by Kody Boye
No immediate response followed.
Waiting, Odin settled his hands into his lap, fingering the loose threads on the sleeves of his shirt. He did his best to keep eye contact with his master, but made sure not to keep too much for fear of making him nervous. Though strong and full of pride, who knew how the Elf would respond to an unfaltering, questioning gaze.
I know I don’t want to find out.
“Odin?” Miko asked.
“Yes sir?”
“To answer your question, no—I don’t know why I laid there without responding to you. I have to tell you something though, something that might explain some of my odd behaviors. Are you listening?”
“I’m listening.”
“There are times when, for no reason at all, my mind will go blank—just like that. It’s almost like I’m closing my eyes to go to sleep, but without actually sleeping in the process. When I wake up, I’ll have no recollection of when exactly I laid down, nor will I remember the last thing I saw or did beforehand. It’s like… I can’t explain it. It’s like when you take a cloth and wipe a dusty table. The dust is gone, but the table’s still there, even though what was covering it is no longer. Are you following me?”
“Yes sir.”
“There’s something else, Odin… I have to ask you something though. If I tell you this, I want you to promise to keep it between the two of us.”
“You know I—”
“You can’t tell Nova, your magic teacher, the mages, Parfour—anyone you think you know or may not know. You’ll promise me that even if someone puts a knife to your throat, even if someone threatens to cut you open piece by tiny piece or the king himself demands your deepest secret, you will never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”
“You know I wouldn’t, sir.”
“This isn’t an occasional thing.”
Odin frowned. What?
Had he heard correctly?
“Sir,” he said, “What are you—”
“This happens more than I’d like it to, Odin. Do you understand?”
“No. I… I don’t see what you—”
“There are times when I’ll fall asleep and won’t wake up for days.”
“Sir, what’re you—”
“You heard me, Odin. I’ll lay down to go to sleep, but I won’t wake up the following morning. Sometimes I won’t wake up for days on end, maybe even months. I—”
“But you wake up every day. You—”
When he doesn’t talk, when he doesn’t say anything, when he’s cooking dinner or when he’s staring at things you can’t see. When he—
“Sir… are you saying—”
“Yes, Odin. When you’ve woken to find me staring out at something, I may not have really been there.”
“Back then,” Odin said after a moment’s hesitation, “when you were watching the firebugs. You’re saying that you couldn’t… that you weren’t able to—”
“I couldn’t see anything, Odin. I wouldn’t have even known about this had you not told me.”
“What happens then? What happens when you go to sleep and you don’t wake up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you go somewhere you normally can’t see, or maybe you don’t go anywhere at all. Maybe you’re just simply there, existing as though nothing’s happening around you.”
“Sir… if you don’t know where you are or what you’re doing when this happens, how are you able to talk or walk around?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe instinct takes hold of my body and uses it in the way it needs to, or maybe I’m really speaking, moving and doing everything else without being aware of it.”
“Why haven’t you asked for help?”
“Because for the longest time, I thought I was out of my mind, Odin. There were days I’d wake up expecting to be next to my friend or lover only to find them gone—vanished, apparently, never to be seen again. I’d rise and make my way out into my choice of dwelling, seek out a friend or companion and ask where they’d gone, then come to find that the person I held more dear to my heart than anything else in my world had been gone a long time. Dead, they’d say, but sometimes in the rarest, most special of instances they’d say they’d simply moved on, afraid of who or what I’d become when, in fact, I’d become nothing. I’d simply stopped seeing the world for a much longer time than I thought.
“To answer your question, Odin—no, I don’t know what happens during these times. I don’t know what happens inside me, I don’t know what happens around me, I don’t know what happens to the world or the things I exist in. I don’t know anything. Maybe this is why I always feel so tragic. Maybe this is why I seem like such a sad, helpless being.”
Odin didn’t know what to say.
In the distance, a bird chirped, singing the coming of a new day.
Nearby, a chipmunk hopped onto a log and idly nibbled its nut, then skittered away just as quickly when it realized there were three humanoids nearby.
No more than a foot away, buried in the depths of his head, Odin came to a realization.
It really was true.
Sometimes, when you closed your eyes, you could wake up in an entirely different place, in an entirely different time.
Fear grew deep.
It spread its roots.
It sowed its seeds.
If only he could tell his knight master that he’d experienced the same thing no more than a day ago, maybe then he could close his eyes at night and dream without worry.
2
Plush sand parted beneath their feet the moment they stepped onto the beach. Distantly aware of the presence of ringing bells, Odin raised his head and scanned the area, searching for the monks that would surely be nearby. When he saw none, however, he couldn’t help but frown.
“Something wrong?” Nova asked, setting a hand on his back.
“Where are they?” Odin replied.
“Who?”
“The monks.”
“Don’t know,” Nova laughed. “How come?”
“I can hear bells.”
“As can I,” Miko whispered.
“That must mean they’re nearby then,” Nova shrugged.
