by Kody Boye
“My brother’s right,” Domnin nodded. “If you need to talk, or just want to say hello or something, send us a message. One of us won’t touch the bird without the other.”
“Right.”
Odin stepped forward. He gripped Icklard’s hand, then found himself hugging the brother when his emotions faltered. Soon after, Domnin brought him into his arms.
“Good luck,” the taller brother said, patting Odin’s lower back. In a lower voice, he then added, “Don’t worry about anything, Odin. Your time will come.”
He backed away from Domnin with uncertainty. Though the mage seemed to understand or at least relate to something he didn’t, Domnin smiled, immediately easing a bit of his worry.
“Good luck,” Icklard said. “We’ll miss you.”
Before Odin turned and opened the door, he smiled and waved at the two men he thought he would never make friends with.
A tear slid down his face before he went out the open door.
“Stand back,” Jerdai said.
In their winter coats—all except Miko, who remained in his dark visage—Odin and Nova watched a group of a half-dozen men mess with the ramp that had not been lowered for some weeks on end. They undid ropes, pulled long bars to the side, then began to slowly ease the contraption down, where it slammed into the ice with a brutal, whiplashing bang that echoed across the distance and seemed to reverberate back at them even though no obvious mountainous areas lay in the near distance.
What could it mean? Odin thought, staring off into the horizon.
“Be careful on your way down,” one man said, reaching up to brush snow off the end of his nose. “It might be slick.”
“Thank you,” Odin said.
The man smiled, then backed away. They turned to face Jerdai once more.
“If you need me to return sooner for whatever reason,” the captain said, breaking away from the crowd and exhaling a fine stream of smoke, “please don’t hesitate to send a message to my mages.”
“We won’t,” Miko said. “I don’t believe you’ll need to return soon, captain.”
“I’m just saying—if something goes wrong out in that hellish tundra or at that village, I’ll come back.”
“Thank you, Jerdai.”
Jerdai and the Elf gripped hands one last time before Miko started down the ramp. Odin and Nova followed closely behind, just in case one of them managed to slip and go flying toward the icy ocean below.
“You ready for this?” Nova asked, smiling through his chattering teeth.
“Not really,” Odin said, “but we’ve got to go anyway, so I don’t see a reason to worry. It’s not going to help anyway.”
“Miko will take care of us. You know that.”
Stepping onto the snow, the ice and the place where they would spend the next year, Odin turned to look up at the ship. Domnin and Icklard stood next to the captain, waving.
“Goodbye!” Odin called up, thrusting a hand into the air to acknowledge their action. “I’ll see you again!”
“You sure will!” Icklard called back.
“You know it!” Domnin laughed.
With that, Odin turned and followed his friends into the frozen wasteland, unsure of what might greet them.
“You cold, kid?” Nova asked.
“Yeah,” Odin nodded, rubbing his arms. “Are you?”
“A little.”
Odin looked up at the Elf. Though he had no idea how he could wear that cloak and no other layers of clothing and still be warm, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he concentrated and lined the inside of his coat with magic, envisioning within its folds and fabric the idea of warmth that sparkled within the linens and individual strings of threads. After finishing his own coat, he concentrated on Nova’s, extending the magic toward his friend with but a simple thought.
“Woah,” the man said, then laughed. “What the hell?”
“Warm?” Odin grinned.
“Yeah. You do that?”
“Uh huh.”
“Thanks.”
“He might not be able to do that for long,” Miko said, pressing forward without bothering to turn his head. “It might wear him out.”
“I know,” Nova sighed. “Anyway, thanks Odin.”
Nodding, Odin looked up. While there wasn’t a whole lot to look at other than snow, icy hills and the inevitable, towering spirals and clumps of ice, he found the scenery pleasant. For the first time in weeks, he’d actually seen something other than water.
I don’t want to get too used to it, he thought.
At the very least, he didn’t need the snow and ice to become familiar, and while he had no idea what the Globe Village looked like, it couldn’t be worse than this, could it?
I highly doubt it.
“Sir,” Odin said, increasing his pace so he could fall in place with his knight master. “What does the Globe Village look like?”
“You don’t want to be surprised?”
“I sure don’t,” Nova said. He, too, jumped a few steps ahead to fall in line with them. “Come on.”
“If I leave the village without description, it’ll make the journey all the more worthwhile.”
“I guess,” Odin mumbled.
Nova swore. Miko set a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Sorry Nova,” Odin said, watching his friend and the Elf.
“Ah, don’t sweat it, Odin. This is your adventure, after all. I shouldn’t spoil it.”
“It’s not just my adventure. It’s yours too.”
“No it isn’t.”
“You came all the way around Bohren to find me.”
