The Brotherhood: Blood

by Kody Boye

  “The human king may not care whose blood I was born from, but surely his people will. My kind has learned the ignoranance of those who bask in gold and bathe in blood, for if you recall, Maeko, it was they who pushed us from their lands, not us.”

  “Mother—”

  “There is a time for goodbye, my son. That time is now.” Stepping forward, Sunskin set a hand on Miko’s shoulder, and as she did Odin, tipped the Elf’s chin up and forced him to look into her eyes. “My whole life, I have dreamed for a child I could one day look upon, to call my own and share with him the most intimate of things. When my mate died, and when my one and only chance to have a child died with him, the pain and sorrow in my heart nearly destroyed my soul. But then… one day, Maeko, long before the humans walked the beaches and their orbs sang their song, I pulled fish from the sea and found something I dreamed I would never begin to find.”

  “Me.”

  “Yes, my son. I pulled from the sea a child bastared and abandoned, and in that child of black and white and maroon and silver I found the one thing that saved me from the hell you three experienced when a rogue entered your cave and tried to end your lives. I found my life, Maeko. I found you.”

  “Mother,” Miko whispered. “You… you can’t… you can’t do this to me.”

  “Forever abandoned from me you are, my son. As one once did to you, I cast you to the waves, to your own and to your sea.”

  “Mother!” Miko screamed. “You can’t do this!”

  “Leave now, Maeko, or forever be cursed with your final goodbye.”

  Words could have never described what a final, solemn ultimatum holds.

  With one last look at the creature that had raised him, Miko whispered, “I love you,” and turned toward the forest, only pausing once for Nova and Odin to follow suit.

  As they faded away, into the forest and from an Ogre’s heart, Odin thought he heard something.

  It only took him a moment to realize it was snot and tears.

  Flame licked the night, casting doubt in worry and faces in orange.

  Across from Nova and Odin, huddled between the folds of his cape and bedroll, lay Miko, eyes unmoving and gaze not in the least bit faltering. Although the Elf’s sights lay on the men before him, the brutal knowledge that he most likely could not see them floated in midair, biting at Odin’s knuckles and licking his palms like freshly-born pups. Wet, covered in phlegm and seeking out the one thing that connected them to the world, they gnawed at his fingers like they would teats, desperately seeking the lifeblood they needed while still trying to understand the world around them. Sometimes they’d bite too hard and blood would be drawn, while others would simply fall behind, moaning and yipping for their mother to pick them up, then bring them down. Like those pups, Odin wanted but one thing. His chance of getting it, however, was slim to none.

  “Soup?” Nova offered.

  Odin shook his head. Nova’s attempt to give him food had gone stale the third time around. “Is he even awake?” Odin asked.

  “It doesn’t look like it,” Nova replied, setting the pot back in place. “Then again, we both know how much that means.”

  “What’re we supposed to do, Nova?”

  “About what?”

  “About him.”

  “We don’t do anything.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t do anything,” Nova repeated. “We can’t do anything.”

  “You honestly can’t expect me to believe that.”

  “And you honestly can’t expect me to believe that we can do anything. He’s done this before, Odin.”

  “When? What are you—” The brief image of a froazen wasteland was enough to silence him. “Nova—”

  “We can’t do anything, Odin. Do you understand?”

  Nothing could be said to something like that. How could he retort if he had no reply?

  Shaking his head, Odin settled down in his bedroll and tried not to look into his knight master’s eyes. Those dull, glasslike purple orbs begged, screamed to be looked into. It was as though someone had trapped another being behind a glass wall and expected them to get out. What could they do but beg and scream to be set free if only they knew who was trapped inside?

  Is something in there? he thought. Is something really in there?

  Looking into Miko’s eyes, it was hard to tell.

  “Do you want me to watch first?” Odin asked.

  “No,” Nova said. “Don’t worry—I’ll wake you up when I’m ready.”

  “What about—”

  “Leave him be. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

  Only then would the Elf’s mind return.

  Dawn breathed its parlor upon the world in blue, grey and orange. Within the birth of a new morning, the sun bled orange as though pregnant and bloated with her child of light. First the clouds glistened, pink with the blood of the innocent, then the sky lightened, the blood wiped away with a cloth but not completely removed. Marked with the essence of the soon-to-be born, the light cut a path through the darkness and gave way to the pure—to the unconsolable, desperate blue of the world.

  Opening his eyes, Odin witnessed a perfect Minonivnan dawn on the final eve of his journey.

  This is it, he thought. This is where the journey ends.

  He’d said the same thing, once upon a time, when he looked upon the Lady Annabelle and imagined where its folds would take him. Through the breeze and across the wide seas, past the trees and tall weeds—he once dreamed of that ship taking him to worlds that he could never imagine, to places where his heart would change and his position would grow. Despite his fears—which, at that time, had been so present—he had changed, and had grown more than he could ever possibly imagine. He’d crossed the grandest, frozen plane in the whole of the southern world, battled a dying race for life or death, and slept with Ogres thought to be dumb and deaf, all in the scope of three years. He’d done more in that amount of time than most people did in their entire life.

