The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  A faint smile crested Miko’s lips. “The perfect thing to teach,” the Elf said. “Knitting without magic.”

  With his head bowed, Odin guided the yarn around his thumb and through the knitting needles, repeating the process each time with equal precision. At his side, Miko watched with intense fascination, never allowing his gaze to stray from the long wooden needles Odin balanced in both hands.

  “I’ve always wondered if you were left handed,” Nova mumbled, leaning back against his bedroll and watching as Odin readjusted his hold on the one needle.

  “You did?” Odin frowned.

  “Yeah. I mean, I know you use it for your sword, but I figured that was just because you had to for whatever reason.”

  “I’ve been using my left hand since I was six. I kinda had to after I broke my arm.”

  “Oh.”

  “How come you mentioned it?”

  “You’d think it’d be harder to use your left hand than your right,” the older man shrugged, reaching up to scratch his tangle of fiery chinbeard. “Then again, I’ve only ever had to use my right.”

  “Which is surprising,” the Elf mumbled, eyes still set on the knitting needles. “It’s not often you hear of a farmer’s son coming out of the fields after years of work without injury.”

  “No,” Nova laughed. “It isn’t.”

  Sunskin snorted. Odin couldn’t help but chuckle. “You humans amuse me,” the Ogre said, shifting her massive bulk. “It’s not often you hear such trivial banter among Ogrekind.”

  “What do you expect?” Nova grinned. “It’s not like we’ve ever been around Ogres before. Here I was, a humble farm boy out in the hills of Bohren, thinking all you Ogres did was run around and terrorize villages. Guess you proved me wrong.”

  “The falsehoods used against us by your human storytellers has done much damage to our kind over the generations. It is they that forced us from the mainland with their lies and deceit.”

  “How did you end up on the island?” Odin frowned. “You couldn’t have made ships, could you?”

  “Dear child, we Ogres can do anything you humans can—we just choose not to. Why do you think we build our homes from clay and dirt or choose to live in tribal groups rather than cities?”

  “Because it’s simpler that way.”

  “Which is why our kind did not come to the islands by boats.”

  “Old lore has it that there used to be a land bridge connecting the islands to the mainland,” Miko said, turning his eyes up to his mother. “That is—”

  “Until the ground shook and quaked,” the Ogre finished, harmonizing her tale with her son’s in an almost-perfect display. “It was the God or Gods you humans speak of so that broke the islands away from their mother. I will not lie though, my friends—we Ogres and Leatherskins are much better off because of it.”

  “As is the fate of those races who fell to to the judgement of the human race.”

  Ogres, Kerma, Dwarves, Goblins, Elves, Draethel, Centaurs, Giants—the list could go on and on, almost to no end, but each and every race that had come into contact with humanity had, in one way or another, been affected by them. While Ogres and other Leatherskins were forced to live on islands, and while the Dwarves buried themselves away in their Hornblaris Mountains, what would become of the diseased Kerma in the coming years? Would they truly recover, or would they fade away, a testament to humankind’s long, hard exploration?

  Will their bones be all that exists? Odin thought. Will we look back someday and realize what all we’ve done?

  He looked his yarn around his needles.

  At that moment, he realized they should be bonding chains, not breaking them.

  “Odin, Nova—we need to talk about something.”

  Frowning, Odin turned his head up to find Miko standing in the entryway. Eyes set most likely on the village, the Elf waited a moment before turning his attention back to them.

  “What is it?” Nova asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Odin added.

  “I think it’s time we leave the village,” the Elf sighed.

  “What?”

  Startled, Odin glanced at Nova. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when he saw scarlet crawling up from beneath the man’s beard and onto his cheeks.

  “Our presence here is troubling,” Miko said, reaching up to touch his temple. “Not only is it pressing on both ourselves and the other Ogres, it’s also taxing my mother.”

  “She didn’t seem—”

  “Her weakness is shown not in words, but actions, Odin.”

  “It doesn’t matter how her actions are shown,” Nova growled, standing. “What the hell do you expect us to do? Leave? Uh, last I recall, Miko, we can’t—the fucking boat’s gone.”

  “There are options—”

  “What? The beach, the woods, the monks? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you want to stay with a bunch of lunatics who, for all we know, might be doing more than walking down the beach waving their stupid pathetic fucking—”

  “Nova,” Odin said.

  “Don’t Nova me, kid—I’m being realistic. Besides—even if the monks did let us come back, do you really want to sit around and listen to some nut preach all day? I sure as hell don’t.”

  “I’m guessing you weren’t one to practice in your younger days,” Miko smirked.

  “Hey—I’m all for believing in God as long as someone isn’t shoving His word down my throat. I just know better than to believe that just because someone says He said something doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “True.” Pausing, Miko messaged his temples. His hands gradually spread to the sides of his face, where he rubbed the twin nodules of bone just above his ears. “I can understand your sentiments.”

  “Which is why I don’t want to leave.”

  “Which doesn’t mean we aren’t going to.”

  Odin grimaced. He didn’t think they’d be getting out of that one.

  “So what are you suggesting then?” Odin frowned. “What’re we doing if we’re not staying here?”

