The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “What about your daughter?”

  “The king’s court would never allow my daughter to willingly become a knight. Even if she could, I wouldn’t feel comfortable allowing her. That’s not a matter we should be discussing though. Even if the ban was lifted on women enlisting in the military, she is much too young to even consider serving the kingdom.”

  “How strong is her power?”

  “Weak, in respect, but given her age, she has a much stronger grasp on it than some do.”

  More than I do, Odin thought.

  “You’ve taught her,” Odin said. “At least, I assume you have.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll teach me?”

  “Part of my duty as a high mage is to ensure that those with magical powers are given precedence above those who do not. This, of course, means nothing if the king does not believe you are adequate for the job.”

  In thinking on those words, Odin wondered whether his size would play an opposing role in the king’s decision.

  You can’t worry about that, he thought. You know you’re strong.

  Though he had little grasp over his magical ability, he was perfectly capable of using a sword. With the right training, he could be great—that he knew.

  “When will we meet with the king?” Odin asked.

  “Within the next few days,” Daughtry replied. “There’s holes we must jump through, and I’ve already maneuvered through most of them, but it’ll take some time before the king comes to our request. Why? Is something bothering you?”

  “No,” Odin said. “There isn’t.”

  He decided it would be much better to bite his tongue than to reveal any sort of weakness.

  Maybe, he thought, there was nothing to worry about.

  Maybe… just maybe… the king would consider and accept him.

  The caravan arrived within the days following Odin’s initial entrance into Ornala. From the front porch of High Mage Daughtry’s house he watched as, in rows of two, with the carts in the center, the men and the boys who had come all the way from Felnon pushed their way into the Outer District and began to disperse themselves into several different groups—one, he knew, the young men who had come to enlist in the military, the others likely to the traders, merchants and buyers that lay within the outskirts near the walls. Throughout all this, Odin could not find his father, even though the man should have been stationed directly at the front of the party and directing them to where they needed to go.

  Where are you? he thought.

  Odin crossed his arms over his chest and settled himself on the top step of the mage’s home, watching the crowd for any sign of the man whom he had willingly run away from no more than a few short days ago.

  “Any luck?” Daughtry’s familiar voice asked.

  Though Odin didn’t make any move to reply, his silence was response enough.

  Stepping forward, Daughtry settled down on the steps beside Odin and pressed his hands against his knees, watching the caravan dispersing beside the walls and making their way toward individual places near and around the gate.

  “I’m sorry you don’t know where he is,” Daughtry said, turning his head to look at Odin with his pure blue eyes.

  “Yeah,” Odin said. “I am too.”

  Not wanting to dwell upon the fact any longer, he stood and turned to make his way into the house. Halfway there, however, he ground to a halt and turned his head to examine the high mage, whom had remained on the porch watching the crowd.

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry?” Daughtry replied.

  “What’re you waiting for?”

  “You said he was tall with short black hair and stubble, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll watch out for him.”

  “There’s no need for that. He probably isn’t even with them anymore.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Because I would’ve seen him already, he thought, but chose to say nothing in response.

  Instead, Odin retraced his steps and once more settled down beside Daughtry, this time sitting cross-legged instead of allowing his feet to dangle over the edge.

  “I feel your pain,” the high mage said, reaching out to press a hand against Odin’s upper back. “It must be hard, being here without your father.”

  “It’s worse when you know that I ran away,” he sighed.

  “How come?”

  “Because he caught me using magic and threatened to turn me around to keep me from joining the military.”

  “Ah,” Daughtry said. “So he’s a bit ignorant.”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?” the mage laughed. “It sounds like he is.”

  “He just doesn’t want me hurting myself.”

  “As any good parent should. To be perfectly clear with you, though, not knowing how to use your power is much more dangerous than one would let on.”

  “I can imagine,” Odin sighed.

  In response, Daughtry patted his shoulder, , then gestured Odin into the house, where they made their way through the front threshold and into the sunroom. There, Daughtry seated himself on the loveseat below the window and nodded for Odin to sit directly across from him.

  “I just got word back from one of the messengers this morning,” Daughtry said.

  “Oh?” Odin frowned. “For what?”

  “You’ll be meeting the king tomorrow, young sir.”

  The king? he thought, almost unable to believe it.

  Sighing, then retrieving the breath he’d just lost, Odin crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his seat, then turned his head up to the ceiling, where he traced the panels above him while trying to discern what he felt.

  I’ll be considered royalty, he thought, if he decides to choose me.

  Though the chances of him actually getting picked out of dozens of royal children were low, he imagined that, if his magical promise was great enough, he could easily be granted permission to be trained in a tier completely unlike those who had come all the way from Felnon.

  “You thinking about something?” Daughtry asked, breaking the hold on Odin’s thoughts.

  “Yeah,” Odin said, closing his eyes. “I am.”

  Daughtry made no move to respond.

