The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “Yuh-Yes,” he stuttered. “I… I understand.”

  So, she continued, the man whose seed you sprung from, he may be foolish and nothing more than that. Some are afraid of the things they don’t understand, while others embrace those things with open arms. Your father—your creator—he is afraid. You, his son—his offspring—accept the different. Is that right?

  “Yes.”

  And, child, am I right when I say you do not believe what you have done is wrong? Am I right when I say you feel as though, had you not left your creator, he would have created invisible bonds that would have been tied to your heart?

  “Yes,” he repeated. “You’re… you’re right.”

  Do not be afraid of the thing you have done or the things that you will eventually do. You will have to learn that, eventually, you must make your own path in this world.

  With that, the wolf and her pups disappeared into the cave, leaving Odin to push Gainea into a trot that she did not want to perform.

  Morning rose into afternoon. The birds chirped, the creatures of the night went to sleep, the rodents, in abundance, gathered at the side of the road to watch the giant horse and its rider make their way up the road—it was a perfect morning, given the fact that there’d been so much rain the previous night, but in spite of the beauty currently surrounding him, Odin couldn’t stop thinking about the wolf or the things she had said. Had she been following him since last night, pursuing him through her territory to make sure that her pups were safe, or had it been for some other, possibly beneficial reason?

  Whatever it was, he thought, she’s not bothering us now.

  There was no feeling of being watched—no tickle at the back of the neck or unease within the confines of his chest. Even if for some reason his senses weren’t true, surely Gainea would’ve reacted to outside stimuli.

  She said, he began to think, then faltered shortly after the words began to ooze from his mind and into his consciousness. That I would make my own path.

  Was that what he was doing here, whilst making his way to Ornala—making his own path through the world and trailblazing his own rite of passage? If so, he hadn’t accomplished much in the day-and-a-half he’d disembarked, and so far hadn’t seen any passersby from the caravan. Maybe they’d passed him while he slept, bringing them that much closer to the adult lives that beckoned to all those boys, or maybe they hadn’t passed by at all.

  No.

  It took a moment for the realization to sink in, but when it finally did, he found himself content with the fact and instead settled back into his seat, breathing in the crisp morning air and smiling at a group of baby birds that could be seen in the trees.

  There was very little chance that the group had caught up to him within the early hours of the morning. He’d traveled far too long for any of them to have made up that lost time spent during the night.

  And when morning came, he thought, father discovered I was gone.

  Guilt ate at him like a hunter to a small animal, tearing into him with teeth and claws and spit and slime, but regardless, he couldn’t dwell on the fact. His father would know that he was headstrong enough to pursue his own path.

  Make your own path, the voice said.

  “I will,” he whispered.

  He may be foolish and nothing more than that.

  “Father is foolish.”

  You are aware that you are the first man creature I have spoken to in quite some time?

  Though he couldn’t place the exact feeling that dwelt in him, he couldn’t help but feel nervous over what the wolf had implied. She’d made it apparent that she had spoken to a ‘man creature’ or something similar in recent past, but how long ago could that have been—a day, a week, possibly even a month?

  Gaia magic isn’t that uncommon, he thought, dwelling on the fact that he, too, was blessed with such an awe-inspiring gift. Even though some people can only talk to certain kinds of animals, it’s not as though she couldn’t have had a conversation before.

  Being the most prevalent of the magics still existing within the human realm today, it was quite likely that someone like him had stumbled across the wolf’s territory—alone, on their horse, with nothing more than a few short rations to guide them—and managed to converse with her. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, considering that a few choice individuals managed to be blessed with such Gifts, and while he couldn’t help but dwell on that basic concept, Odin eventually began to simmer over how ignorant he was of his own powers.

  I’m only fourteen and I don’t even know the full extent of my gifts.

  Had he been born into a royal family, he would have had the training he so desperately deserved, wouldn’t he?

  I can talk to animals and set things on fire, he thought, raising his hand to count down just what he could do on his fingers. I can also stitch things up.

  What else could he do, he wondered, and what powers lay hidden beneath the surface just waiting to be discovered?

  It wouldn’t be much longer now before he broke free of the forest and the castle rose in the distance.

  Once he arrived, he would seek out a teacher and have him or her examine his skills.

  It seemed to tower into the sky forever and more. Tall, ancient, vast in its scope and even more dazzling in its appearance—like his father had once told him as a child dreaming of one day entering the Ornalan military, it sparkled like gold and silver and even the faint luminescence of molten pearls and echoed across the landscape a signal of triumph within the three human kingdoms. Such an awe-inspiring sight was to be revered, and while he now sat no more than a few mere hundred feet away from it, each moment brought him one step closer to the very place he would soon be calling home.

  Even from such a distance, he could see a pair of guards making their way back and forth between the two watch towers that flanked the southern walls. Occasionally, one of them would look toward the horizon and point out something they saw—how, Odin wondered, they couldn’t see him he wasn’t sure—but for the most part, they continued their back and forth pace, almost as if they had nothing more in the world to do.

