by Kody Boye
“Coincidence,” he muttered.
“Hmm?” Nova asked.
“I’m just talking to myself.”
“All right bud. Whatever works for you.” Nova slid an arm under Odin’s side and pulled the two of them closer.
“I was trying to give you a little space.”
“I know, but I don’t want space. You’re warm.”
“Yeah right,” Odin laughed, chuckling when Nova set his hand against his shoulder and his beard raked against his neck. “That tickles.”
“Can’t help that I have a beard.”
“You could if you shaved it.”
“I’ll try and think of a smart remark for you later,” Nova said. “I’m too cold right now.”
“Me too.”
Closing his eyes, Odin scooted back until his back and Nova’s chest touched. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Nova said nothing. He merely readjusted his head and kept breathing.
After a day’s worth of travel, and when safely beneath the dome of snow and ice, Odin sat up. Nova, who had since fallen asleep, mumbled something about the cold and how good it would be to have a beer. Miko remained upright despite the extent of the day’s expense, though did not appear active despite the fact that the flame still burned.
He must be awake, Odin thought, reaching forward to set a hand over the purple flame’s warmth. “Sir?” he asked, trying to see whether or not his knight master was truly aware of his surroundings. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” the Elf said, raising his hooded head. From the fire’s dim light, Odin saw everything below the finely-structured nose, but nothing else. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine. I was just wondering if you were asleep.”
“Do you have something on your mind?”
“Not really,” Odin said, then sighed after a moment’s span of time. “Actually, yes sir. I do.”
“You’re free to tell me whatever you like.”
As if sensing his his unease, the Elf pulled his hood down and gave Odin a small, reassuring smile.
“I’ve… seen things,” Odin said, shivering at the image of three figures—small, cloaked, and in brown animal fur—following them along the hills. “Small, brown-cloaked—”
“It’s no secret that we’re being followed, Odin.”
“Are they dangerous?” he frowned.
“No.”
“Have you told Nova?”
“Unless you yourself have said something, I’ve said not a word.”
“What are they?” Odin frowned.
“They’re called Kerma,” Miko said, crossing his arms over his thick chest. “You’ve only seen small, brown-cloaked shapes in the hills so far, but that’s not all there is to them.”
“No?”
“The Kerma are the last of a dying race. Due to a famine that struck Neline several hundred years ago, it dimmed much of their population, literally reducing their numbers to the thousands and, I sadly now believe, possibly the hundreds. It’s not from ignorance that you’ve not heard of them—they’re simply a lesser-known race in the world.”
“What do they look like? I mean, under the hoods and cloaks?”
“They have large, yellow eyes and the form of an animal, that of which you would know as a bear. Their whole body resembles an upright-walking creature, but they have the musculature of, say, a child. Most are covered in dark hair, but many beare other similar markings. The most common are twin, grey rings around their eyes. I assume it helps them see better, but I can’t be sure.”
“You said they’re dying then?”
“Sadly, yes,” Miko sighed. “I’ve come to know some Kerma during my time in this life and every one was a fine creature. It pains me to know that I will most likely outlive the last of their kind.”
“You’ve said you’re old,” Odin said, “but you’ve never said how old.”
“Even I don’t know, Odin. I saw the birth of Ornala and its kingdom, but I was still an aged creature.”
Ornala and its kingdom?
Ornala had been established at least a thousand years ago, if not more. The number alone made him think of everything that could have happened during that time—how many battles could have been fought, how many knights had been sired, how many treaties and laws had been passed. Even more, however, he wondered how many people had lived and died in his country during that time. He could have lived a dozen lives and not even seen the full creation of the kingdom.
“I’m sorry,” Odin sighed. “It wasn’t right of me to bring something like that up.”
“Don’t be sorry, Odin, and don’t feel regret for asking.”
“I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut.”
“Have you ever heard the legend of the silent man?”
“What?”
The question, as unexpected as it was, brought him to a standstill. He had, of course, heard the legend of the man who stripped himself of his ability to speak, if only because his friends had said he asked too many questions, and he knew of its prevalence throughout the kingdom, as he’d learned of it as a child, but he’d never expected to have it brought up in adult conversation, much less by his knight master.
“Yes,” Odin said, after pausing for one too many moments. “I know the legend.”
“What happened to the silent man because he could not speak?”
“He died when he lost his hands… if I remember right.”
“After the silent man gave his voice to the gods, he learned to speak with his hands. Because of his disability, most learned to understand his needs and whim, but after a disease took his only voice away, how was he to ask for help?”
