by Kody Boye
You’re a brave man, Odin thought, tempted to reach out and tip Virgin’s chin up to look into his eyes. It’s not easy being around me.
Virgin could have simply left after he had dropped him off in Lesliana. Free to his own devices, his life and, ultimately, his future, there had been nothing to hold him back from turning his back and leaving this awfully-beautiful city. As cruel as that seemed and as horrible as it sounded, this man—this rogue, of all people—shared no ties to him other than an emotional confliction that had happened over the course of one single, lonely night. Why he’d stayed was beyond Odin’s comprehension, but if past and previous night’s discussion led him to believe anything, it was that Virgin did have a soft spot for him, no matter how large or small as it was, and it was that spot that had and was keeping him around.
To think that this beautiful creature was staying only for him was enough to nearly force Odin to tears.
You’ve been here this whole time.
Through thick and thin, blood and gore, violence and destruction and life and near-death, Virgin had stood proud at his side, even going so far as to declare him his partner. That alone was enough to feel proud and honored within his presence.
“You all right?” Virgin asked.
Odin blinked, allowing his vision to clear before he turned his attention on his companion and offered a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Were you thinking about something?”
“Would you take me to the lake?”
“The lake?”
“The one within Lesliana’s walls.”
“I’ll take you.”
“Good. I think I just got an idea.”
The two of them stood at the end of the long, sloping dirt path that led to the water’s edge. Hair ablaze in the wind that skirted along the edge of the lowland country and eyes alight in wonder, Odin stepped toward the seemingly-green water and crouched down to trail his fingers over its surface. Ripples—first small, then large—echoed from his touch and ran either their brief or marathon distance until they faded into obscurity.
“It’s beautiful,” Odin said, turning his attention up at the surrounding crater, which seemed to have been carved into the earth like a spoon in a tub of paste.
“It’s been here since the dawn of our time on this continent,” Virgin said, falling to one knee beside Odin to mimic his notice. “You won’t find many places like this that will harbor life.”
“Why not?”
“They say the rocks from the sky kill all chances of existence.”
The vast tapestry of vines and greenery crawled along the crater’s fine walls and showered the mind with a beautiful viscera of color. The seldom shrub, trees, and even a few bands of red and white flowers paraded along the outer edges for as far as the eye could see, creating the impression that this place, harboring as much superstition as it may see fit, gave birth to beauty in the most simplistic ways. He saw no bugs, no animals, no creatures who walked upon the water, nor did he see any Elves wandering close to the pond’s edge on this fine, late-fall day. That alone filled him with a sense of awe that made him believe more than well that he really could do what it was he wanted to without anyone thinking or saying a thing.
Pushing himself to his full height, Odin extended the hand the ring was on.
Virgin stood.
Odin closed his eyes.
He pictured within the blank canvas of his mind a horse made entirely of water.
Come to me, he thought, and give me your heart.
A whisper of words so faint and inaudible began to echo from the water’s shore and wash over the entirety of his being. The clouds shifting, the light fading, the clouds pressing forward as though drawn into a net and pressed to move from their original position—a tone so somber and out of his world began to fill Odin’s consciousness that once, when he opened his eyes and saw a rippling pool begin to bubble up from the surface of the lake, he thought he had created something so monstrous that he almost released his hold on the spell to send the creature back to the source from which it came. However, as the rippling series of rings began to lengthen and touch the far edges of the lake, the feeling of shivering spiders along his body began to dissipate and left him in a state of illusion that he thought could not exist for anything else from the world.
From the water’s edge—beneath the ring of ripples that so vicariously began no more than three or four meters away—came a head in the shape of an equine but constructed in the foundation of water. Slowly, with grace that should have seemed impossible for a creature that surely could not be real, it began to walk forward and revealed its body to the two Halflings standing upon the shore, casting its mane to and fro and shaking teardrops of water from its obviously-liquidized body. At his side, Virgin remained silent, his mouth open in awe and his eyes staring at the algae-green creature, while in his place at the water’s edge Odin allowed his heart one tremble of emotion as the elemental came forward and revealed itself in all its glory.
“My God,” Virgin breathed. “You actually did it.”
To think that he had truly accomplished such a feat was a cause Odin found almost unimaginable to process. Directly before him, head bowed and glossy eyes set ahead, stood a creature he had so very easily made out of an earthly essence without so much as a second thought. He felt on his body no burdens or misconceptions, no trials or errors and fears or tears, as upon his left hand lay a ring that seemed to vibrate against his skin and glow at the front of his face.
Unable to believe his eyes or what he had just done, Odin reached forward.
His palm touched the equine’s face.
A series of ripples sounded from brow to cheekbone and then back again.
“You aren’t just a trick of the light,” Odin said, stroking the creature’s face, each time coming back with his hand damp with moisture. “You really are real, aren’t you?”
The horse raised its head to regard Virgin before returning its attention back to its original summoner.
