didn’t take long for him to follow his knight master out once Miko stood and made his way for the threshold.
“Stay close,” the Elf breathed. “We’re strangers here.”
“Don’t most of them know you?” Odin frowned.
“No. They don’t.”
Shifting, Odin glanced at a group of Ogres standing on the side of the road. Each bore a slightly-different color—the tallest and most-dominate male the color of burnt orange, the two beside him variations of green and gray. He wondered why the Ogres would look so radically different in color from one another, then figured that they had to have come from different bloodlines.
Just like people.
Continuing on through the village, Miko turned left and began leading them down a long path. Just like the road before, this one lay blanketed by varying sizes of mounds. Some only as large as a small shack, like Sunskin’s, others as massive as a small armory—each varied in size and design. Some even bore handprints or insignias in their mud or clay surfaces, clearly signifying who or what lived there.
“What do the insignias mean?” Odin asked.
“Well,” Miko said. “As you already know, my mother is the Talon of the Black Heart, which is why you’ve been seeing claw-shaped markings on some of the homes. Others—like the half-circle with the sharp, triangular point—signify lineage.”
“But everyone here’s part of your mother’s tribe?” Nova asked.
“They are.”
“Why is lineage important then?” Odin offered.
“Just like we are proud or ashamed of where we have come from, the Ogres are as well.”
“How many different tribes are there on this island, sir?”
“I couldn’t say for sure,” Miko sighed, stopping in midstride. He looked up as a lumbering Ogre of fourteen or fifteen feet approached.
“Nafran of the Talon’s Black Heart,” the Ogre said, leaning forward to look into Miko’s eyes. “Why have you brought humans here?”
“They are friends, Bafran of the Ocean’s Blue Moon. You have no need to worry for you or your children—they will not harm you.”
“My children do not need to be corrupted by human filth.”
“I understand your concern, but as I’ve said, you have no need to worry. They—”
Bafran growled. He raised a hand as if to strike, but only curled his fist, clenching it until the joints popped, each individual noise like bones breaking in a human’s body.
He’s so, Odin thought, then stopped.
In looking at the creature, saltwater-blue and bearing pockmarks of dark violet across his upper arms and shoulders, he seemed to be nothing more than an animal—raged, confused and disoriented, as though plagued with doubt about his current surroundings and happenings. It was possible, all things considering, but could their presence really have that much of in impact on this community?
Possibly.
When the Ogre lowered his fist and returned it to the ground, his knuckles crunching into the dirt and debris below, the creature thrust its head forward, almost so close that his and Miko’s noses touched, and growled, “I will have no trouble crushing your bones, Nafran. Keep your humans away from my family and we will not have trouble.”
“Understood.”
Turning, the Ogre lumbered down the road, mumbling things in a language that made Odin’s knees shake. It was only when he was sure that the creature would not turn and survey them that he began to shiver.
“We have a problem,” Nova mumbled.
“It appears we do,” Miko nodded.
“Bafran has no need threatening you to get his point across,” Sunskin said.
Odin grimaced as the pot the Ogre boiled in popped. Liquid spat in an eager attempt to inflict harm upon the shaman, but came nowhere near close enough to actually burn her.
“I would not have mentioned this were I not concerned for my companions, Mother.”
“I understand, Maeko. Do not fear relating the happenings of your travels. I do not judge based upon another’s actions.”
“What does ‘Nafran’ mean?” Odin frowned.
“He called you a Nafran?” Sunskin growled.
“Yes, Mother—he did.”
“I will see that he is punished for calling my son such a vile thing.”
“No. I don’t want trouble following us while we’re here.”
“Maeko—”
“I know you care for my feelings, but there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ve been called worse.”
Trouble in her old eyes, Sunskin turned her head down and continued to stir the soup, occasionally adding spices and peppers that resembled something like stars alight in the bright night sky.
“To answer your question,” Miko said, drawing attention back to him, “Nafran is an Ogre word for bastard-blood.”
“Why would he call you that though?” Odin frowned. “You’re not a bastard. You don’t even know if your real parents are even still—”
“Alive,” Sunskin nodded. Miko turned his head away. A throb of guilt sounded in Odin’s chest. “He has been called a Nafran since I pulled him from the sea.”
“You’ve never mentioned much about it,” Nova said. “You were at sea?”
“I don’t know, Nova. I was only a child.”
