The Brotherhood: Blood

by Kody Boye

  With little more than a smile, Miko took both ends of the canoe, rotated it until the bow faced the northwest, then gave it a mighty shove.

  Slowly, and with the utmost care he and his companions could manage, Odin dipped his oar into the water.

  It wouldn’t be long before they were aboard the Annabelle and away from this hellish place.

  Drifting endlessly, Odin thought the boat would enver come into sight. Several times, he had to cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure they’d continued on in the right direction, as it seemed they were not moving and that the day was growing older by the moment. Each time he did so, he was met with nothing more than the beach, along with the lone, solitary figure of the Elf in black, who stood so still that Odin considered him to be something of a statue.

  “He’ll be ok,” Nova grunted, face red with jade. “Like he said, he’s not worried, so why should we be?”

  Just because he’s not worried doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be, Odin thought, grimacing as his raw, chafed hands throbbed with pain.

  Instead of focusing his energies on the beach and what exactly could be going on, Odin took a deep breath and channeled his thoughts on rowing. One oar in, one oar out; one stroke here, one stroke there; one breath in, one breath out—tirelessly, endlessly, he forced his anger at Parfour’s enslavement into his salvation, only stopping once every so often to take a breath and regain his bearings.

  Behind him, the boy rowed slowly and without force.

  Nova said nothing.

  Odin kept his silence.

  The word shock came to mind.

  The state in which a person, under an unideal amount of stress, begins to break down, a teacher had once said, waving his hand across a black chalkboard without need or worry. It’s what happens when fathers see their children die, my sons, and it’s what happens when knights look upon a battlefield and realize that all hope is lost.

  “No.”

  “Odin?”

  “What?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Odin blinked. Parfour set a hand on his back.

  “Somethin’ wrong?” Nova asked, his exhale obvious and full of pain.

  “No,” Odin said, shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

  “Look!” Parfour cried.

  No more than a hundred yards away, the boat sat in silence, its deck motionless and without sound.

  “There we are,” Odin grinned, raising a hand. “Hey! Icklard! Domnin!”

  Two heads peeked up from below the railing.

  “Pull us in!” Odin yelled.

  No further words were necessary.

  In less than a moment, an invisible current swept the boat asunder and carried it toward the Annabelle.

  “You’re all right,” Icklard said, offering Odin a hand.

  “Where’s your master?” Domnin frowned.

  “On the beach,” Odin sighed. “All four of us couldn’t fit. You need to send the boat back.”

  “That’s no trouble. Is it, Icklard?”

  “Not at all,” the younger brother said. He gestured two ship hands forward and stepped aside so they could lower the vessel, then cast a glance at Parfour, who’d since retreated to the shade of the far wall. “Why is there four of you now?”

  “The monks,” Odin sighed. “They—”

  “Oh God,” Domnin whispered. “You’re saying—”

  “Yeah,” Nova said. “They’re raping the kids.”

  “Goddamn them,” Icklard growled, balling his hands into fists. “The fucking scum.”

  “The sooner we can get back to the mainland, the sooner we can help the others,” Odin said, stepping up to the railing and raising his hand. “Help me.”

  “You don’t honestly think you can help us after all that rowing you did, do you?”

  “It’s better than sitting around and doing nothing.”

  “Sit down,” Domnin said. “We’ll handle this, Odin.”

  “Besides,” Icklard whispered, “I think the boy could use your help more than we could.”

  “He’s right,” Nova said. “He trusts you more than he does anyone else.”

  “All right,” Odin nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  Taking a few steps back, he watched the brothers set fire to their hands before he turned and made his way over to Parfour, already dreading the person he was likely to meet on arrival.

  Even if you can’t do anything, he thought, the least you can do is give him some company.

  Though matters of the mind weren’t his forete, he could offer a helping hand, if only temporarily.

  “Parfour,” Odin said, kneeling down to face the boy. “You mind if I sit here?”

  “Huh?” the young man asked, blinking, his one good eye hazy and confused.

  “I asked if I could sit here.”

  “Oh,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

  Settling down, Odin drew a knee up to his chest and took a deep breath.

  Parfour turned his head slightly.

  Odin exhaled.

  The boy sighed, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Parfour. You’re safe—no one’s going to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “It won’t be long before Miko’s back. Then we can leave and you can put this whole thing behind you.”

  “If I even can.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “I… I don’t know. I don’t really even care. I’m just glad you came back for me.”

  “I never wanted to leave you there,” Odin said, wanting to reach out to Parfour, but resisting the urge to do so. “I wanted to take you wish us when we first got to the island, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I’m not sure why he brought me all the way out here or why we went all the way to Neline, but I’m starting to realize something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Being a squire is about learning how to fight, how to become a knight and how to keep yourself level-headed, but more or less, I think it’s about discovering yourself along the way. You know what else?”