Nova shrugged. Odin smiled, slid around the Elf, and wrapped an arm around the man’s lower back, careful not to lean too far into his side for fear of knocking one of them over. “I don’t regret you finding me though,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
“You guys are good friends too,” Nova said, wrapping an arm around Odin’s shoulders and Miko’s upper back. “It makes travelling more pleasant.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” the Elf said.
“Why?” Odin frowned.
“There’s a storm coming.”
Miko raised his hand.
In the distance, a series of dark-blue clouds swam over the horizon.
“Damn,” Nova growled.
“Yeah,” Odin sighed. “Really.”
The storm came sooner than any of them could have expected. Pummeling them with snow, ice, and with wind that screeched at the three intruders in its forbidden land, impossible thunder crackled the air and pink lightning traced the sky, blanketing the horizon like talons against a chalkboard.
“When are we going to stop?” Odin asked, holding his hands close to his sides. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Nova said.
“We need to push on for as long as we can,” Miko said. “Travel across Neline must be made swiftly and while the weather is good.”
Odin bowed his head to shield his eyes and wind-scarred face from the snow. Words couldn’t describe how cold he felt. His bones—though deeply buried beneath skin, fat and muscle—seemed to burn, while his throat and mouth tasted of salt and what felt to be copious amounts of slowly-fermenting spit. Even a simple shake of his head seemed to take all the energy he had, as it seemed as though his skull, upon his spinal cord, weighed of iron, of mantles and chest pieces far too heavy for a boy of sixteen to carry.
Just keep going, he thought, nodding, bowing his head.
“Are you ok?” Nova yelled.
Because he’d been paying little attention to anything but his face, he hadn’t notice that the storm had worsened, and as he looked up he instantly recoiled, not expecting the sheer volume of white that blanketed the horizon. Hail plummeted down, miniaturized balls of agony; the wind tore across the landscape, daggers upon his skin; and his clothes, almost-constantly supplied with magic, felt soaked, oppressing hands of which tried to pull him down to the ground.
“Sir,”
Odin said, trembling, his voice light and without its usual baritone. “Please…”
“We need to stop!” Nova cried. “Look at him!”
“We’ll stop,” Miko said. “The storm is too bad.”
“Turn away from the snow, buddy. Come on—it’s ok.”
Reduced to little more than shakes and dulled emotions, he buried his head in Nova’s coat. Though the damp material burned his face, the closeness he experienced from the gesture seemed to dissipate most, if not all of his pain and unease.
It’s ok. You’re going to be all right.
Beside them, Miko raised his hand. Fire the brightest purple and in brilliant shades of pink exploded over his palm. Snow, both settled on the ground and flying through the air, stopped and sailed to an area not too far away, where an invisible sphere displayed only by the wind and the downpour the rough outline for a shelter that would protect them for the rest of the night. Through strength and will, sacrifice and integrity, the Elf gathered these earthly materials and melded it to his will, first completing the sphere, of which stood some scant five feet tall, then formed the tunnel, as wide as Miko’s shoulders and just long enough to offer protection.
“Go, Odin,” Miko said.
Almost unable to comply, Odin fell to his knees and forced his way through the entrance of the tunnel, which felt suffocating at best and seemed all the less welcoming despite the fact he was no longer being assaulted by snow.
At the end of the tunnel, and beneath the dome of frozen snow, Odin turned into a ball near the wall, where he drew his legs to his chest and tried desperately to maintain control of his tears, as he knew they would do nothing more than pain his freezing face.
“You ok?” Nova asked, pushing himself from the tunnel.
Odin nodded.
Miko appeared shortly after Nova sat himself down near the wall. Once settled in, he extended his arm, tightened his fingers to a mere claw, then forced snow into the tunnel and compacted it together. Melted snow quickly froze over.
After making sure both Odin and Nova were safely against the wall, Miko turned and shot a single purple flame into the center, which pulsed to life and lit the interior of the dome pink.
“Is this warm?” the Elf asked.
Odin shook his head. Yes, he thought. It’s better than I could have ever imagined.
“Where in God’s name did that storm come from?” Nova asked, pulling his gloves from his hands. The tips of his fingers blushed red, as if they’d been burnt. “Shit.”
“Here.” Miko took Nova’s hands and summoned a slight amount of magic. Here, he weaved it across the man’s palm and along the curve of his wrist, where upon contact the redness began to creep away. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” the man shivered. “Thank you.”
After Nova slid his gloves back on, Miko slid to Odin’s body. There, he set his large hands on Odin’s stocky, well-built chest, channeled magic into his body and didn’t stop until he let out a series of coughs and gasps.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed.
“We’ll stay here for the time being,” Miko said. “I don’t like the look of that storm.”