“Before humans came to the island,” Sunskin said, “we used to live along the beach and bring fish from the sea. One day, while tending to the nets that once ran along the shore, I saw a piece of wood entangled in the sea’s weed. When I neared, the waves came and tossed the debris. I soon realized it was not a piece of nature when I heard a child crying.”
“Which is why I’ve been called a Nafran ever since I can remember understanding the word,” the Elf continued, turning his dark eyes on Odin and Nova. “I was tossed at sea and left to die.”
He couldn’t have, Odin thought. He’s too… too—
“Not all things are pure,” Sunskin said. “Even the most beautiful of creatures can be wicked.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I… I didn’t know.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Odin. Whoever my parents are or were, they didn’t care enough to merit my presence. I do not take my life for granted.”
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“Nor should you, my son.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“Come. Let’s not talk of such things any longer. Food is ready. We must not let it go to waste.”
Odin settled down on the floor only to find himself sinking lower.
How could someone have done something so cruel?
How could someone have tossed a child to the sea?
They spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the day and the intruding feelings to end. Inside—pressed together with an Ogre, an Elf, and a fellow human being—Odin felt claustrophobia set it. It took hold of his chest, squeezed his heart, threatened to overwhelm him as though he were nothing more than a spider trapped within a glass bottle with water pouring in from above—images of a tower and a locked door came to mind and nearly sent him over the edge, toward the place where madness lay hungry like a dog starved and awaiting its meal.
Heart pounding, he took slow, deep breaths and waited.
When night fell, fireflies came out to play.
Ranging from the occasional, small group to larger swarms of about three or four dozen, they spirited amidst the mounds and danced to the sound of the wind. Several, in ritualistic lust, latched onto one another and began plummeting to the ground, only to save themselves at the last minute and return to the air as though nothing had happened. This bizarre, if somewhat-beautiful display brought warmth to Odin’s dark heart and secured within him a sense of peace he had not felt since their encounter with the saltwater Ogre.
While Sunskin slept and Nova dozed in the corner, Miko sat in the entryway, watching the spectacle unfold.
“Sir?” Odin asked.
The Elf glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Can I sit with you?”
Miko set a hand on the spot beside him. Odin wasted no time in taking his seat. “Have you been watching them?” the Elf asked, extending a hand out of the mound. “They’re quite beautiful.”
“They are,” Odin nodded. A firefly broke away from the group and made its way toward them, then took its place on Miko’s extended nail. So close up, Odin could make out the pulsing bulb on its thorax and its glistening, veiny wings, so wax-like that they could have easily been crafted by a goddess. It arched its body as though stretching, pumped its wings, then took flight to rejoin its group. “Wow.”
“It’s quite a sight, this island at night.”
“How come we didn’t see any fireflies by the beach?”
“Too cold, windy. They prefer the woods.”
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier, sir.”
“Hmm?”
“When I asked you what it meant to be a Nafran.”
“Oh.” Miko paused. “Don’t worry. I’m not upset.”
“You say that, but I know.”
“You read me like a book, my friend.”
“It’s because you’re not bothering to close your cover.”
The Elf smirked. Odin couldn’t smile.
“Like I said,” Miko continued, “there’s no need to worry about how your question did or did not affect me. I am not prone to insult or injury.”
“I know, but it’s never nice to have feelings hurt.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Scooting closer, Odin reached across his knight master’s back and gripped his shoulder. He said nor did anything for the next several moments, simply enjoying the closeness and the bond they shared. After he felt he’d done his part, he withdrew his arm and set it in his lap, content with his gesture and what it had accomplished.
“They’re beautiful,” Miko whispered.
“Sir?” Odin frowned.
The Elf said nothing. He only continued to watch the fireflies.
3
Like a creeping spider slowly making its way up a tree, the sun rose over the horizon and gave birth to the light of a new day. Birds rose from their slumber, cawing and crowing in glee and grief, Ogres shambled to and fro, the sound of gods and monsters within the world of mortals, and Odin, barely conscious, tossed and turned, tangled in the folds of his bedroll.
Child.
The voice, deep but female, rumbled in his head.
Still your meaningless shakes.
He settled down.
World bleary, eyes unfocused, he caught one glance of the Ogre before he drifted back to sleep.
Later, after his body calmed and his mind fully came to consciousness, Odin pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to gain his bearings. Outside, an Ogre passed by, dragging what appeared to be the bloody carcass of a giant pig in tow.
Are those the boars Miko was talking about?
If so, it was no wonder the Elf didn’t want them in the woods.