  What’s next though?

  Service, enlistment, loyalty, death—did they not say that once you gave your life to the king it was his and his alone? Surely you couldn’t control the actions of a nobleman, much less sway him to save your soul in times of need. Only men with red robes and false amends could take your face in their hands and save the one thing you thought you couldn’t lose.

  It’s too late to turn back now.

  Pushing himself out of his bedroll, Odin slung his shirt over his shoulders and stepped up to the woodline. There, he set his hand on one of the black trunks and looked out at the slowly-bleeding sun, as well as its mother clouds, who slowly but surely faded to black.

  What will happen when I get to the castle though?

  Nova would be gone—that much was already clear. Miko, though… where would he go? He’d always claimed to be a wanderer, a nomad with no set goal and no choice home. Would the Elf simply walk away one night, never to return and be seen again, or would he come back one day in times of trouble, when Odin needed him most?

  No. He won’t leave. He wouldn’t.

  Or would he?

  Sighing, Odin bowed his head just in time to avoid the stabbing needles of light pushing their way through the trees.

  At a time like this, he didn’t need anything else to worry about, much less a guardian who might leave and never return.

  “You’re up.”

  Odin blinked. “What?”

  “I said you’re up.”

  Blinking once more, Odin cleared his eyes, surprised to find that he hadn’t been imagining things. Miko sat across from him, cape slung over his shoulders and long hair shrugged over his broad, partially-naked chest.

  “Did I fall asleep?” Odin frowned.

  I couldn’t have. I’m still sitting up.

  “I don’t know,” the Elf said. “I just rose myself. Are you well?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You…” A flicker from one of the remaining dying embers reflected off
the Elf’s eyes, allowing Odin to focus on the overall expression. Though not completely grief-stricken, the obvious lack of emotion lit Miko’s face in a completely different light. Cheekbones hollow, porcelain skin dull and without life, eyes black—emotion could pain such fickle pictures on people’s faces, but when within portraits such as Miko’s, the true scope of life revealed itself in the most honest of ways. Frailty, chastity, honesty, trust—all were visible, all physical in a living, breathing light.

  Do I tell him about last night?

  Could he tell him? Could he honestly, truly admit to doing nothing but watching his knight master suffer through some post-traumatic reflex without doing a single thing? It wasn’t as though he’d abandoned him—he’d been no more than three feet away, either sleeping or keeping watch over the camp throughout the entire night. If anything, the only crime he’d committed was not doing more to try and help, and even then Nova had said to leave him be, to let him ‘come back’ when he was ready.

  “I… what?” Miko asked, drawing Odin from his thoughts.

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “If something happened, I want you to tell me.”

  “Nothing happened, sir. You fell asleep—that’s all.”

  “That’s all?”

  This time, Odin couldn’t help but turn his head down. Shame having gotten the best of him, he sighed, took a deep breath, then expelled it before forcing himself to look back up. “You fell asleep with your eyes open, sir.”

  The Elf pursed his lips. Suh a gesture didn’t indicate a natural response, especially given the creature’s usually-calm, stoic demeanor.

  “Sir?” Odin ventured. “Tell me something wasn’t wrong with you last night. You were just laying there, looking at me like you’d gone out of your mind. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Nor should you have done anything,” the Elf replied. “To answer your question, Odin—no, nothing was wrong, nothing other than unnatural suffering.”

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”

  Shit.

  There—the thing he’d wanted to say for so long, gone, out in the open and floating in midair.

  Frowning, Miko reached up to run a hand aross his temple. He stopped to finger the flush of one eyebrow before returning his hand to his lap. “Pardon?” he asked.

  Pardon? Odin thought, somehow resisting the urge to laugh. Did he really just say pardon?

  How could the Elf have not heard him?

  “You did it in Neline after… you know… and here, the night we were watching the firebugs.”

  “Firebugs?”

  “Yeah. You don’t remember that?”

  “No, actually—I don’t.”

  Even I can remember that, and that was over a year ago.

  Then again, had he remembered the incident because of the firebugs, or had it been because of the way Miko had acted that night—the way he’d unblinkingly stared at the creatures dancing amidst the clay huts, the way he couldn’t respond with more than a few choice words at a time?

  “Sir… do you remember telling me how you sometimes act the way you do because of your mixed blood?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Do you think that might be the reason you acted the way you did last night?”

  No immediate response followed.

  Waiting, Odin settled his hands into his lap, fingering the loose threads on the sleeves of his shirt. He did his best to keep eye contact with his master, but made sure not to keep too much for fear of making him nervous. Though strong and full of pride, who knew how the Elf would respond to an unfaltering, questioning gaze.