  “Before we continue any further, I want to make something clear: this was my decision, not my mother’s.”

  “We know,” Odin nodded.

  “I just wanted to make you aware that my mother doesn’t want us to leave. If anything, she’s willing to push her tribe away in order to let us remain here, but that isn’t in her best interest, as she’s getting too old and would be far too easy a target if she was left to her own devices. As to your question, Nova, there are caves that would provide substantial shelter through the rainy months.”

  “What caves?” Odin frowned.

  “The cave near the hills.”

  He managed to swallow the lump in his throat. “Suh-Sir?”

  “Though my mother hasn’t forewarned me of what dwells near the hills, I promise that whatever it is, no harm will befall either of you, just as I’ve promised in the past.”

  “We know,” Nova sighed. “We trust you.”

  “I’m sure you do, Nova.” Again, the Elf paused. This time, it seemed he couldn’t help but let a breath of air pass from his lips. “I’m sorry. Had I known this would arise, I would have never brought you here.”

  No, Odin thought. You wouldn’t’ve.

  Regardless, he knew the true nature in the Elf’s words.

  Behind Miko’s dark eyes, he could see the real message—the one that beckoned for understanding.

  Only once in a thousand years is a child like he able to see his mother.

  When that chance comes, it can’t be easily pushed aside.

  They were ready to leave by the time Sunskin returned from her anonymous location. Packs over their shoulders, weapons at their sides, Odin and Nova stood in the entryway watching Miko converse with the very reason they had journeyed all the way to the Tentalin Isles. Graceful head high, neck taut with tension, the Elf kept his eyes on the ancient, seemingly-ageless being before him. Not once did he falter in voice, turn his gaze from the Ogre
’s deep eyes or allow his lips to tremble for the act he committed, nor did his voice seem fractured and bent as though young and brimming with youth. It seemed, despite the remorseful, emotional tension that tinged the air, that Miko was able to hold steady, only nodding or speaking when required.

  How hard is it, Odin thought, to leave your mother?

  The question, though deeply-rooted in his conscience, could not be answered. With his mother having died during childbirth and Mother Karma only vaguely resembling a motherly figure, the question would probably go unanswered for the rest of his life, a dull flame silently burning without ever casting light.

  “Maeko,” the Ogre said, strong voice lower than usual. “Why—”

  “It’s too dangerous for us to stay here, Mother. Someone’s going to end up hurt.”

  “This is my village, Maeko. I care not what Bafran or any other Ogre think. As long as I lead these people, I am the one who decides who stays and goes, not the other way around.”

  “Which is why I’m not asking you to choose,” Miko sighed. “I know how much this means to you, because it means just as much to me, but I can’t risk having you hurt just because we’re staying in your village.”

  “Son—”

  “I’ve already decided, Mother. We’re leaving.”

  The deathly silence that followed raised the hairs on Odin’s neck, his arms, on his eyebrows and even the tips of his eyelashes. Nothing could be heard. Not the wind, not the trees, not an Ogre lumbering in the distance or the birds shifting in the leaves—nothing. Like a God clamping His fist around a trumpeting angel, all sound had ceased to exist.

  What… why didn’t she…

  He cast a glance at Nova. The man said, nor did, a thing. He simply stared at the two behemoths before them.

  “Mother,” the Elf whispered. A low growl followed Miko’s silent plea. “I… I’m sorry. If I could do something, then I—”

  A blur of movement instinctively forced Odin backward.

  The pot and pan arrangement above the fireplace exploded as the Ogre’s fist came down upon it.

  No more than a foot away from where his mother’s fist had impacted, Miko stood, grimacing.

  In one swift motion, the Ogre turned and trampled out of the hut, leaving her fireplace and, most likely, her son’s emotions, in pieces.

  “Sir… you can’t—”

  “There is nothing I could’ve done to temper her reaction. We are lucky she controlled herself the way she did, otherwise one of you might’ve been hurt.”

  “Are you hurt?” Nova asked, trudging up alongside them.

  “Physically,” the Elf said, “no. Emotionally…”

  Nothing more need be said.

  Keeping his silence, Odin briefly turned his attention to Nova, who only shrugged in response.

  She could’ve killed him, he thought.

  Would Miko have moved had his mother tried to deal a fatal blow, or would he have stood there and taken the punishment he felt he likely deserved? Like hell hath no fury on a mother scorned, the fact that she’d come so close to hitting him was evidence enough that her anger ran deep—bloodborne, it seemed, like a disease slowly coursing through a dying thing’s veins.

  “Miko?” Odin whispered.

  “Yes, Odin?”

  “How long will it take us to get to the hills?”

  “Nightfall,” the Elf said. “We’ll be there just as the sun’s setting.”

  “And what if whatever’s out there finds us?” Nova asked.

  “Then have mercy on our souls, dear Nova.”

  4

  Night fell with a crescendo of rain. Tropical in its humidity but agonizing in its force, it beat down on them relentlessly and without mercy. It seemed that no matter where they went, how thick the shrubs around them managed to be or what path they took, they couldn’t escape the frigid onslaught, a god’s tears for angering his or her creation.

