by Kody Boye
When the boy turned seven—when his body, though small, became acclimated to its own—Ectris took it upon himself to give the boy his own practice sword: a right of passage that, while seemingly simple, would one day secure within the boy the military career Ectris himself had never had.
“Here,” he said, kneeling before his son and holding the short wooden sword in his hands. “It’s for you.”
“Me?” Odin asked.
Ectris nodded. “Yes, it is. I need to teach you how to defend yourself.”
“But Father… I’m so young.”
How humble of you, he thought, reaching out to tousle the boy’s hair.
“Better early than never, son.”
Odin stared at the sword, almost as if he were unsure what to do.
When Ectris took the boy’s hand and slid it around the hilt until his fingers touched his palm, Odin smiled.
“Come on, “Ectris said, standing. “Let’s go.”
“Like that,” Ectris said, bracing his hands along his son’s right arm. “Hold it steady, Odin. Bend your forearm just a little.”
“Why?” the boy asked.
“It’ll let you swing faster and move your sword easier. If you keep your arm straight out in front of you, you’ll get it chopped off.”
The child swallowed a lump in his throat. “All right,” he said.
Ectris settled down into a crouch, watching carefully as his son attacked the straw dummy with less than ample ease. It seemed, at many points in time, that the boy was having difficulty maneuvering the weapon around, almost as if it were too heavy or if he wasn’t able to hold it steadily enough. He couldn’t necessarily see why, given that the sword was only two feet long and quite light in respect. That alone was enough to make him uneasy.
Can he not fight? Ectris thought, his hopes and dreams for the boy slowly crumbling way around him. Is he—
Odin stopped attacking the straw dummy before him, paused, then switched his sword into his left hand.
How is he—
Immediately, the progress bloomed before him.
“He’s a lefty,” he mumbled, laughing, almost unable to contain the emotions spiraling within him.
He should have known that his son would be more capable using his left hand over his right. By God, he wrote with his left hand, had done so since the horseriding accident last year, when his arm had been broken and he’d been unable to use it for nearly six months. How stupid could he have been?
When the surrealism of the situation began to wear off and was replaced with a casual, more-even pursuit, Ectris braced his hands against his knees and watched his son stab the dummy directly in the torso—then, slowly, disengage his weapon from the figure before twirling and hitting it right in the neck.
Had the sword been metal, Odin would have easily cut the dummy’s head off.
He’ll be fighting for the king someday, he thought, closing his eyes.
The boy deserved better than he did—much, much better.
“Father?”
Ectris blinked. Odin stood directly before him, a single bead of sweat running down the side of his head and his chest heaving with the effort. “Yes?” he asked.
“Will you teach me how to fight?”
“You know I will,” Ectris said, rising to his feet. “Come on. I’ll show you a few things.”
By the time they settled in for the night, Ectris could hardly make dinner. Between showing his son evasive maneuvers that he should use to avoid jabs and thrusts and allowing his boy to use him as a living, moving target, he felt as though his lungs were about to cave into his chest and his heart was going to stop beating and simply cease to exist.
“Easy there, boy,” Ectris laughed, setting a hand on his son’s shoulder when he approached swinging the wooden sword in front of him. “Put that down. We’ll train more in the morning.”
“We will?” the boy asked, eyes wide with intent.
“We will. I promise.”
After double-checking to make sure that his son had secured the sword at its place near the door, Ectris set about the kitchen gathering up the breads, meats and cheese freshly delivered from both Joseph and another neighbor before crossing the room to arrange them upon the table. Odin, the attentive son that he was, darted into the kitchen to fish for the silverware and plates that they would be dining with and swiftly returned upon the time Ectris finished placing the last of the three platters on the table.
“Did I do well today?” Odin asked, taking his seat at the opposite side of the table and sliding a piece of cheese into his mouth.
“You did,” Ectris said. “There’s few things we’ll need to fix, but I’ll help you.”
“Were you ever a knight, Father?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“Peasants can’t become knights, Odin. Only royalty can.”
“Why?”
“Because the training is only reserved for those of the royal family,” Ectris shrugged, continuing with his own food and trying his hardest not to give in to his son’s shocked, almost-sad face. “That isn’t to say that common men have never become knights though.”
“How?”
“Sometimes when you do something amazing for your country—like securing a checkpoint on the battlefield, saving a nobleman’s daughter or even just returning home after killing one of the king’s most horrible enemies with his head—the court takes notice and makes even the most common of men into heroes.”
“Do you think I could be a hero, Father?”
“I don’t see why not. If you have drive, you can do just about anything.”