In the silence that followed, Odin fought the urge to ask what the Elf wanted him to learn from the retelling of such an old legend.
“Do you understand why it’s important to ask questions?” Miko asked when Odin didn’t speak.
“Asking questions gives you the answer you want… or the things you need to survive.”
“Now you understand why I encourage you to ask about the things you don’t understand. I’m here not only as your knight in arms, but also your teacher. We’ve had this talk before.”
“Yes sir.”
Miko reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Go—lie down. You need your rest.”
“Thank you.”
Before he moved back to his usual spot beside Nova, Odin bowed his head.
“Goodnight,” Miko said.
“Goodnight, sir.”
With his final thanks said, Odin settled down beside his friend.
The Elf remained sitting, eyes watching things Odin could not see.
For the next several days, Odin continued to watch the hills and the Kerma that followed them. Occasionally, in the latter parts of the day and when their presence was only revealed from the lapse of peaks in the hills, the group of five that seemed to have been following them for the past while would stop as if they thought Odin had seen them, but would shortly start up again once they thought their presence had gone undetected. This normally occurred when they passed an oblong jut of ice, but seldom than not happened no more than when they disappeared down the curve of the slow, disappearing to the west and from view entirely. Despite being hidden from view, however, nothing could keep them out of mind, so how blind could they be if they were ignorant enough to think that they couldn’t be seen?
“What’re you looking at?” Nova asked, nudging Odin’s ribs with an elbow.
“Nothing,” Odin said, turning his eyes away from the hills.
So far, neither he nor Miko had told their friend of the small band of Kerma that followed them. Miko, convinced that Nova’s temper and spur-of-the-moment actions might get them into some kind of conflict, refused to say anything. He even went so far as to warn Odin not to. If you see them again, he had said earlier that morning, do not tell Nova. We don’t want to scare him.
“We sure don’t,” he muttered.
“What?” Nova asked.
“Eh, don’t be.” The older man waved a hand in the air. “The best of us do it.”
“All right.”
“You’re sure you didn’t see anything?”
“I’m sure,” Odin said, hoping Nova wouldn’t catch the quiver in his voice.
“You’d tell me if you did, right?”
“Yes.”
This time, Odin swallowed a lump in his throat. How he hated lying, especially to people he cared about. His father had been especially keen to teach him to always tell the truth and to be honest with someone when they asked something, so to lie was completely benign and out of his nature.
So much for that, he thought, looking up at Nova and forcing a smile when the man offered him an unsure look. Oh well. Miko told me not to tell them, so I can’t feel completely guilty.
Then again, he could always just go against his knight master’s orders and tell Nova anyway.
“I’m ok,” Odin smiled, brushing off the initial insecurity as if it were nothing more than snow upon his shoulders. “Just cold.”
“Whatever,” Nova grunted.
Heaving his pack higher up his shoulders, Nova stepped into pace with Miko, careful to stay close to his side to remain within the protective triangle surrounding them.
Sighing, Odin stepped forward, knowing just how much he was gambling his relationship with Nova on for just one little lie.
“They’re still following us, you know?” Odin asked.
“Yes,” Miko said, “I know, but be quiet. You don’t want to wake Nova up.”
“He’d freak if he knew those things were following us.”
“Which is why I want you to scoot over by me and keep your voice low.”
Sliding across the slick but magically-warmed ground, Odin settled down beside the Elf and drew his knees up to his chest. Tonight, they’d positioned their protective sphere against the eastern hills. The western ones, where Odin had been seeing the Kerma tribe, had been completely out of the question in that regard, as it seemed the creatures’ intentions were not in the least bit friendly.
“What do they want?” Odin whispered.
“I don’t know, Odin.”
“You have to have an idea.”
“No. I don’t have to have any kind of idea. That would be ludicrous.”
Miko reached up and scratched an itch on the side of his cheek, more than aware of the knife-sharp nails that tipped his fingers. Odin wondered if he’d ever accidentally scratched himself with them.
That’d hurt.
“I’m sorry for being so nervous,” Odin sighed. “I just don’t like the way they’re following us.”
“Neither do I, but we have nothing to worry about. They’re harmless in their state.”
“Because of their disease?”
“That, and their numbers. How many were up there? Half a dozen, if that?”
“I’ve seen five at the most.”
“See what I mean? Why would five Kerma—who, at the highest, are probably only five feet tall—try to attack a grown man, a squire of considerable build and and Elf who’s more than double their height?”
“I guess you’re right.” Sighing once more, Odin crossed his legs and set his hands in his lap, eyes set to the purple flame flickering in the very center of the sphere. “I don’t think I’d be as comfortable with just a normal man as a knight master.”