  “Huh?”

  “I think that by leaving this place, you’ll discover more about yourself than you’ve ever known.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I don’t,” Odin smiled. “You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because when that man… Elf… whatever you want to call him… pulled me from that tower and said that he wanted me to be his squire, I learned more at that moment than I had in my entire life. This whole… journey has been filled with things I never thought I’dexperience. Kerma, Ogres, people from a kingdom I’d never seen or ever dreamed of seeing—all this has come with time. And if you think that’s all I saw, you’re wrong, because I saw and learned more than I ever would have if I had chosen the path my father took and decided to be a woodcutter.”

  “Is that what you really wanted to do, Odin? Cut wood?”

  “Yeah. A long time ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I idolized my father and everything he did. I wanted to be just like him until he handed me my first sword.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Ten, eleven years—at least, I think that’s how long it’s been. I couldn’t tell you. He might’ve given me a sword before that, but if he did, I don’t remember. All I remember is the day I fought a straw dummy and nearby blew myself up.”

  “With your magic?”

  “Yeah,” Odin smiled. “My father was always afraid of it. I don’t know why, and I probably never will either. The night I ran away to become the person I am today, he walked into the tent and caught me mending the fabric with my magic. He said it’d destroy me and to never use it again, but something told me that if I didn’t learn how to control it, I’d probably die. My magic teacher said the same thing the day I got to the castle, when I told him that I’d run away to become a soldier.”

  “Do you regret it?” Parfour asked.

&nbs
p; “No. I haven’t regretted a day of my life since I told the king I wanted to be his knight.”

  Parfour nodded. Taking a deep breath, he expelled it and turned his head up, truly looking into Odin’s eyes for the first time since he’d sat down. “Odin,” he said. “What’re you gonna do when you become a knight?”

  “I’m going to come back here,” Odin said, “and make Beal wish he’d never been born.”

  As night swallowed the sun and greeted the world, the boat appeared on the horizon. Phantomlike in appearance and resembling something of a terrifying fish heading straight toward them, its passenger sat with his head hung low, motionless as waves crested the vessel and kissed it with vain, innocent lips.

  Rising from his place near the far wall, Odin blinked, adjusted his eyes to the steadily-declining light, and stepped forward, taking his place beside the mage brothers. “What took him so long?” he frowned, tightening his grip on the wood railing as a swell came up.

  “I’m not sure,” Icklard frowned.

  “He could’ve had trouble with the tide,” Domnin shrugged, leaning forward and cupping his hands over his mouth. “Sir! Sir! Are you all right?”

  The Elf’s head snapped up instantly.

  The swiftness of the motion nearly sent Odin tumbling over the edge.

  “He seems fine,” the older brother nodded, giving a nervous chuckle as the shrouded figure turned his head and surveyed the area. “I don’t think he’s hurt.”

  How could you tell with all the black he’s wearing? Odin thought, but somehow resisted the urge to speak.

  Taking a few steps back, he allowed the brothers to call a handful of fishermen over in preparation for the Elf’s arrival, only pausing to nod at Icklard when the brother turned to look at him.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Odin mumbled, pushing the thoughts out of his head. “Nothing happened. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Regardless, the creeping sensation of doubt lingered at the small of his skull, pressing its weight against his back and taking his arms by the wrists.

  Could Miko have run into trouble with the tide, like Domnin suggested, or could something more sinister have happened?

  They don’t use bladed weapons. It’s against their religion.

  Despite that, however, would the monks have cornered him, defying their religion in more ways than one?

  Something crossed his back.

  The wind, the air, the presence of something powerful and far greater than he could have ever possibly imagined—it panted in his ear and licked the nape of his neck, preparing to sink its fangs into his spine in but a moment’s notice.

  Religion, the gilded thing breathed, is one to some, another to others.

  How things invisible and dainty could speak the truth, and how evil could mask itself in folds of robes or adorn itself in crowns of gold, if only to deceive those naïve enough to be controlled.

  Careful to maintain his composure despite the presence of an emotion that very well could have manifested itself from the dark energy of his thoughts, Odin watched a group of men string a rope over their shoulders and drag it to the side of the ship. Muscles heaving, arms bulging, they pushed forward, grunting and groaning as the rope balled itself around their limbs and tightened to what looked like an almost-unbearable pressure.

  For a moment, Odin thought they might drop the rope, thus losing it to the sea. Only when they passed it off to a pair of other men and began stringing it through a series of pullies did he breath his sigh of relief.

  “Sir!” Odin called, leaning over the railing. “Are you all right?”

  As though startled, the Elf jumped. His boat almost flipped over in the process. “I’m fine,” Miko said, steadying his rocking ship against the side of the Annabelle. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Are you sure? I can lift you up if you need me to. I can—”

  Odin stopped.