  Though cruel to their expectations, Mother Nature did what She wanted. She would not be swayed.

  “Odin,” Nova grunted, head bowed and shoulders hunched from the weight of rainwater on his shoulders. “You ok?”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

  Truth be told, he didn’t think he could stand another minute of this weather, but he would not reveal that to Nova, much less the knight master whose emotions were likely shattered. Like Neline no more than a year ago, the rain that pummeled them shook his core and weakened his resolve, giving him all the reason to simply stop and huddle beneath the roots of a large, nearly-dead tree.

  It would only be a matter of time before he did just that.

  “We’re almost there,” Miko said, lifting his head. He surveyed the area for a moment, then raised his hand. “I think this is it.”

  “Thank God,” Nova breathed.

  Odin nodded. He drew up alongside the Elf a moment later. “Are we he here?” he whispered.

  “Yes, Odin. We are.”

  A spark of flame was all it took to call the cave home.

  Huddled around a fire in blankets and near-drenched clothing, Odin, Nova and Miko watched chaos rule the outside world. With lightning striking overhead and thunder booming in the distance, it need not matter whether they sat in front of the fire or ten feet away from it—the shivers came from only one place.

  They’re definitely not from being cold.

  Looking up, Odin drew the blanket around his shoulders and grimaced when his knight master caught his eye. Even in the brightest, most orange of fires, Miko’s tranquil, purple eyes always managed to unnerve him in moments of weakness. Something about the way Miko’s pupils dilated to the thinnest of slits, much like a cat’s, made his skin crawl and his heart beat faster. Was it because Miko was something other than human, or was it something else, something more all-knowing and sinister?

  It’s nothing, he thought. Nothing at all.

  “Are you all right?” the Elf asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Are you all right, Odin?”

  “Oh.” He nodded and looked down at his knees before returning his attention to the being before him. “I’m fine—just cold, that’s all.”

  “It should pass soon enough.”

  “Hopefully,” Nova grumbled, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived. “It’s as cold as shit in here.”

  “Like I said, the rain should pass soon enough… should the islands not be afflicted by a storm.”

  “A storm?” Odin frowned. “What?”

  “You remember the agony the Annabelle befell during the rainstorm, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Think of that, but with winds so harsh and strong they can lift you up and tear you away from everything you know.”

  “That’s why the monks live in stone,” Odin whispered. “It—”

  “Protects them from the wind,” the Elf nodded. “As was the case with the intricate stone blocks you might have seen resting under your bed. They are slid into the windows and used to keep the wind from blowing into the monastery during such calamities.”

  “You don’t think we’ll have any problems?” Nova frowned.

  “I highly doubt it. The only ones I’d be concerned for would be the monks, but even then, they live in their monastery. The worst that they’d have to deal with is cleaning the sand the wind lifts from the beach. And as for the Ogres, they’re not ignorant by any means—they placed themselves so far back for a reason.”

  “So everything’ll be fine then.”

  “Unless the storm decides to get worse.”

  How worse would it have to be to get this far inland?

  Odin dare not question his thought, less he jinx himself.

  Spreading out, he rolled into his bedroll and closed his eyes.

  Tomorrow would be another day.

  Hopefully, nothing bad would come of it.

  The rain continued through the night and into the early morning. By mid-afternoon, the ground remained so soaked that he didn’t want to get out of be
d. Hungover from both mental relaxation and the warmth his bedroll provided, Odin slept in, ignoring the ignorant, post-storm cries of the gloomy, dreary day.

  By the time he did rise, clouds darkened the sky and thunder sounded in the distance.

  “Again?” Nova groaned, reaching up to run a hand through his tangled mess of hair. “We might as well just go back to bed.”

  “Too much of a good thing can be bad,” Miko said, tightening his lower robe around his waist. “Trust me—you’ll feel much better if you wake up now than you will in a few hours.”

  “Yeah,” Nova grunted, pushing himself out of the bedroll. “Whatever.”

  Sighing, Odin, too, rose and turned to face his companions, but not without looking outside and viewing the destructive effects of last night’s storm. From snapped twigs, to broken branches, to entire trees toppled by the mighty gale, power lingered in each and every surface and seemed to beckon him with moral wounds inflicted on their inanimate hides. Such imagery forced him to consider just how they’d managed to escape the chaos. Had the cave kept them safe, sheltering them from the torrential onslaught that pounded the earth, or had it been something else, something far greater and concrete than just simple rock and stone?

  Him? he thought.

  No. Surely Miko wouldn’t have lain awake all night projecting a barrier in front of the cave. That would’ve required far too much effort, especially for a single person fighting to keep something such as a storm out of a cave.

  But what if he did?

  What if, regardless of his superstitions, Miko had stayed awake all night, and kept a barrier in front of them while at it? It wasn’t out of his power—he’d proven that countless times by making the seemingly-impossible possible—but could he really sustain the energy needed to do such a thing? Could he hold a barrier throughout the night, shielding them from the wind and rain, or could he have done something else, something Odin wasn’t even aware of?

  Does it really matter?

  It didn’t, but maybe an answer would be enough to quell the uneasiness rising in his chest.