Odin paused, unsure what to do.
The creature began to step back and into the waters from which it had been birthed.
“Are you making it do that?” Virgin asked, stepping forward as if to stop the elemental.
“No,” Odin said. “I’m not.”
“Why is it—“
A splash of water broke the conversation off in midsentence.
Odin shook the moisture from his face and looked directly before them.
The water elemental was nowhere to be seen.
“Why did it do that?” Virgin asked.
“I don’t know,” Odin said. “I—“
The pad of strange feet sounded on the road behind them.
Without so much as a second though, Odin turned and tugged Virgin along with him.
“You’re saying you’ve never tried to summon an elemental before,” Virgin said.
“No,” Odin replied, grabbing at his hair as he frantically paced the room. “I’ve only ever tried tricks with the light.”
“And have they ever acted the same?”
“Yes,” he managed, despite the fact that his heart seemed to be beating three times its normal rate.
“What?”
“I’ve never been able to figure out why my magical constructs have been able to act with a will of their own,” he said, settling down at the very end of the bed and trying his hardest not to tug his hair from his scalp. “My magic teacher once asked me whether or not I was commanding them to do it. I always said no.”
“So you have no control over them?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then why did the equine retreat back into the water?”
“I must’ve slipped,” Odin said. “You know—not paying attention or concentrating hard enough.”
“At least it didn’t have a will of its own to try and attack us.”
“I highly doubt something I summoned would ever attack us, Virgin.”
“You don’t know.”
>
“No, I don’t, but what I’m saying is—“
“What would’ve happened if that thing tried to attack us?”
“You’re being irrational,” Odin said, standing.
“I’m being irrational? You’re the one without control over—“
“I never said I didn’t have control!” he cried, stamping his foot on the ground as though it would help confirm his point. “And for your information, Virgin—if it had attacked us, I would have simply turned it to steam.”
“That doesn’t mean—“
“Look,” Odin sighed, stepping forward and pressing his hands against Virgin’s arms. “You don’t have to worry about any of this, all right? This is my problem, not yours.”
“It becomes other people’s problems when you’re not sure what you’re doing.”
“I was never properly taught. Give me a break, all right?”
“I’m not harping on you.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m—“
“Not?” Odin asked, offering a slight smile when Virgin blinked at him. “Yes, Virgin—you are.”
“Either way,” the Halfling said, stepping away from Odin’s grasp to turn and look out the window. “This is something you should talk to Jarden about.”
“Don’t worry,” Odin said. “I will.”
“You are saying that your elemental had a will of its own?” Jarden frowned, pouring Odin a glass of tea as he fidgeted within his seat.
“Yes zir,” Odin said. “It did.”
“Would you care to show me what you did?”
“I pushed my hand out toward the water,” Odin continued, mimicking the motion as though he were right there at the end of the shore, “and summoned it from the depths.”
Though the water ring on his finger pulsed into life, the surface of Odin’s tea began to ripple—first slowly, then in rapid succession. A short moment later, the head of a horse appeared from the yellowed moisture and jumped from its place in the glass to prance around the top of the dining table, casting drops of water in its path across the floral linen as it first made its way from its place near the glass to the area Jarden stood before.
“Amazing,” the Elf said.
“Virgin thought it would end up hurting us,” Odin sighed, lowering his hand to capture the creature within an imaginary sphere of air before returning and dropping it into the glass. “He thinks I have no control over it.”
“To be frank, it does not seem as though you do—though if one were to examine the situation as a whole, it seems as though you have an innate ability to create constructs that embody a particular form of personality.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It can be, yes. Might you be able to do the same with light?”
Odin opened his palm and summoned an orb of fire into it before shaping it into a second horse. This one, instead of jumping from his palm and onto the table, bowed its head, then cast its head back and whinnied.
“You did not force it to make that sound?”
“No, zir. I didn’t.”
Jarden reached forward to encapsulate the creature within zirs hand. Immediately, as though thrust into a bottomless pit of gloom, the creature snuffed out of existence. “This is quite fascinating,” the Elf said, eyes flickering first from Odin’s palms, then his face.
“Have you ever seen this before?”
“Seldom, yes, but not often.”
“What have those people done about their powers?”
“For one, they have not had very good luck in creating elementals in use for combat. Normally such a creation would only move to your bidding or react in ways necessary for purpose. Yours, however, seem to do the exact opposite, which leads me to believe that there must be something missing within your natural ability—a bridge, per se, between one link in your magic and the other.”
“I guess that’s good to know,” Odin sighed.
“”I was not trying to insinuate that you are a mage dumb by nature, as that would be the exact opposite of what I believe you are.”
“Thank you.”
“I do not know what else I can have you do with the ring,” Jarden said, extending his hand and tipping it palm-up. “If you do not mind.”