  I know I don’t want to find out.

  “Odin?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “To answer your question, no—I don’t know why I laid there without responding to you. I have to tell you something though, something that might explain some of my odd behaviors. Are you listening?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There are times when, for no reasona t all, my mind will go blank—just like that. It’s almost like I’m closing my eyes to go to sleep, but without actually sleeping in the process. When I wake up, I’ll have no recollection of when exactly I laid down, nor will I remember the last thing I saw or did beforehand. It’s like… I can’t explain it. It’s like when you take a cloth and wipe a dusty table. The dust is gone, but the table’s still there, even though what was covering it is gone. Are you following me?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “There’s something else, Odin… I have to ask you something though. If I tell you this, I want you to promise to keep it between the two of us.”

  “You know I—”

  “You can’t tell Nova, your magic teacher, the mages, Parfour—anyone you think you know or may not know. You’ll promise me that even if someone puts a knife to your throat, even if someone threatens to cut you open piece by tiny piece or even if the king himself demands your deepest secret, you will never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

  “You know I wouldn’t, sir.”

  “This isn’t an occasional thing.”

  Odin frowned. What?

  Had he heard correctly?

  “Sir,” he said, “What are you—”

  “This happens more than I’d like it to, Odin. Do you understand?”

  “No. I… I don’t see what you—”

  “There are times when I’ll fall asleep and won’t wake up for days.”

  “Sir, what’re you—”

  “You heard me, Odin. I’ll lay down to go to sleep, but I won’t wake up the following morning. Sometimes I won’t wake up for days on end, maybe even months. I—”

  “But you wake up every day. You—”

  When he doesn’t talk, when he doesn’t say anything, when he’s cooking dinner or when he’s staring at things you can’t see. When he—

  “Sir… are you saying—”

  “Yes, Odin. When you’ve woken to find me staring out at something, I may not have really been there.”

  A tangible thing made of everything and nothing slithered up his spine and curled around his neck. Baring its fangs, its tongue slicked across his throat and prepared to inflict the final, deadly blow. Poison of the greatest, truest quality would flow throughout his body and destroy his mind, but leave him concrete and pure, and while he would still be there in body and essence, where would that leave his mind, if only in a dark, beautiful place? Would he go where Miko went? Would he go anywhere? Where, exactly, would he go?

  “Back then,” Odin said, “when you were watching the firebugs. You’re saying that you couldn’t… that you weren’t able to—”

  “I couldn’t see anything, Odin. I wouldn’t have even known about this had you not told me.”

  “What happens then? What happens when you go to sleep and you don’t wake up?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you go somewhere you normally can’t see, or maybe you don’t go anywhere at all. Maybe you’re just simply there, existing as though nothing’s happening around you.”

  “Sir… if you don’t know where you are or what you’re doing when this happens, how are you able to talk or walk around?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe instinct takes hold of my body and uses it in the way it needs to, or maybe I’m really speaking, moving and doing everything else without being aware of it.”

  “Why haven’t you asked for help?”

  “Because for the longest time, I thought I was out of my mind, Odin. There were days I’d wake up expecting to be next to my friend or lover only to find them gone—vanished, apparently, never to be seen again. I’d rise and make my way out into my choice of dwelling, seek out a friend or companion and ask where they’d gone, then come to find out that the person I held more dear to my heart than anything else in my world had been gone a long time. Dead, they’d say, but sometimes in the rarest, most special of instances they’d say they’d simply moved on, afraid of who or what I’d become when, in fa
ct, I’d become nothing. I’d simply stopped seeing the world for a much longer time than I thought.

  “To answer your question, Odin—no. I don’t know what happens during these times. I don’t know what happens inside me, I don’t know what happens around me, I don’t know what happens to the world or the things I exist in. I don’t know anything. Maybe this is why I always feel so tragic. Maybe this is why I seem like such a sad, helpless being.”

  Odin didn’t know what to say.

  In the distance, a bird chirped, singing the coming of a new day.

  Nearby, a chipmunk hopped onto a log and idly nibbled its nut, then skittered away just as quickly when it realized there were three humanoids nearby.

  No more than a foot away, buried in the depths of his head, Odin came to a realization.

  It realy was true.

  Sometimes, when you closed your eyes, you could wake up in an entirely different place, in an entirely different time.

  Fear grew deep.

  It spread its roots.

  It sowed its seeds.

  If only he could tell his knight master that he’d experienced the same thing no more than a day ago, maybe then he could close his eyes at night and dream without worry.

  Plush sand parted beneath their feet the moment they stepped on the beach. Distantly aware of the presence of ringing bells, Odin raised his head and scanned the area, searching for the monks that would surely be nearby. When he saw none, however, he couldn’t help but frown.