  A flicker of movement below Miko’s vessel startled him from speaking.

  Oh shit.

  “Jerdai,” Odin whispered, grimacing as the captain came up behind him. “Do you see that?”

  “See what?” the captain replied, leaning close to his lips.

  “Whatever just moved below his boat.”

  “Yes, my boy—I did.”

  “What was it?”

  “Couldn’t tell. If you ask me though, it looked like a worm.”

  “A worm?”

  “A serpent, lad. Though I’d be damned to say they didn’t exist this close to the mainland, I’d be lying if I said they didn’t.”

  “Why would a sea serpent follow a boat?”

  “Curious, maybe. We get the big ones coming off the coast of Elna because of the warm water, but I highly doubt this one’s anything like that. If anything, it’s a young’un that got separated from its pod and is following the biggest thing that moves.”

  “Sir,” a nearby shiphand said. “Did you see—”

  “Shut your damn mouth,” Jerdai hissed. “He doesn’t need to know there’s something swimming around just below his boat.”

  “Then what do we—”

  “Toss him the ropes and tell him to secure himself in place. We don’t want to dump him out when we’re pulling him up.”

  Nodding, the shiphand returned to the pulley, where he threw the ropes overboard and began shouting isntructions down to the Elf who could possibly cease to exist in the following moments.

  “All right!” Jerdai bellowed. “Are you ready in three… two… one…”

  The pulleys snapped into action.

  Leaning forward, Odin watched and prepared for the worst.

  As the boat rose into the air, shifting and shaking in the absence of water, Miko reached out and slid a rope in both hands, taking care to keep his body steady as the small canoe tilted to accommodate the pull of the ropes. Like his companions before him, the Elf remained calm and collected, listening to the isntructions the shiphand offered as his body slowly tilted at an awkward angle.

  With everything going so smoothly, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

  Odin took a deep breath.

  Here we go, he thought, tightening his grip on the railing until his fingers hurt. He’s almost—

  A pulley snapped.

  Miko’s body flew to one side and the bow of the boat plummeted toward the sea.

  “Shit!” Jerdai cried.

  “Sir!” Odin screamed, terrified at the sight of his master hanging on to only one rope. “Are you all right?”

  “What the hell happened?” Nova roared. “What’s wrong with your fucking pulley?”

  “The ropes on the front end snapped!” a shiphand cried, raising his hands as Nova advanced on him. “I swear, sir! I swear! It’s not my fault! Huh-Huh-He must be tuh-too huh-heav—”

  In a fit of rage, Nova pushed the man into a group of others, who made no move to step forward as the red-haired fury growled and made his way over to the broken pulley. “How do you expect to get him up now?” Nova asked, glaring at the two men who’d prepared the contraption. “You can’t pull him up with just one of them, now can you?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the other man sighed. “Icklard, Domnin—can you lift him up?”

  “I don’t know,” Domnin frowned. “We’ve never tried lifting someone who can use magic before.”

  “Why wouldn’t it work?” Odin frowned.

  “It doesn’t work because the resisting magic usually cancels the aggressing magic out,” Icklard sighed, running a hand across his forehead. “There’s no way we could lift him. His magic would probably kill us if we tried.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “The only thing we could do is try to lift the boat.”

  “Then do it!”

  Taking a deep breath, Domnin lifted his hands and sparked them to life.

  Aided by his brother, the now-dangling end of the canoe lfited from its skewed position, allowing Miko to touch down and steady himself on the vessel.


  “I’m going to snap the other ropes,” the Elf said. “Odin—help them keep the boat afloat.”

  “Sir,” Odin said, gently pushing Nova out of his way. “What if something happens?”

  “Then to the sea I go.”

  The ropes snapped without warning.

  The fishing boat dropped at least a foot before Icklard and Domnin steadied it.

  “A little help,” Icklard mumbled.

  “I thought you could move the Annabelle,” Odin asked, spreading his conscience into the boat.

  “We can,” Domnin said, “when we’re not forcing it to do something it isn’t supposed to do.”

  “Just keep the boat steady,” the Elf said. “I’m going to push it forward now. You might feel resistance, but don’t fight it. Allow it to control your magic.”

  Odin and the mage brothers nodded.

  As though strung like ragdolls, all three of them stumbled back as the Elf spread his influence into the boat. Like being pushed by something that could not be resisted, Odin, along with the mage brothers, continued to stumble back until all three of them stood with their backs against the mast. By this time, Miko had gained enough momentum to push forward without dipping into the pool of magic currently laid out before them. He pushed the boat forward until the bow crested the tip of the railing, then lessened his hold on the mages before him. A group of a dozen fishinghands, Nova included, rushed forward to pull the canoe onto the ship.