  In but a day’s time, he would be standing before the king of Ornala and declaring himself as a mage who could possibly change his entire kingdom.

  He stood before a mirror examining himself in the colors of the kingdom. In immaculate pants and trousers, in boots that appeared to have been made out of the highest quality leather, and with his hair pulled back into a well-executed braid, he looked like one of the royal children who hailed from one of the four of Golden Cities that blanketed the Ornalan Providence.

  “Do I look all right?” Odin asked, accepting the belt from Daughtry when he offered it.

  “You look fine,” the high mage replied. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just… well…”

  “Nervous?”

  Odin chose not to respond.

  Behind him, Daughtry clapped his hands on Odin’s shoulders, leaned forward, then whispered, “Everything’s going to be just fine. You look great.”

  From the threshold leading out of the room pranced Daughtry’s daughter, who skipped in through the doorway and made a dramatic entrance by jumping through the air and spinning completely around before landing on her feet. Dressed in a green dress that matched both her eyes and magical ability, she looked perfectly capable for a meeting with the most important figure in the entire country. “Father?” she asked.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “Are you almost ready?”

  “We’re just making sure Odin looks nice for the king.”

  “He doesn’t care,” the little girl blurted out.

  Daughtry visibly resisted the urge to laugh.

  If he doesn’t care, Odin mused, then why all this fuss over making sure I’m dressed up?

  Rather than deba
te what needed representation in this case, he reached down, clipped his father’s old short sword at his side, then adjusted the hilt until it hung perfectly at his hip.

  Daughtry examined his figure in the mirror, then gave a slight nod of approval. “Are you ready?” the high mage asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” Odin laughed.

  The high mage only smiled before beckoning Odin forward.

  He stood before the awe-inspiring structure that was the Inner District’s stone gate and tried his hardest not to tremble in the face of something so powerful. Heart flickering, fingers trembling, he stared at the gate that would have normally been reserved for large amounts of military forces and tried to concentrate on both the gate and High Mage Daughtry, who stood upon the stairs leading up to one of the two hideaway entrances speaking to a series of guards.

  Directly beside him, watching the gate with the same amount of interest, was Anna, who reached out and took Odin’s hand when he let it fall to his side.

  “Are you ascared?” the little girl asked.

  “A little,” he admitted, swallowing a lump in his throat.

  “It’s ok. Ourney’s nice.”

  Ourney, he thought, unable to resist the urge to smile.

  If the little girl had no qualms with the king, then surely things would be just fine for him.

  Stepping forward, he freed himself of the little girl’s grasp and extended his arm to press his palm to the fine, cold gray stone that separated him from all his life’s desires.

  It’ll be but a moment before you enter, his conscience whispered. Are you ready?

  To describe his emotions would have diminished the allure that sprang within his chest. A butterfly, spreading its wings; a bird, taking its first flight; a kitten, opening its eyes for the first time—these things, and more, were moments that could define an individual’s life and shape them into the thing they would eventually become, so to stand at the gate and imagine if he was ready could have been compared to trying to dive to the bottom of the ocean, a feat only capable by fish and other great creatures. While he knew that he, normally, could not dive to the bottom of the ocean, he imagined he could do anything at that moment, even sprout wings and fly.

  Father’s not here, he thought, sighing.

  At that moment, he couldn’t force himself to believe that his father’s presence would be warranted. Surely the man knew what he was doing—what, in that moment, he prepared to accomplish—so there was no use in debating on whether or not he wanted the man to experience the first astounding moment of his new life.

  No more than a few feet away, Daughtry raised his hand and gestured the two of them forward.

  Anna, as cheerful as ever, mounted the stairs and began to skip up them.

  Odin, on the other hand, remained in place, frozen by fear and stupefied by the fact that he was now going to meet the king of Ornala.

  It’s okay. Calm down. There’s nothing to worry about.

  Was that really true though when, of all the times in the world, his future was at stake?

  No.

  In the bottom of his heart and the heights of his mind, he knew he could do this, even if the naysayers believed otherwise.

  “Odin!” Daughtry called down. “Come on! Our appointment is at midday!”

  Midday…

  Whilst turning his attention to the sky, he found that the sun was almost directly overhead, signifying that it was, indeed, almost time to meet the king.

  Without so much as another word, he mounted the stairs and stole through the darkened escapeway behind Daughtry and his daughter.

  Though the tunnel seemed to extend forever, light came to reveal itself in the most blinding radiance possible.

  When Odin broke out on the opposite side, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Cast in shades of gold, in silver, with towers capped with triangular black points that resembled something like caps upon an old creature’s head—it extended into the sky to the point where Odin found himself craning his head back as far as he could. To the side, a series of men and women walked up the road, leading behind them young children who had possibly only just arrived in Ornala for formal education, while in the distance what appeared to be rows after rows of pages trained in the art of battle, wielding wooden swords and practice staves and twirling them throughout the air.