“You can’t hear that?” Odin asked.
“Uh… no. That’s kind of what I implied.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to be. It’s obvious you two have better hearing than I do. No complaints from me.”
“Let’s keep going,” the Elf murmured, stepping forward. “We don’t want to disturb their ritual.”
No, Odin thought. We don’t.
Though he had no idea what might happen should they cross the monks’ path, he didn’t want to find out.
Taking the initiative, Odin adjusted his slacking pack and continued to follow the Elf across the beach. Nova at his side, the ocean all the more present, he breathed in the clean, salty air and trembled at the sight of such a monstrous entity. Memories of his past breathed new life into his conscience with the simplest of actions. The chill his mind, the waves his thoughts, the breeze his doubts and the ocean his worries—it took little for the beautifully-violent thing to stir his heart.
Butterflies swarming around his head, he thought of a boy and what a year could have done to him.
Parfour.
“Sir,” Odin said, quickening his pace to keep stride with the Elf. “How are we going to ask Beal if you can take Parfour as your apprentice?”
“Simple,” Miko said. “I ask, they accept.”
A brief flash of the Elf’s white teeth appeared from beneath the hood of his cloak.
“Sir?”
“There’s no need for them to argue their case with me, Odin. If I ask to take one of the boys and they refuse, I threaten them.”
“Threaten them?” Nova frowned. “What’re you—”
“Oh no,” Odin said. “You’re not saying—”
“I’m afraid so, Odin.”
“Wait a minute!” Nova said, stopping in his tracks. “What’re you two talking about
? What’s wrong?”
“They’re abusing these children, Nova.”
“What? Why—”
“Parents send unruly sons to the islands,” the Elf said, “to show them how much they have—to teach them that they really do have a loving home even though they may think otherwise.”
“The sick bastards.”
“Do you not wonder why the boys would not make eye contact with us or why we barely saw them, if at all, despite the fact that this is a monastery?”
“They were praying,” Odin mumbled. “That’s what they said. That’s why we never saw them. We… we didn’t—” He lost control of his words. Hand tightening to a fist, he reached down and took hold of his sword, rage burning in his heart and flames spouting at the front of his vision. “I’ll kill them,” he breathed. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll kill each and every one of them.”
“Your heart is in the right place, Odin. Sadly, your mind is not.”
“That’s why they were so wary of us,” Nova said, turning his head to look at the two of them. “That’s why we were always being watched.”
“Or scrutinized. Yes.”
“That’s why Parfour didn’t want to do anything that might get him in trouble,” Odin whispered, no longer able to control his shakes. “That’s why he didn’t want to get caught when we were on the beach.”
“Odin—”
“This isn’t right!” he cried. “They can’t get away with this!”
“Nor should they,” Miko sighed. “Odin, there’s nothing we can do at the time being. You’re not a knight, nor do you have the legal authority to take the boys or apprehend the monks. If you tried to take them now, in your current state, you’d be arrested for vigilantism. I dare not think what would happen to me as both your guardian and an untrusted, frowned upon Halfling should someone report us to the authorities as kidnappers.”
“So what do we do?” Odin frowned.
“We take Parfour,” the Elf began, “and return to the castle. Only testimony from the boy himself will convince the court that something should be done. The Tentalin Isles aren’t governed by your king, regardless of what anyone thinks or believes. Only activity that causes harm to the Ornalan people can merit an investigation on foreign soil.”
“Which means—”
“Yes, Odin, Nova. If Parfour is dead, or the monks refuse to give us to him, we may have to face coming off this island as heathens.”
Tension filled the air. Wrought with worry, despair, agony, and crime, they sat in the antechamber awaiting Beal’s assembly, all the while trying to maintain a semblance of sanity.
Nearby, a servant boy stood with his back to the wall, eyes wary and full of caution.
Something’s not right, Odin thought, trying his best not to squirm. His eyes.
Calculating, crab-like, centered on every one of them at any given time—the boy seemed abstract, unsure of his surroundings but dead-set on keeping track of everything that transpired within the room. From the brief shift of Miko’s hand to the drum of Nova’s fingers on the table, nothing seemed to go unwatched or unnoticed. For that, it seemed, he was a spy—a rat, some would say, keeping track of his surroundings to report back to his emperor.
Those without secrets had nothing to hide. Those that did had everything to lose.
Looking up, Odin had just enough time to catch the boy looking away from him before the door opened.
Stepping into the room, the most despicable man Odin had ever laid gaze upon set his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gestured him out of the room. Brown-green eyes indifferent, Beal turned his attention on the shrouded figure sitting at the end of the room and smiled. “Ah,” Beal said. “I figured it would be you.”
“Oh?” Miko asked.
“No one’s ever requested an audience. That is, no one except you.”
Miko said nothing. He merely shifted his arms away from his chest and laced his fingers atop the table.
“So, gentlemen—what can I do for you?”
