by Kody Boye
“Why would someone care whether or not a… a man like Jerdai carried their supplies?”
“Think of it this way,” Miko said, erasing the distance between them with but a few simple steps. “If you were a king and, for some reason, believed a black man couldn’t work as well as a white one, would you enlist his services?”
“No.”
“And if a Dwarf refused a mortally-wounded human access to his home because he believed the human would steal his treasure, would you blame him?”
“But the man’s wounded,” Odin said. “The Dwarf should—”
“Would you blame him, Odin?”
Odin started to speak, but stopped. He realized the ultimatum he’d just been given had only one answer. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”
“So do you see why someone wouldn’t want Jerdai carrying their supplies just because he goes to bed with a man?”
“I guess,” Odin sighed. “I mean, I can understand why someone wouldn’t want to hire him because of that, but what’s the reason?”
“Personal indifference, maybe, but who knows. I don’t like to think about these kinds of things, because in the end there’ll always be people who don’t understand or appreciate others for who they are.”
Nodding, Odin looked down at the deck. Just as he expected, Icklard had stayed behind even after his brother had run off. “I don’t like to see people suffer,” he sighed. “Especially my friends.”
“I know you don’t,” Miko said, setting his hands on Odin’s shoulders. “Just be glad that their suffering will only be short lived. Some suffer much worse.”
“I know.”
When he said those words, he meant them, as he did know them.
He didn’t have to look far to find true suffering—as, at times, the world seemed all the harsher against those who were different in one shape or another.
One morning, long after Odin had thought of suffering and how close it always seemed to be, he woke to a still, unmoving ship. At first concerned, he frowned, unsure what to think. After a moment, however, he realized that Jerdai must have stopped the ship for a simple, if somewhat-mundane reason and pushed the idea from his head.
Rolling out of bed, he made his way across the room and into the bathing chamber, where there he made sure to grab a washcloth before bending to pick up the barrel of water. He hoisted it onto a table, dipped the rag into it, and sighed when he ran the cool cloth across his face.
Hopefully they boiled it, he thought, cursing himself for not doing so.
Oh well—if he ended up smelling like salt, who cared?
Undressing, he took the next few moments to wash his face, underarms and privates, all the while yearning for the comforts of a real bath and the true clean it would bring. He didn’t dwell on that, however, instead opting to finish up, toss the cloth into the corner and make his way back into the main room.
Miko turned away from the window just in time to meet Odin’s eyes.
“Sir,” Odin frowned, taking a step forward. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“We aren’t moving.”
“Oh, that.” The Elf smiled and gestured him forward. Once Odin stood at his side, he set a hand on his shoulder. “Jerdai’s seeking permission to dock in the town of Fisherman’s Point.”
“We’re over the border?”
“We’ve been over the border for quite some time,” Miko laughed, squeezing Odin’s upper arm. “If you think about it in a literal sense, anyway.”
“I guess,” he shrugged. He glanced at Nova and, finding him still asleep, walked to his own bed, where he bent and pulled a fresh pair of clothes from his chest. “How long will it take him to get permission?”
“I don’t imagine too long. Why? Anxious to see the town?”
“Kinda,” he said, pulling his underwear up his legs. He sat down and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when a fingernail snagged a tight knot. “If you want to know the truth, I’d like to take a bath.”
“As would I.”
Odin smiled. He slid his feet into his trousers, pulled them up to his hips, then buckled them in place, all the while trying his hardest not to look at the faint blotchy discoloration at his hip or the scar on his upper leg.
“Are you all right?” the Elf asked.
“Oh.” He looked up at his knight master, halfway between sliding his belt through the loops of his pants and buckling it into place. “I’m fine. I… I was just looking at my scar.”
“Ah,” Miko nodded. “It’s nothing to worry about. Most scars disappear entirely.”
“Sir,” Odin sighed, sliding his shirt over his head. “How long will we be here?”
“As long as it takes Jerdai to gather supplies. The worst scenario would be having to wait for a few days to have fabrics and food imported from the surrounding towns. I assume Jerdai will want to have the sail taken care of, or at least replaced.”
“All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Whatever it takes.”
That afternoon, after Jerdai gained permission to dock, Odin, Miko, Nova and the rest of the crew made their way up the long, angled path that would lead them to the city. Salt and cold buffeted the group of at least one-hundred or so as the reckless tide came in and crashed against the rocky cliffside. Mist, in fine sheens of blue and white, cascaded through the air, catching the light and reflecting thousands of miniature rainbows, while the occasional gull flew overhead and taunted them with its warring cries. Tears ran down several of the men’s eyes. Some held shirts or kerchiefs over their noses, resisting the urge to sneeze. Odin alone found himself almost unable to keep from squinting his eyes to avoid both the harsh light from the overhead mountains and the spray of water in the area.
