The Brotherhood: Blood

by Kody Boye

  “What was that?” Nova asked. “I haven’t heard anything like—”

  Another note sounded, then two, and continued to rise in pitch until at least twelve simultaneous notes sung a low harmony.

  “SIRENS!” someone screamed from above.

  Men, unaware or ignorant to the danger that lurked below, dove, muttering lust and profanities of the beautiful things below.

  What could they be, these things of honor, these fallen beauties, these winged beings? Their arms, their legs, their talons, their remnants of wings, which lay drooping from elbows and arms since forced slack to swim and not to fly, and the beauty of maidens, whose faces harsh and sharp in contrast with the beaks that shrouded their mouths and lower jaws—these were the things cast to the seas from the Heavens for their song was too low. Said to dwell within the deepest parts of the ocean, they preyed on those susceptible to their song—those that, undoubtedly mortal, could discern the pitch and exaggeration of notes, of falsettos and trembles and even the whistle pitches that seemed to echo across the ocean as if they were reverberating off a mountain. It was songs like these, they said, that were magic, that twisted the mind and forced the most lascivious and perverse thoughts into a mortal man’s head. It mattered not if he were noble, if he were chaste, if he were married, partnered or even a member of the priesthood—there was nothing that could tame the mortal man from the sirens’ cry, and it was for that reason when, in looking at those around him, Odin found his heart captivated and his head spinning in glee, for he was just as well mortal as some of these men around him.

  What is this? he thought, swaying, eyes drooping. What am I—

  The thoughts ended when his eyes fell on Nova.

  Expecting his friend to follow toward the boat and up the stream, Odin started to swim forward, but stopped when he heard no following splash behind him.

  When he turned, horror struck his heart.

  His friend’s eyes lay devoid of any emotion.

  “Nova?” Odin frowned.

  He reached forward, wrapping his hand around his friend’s wrist.

  The moment they skin touched, Nova lunged.

  The unexpected reaction forced Odin into the water.

  “No!” he screamed, grabbing the back of Nova’s hair with his other hand as the man attempted to dive. “Nova! Nova! NO!”

  “Let go of me, Odin!”

  “I’m not letting you go!”

  Nova struggled, thrashing to and fro, tearing the currents and lifting the water as if it were holy and boiling in the presence of something wicked.

  “I’m not letting you go!” he screamed, throwing himself back. Nova’s head came out of the water, gasping with wild breath. “Nova! NOVA!”

  “Bastard!” the man roared. “Let me go!”

  “What would Katarina think?”

  “I haven’t seen my wife in three years!”

  The shock of the words halted Nova’s immediately struggle.

  For a brief, fractured moment, the humanity in the man’s eyes returned, forcing tears from the corners of his eyes.

  Just as quickly as that humanity came, it left.

  Knowing that Odin would not let go, Nova attacked.

  He raked Odin’s arms with fingernails long left untrimmed.

  When blood stained the water, Odin’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

  Man-eating fish lurked just beneath the surface.

  No.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Nearby, a man who had somehow resisted the pull of the sirens’ lustful song dug his hands into the side of his head. For what, Odin couldn’t be sure, but the resulting effect brought blood from his flesh. Fish, increasing in shape and size, darted around the man and circled him in a violent frenzy.

  With blood covering the water’s surface, Odin was unable to se what came next. The man screamed, a splash came, and he disappeared with little more than a violent cry heard even through the barrier of water.

  “Nova,” Odin sobbed, trying to hold back screams as his friend continued to tear his arms apart. “Please… stop.”

  “Let me go,” the man breathed, “and maybe I will.”

  “I’m not letting you go!”

  A sharp, slick form slid up against Odin’s legs.

  Thousands of tiny daggers slashed into his thighs.

  “You’re going to get us killed!” Odin cried. “Please don’t do this to me!”

  Tingling from head to toe, though from what he couldn’t know, Odin continued to sob, knowing truly in his heart that his body was starting to succumb to the effects of blood loss. His head spun, vertigo forcing white pain behind his eyes; his arms throbbed, pumping red into the deep below; and his body shook, vibration in an already-alive world.

  Somehow, despite everything he felt, he managed to hold onto Nova.

  “Please!”

  A thunderclap exploded near the water, purple light shocking the life from a creature so large and long Odin couldn’t bear to look.

  Several other smaller, nearly-indistinguishable eruptions went up around him, parading about the seascape as if they themselves were creatures of flesh and blood and attacking the wicked and the selfish. Fishermen screamed in pain. Fish flopped from the water. Orbs of magic in shades of purple, orange and green encircled the wounded or terrified and lifted them from the water, where they dangled in the air as though flying through the sky until they dropped onto the ship to be rescued by others.

  Odin opened his eyes.

  A gargantuan head filled with dagger-sharp teeth lunged for him.

  Just before a maw of teeth could wrap around Odin’s chest, a purple orb surrounded them. The creature flew away as light crackled, sending warning tendrils out to anything attempting to swim toward them.