“Of course not,” Odin said. He slid the ring from his finger and dropped it into the Neven D’Carda’s hand, careful not to dump it into his tea and risk blemishing its magical properties.
“There will be much more to teach you, Odin. For now, though, I would like you to take a book of magics home and study up on it.”
“Which one?”
“The art of combat.”
From a drawer in zir’s desk the Elf pulled a thick, leather-bound tome dyed red and passed it across the distance between them. Odin, who’d barely ever seen a tome so thick throughout his entire life, took the book in hand with a sense of dignity and responsibility he hadn’t felt since adorning himself in the king’s royal clothing and stared Jarden directly in the eyes, careful not to allow his vision to falter less he look rude and unappreciative.
“Thank you,” he said, looking down at the book in hand.
“Go now,” Jarden said. “You will need time to learn about what more you can do in order to better protect yourself.”
“Are you still mad at me?” Odin asked.
From his place in the open threshold, he watched Virgin cross the room several times back to back before he stopped to turn his attention to him. Eyes weary, face puffed and cheeks red, he looked anything but mad in that particular moment. Had he to guess, Odin imagined Virgin had to have been crying, if only because of the way the tip of his nose looked burnt and his cheeks seemed more inflamed than usual.
He’s upset.
Careful to close the door as quietly as he could, Odin unclasped his cloak, set it on the rack, then stepped forward after setting the book on a desk and up to Virgin. The older Halfling barely looked at him before turning his eyes back on the window.
“Virgin,” Odin said.
“What?” he asked.
“Are you mad at me?”
“I was never mad with you to begin with.”
“What’s wrong then?”
“I’m not used to being around such dangerous magic, Odin. There’s a reason I chose to be a thief.”
“The magic wasn’t dangerous in the least,” he sighed, reaching out to set a hand on Virgin’s lower back, but frowning as his companion shied away. “Come on.”
“Come on and what?”
“Talk to me. Tell me how you feel.”
“I feel fucking scared is what I feel.”
“I have more control over my magic than you think.”
“Then how come that damn thing was tossing its head back and forth like it was ready to charge?”
“Because I’ve never been able to summon anything without it acting on its own accord.”
“Which means—“
“I can control them,” Odin interrupted. “I just can’t control their specific behaviors.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Virgin laughed, spreading his arms as if asking for a punch. “That you can control when and how they come, but not what they can and can’t do?”
“You’re getting too worked up over this.”
“I am?”
“Jarden said it happens to some people. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Odin—“
“I don’t want to fight over this,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest before bowing his head. “Can we just forget about it for now?”
“Why—“
“I don’t like arguing with people, Virgin. Look—if it makes you feel even the slightest bit better, I’m sorry for what I did. I won’t do it again if it really upsets you that much.”
“I just don’t like feeling like I’m in a situation I can’t get out of.”
“What about the situation we’re in then?”
“If I really wanted to, I could leave. There’s nothing sto
pping me.”
“Then why haven’t you left already?”
Virgin said nothing. Instead, his shoulders rose and fell before his arms fell slack at his side, fingers tightening around the tail end of his jerkin as if ready to tear it free from his chest.
There we go, Odin thought, unable to resist the urge to sigh under his breath.
If anything, this little piece of information would finally be out in the open—alone, cold and defenseless, just the way he wanted it.
Virgin turned his head.
Odin tilted his eyes up.
When their gazes met, he thought he saw tears twinkling in the light of the faint, afternoon sun.
“Don’t ever say that again, Odin.”
“But—“
“You heard me.”
In one swift move, Virgin tore out of the room and slammed the door.
Odin collapsed onto the bed.
No.
He couldn’t have.
There seemed no will in the world to express what he had just done.
As night fell and cast the world in its shades of blue, black and the occasional pearlescent white, Odin found himself panicked beyond belief at the possibility that Virgin had left him for good. Pacing the room, his pursuit endless and not in the least bit sane, he stopped at one point when he thought he heard someone coming up the stairs and threw himself toward the door, desperate to look out the porthole and see who it was that had returned.
When he saw that Virgin had not ascended the stairs, a spike of hurt flared up in his chest.
Look at what you did, his conscience taunted, prodding the back of his neck with one sick, gnarled finger. You ran him off.
No. He couldn’t have. Just because a few simple words had been said did not mean that a man—especially one so seemingly full of love—would run off, did it?
You don’t know that.
How could he know when he had never been in this sort of predicament before? He’d slain Kerma, killed Naga, impaled a hulking mass of creature known as an Ogre upon the very tip of his sword, but not once had he ever loved a person so much that he felt as though he could force them away with a simple word, slap or foot. To think that he could have committed such an atrocity was like murdering a baby in its sleep—grand, punishable by law and therefore able to be executed, not even physically, but morally. That alone made Odin realize that if he had really, truly upset Virgin, then his friend—and, possibly, the man he cared much for more than almost anyone else in the world—could be gone forever.