“Like Elna is to Ornala,” Miko said, immediately drawing their attention, “Fisherman’s Point if one of Kegdulan’s main sources of food.”
“I never imagined setting foot here,” Nova said, sliding a hand into his shirt to scratch his chest.
“Neither did I,” Odin said, then found himself smiling soon after. The simple realization that he had actually come this far forced so many feelings from him—joy, mostly, but also awe and wonder. He’d never imagined walking the slanted path of a land leagues from home, desperate in pursuit of supplies, nor had he ever imagined battling a dying race in the most frigid land known to man. In such a short amount of time, he’d come much further than he’d ever imagined and made friends with people and things he could never have even begun to dream of. That alone was enough to bring about the warmest of feelings in his chest and force tendrils of happiness throughout his facial muscles.
“Hey,” Nova grinned, slapping an arm around Odin’s shoulder. “What’re you smiling about?”
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I’m just thinking about how far I’ve come.”
“Tell me about it. I can hardly believe I used to work at a farm in Bohren,” Nova said, then paused, as if something horrible had just struck his heart and tore his world to pieces.
“Are you all right?” Odin frowned.
“I’m all right,” the older man said, then sighed, running a hand across his face and through the wisps and tangles of hair in his beard. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Katarina.”
“You’ve been away from her for a very long time,” Odin agreed, setting a hand at his friend’s lower back, but unsure whether or not the touch was appropriate. That, however, didn’t necessarily bother him, as considering they were friends he felt he could get away with much and be scolded for little. For that alone he allowed his hand to stay, and in the moments following his reciprocating gesture, he sighed and asked, “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Nova said, this time tightening his hold on Odin’s left arm. “It’s just… hard, you know, not being there with her and all.”
“She’ll be very happy when you come back home.”
“Her happine
ss is all that matters to me, Odin. God… when you ever get married, and I hope you never do unless you’re able to commit yourself to a family, don’t ever make the choices I did. Not that I regret finding you, because you’ve become one of the best, if not the best friend I’ve ever had, but… well… I think you can understand what I’m saying.”
“I do,” Odin nodded.
In the moments of silence that followed, he considered his actions, his feelings, and his duties to not only his friends and family, but his country and began to realize that his idea of a family might not be possible considering the circumstances that he’d thrown himself into.
It’s all right, he thought. You have friends.
Friends, if anything, could at least alleviate the burden of being alone. Besides—he was much too young to even consider a family yet, regardless of his somewhat-royal implications and that he was now a squire in the kingdom of Ornala.
They continued on in silence for the next long while, listening to the sound of gulls and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. The sun, ever-present, continued to rise, launching itself over the peaks of the mountains as though it were a living entity itself. It mattered not whether it was a star or a living entity, as scientists proclaimed and as preachers ordained, because in that moment it was no heavenly figure, no blessing artifact. It was, in that moment, a horror, one that bestowed upon them light so grand and harsh Odin half expected to become burned.
When it began to seem that the path would no longer end, Miko spoke. “We’ll be staying in a bar until Jerdai is able to purchase the supplies for the next part of our journey,” he said.
“That won’t take no more than a few days, right?” Nova asked.
“No, but don’t plan on getting out of here too quickly. Anything can happen.”
No need to tell us, Odin thought, drawing a quick breath.
When they stepped off the final leg of the man-made path along the cliffs, a sight rose before them so perilous and daunting his heart stopped beating in his chest.
Breathe, a voice whispered.
Odin did just that and considered his place in the world.
Before them, like a giant crossing the lands in which were said the beginnings of humanity had risen up, the Hornblaris Mountains rose into the sky as far as the eye could see. Gold, rubies, sapphire, emeralds, and every other jewel imaginable and calculated by the human mind caught the sunlight and reflected it back into the sky, speaking of treasures that could not be touched and air that could not be breathed. It was, as could have been described, breathtaking—a breath of darkness exhaled from the lips of the Gods and formed by the boundaries of time. This, in and of itself, could have made any man tremble, as in looking upon it Odin felt his heart trembling and his muscles twitching beneath his skin. His eyes, however, were soon disarmed and eventually fell to the city below. Entombed within a clearing in the woods, whose bark had been darkened a deep black by moisture and salt, it appeared to be nothing more than a few scant houses built without care and in haste. However, as they grew closer, the city expanded, hidden within the nooks and crannies shielded by an army of wood that extended into the sky and expanded itself like parasols carried by the finest, most royal women.
“Look at it,” Nova said, loosening his grip on Odin’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It sure is bud.”
“The Dwarves built it because they liked the view,” Miko said, setting a hand on both of their shoulders. “But like most Dwarves and even some men, they couldn’t stand the heat and salt, so they left it completely abandoned.