  Gradually, the sphere lifted them out of the water and hovered in midair. Odin saw several men scrambling back and forth on the deck as it came into viewing, tending to the mortally-wounded and insane out of their minds. Regardless of how the injured or terrified’s antics had ceased, Nova continued to fight—kicking, biting and scratching.

  The moment they landed on the deck, Odin let go.

  Nova, crazed by song and desire, ran for the railing and tried to throw himself over, but stopped as Miko set himself before the man.

  Spreading his arms, the Elf tilted his head up, black hood ominous against the backdrop of magic that stormed on around them. “Stop,” he said, voice amplified by magic to sound much louder than normal.

  “Get away from me!”

  Nova backed away, gripping his head, pulling at his hair, clawing at his face. He screamed as spittle flew from a mouth bared in violence and as his teeth ground together to the point where Odin believed they would simply break. Unbeknownst to Nova, however, two men—ears undoubtedly filled with wax—stepped forward, grabbed Nova’s arms, and held him steady as the imposing figure in black stepped forward.

  “Sleep,” Miko said, “and know that you are loved.”

  Every ounce of violence and energy left Nova in but a blink of a moment. Stumbling, he mumbled something incoherently under his breath before dropping to the deck.

  Slowly, the purple lightning ceased to strike, the savage beasts no longer swarmed, and the ash-grey clouds that produced such a perfect display faded into the ever-darkening night.

  When the violence ended, screams and cries of pain and fear filled the air.

  “Suh-Sir,” Odin gasped as the Elf drew closer. “Ih-Ih-It huh-huh-hurts.”

  “Sleep, Odin,” Miko said, setting a hand on his bloodied, naked chest. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

  The last thing Odin saw before his eyes clouded back was the slight figure of his master’s face.

  “Odin… Odin… Wake up, Odin. Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes to find the Elf standing over his bed. His first recollection and instinctive thought was to wonder why he had gone to bed so early despite the fact that it appeared as though his knight master needed him. However,
in the short moments that followed, memories of what had happened earlier began to flash before him in slow motion, as if he were replaying the horror that had taken place that very evening in his mind repeatedly and without regret.

  “Is… is Nova ok?” he asked.

  “He’s fine,” Miko said, running a hand over Odin’s brow. “You should be worried about yourself, not Nova.”

  “I don’t…”

  Multiple waves of pain showered his body.

  Odin looked down. Both of his arms were covered in layers upon layers of cloth.

  “How… how bad are they?” he asked.

  “Bad enough to where I had to sew them together to make sure they’d heal properly.”

  “Can I see?”

  “No. For one, I spent a fair amount of time wrapping those bandages so the open air wouldn’t get on them and into your wounds. And for two, I’d rather you not see them—at least not now, while you’re still upset.”

  “I’m fine,” Odin said. “Really, I—”

  Miko shook his head. “No.”

  With that said, Odin crawled out of bed. Tears stained his eyes and a series of shakes so unimaginable they wracked his body overtook him in the short amount of time after he crawled from beneath the covers. Somehow, however, he was able to keep from crying, though he knew it did little good to raise his hands to cover his face and hide his eyes. It took all his will to keep from screaming.

  “It’s all right,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s lower back.

  “No it isn’t. So many men died out there. I should’ve used my magic.”

  “No. You shouldn’t have.”

  “What?” Odin asked, a sniffle tearing the word to pieces and making him sound bloated and unintelligible.

  “You were worried enough about Nova when all that was going on. How could you have used magic to save others if you were only concerned about one?”

  “I…” Odin sighed. Finding nothing to say, he turned and finally let loose a series of tears that, though silent, streamed down his face and formed rivulets along his cheeks.

  Miko reached forward, set his hands on both of Odin’s shoulders, and pulled him into an embrace. “There,” the Elf whispered, holding him close. “Everything will be fine. You’re both safe.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In another room, being tended to by other sailors.” Miko tilted Odin’s head up so they could look at one another. “Don’t worry. He wasn’t hurt.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The worse he probably has is a case of the shakes, if that.”

  “Why isn’t he here, with us?”

  “I wanted to pay attention to you, so I asked if someone else could care for him. I also didn’t want Nova to wake up and fly into hysterics when he saw your arms.”

  “Would he remember what he did?”

  “I believe he would. I know nothing of the siren’s song erasing men’s memories.”

  After pulling away from the embrace and taking a moment to console himself, Odin walked back to the bed and settled down atop it. He set the topmost blanket over his lap, but remained upright and instead leaned against the headrest. “What attacked us,” he said, turning his head to look back at his master. “They’re… they’re women of the sea, right?”

  Although he knew his question would be unexpected, he wanted to steer the conversation in another direction—in a place where, at the very least, he could learn from this event instead of actually suffering from it. He didn’t want to think of Nova and how he’d torn his arms apart.

  “Yes,” Miko said, setting a hand over one of the headrest’s intricate knobs. “Have you read of them?”