“I don’t understand something though,” Odin said, bowing his head for but a brief moment before returning his attention to his father. “If common men can’t become knights, then that means… that means you could’ve just become a solider.”
“I could’ve, yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Military life is hard, son. When your grandfather was still alive, he needed help in the farms to the east.”
“Near Bohren?”
Quite the eye that boy has, Ectris thought, but only nodded in response. “Yes,” he said. “Near Bohren.”
“Did you want to become a solider?”
What do I say to a boy whose dream is to become a knight?
He could say nothing, he knew, to deter someone who was just a boy, and for that he merely straightened his posture, reached up to paw the juice from the meat away from his face, then set both hands on the table, offering but a brief sigh in spite of the fact that the question was so simple yet so complicatedly-complex. “I don’t know if I ever wanted to become a solider,” he said, choosing to offer only the best response he could give. “To be quite honest, Odin, the horror stories you hear of men who go into service are absolutely terrible, and given the strain between our country and the one next to us, I wouldn’t be surprised if war broke out between us sometime soon.”
“You think so?” Odin asked.
“I do,” Ectris sighed. “I’ll tell you something right now though, son, and I’ll be damned if I ever break this promise—I will do anything within my power to help you become the man you want to be, even if that means putting you into a situation that may be dangerous.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I mean it. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you get to Ornala and enlisted within the king’s army.”
Odin slid another piece of cheese in his mouth, as if prompting silence across the table in lieu of the newly-given situation.
Oh well, Ectris thought, resisting the urge to frown by shoving yet more food into his mouth. This is expected.
Odin had never been one for physical or conversational interaction with others his age. Why Ectris couldn’t be sure, given his personality and the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of making friends, but more often than not he found his son off to the side, head stuck in a book or sketching something out with charcoa
l and ink. Even as a baby he’d been like this—this small, quietly-driven creature who seemed to be forcing himself not to interact with anyone and everyone even if they showed some kind of interest in him. Even the other fathers of the village, whom had so desperately tried to introduce activity between their children and Odin, had failed to help his son make any friends. While part of that could be in regards to his eyes—which, to any looking upon him and not knowing the truth, could frighten them away—and though he’d done as Karma had once suggested and kept Odin’s hair long and his ears hidden from view, nothing Ectris did seemed to help his son earn the confidence he needed to socialize with other people.
Knowing in the end that, someday, this would not matter, Ectris bowed his head to his food and continued eating, all the while silently praying that Odin had not seen his facial expression and as such had learned his weakness.
This is bullshit, he thought. He’s such a good kid! Why doesn’t anyone want to be friends with him?
Why, out of all the sheep his son could possibly be, did Odin have to be the black one?
“Can I go to bed?” a small voice asked.
Ectris looked up to find his son’s plate completely devoid of food. Even the platter that held the small row of biscuits was devoid of the baked goods.
“If you want,” Ectris sighed, shoving another piece of food into his mouth. “Goodnight, son.”
When he bowed his head to continue his own meal, his mind filled with regret and his heart pained so, he began to believe that nothing he would ever really, truly do would ever bring his son any form of comfort or happiness.
Have I failed as a father, he thought, because my son is too afraid to be around other people?
A pair of small arms circled around his waist.
“Father?” Odin asked.
“Yes?” Ectris replied.
“Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” he said, wiping his mouth before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his son’s brow. “Goodnight, Odin.”
“Goodnight,” the little boy said.
Ectris watched his son walk down the hall with an iron ball of hurt inside his chest.
“Go on, Odin! Hit it like that. Slash, thrust, stab, kick! Watch out for the sword!”
His son picked up the routine faster than Ectris had expected. Grinning, almost unable to control the happiness that pulsated his chest and fixated at his seat near the one lone tree that stood on the southern side of the property, he corrected his son when necessary and told him to stable the positioning of his feet in order to not stumble or trip when jumping back or lunging forward. In that moment, it seemed, Odin appeared all the more capable than he had yesterday—when, after a day’s worth of training, he struck the dummy with such force that Ectris thought for a moment the potato sacks filled with sand would break open and spill their nonessential guts onto the ground.
I can’t believe it, he thought, watching Odin’s intricate thrusts, stabs, twirls and kicks. This is my son I’m watching.
In the heat of the mock battle currently taking place before him, Ectris explained that, by attacking an enemy’s torso, they would attempt to raise their sword or shield and deflect the blows set toward them. He then said, after a moment’s pause, to target the legs, that, though covered with armor, would be one of the enemy’s most crucial weak points.
“Go for the knees!” Ectris cried. “Kick! Kick!”
His son lunged forward and struck the pole directly where the enemy’s crotch would have been.
“Goddamn!” he cried, thrusting his hand into the air. “Go Odin, go!”