  You’ll be there soon, Odin thought. Stay calm.

  It took little more than the fading eclipse of the afternoon to come within the next few feet of the gate.

  Odin closed his eyes.

  Above, one of the two guards appeared with his crossbow in hand and trained the weapon on Odin from a distance. In response to this action, Odin raised a hand, signifying peace even if it seemed that were not the case.

  “What business do you have?” the guard called, gesturing to his companion with a single wave of his hand.

  “I’m here to enlist in the military!” Odin cried. “I ran ahead of the Felnon caravan to make sure that the path was safe!”

  “Where is your father, boy?”

  “Further back, with the group!”

  Though the guard was too far up and away for him to make out any noticeable expression on his face, Odin felt as though the man must have frowned.

  They have to let me in, he thought. This is the outer wall. It’s not as if I could do any damage here.

  Being that Ornala had been separated into two districts in order to provide added security, it was highly unlikely that he would be refused access, especially if his intentions were to enroll in the military.

  “We’re opening the gate!” the guard called down. “Are you armed?”

  Odin reached down to grasp the sword at his side. “Yes!” he called back.

  “Know that you will be watched.”

  The castle’s impressive gates began to move. Shifting, groaning, creaking, squeaking in the sweltering heat of the humid afternoon as gears inside its structure began to force the gate apart—the part in the wooden structure first began as a brief memory of a sliver of earth and then eventually fanned out as it began to open. The gears within two visible outposts turning, the men before them likely grunting and groaning, Odin watched as directly before him t
he gates opened and revealed to him Ornala’s Outer District—which, by all respects, was just as beautiful as the castle that lay in the distance.

  With a simple kick of his foot, Odin gestured Gainea into the housing district—where, before his eyes, he saw a vision of common life that seemed all too reminiscent of Felnon.

  This is it, he thought. My new home.

  The fact that it seemed so blatantly obvious was enough to make him smile, for it was within that moment in looking at the houses, crafted and built in the finest of the long-gone Ornalan wood, that he felt his heart catch fire. A strangled cry of pleasure rising in his throat, a series of palpitations in his head, he turned his eyes to look at the world around him and smiled when he caught a series of children running by a teenager and his dog, who, with all the grace in the world, vaulted himself over a pair of men who were carrying what looked like mortar or something similar for crafting houses.

  “Hey!” the men called. “Get back here!”

  The children directly behind the teenager ducked and made their way through the gap between the two men, giggling and waving their hands.

  Unable to resist the urge to smile, Odin barely heard the guard as he descended the stairs behind him and stepped forward to greet him with a simple nod and a handshake.

  “If you’re looking to enlist within the Ornalan military,” the guard said, turning his head and raising his hand to point to the east, “then your best start would be at the recruitment office.”

  “I want to see the king,” Odin said.

  Red-faced, the guard let out a burst of laughter that dropped Odin’s heart within his chest. “You want to speak with the king?” he asked, still laughing while leaning forward to brace his hands against his knees. “I’m enlisted by the king and I barely ever see him.”

  “I need to see him,” Odin said. “Sir, you don’t understand—”

  “All I know is that if you want to meet the king, you better get in line. You’ll be waiting months, if not years.”

  “But—”

  “Go to the recruitment office, young man, and apply for military service there. You may have to wait for your father to arrive before you can be legally signed off and into the king’s service, but it’s worth a shot to try now while the day is still young.”

  “Why?” Odin frowned.

  “The office will be swarmed come time for nightfall.”

  Odin sighed.

  With one last look at the man behind him, he dismounted, then began to lead his horse by the reins toward the recruitment office and the stables that lay before them.

  “I’m sorry,” the enlistment officer said, bowing his head to the finely-written forms before him, “but unless you have explicit, written permission from your father or guardian, I can’t legally allow you to join the military.”

  “But,” Odin began, then stopped when he realized it would be a fruitless endeavor.

  Sighing, he turned his attention the windows at the far side of the room and desperately wished that he’d chosen not to run away and instead was with the group. At least then he wouldn’t have to face the humiliation that was likely to come when his father stepped through the front gates and into the Outer District to find him alone, likely on the stoop leading up into the inn, waiting for him to return.

  There’s nothing you can do, he thought. You might as well just leave.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, giving the enlistment officer one last nod before turning and making his way out of the building.

  Once outside, he collapsed, defeated, on the front steps.

  Unable to contain his emotions, he bowed his head, laced his hands together, then took several long, deep breaths.

  He’d sure as hell gotten himself into a horrible predicament.

  “Excuse me,” a small voice said.

  Odin turned his head up.

  Standing directly before him in a long white and flower-lined dress was a little girl. Blonde hair and blue eyes startling in the mid-afternoon light, her expression lined with happiness and a bit of unsurety, she tilted her head to the side to examine his downturned expression, then offered a slight frown when Odin didn’t immediately reply.