“Our presence on the island has ended,” the Elf began. “A year has passed and my squire is almost ready for knighthood.”
“Congratulations,” Beal said, tipping his head in Odin’s direction. “It must be liberating to know that your training is finally over.”
“Yes sir.”
But it’s even more liberating to know that I’ll be putting bastards like you in jail.
It took all of his willpower to keep from lashing out. Hand balled into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm, he lowered his appendage onto his lap and forced a smile, one Beal quickly returned.
“I’m sorry,” the monk continued, settling into a chair at the head of the table. “I assume you didn’t come to listen to me prattle. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“As you already know,” Miko began, “my time with Odin is almost over. Since he’s almost ready to ascend to knighthood, this leaves me without someone to help me with my current affairs—an assistant, more or less. Though I’d be the last to say that I am completely helpless, I can say without a doubt in my heart that my time with these young men has been some of the greatest I’ve ever experienced.”
“I can imagine,” Beal said. “To counsel young minds and shape them for the future is a brilliant thing. A man can give no better gift to a boy than guidance.”
“Which is why I’ve come to you, Master Beal.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like to take one of the boys back to the mainland with me.”
The room went quiet. Beal did not immediately reply.
And the snake bears its fangs, Odin thought, as it descends from the tree.
“Which boy”? the man asked after a moment of hesitation. As though startled into submission, he reached out to steady himself on the table, but even then, that did little to conceal his quivering lips and shaking eyes.
“Parfour,” Miko replied.
Beal kept his silence.
Odin’s hands tightened into fists.
Nova’s fingers stopped drumming.
The room chilled.
“Why Parfour, dear stranger?” Beal asked. “What purpose would he serve for you?”
“I think you’re asking the wrong question, Beal. I think you should be asking what purpose he serves you.”
“Bastard.”
“I know what you’re doing here, Beal—I know what each and every one of you are doing. I know what the men who sail into the docks of Elna and Ornala are doing, I know what they’re doing when they bring those unruly or incapable onto their boats, and I know what you’re doing when they bring him here.” Miko stood. He circled the table with his arms hung slack and his fingers flushing in a rhythmic pattern. As if drumming chords across a harp, he played the situation into his own hands, dealing cards when they came and tossing them when they went. He did all this with his words, not might, and with his eyes set on Beal’s body he advanced, pressing himself further into the room as though ready to strike. Finally, when he stood no more than a foot away from the Tentalin monk, he dealt the single and final card, the only one that need be played. With his head held high but his face not showing, he said, “Tell me, Beal—how does it feel to know that you’re touching something you know you’re not supposed to?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, Beal—I’d like to know, specifically how you keep the boys quiet when you have visitors. Is it that you… trust them? Is it because you… torture them? Is it because you… lock them into little rooms during the day and wait to let them out at night? You know you can’t let all of them out during the day, because more than one scared dog will band together to act as a pact, so you let one or two out, maybe three if it strikes your fancy. That’s why you let Parfour out a year ago when we first arrived on the island, wasn’t it?”
“I said—”
Miko leaned forward. “Tell me,” he whispered. “How do you rape the boys you take into your care?”
Beal lunged.
Miko’s s
word was out and resting against the monk’s neck in a moment. “If you move even one breath closer,” the Elf said, body flushing as he leveled the sword right beneath Beal’s Adam’s apple, “you’ll never have the chance to hurt anyone again.”
“You motherfucking, cunt-breathed bastard.”
“Call me whatever you want, old man—at least I’ll know I’ve never done something as sick and vile as you have.”
“What do you want from me? I don’t care—take it! Take whatever you want! I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”
“I want the boy, Beal—that’s all I ask for. That’s all I want.”
With a final sigh, Odin closed his eyes.
“All right,” Beal breathed. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Just don’t expect to be welcomed onto this island again.”
“Don’t worry,” Miko said. “I won’t.”
They were out of the monastery no sooner than they’d entered.
Parfour in tow, they stole along the beach and retreated into the forest.
Bloody, bruised, without most of his clothing and his right eye swelled shut, the boy sobbed as Miko brought him to the ground and wiped his hair out of his face.
“There,” the Elf whispered, tipping Parfour’s head up to examine his injuries. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be fine, Parfour.”
“What happened?” Odin asked, falling to his knees at the boy’s side. “What’d they do to you?”
“You don’t want to know,” Parfour managed, bringing his legs to his chest. He shivered as Nova set a blanket over his shoulders, but made no move to continue what he’d just said. Who could blame him though? Who could blame a boy who’d gone through inexplicable tortures, all for the sake of one man’s twisted pleasures? Who could blame him for staring at his feet, losing himself in his thoughts and a world imagined to deal with the hardships of his life, and who could blame him when he took his time to muster the urge to turn his head up, to look into his savior’s hidden eyes and ask the question everyone had been waiting for him to ask? Who could blame the boy when, after an eternity, he asked, “Why me?”