  “Not a whole lot. They were mentioned in some of my textbooks, but I’d like to know more if you’re willing to tell me.”

  “So long as you’re willing to hear more, then yes, I’ll tell you.”

  “Yes sir,” Odin nodded. “I understand.”

  Miko took place at the foot of the bed. He closed his eyes, expelled a breath, then inhaled another. “The sirens,” he began, his head slightly downturned and his eyes cast to the floor, “are what are believed to be the descendants of angels fallen from the highest parts of the heavens. You as well as anyone should know that the angels are the supposed harbingers of the gods—the ones whom, by definition and purpose, are said to deliver the souls of the dead to the other realms of the existence. They sing for the gods, trumpet for kings, sing hymns of holy power upon the death of a mortal and raise their souls from the earth. The sirens, however, were angry, bitter and jealous of those far more beautiful than them, and for that began to plot against their companions. Some, it is said, were slain, and their bodies could be seen falling from the skies and burning in the air, as a true holy creature is never allowed to touch the ground. When their crimes were committed, the gods cast them out, where they were banished to the deepest parts of the sea to forever be imprisoned to the water.”

  “I thought angels were like birds?” Odin frowned.

  “They bear similarities—the wings on their arms and the beaks on their faces—but true angels bear no human similarity. I believe humanity has tainted the legends and have made such creatures much more human than they actually have appeared in the past.”

  “Why do they sing?”

  “For vengeance, in anger, with hate. They lure men to the deepest parts of the ocean and in the final moments of their lives impregnate themselves with their seed in order to reproduce. But before you ask, I must clarify: the voice alone isn’t what lures men to the deep. The magic imbued within the note is what drives any mortal man who hears it to depths of the ocean.”

  “Why didn’t I want to go to them then?”

  “You’re a Halfling, Odin.”

  He swallowed a lump in his throat. So that was why he hadn’t been attracted to the sound—why, on the brink of a moment, he’d been able to maintain a level head and a steady course of action while fighting with Nova?

  “But sir,” Odin said. “My head was spinning.”

  “You are still half human.”

  “But if I was suffering from the effects, shouldn’t my body have been fighting with itself?”

  “Maybe it was. Maybe the ache in your head was caused by your mortal and immortal self fighting within you.”

  “But I don’t understand…”

  “It depends on which side of your blood is stronger.”

  So, Odin thought, sighing. I’m more Elf than I am human.

  “All right,” he said, a bit troubled by the revelation.

  “There’s nothing to be worried about. This act of your body was what kept both yourself and Nova alive. Think of it as a blessing. To know that human rationale is null when dealing with creatures that prey on mortal men is a great gift to have, especially when such creatures are quite prevalent in the wilder parts of the world.”

  “I’m trying, sir. It’s just that—”

  “Don’t say that you did nothing to help the others. You could do nothing.”

  “But I—”

  “Even I could do little more than try and keep some of the men from diving down. But, as you saw, even that didn’t work out perfectly.”

  The image of a man clawing at his ears entered Odin’s mind. “I remember,” he said, attempting to shake the thought from his head.

  “There are limits to what we can achieve in this world, Odin. I myself once though that because I was born of both the dark and pure that I would be more powerful than anything I could have ever possibly imagined. It wasn’t long afterward that I leaned I had just as many weaknesses as any other creature.”

  “The blood cough,” he said.

  “A prime example of one of my greatest faults. Can I control this? No. Can you control that you were overwhelmed with so much going on? No. I don’t believe you can, so do not think you did nothing. Saving Nova insured that he would see his wife again.”

  Odin bowed his head. Here he had just tried to change the conversa
tion, yet he’d brought it back onto himself.

  “Do you want to know what one of your biggest faults is, Odin?”

  “What, sir?”

  “I asked—”

  “No,” he said, grimacing. He waited a moment for the Elf to continue, but when he didn’t, he sighed. “I want to know what my fault is.”

  “You worry too much.”

  Odin blinked. “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s a fault that can kill you. Say Nova went under, lured to the depths by the very thing that you were attempting to keep him from. What would you have done?”

  “Swam after him.”

  “And why would you have done this?”

  “Because he’s my friend.”

  “This is exactly what I mean,” Miko said. “I, as well as anyone else, would do anything in their power to save a companion. But let me pose another example—what would happen if you tried to save that friend from death, even if you knew you couldn’t?”

  “I… I don’t—”

  “You would die as well.”

  Without padding to absorb the blow that was so obviously-barbed and filled with contempt, the words slid into his heart and impaled them upon their staff. They stung at his conscience, menacing hornets to the smaller parts of his mind, and left him reeling in the reality of which Miko had just spoken. What, he questioned, would he have done if Nova had broken away from his hold, or if he’d dived into the water; and what, he dared to think, would he have done if he couldn’t save Nova—and, most importantly—how would he have been able to cope with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to save his friend? Such thoughts made him delirious with pain and threatened to bring forth the tears he’d been so painstakingly able to fight.