  What in the world? he thought.

  “Yes?” he finally replied, unsure what to think.

  “Are you sad?”

  Sad?

  How could a child know his feelings just by looking at him?

  Rather than lie outright and instead choosing to dissuade her from questioning him further, Odin took a deep breath and said, “I’m not sad, no.”

  “What’s wrong then? Why are you just sitting there?”

  “I’m tired,” he smiled. “I’ve been on the road for a very long time.”

  “Are you going into the army?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “You look… special,” the little girl said, taking a few steps back to admire him in detail. “Do you have powers?”

  Powers?

  “I’m sorry?” he asked.

  “You know… powers.”

  “Like what kind of powers?”

  “The kind of powers you can use to make people happy.”

  Though he couldn’t necessarily respond to the question if only because he knew nothing of his Gift, Odin straightened his posture, gave a smile, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t have powers that can make people happy.”

  “But you do have powers,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” Odin asked, extending his arm to shake her tiny hand.

  “My name’s Anna.”

  “Anna,” he smiled. “That’s a nice name.”

  “You have powers, right?”

  “Some, yes.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “I’m not sure how to use them.”

  “It’s easy,” the little girl said, cupping her palms together as if she were about to spoon water from a creek. “Just try it. Like this.”

  Closing her eyes, the little girl bowed her head and pursed her lips.

  From her hands, which began to glow a marvelous shade of green, a butterfly made entirely out of lime-green light was born and began to flutter in the air before her as if it had a will of its own. Laughing, the little girl turned her head up and offered the brightest smile she could give as the construct of light first began to dance in the air, then as it did a few somersaults, before it changed its direction and flew directly toward Odin.

  Startled by the construct’s closeness, Odin raised his hand to push it aside.

  His palm glowed white.

  The butterfly disappeared almost instantly.

  “Hey!” the little girl cried, stomping her foot on the ground and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s mean!”

  “I… didn’t try to do that,” Odin frowned, lowering his palm just as the last tendrils of light began to fade from his hand. Before him, the little girl’s eyes held what could only be tears, signaling the coming of waterworks that would likely draw attention. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I didn’t mean it. I—”

  Before he could finish, the little girl took off into the district, hands to her face and her body seemingly-flying through the air.

  Great, he thought. Just great. I made a little girl cry.

  Rather than risk the exposure and being chastised for something he hadn’t intentionally done, Odin stood, lifted his saddlebag over his shoulders, then began to make his way toward the inn—where, he hoped, he could find at least a little peace until his father arrived.

  He needed all the help in the world in that regard.

  3

  He possessed no money, no food he could eat, and nothing he could barter with in exchange for hospitalities. For that, he seated himself at the table closest to the entrance to the inn, set his saddle at his feet, then began his long and notorious wait for what he considered would be the most horrendous moment of his life.

  He’ll kill me, he thought, sighing.

  Surely if punishment did n
ot fall upon his shoulders, he would be chastised beyond compare—skinned alive, some would say, emotionally rather than physically; and it would be in that moment, whilst receiving the harshest berating of his life, that Odin would feel smaller than he had throughout his entire life.

  Sighing, he touched the glass of water that sat no more than a breath away from him and fingered the moisture that beaded along its surface. He was, surprisingly, shown mercy, for he’d been given the drink free of charge. The kindness there could only have been because of his age—or, at the very least, because he was here without his father or any money.

  Could, he wondered, he possibly request the barkeep or even the cook to let him do a simple job in exchange for one small meal?

  I’ve never worked before, he thought.

  Though he knew all-too-well that such a thing would come at a high price, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would once again have mercy bestowed upon him if only for the fact that he was so young.

  That’s ridiculous.

  Who was he to kid himself over such sophisticated manners? It would take much more than simply washing the dishes or preparing food he barely knew how to cook to get a meal.

  Bowing his head, Odin stared directly into the glass of water and tried to make out the slight reflection of his face, all the while silently praying that he would not have to worry about encountering any more trouble, at least until his father arrived and beat him within an inch of his life.

  Would the caravan arrive tonight, or would it stop early and camp on the outskirts of the city?

  Unable to know, he lifted his glass of water and drank.

  He would have to wait whether he liked it or not.

  To keep his spirits high, he watched the bartenders and the people they served as if they were animals putting on a show. Some lifting their hands in grand flushes, others speaking in tones that Odin found unbearable to listen to, he watched as men became so staggeringly drunk that they had to be physically removed from the bar by armed guards and waitresses as they carried trays of food to almost every table within the establishment. With each platter set down he felt the familiar stab of pain within his gut, and every time he caught one of their eyes he begged, silently, for some form of mercy. Feed me, he would have said, had he the voice or the inclination to speak. I’m here alone and I’m hungry.