  “Welcome to Ornala,” Daughtry said, spreading his arms out in front of him.

  Jewelers lined the roads, fine stalls filled with freshly-grown vegetables and meats filled booths alongside the pathways, some men sang, danced, women wove clothing on machines far more advanced than anything Odin had even seen—one girl was even painting at the corner of the road, depicting upon a piece of white canvas the construction of Ornala some hundreds of years ago.

  “I can’t believe it,” Odin breathed, leaning against the side of the northeastern wall to take an even closer look at the surroundings before him. “It’s… it’s…”

  “Pretty!” Anna cried.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Pretty.”

  While waiting for the pair of them, Daughtry crossed his arms over his chest, stared at the sky, then let out a sigh that immediately attracted Odin’s attention.

  “Your appointment,” Daughtry said.

  “Oh,” Odin frowned. “Sorry.”

  “Not to worry. If I believe what I think will happen, you’ll be spending lots of time here.”

  “You really think so, sir?”

  “I do,” the high mage smiled. “Now come—it’s growing dangerously close to mid-afternoon and I want to make sure we’re on time.”

  They were escorted, by a series of guards armed to the tooth and nail, through the northeastern entrance and led down a series of halls painted red, gold and brown. Paintings adorning their surfaces, unlit torch sconces hanging on the walls, Odin found his attention drawn to the far east shortly after his eyes lay on such marvels, where a panoramic window that ran along the entire wall faced out and at the royal gardens below.

  Whilst walking, the guards remained silent, almost as if they possessed no lips or noses, and flanked their small group perfectly, as if at any moment one of them would draw a weapon and turn and stab one of them to death.

  It’s perfectly natural, he thought, eyes straying to the sword at his side. I’m armed, and he’s a mage—a high mage, no less.

  Though he knew that these guards could easily disengage him, Daughtry could slaughter them easily. Such was their unease around the man that the third guard, who stood to the high mage’s right, managed to stray a few feet away.

  “We’re coming up on the king’s throne room,” one of the guards said. “Be ready.”

  How Odin could possibly prepare for the meeting he did not know. In that regard, he simply held his head as high as possible and prepared for the best—and, sadly, but more than possibly, the worst.

  When they stood before a series of double doors that were guarded by not two, but four guards on each side, Odin took a deep breath and held it in his chest, hoping that, at the very least, it would keep him from panicking in the presence of such a noble man.

  Shortly after the guards beside them gave those that stood in front of them a nod, they opened the door to reveal the throne room.

  Odin almost couldn’t believe his eyes.

  He gasped, letting loose the breath of air contained within his body.

  It began with a simple red carpet that was rich, intricate, and embroidered with the country’s white flag with twin swords. Flanked by panoramic windows on both sides, the room was lit in bright, dappled sunlight that immediately amplified Odin’s focus to everything around him—from the guards, to the golden curtains, to the rich mahogany furniture that adorned the far side of the room. His eyes were instinctively drawn first from the embroidered rug to the very throne upon which a man sat: whom, from Odin’s perspective, appeared confident, eyes set ahead and staring straight toward him, as if he could see every false notion that lay within Odin’s hear
t.

  As they advanced, growing dangerously closer with every step, Odin took in the man who ruled their country with a sense of awe. The king—tall, at least six feet, with long legs and a torso that, even beneath his shirt, appeared well-muscled—did not bear the standard, fair-white skin that most of their country had, and instead possessed a light olive tone. His eyes, dark brown and nearly black in hue, rested beneath a pair of straight, well-defined brows, while his harsh jaw appeared to have been cut from the finest stone. Odin found himself trembling in the face of such a fine man, who remained seated even though they approached, and would have turned and ran had it not been for the guards behind them.

  Don’t be nervous, he thought. This must happen all the time.

  If so, then why, of all the young men standing in the field, was he here? He was not royal—was not, in the least, a boy of money or fortune—and could not claim to have been born from the blood of monarchy. It was that reason that forced him to stand still when finally Daughtry and Anna stopped in place, and in looking upon the king’s eyes, he found himself almost trembling.

  “Heh-Hello,” Odin said.

  The king merely nodded and gestured the guards to stand by his side while he reclined in his seat and braced his hands along the rounded edges of his throne. “Hello,” the king replied.

  Odin stood there for several long moments, waiting for Daughtry to make any further response, before he fell to his knee and bowed before his king.

  “My lord,” Odin said.

  “You must be the boy that Daughtry has been talking about,” the king of Ornala said, his voice deepening, as if he were drawing forward. “Tell me, young sir—why is it you have come to Ornala?”

  “To enlist in your military.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Odin Karussa.”

  “Stand, please.”

  Odin did as asked, but made sure to place his feet together and lace his hands behind his back.

  With a simple flush of the hand, Ournul gestured Daughtry to the side.