“So much for taking the time to build a city,” Nova grumbled. “Please don’t tell me we’ll be staying in some place big enough for only Dwarves.”
“Not at all,” the Elf smiled. “I think you’ll find our friends left quite the place for us to stay.”
As Miko had said, the Dwarves had left behind quite the place to stay in. Complete with high, extended ceilings, darkened wood and fresh, meaty food, the bar itself seemed welcoming after many long months of sailing not only for its offerings, but for its placement, which in and of itself seemed practiced and well-thought out.
It’s almost as if they left it here for humans, Odin thought, blinking, watching the bartender fumble with several plates covered with food before him.
Either way, it didn’t necessarily matter, as when the bartender set a plate of ribs, freshly-steamed vegetables and a small bowl of soup before him, Odin could hardly believe his eyes. He glanced at Nova, who seemed just as surprised, before turning his attention to his knight master—whom, as always, remained hidden under the cloak. Though he couldn’t see the Elf’s face, indifference wafted from his relaxed stature and faint breaths.
“Thank you,” Odin said, glancing up at the black man who’d served him.
“No need to thank me, lad,” the Kadarian said, his voice thick but pleasant. “Just doing my job.”
The man nodded, smiled, and disappeared into a room alight with fire, where several women amidst the company of only a few men laughed and began to dance around a table.
Once sure that he hadn't been imaging things or their meals had not been scrambled with another patron’s, Odin lifted a rib and bit down, somehow managing to suppress a moan when rich sauce exploded from within the confines of the meat. He turned to face Nova, whose face had since become lathered in sauce and spit.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Odin asked.
“Hell yes,” Nova managed between bites. “Thanks Miko.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” the Elf said, cutting a slice of meat with a thin knife.
Odin frowned. His knight master’s voice hadn’t been filled with the pride it usually had, with the confidence that marked him as strong and more than capable of being a genuine being. For some odd reason, it sounded as though he were depressed.
Oh, Odin thought, turning away as memories of Neline came flooding back.
Trying to distract himself with food, he lifted his spoon from the bowl of soup and slid it into his mouth, hoping that the flavor would brighten his mood and lift his spirits. As he already suspected, however, the food had lost its taste. Fine broth went to waste on petty guilt, while peas, carrots and lettuce cooked and boiled to perfection stuck to his teeth, plaque to emotions he could not control.
He’s thinking about her.
Once again, he turned his head up to face his knight master, but quickly turned away when the Elf glanced at him. Although he’d done his best to make his gesture appear to be nothing more than a quick glance around the room, he already knew he’d failed.
He knows.
Miko always knew. Whether or not the talent was a natural gift to the Elves or just a heightened sense of intuition he didn’t and would probably never know.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Nova asked, tearing a piece of rib off with his teeth.
“No,” Odin whispered, sliding a slice of toasted bread into his mouth. As an afterthought, he added, “I’ll tell you later.”
“All right,” the older man shrugged. “If you say so.”
With one last glance at the surrounding area, Odin took his fork, his knife and his pride and cut into the meat, all the while imagining how one simple action could make a heart’s worth of trouble fade away.
“He’s upset,” Odin said, drawing his knees against his chest.
“Can you blame him, Odin? He left the woman pregnant with his child.”
“I tried to get him to stay.”
“Don’t even begin to start feeling guilty about this. He was the one who wanted to go, and he was the one who decided to take us to Neline in the first place.
“Would you have stayed if he had wanted to?”
“Odin—”
“Please, Nova—answer my question.”
Nova turned his head away, glancing at the window as though something had caught his attention. Odin knew better than to interrupt his friend, so
he let him look out the window until he was ready to speak. Nova began, slowly, by saying, “No,” then sighed and said, after setting a hand to his head, “I wouldn’t have.”
“Not even for—”
“We went through this already, bud. I’ve got a wife waiting for me to come back home.”
“But are—”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about Neline,” Odin said. Nova paused, waiting. After a moment, he nodded, gesturing for Odin to continue. “I was going to ask if you were going to leave us after we get back to the mainland.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… are you going to go back to your wife, start a family and forget about me and Miko?”
“Odin,” Nova laughed, reaching over to grip his shoulder. “I would never forget about you or Miko. Why would you think that?”
“Your love your wife very much,” Odin sighed, turning his eyes away from his friend.
“But I love you, Odin, and I love Miko too. The Elf’s like a best friend, and you… well… you’re like a little brother.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“It means a lot to hear you say that.”
“And it means a lot to know that I’ll always have friends to turn to when I need them. I didn’t have a lot of them growing up, mostly because I lived with my father on the outskirts of town. I hardly went to school, and the few times I did, it wasn’t long enough to make any friends. I’m like you, in a way—I stayed home to please and work for my father, I didn’t go to school, and I didn’t play with any other boys my age, so don’t think I don’t know what you went through.”