“Where did it come from?” Nova asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It couldn’t have come from nowhere,” Odin said, stripping his gloves off his hands and holding them in front of the magical flame. “It had to have come from somewhere.”
“Most of these storms originate from the north, where the currents seem to endlessly spiral and radiate out onto the rest of the island.” Miko pulled his hood down, revealing his immaculate, near-emotionless face. “We’re lucky the Globe Village is in a spot where we can actually survive the weather conditions.”
“You mean this is the worst climate you could possibly live in?” Nova frowned. “Even you, Miko?”
“I might be able to survive further north, in places where even the most foolhardy of men dare not travel, but I have no desire to test the limits of my body or my magical ability. I wouldn’t dare attempt travel that far with the two of you in tow.”
“Are we going to die out here?” Odin asked.
Both of his companions turned to look at him.
“No,” Miko said. “We won’t.”
Outside, the storm continued on, howling, screaming, and thundering its rage.
The moment they dismantled the shelter from the inside out was the moment Odin started to regret ever agreeing to be the creature’s squire. Snow, blowing at its hardest, whipped at his cheeks like callused palms, while the wind, howling almighty, sent his hood away from his head and slapping into the back of his neck. This, combined with a fresh buffet of snow, was enough to instantly dissuade him from ever looking at a morning on Neline as anything more than peaceful.
“Tie your hood off,” Nova said, so close to his ear that Odin jumped. “It’s all right. It’s just me.”
“I know,” he muttered.
After tightening his hood as much as he could and snapping the extra buttons on his mouthpiece together, Odin slung his drenched pack over his shoulder, hoping the books he’d brought along would be safe in their protective leather cases.
Here I am worrying about books while we’re out in the middle of a storm.
“What’s so funny?” Nova asked.
Apparently, he’d been chuckling and hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m worried about my books in this weather,” Odin confessed. “Can you believe that?”
“Yeah. You appreciate the few material possessions that you own.”
Which makes me sound even worse.
“Not that that matters,” Nova continued. “I mean, I appreciate the scythe that’s strapped to my back, and it’s a material possession.”
“Your father made that for you though. That’s not material at all.”
“No—it is, but you see my point.”
With little more than a shrug, Odin began to warm both him and Nova, this time concentrating on the hoods, as from previous experience it seemed that if the head was warm, the body would be as well. If he could help his friend even a little, especially in these conditions, that would make the process worth the while even though it seemed to be more than a little draining.
“Thanks,” Nova said, brushing up against Odin’s side.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied.
“I would help the two of you,” Miko said, speaking up for the first time since the morning had begun, “but I’m using a good amount of my energy warming myself and blocking the wind.”
“You mean this isn’t the full brunt of it?” Nova frowned.
“No” Miko shook his head. “You don’t want to feel it. It… would blow us away.”
Blow us away….
Odin didn’t dare ask whether the Elf meant literally or metaphorically.
“Well,” Nova began, “as long as you’re keeping the majority of it away, I’m fine with my face being a little windburnt.”
“Me too,” Odin said. “But sir, if you need to stop for any—”
“I won’t need to stop, Odin. This process involves more than putting a dividing triangle around us.”
“How do you—”
“It’s done with a thin layer of magic.”
The stern tone his knight master used forced him a few steps back. Now in pace with Nova, Odin pushed his hands under his arms and took a deep breath, careful not to expel it too quickly for fear of Miko hearing and possibly turning to lecture him.
“It’s all right,” the older man whispered. “He’s just antsy.”
“I know,” Odin retuned. “It’s just… I don’t want him wearing himself out.”
“I know. You have to remember though, Odin—he’s an Elf. Did you see what he did last night? He caught the snow out of the air and made a shelter for us, all by himself.”
While his knight master did in fact possess a great deal of power, all things had weaknesses. No one and set thing could control such a high degree of magic
for so long, much less warming oneself up through a blizzard, could they?
Regardless, all he knew was that he wanted to get to the Globe Village as soon as possible.
They didn’t need to go through this kind of hell.
That night, after climbing into the shelter and settling himself down after a cold dinner, Odin lay near Nova, huddled as close as reasonably possible in the hopes that they could share what little body heat they had. Though he put off and received little, his friend’s faint breaths through his mouthpiece did much to bring comfort in spite of the fact that everything seemed so cold.
Outside, the storm continued to rage on, screaming at any and all that could hear.
Did it always storm so bad in Neline, or had it happened just because they stepped foot onto the wasteland?
You know it didn’t.
The idea, though absurd, entertained his darkest fantasy, and while he wasn’t normally one to believe that a person’s presence could bring about something, much less the forces of the natural world, he couldn’t help but believe in it now. Why hadn’t they seen the storm earlier, from the boat—and why, of all times, did it start up right after they started for the Globe Village?