“Red-eyes.”
Startled, Odin looked up to find Sunskin sitting nearby, legs crossed and hands hanging limply in her lap. “Yes?” he frowned.
“You dream of things that made you shake.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“I…” He paused. “You woke me up, didn’t you?”
“You were not conscious, but you did wake, if only in spirit.”
“I saw you. You… had your hand on my chest.”
“To still your shakes. Yes. I did.”
“Thank you.”
“There is no need to thank me. Come—sit by me, child of Felnon.”
Odin turned, surveyed the area and, finding both Miko and Nova asleep, crawled across the room. He settled down beside the Ogre with the slightest bit of unsurety.
She could crush me with one finger if she wanted.
Still, that meant nothing. She’d opened her home to them—what reason would she have to hurt him?
None.
In the back of his mind, he knew Miko would spare no mercy to someone who hurt him, not even his own mother.
“Was there something you needed?” he asked, taking a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes.
“No.”
“Oh. All right.”
“I simply wanted company. My son spent a long night staring at the firebugs.”
“I wanted to ask you about that,” Odin mumbled, looking down at his hands. “Sunskin… can he… can he…”
“Can he what, child?”
“Can he see things I can’t?”
“How am I to know what he sees and what you cannot?”
“He’ll sit in one spot for hours at a time, staring at nothing but the sea or the firebugs we watched last night. I worry about him. Whenever he gets like that, he won’t answer me. He won’t even move or breathe.”
“Have you considered that there are things only certain beings can see?”
“Yes. Me and Nova talked about that on the way to Neline. Miko’s also mentioned it.”
“Then what is there to question if you already have an answer?”
“That’s the thing—I don’t have an answer.”
“Like I said, I am unable to know what you see, nor do I know what my son sees. It would not surprise me if he saw things the eyes cannot see. His blood, though pure, is tainted. His father took root of his mother’s beautiful body and corrupted it in ways that you could not begin to imagine, child. What other reason would a beautiful creature with eyes of gold and skin of silver let such a monstrosity touch her?”
“Are they really that bad?”
“Even the most sinister of Goblins or the most disgusting of Orcs could not begin to match the evil that rests within a Draethel’s heart. They say you cannot be born evil, but that is a lie. Eons ago, when the world was young and the beautiful, great Elves had just built their shining city, a group of men and women stole a book that held our world’s darkest secrets.”
“What book?”
“A book so filthy, so corrupt, that any who touched it lost a part of themselves. Their skin turned gray, their bodies craved blood, so much that they became vampires—bloodsuckers, things that stalked the night and fed from the weak and innocent. But that is not all the book did.
No. Such a book could not taint one so just by touching it.”
“What turned them into Draethel then?”
“The magic inside blackened their hearts and cursed their blood, their minds, their seed. That magic was Necromancy, bone magery, flesh summoning, the gift to bring a corpse back to life. Nothing inside that book was ever meant to be read, nor should it have ever been written.”
“So the magic inside it cursed them forever?”
“And turned them into a completely different race,” the Ogre nodded. “You must understand, my child—my son is not a pure-blooded creature like you or I. His mind endures an endless state of torture and his body lives in constant agony to keep itself alive. He is by no means perfect.”
“What’s the point of living if you’re always in pain though?” he frowned. “Why suffer with it?”
“Because there are greater things in this world than death,” the Ogre said, “especially when there are much worse things to suffer afterward.”
Rising from sleep in a tangled yet elegant grace, Miko rose from his spot on the floor, arched his back and pushed his arms over his head, flexing nearly-gleaming muscles in the light of a new day. He stood there for a moment, reveling in the warmth of the sun, before he turned to face Odin and Sunskin. “Hello,” he nodded, bowing his head. “Good morning Mother, Odin.”
“Good morning,” the Ogre said. “You slept well?”
“As always. You?”
“As always.”
Smiling, Miko stood, grabbed his cape, and secured it around his neck, but not before whipping the folds free of dirt. “Odin,” the Elf said.
“Yes sir?”
“Would you be wiling to walk with me today, maybe experience a little more of the culture here?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe you’re not one for walking.”
“If I weren’t one for walking,” Odin chuckled, “I don’t think I would’ve asked my father to let me join the military.”
“True,” the Elf smirked. The tip of an exposed ear twitched just before Nova mumbled something under his breath.
Did I just see what I think I saw?
Could the Elf really have heard the sound before it actually happened?