“A normal human man would have never brought you to Neline.”
And he’s right again.
Odin smirked at the thought.
“It’s nice to see you smile,” Miko said.
“I’m not smiling, sir.”
“It’s close enough.” Miko reached over and set a hand on Odin’s upper back. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m taking care of both of you.”
“I know,” Odin said. “You’re taking a lot better care of me than I thought you would.”
“Some men don’t care for their squires,” the Elf nodded, “but I’m not like that. I try not to be, anyway.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Miko closed his eyes, then leaned back until he was lying flat on his back, legs spanning nearly the entirety of the sphere and resting directly beneath Nova’s outstretched feet. “Thank you for talking with me. I believe I’m going to get some sleep now.”
“All right. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight, Odin.”
Miko extended his arm.
With little more than a passing thought, Odin reached out and gripped his knight master’s hand.
“What the hell was that?” Nova asked, spinning, gesturing madly at the hills and pointing to individual spots along the peaks. “I saw something.”
“What was it?” Odin frowned, quick to play ignorance.
“Five little things walking along the hills.”
“They’re nothing to worry about,” Miko said. He, too, stopped to look at where Nova had pointed.
“Nothing to worry about? Are you telling me you’ve seen them too?”
“Yes, Nova. They’re called Kerma.”
“I don’t care what they’re called! I just want to know why no one’s told me we’ve been being followed!”
“We didn’t want you to worry,” Odin said.
“You’ve seen them too?” Nova asked.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Odin nodded. “Yes,” he sighed.
“I’d expect Miko to keep secrets from me, but not you, kid.”
“I told him not to tell you,” Miko said.
“I wasn’t talking to you!” Nova snapped.
“Please stop,” Odin sighed, reaching out to touch Nova’s arm.
“Don’t touch me, Odin!”
“Stop, Nova,” Miko said. “There’s no need for this.”
“Don’t you tell me to stop, Elf.”
A flash of movement came from behind the hill.
While Miko continued to try and calm Nova, a pursuit which seemed completely impossible in light of the recent revelation, Odin continued to watch the area, eyes darting from the individual peaks that blanketed the western hills and heart fluttering rapidly in his chest.
He said, Odin thought, then stopped, a sigh escaping his lips and a series of shakes beginning to overtake his body.
Hadn’t Nova said he’d seen the Kerma dotting the hillside?
Before Odin could continue any further, and before Miko could even begin to calm Nova from his rampant tirade, they appeared from behind one of the highest peaks that dotted the hillside. Five in total, each carrying a walking stick, made their appearance from the depths of the icy despair and began, slowly, to point and maneuver their way into a single, solitary line.
“This is bullshit!” Nova cried, pulling his scythe from the strap on his back.
“There’s no need for violence,” Miko said.
“I don’t care what you think, Miko! They’re following us and not they’re pointing at us.”
“They’re coming,” Odin said.
His hand strayed to his belt, toward his sword, as he watched the creatures descend the hill and make their way toward them.
Their movements, he thought, grimacing, freeing his sword of the clasp that held it in place and drawing it out but a breath.
The way they were advancing reminded him of what he’d learned in his history textbook—of how, in order to surprise a target, the enemy would often come down the side of the hill and rush them in an advancing sweep meant to use agility in order to blindside their target. He briefly considered the notion that they could be flanked and turned his attention to the north and south, but found nothing in the foreseeable distance that could spell trouble for the two of them.
Behind him, he found Miko’s hand near his side, where his sword lay hidden beneath the billows of his cloak, and his shrouded eyes set toward the hills. “Keep your distance!” the Elf warned.
The head Kerma, slightly taller than
the rest of the group and bearing upon its cloak a series of white designs that must have signified which tribe it came from, stopped and raised its hand, beckoning its group to stop in but one flush motion. “You are not welcome!” the creature called back, voice deep and thick with rumble. “Humans brought the sickness to our land. They do not belong.”
“We come in peace, kind Kerma. We mean you no harm.”
“We do not believe you, creature behind the hood of its cloak. Turn around and we will not attack you.”
Three more shapes appeared on the hill. Odin caught the shine of polished wood reflecting the light being kicked up by the snow. “Bows,” he whispered. “Sir—”
“We’ll be fine,” Miko said. Turning his attention away from Odin, he looked up at the Kerma, his hand once more straying to his side. “We will not turn back!” he called. “There is nowhere for us to go.”
“Return to your constructs that sail across the water. That is how you arrived on this land.”
“We saw you,” another Kerma said. “We saw your creatures of wood.”