You’re training him well, he thought, nodding, pushing himself to his feet and broaching the end of the practice ring, taking extra care to make sure his son was not leaving himself open in any way or form. He’ll be serving beneath the king someday.
That lone instinct sent flutters of emotion throughout his chest and around the curves of his ribcage.
“Concentrate!” Ectris cried, his heart beating faster and faster as he continued to circle about the ring. “Hit it, Odin! Hit it! Goddammit, son! It’s going to get you if you don’t hit its weak points! Go for its head, its shoulders, its knees, its fucking balls and crotch! Hit it with all you’ve got! Hit it! HIT IT!”
The little boy let out a battle cry so loud and fierce Ectris thought for a moment it had come from a much stronger figure.
A burst of white light flew from the child’s palm and collided with the dummy.
For one brief fraction of a moment, Ectris believed nothing had happened—that this light, as surreal and mystical as it happened to be, was simply a trick of the sun playing off the little boy’s sword.
I didn’t, he began.
Before he could finish, the dummy exploded into a plume of white.
It took him seeral long moments to realize just what had happened. His heart dead within his chest, his breath caught within his lungs, he watched as, slowly, the remnants of the construct began to fall around them—first the pole, which had shot straight into the air upon being struck, landed in the clearing, splintering and cracking in two whilst burning from the center, while the sand that had made up the torso and head showered down around them like hail from a thunderstorm. Some struck Ectris, momentarily stunning and throwing him back a few steps, while the rest fell around Odin as if he were some holy figure being blessed in the light of God Himself.
Shining in the clearing, as if he had just committed an act so saintly it deserved immediate recognition, Odin simply watched as, slowly, one of the two potato sacks fluttered to the ground and landed at his feet, the tail end burning and its companion all but ash in the wind.
No, Ectris thought. It can’t—
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. There was no way in Heaven, Hell, the earth or even the cosmos beyond their world that this could be happening to him—that this thing, regardless of its merit or severity, had happened to his son, the child whom he had raised himself. But how, he wondered, if such a thing had not happened, had the dummy exploded, then shot into the air before returning back to the earth?
Horrified beyond belief and unable to believe his eyes, Ectris pulled his son back and away from the splintered, burning stalk of wood, which lay in the clearing before them in almost two completely different places.
“Father,” Odin whispered. “I—”
“Go to your room,” Ectris said, tightening his hands around the boy’s shoulders.
“But—”
“I said go, dammit! Go!
Odin turned and disappeared into the house almost immediately, casting his sword to the ground in the process.
Ectris closed his eyes, bowed his head, then began to tremble.
After all these years—in which he had believed his son no different than the other boys and girls—his son had been blessed with the Gift.
In the aftermath of the terrific explosion, Ectris turned his head up and looked at the remnants of the practice dummy before him.
His heart began to pound in his chest.
A brief thought occurred to him when he stepped forward and began to gather sand into his palms.
How would he raise a child whom could destroy him at any moment?
With no answers currently set before him, Ectris stepped forward and prepared to extinguish the fire burning in the clearing, all the while wondering just how he would continue throughout everyday life without ever knowing if he would be safe again.
In but one brief moment, he came to a conclusion.
His son, as Gifted as he seemed to be, could not use his magic. If he did, he might not only destroy his father, but himself as well.
Chapter 1
A god struck his anvil in the sky.
The horses protested. Some bucked, knocking their masters off their saddles, while others whinnied and screamed. As if being lashed with burning whips and forced to do bidding they did not wish to do, they tossed their heads to and fro and bared their teeth to
the world like monsters from an ethereal plane. Most of the men and boys, however, managed to coach their mounts down with kicks and a simple tug of their reins, but some struggled even more, raging and screaming as the storm overhead began to grow even more ferocious.
Throughout all this activity, in which the world seemed to have been turned upside and they were meant to stand on their own two feet, one young man whispered to his mount in soft, almost inaudible words. He said to be calm and still—that regardless of the situation around them, there was no need to be afraid, for he would let nothing happen to her even if it appeared as though others were being mistreated.
Be calm, this young man said. There is nothing wrong.
When the horse finally calmed to the point where she remained placid and nondescript, the young man turned his eyes up and surveyed the caravan before him.
A pair of red pupils dilated.
Odin focused on the men and boys currently tending to their mounts before him.
At his side, his father’s horse snorted and kicked up the mud, feigning disinterest despite the fact that all around them, his equine companions seemed not in the least bit cooperative with their situation or their masters.
“Stay by me,” Ectris Karussa said, drawing close to Odin’s side while tugging at his horse’s reins with a single hand. “I don’t want you getting lost.”