The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “I—”

  Resigned to his fate, Odin hung his head, stood, then brushed the dirt off of his pants and began to cross the distance back to the castle with Jordan. Aching, desperately, for the need to be free, he tilted his head to survey the fifth tower and wondered what the king must have thought of him.

  If he really cared, he thought, then he wouldn’t have kept me up there for so long.

  Had King Ournul been aware of his circumstance, or had he simply forgotten, preferring to ignore a page’s plight in order to be free of consequence? Either way, the idea that the king had completely ignored him infuriated Odin to no end, and for that he began to stew in his emotion as Jordan led them into the castle and down the hallway that led to the revolving stairway.

  When they arrived on the walls, Odin had to resist the urge to look out at the courtyard for fear that he would see more pages being chosen by the very knights whom had decided to leave him be.

  “Jordan?” Odin asked, not bothering to turn his head as they approached the tower.

  “Yes?” the weapons master asked.

  “I want to ask you something, but…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know how to.”

  “You don’t know how to ask the question?” the weapons master frowned, pausing.

  “No, sir. I don’t.”

  “You have no need to be nervous around me, Odin. I don’t judge you.”

  “You haven’t judged me once since I came here.”

  “I took a liking to you after you beat me in that spar. Call it intuition, but I’d say you have a very bright future ahead of you.”

  “Do you really think that, sir?”

  “Do you not believe it?”

  Do I, Odin thought, or am I just doubtful?

  To have the entire world and its populace against them would have made anyone question their place in the grand scheme of things.

  When they approached the fifth tower and the guards began to open the door, Odin turned to Jordan and found himself locked in a position where he knew nothing of his future and just what would become of him.

  Raising his hand, Jordan bid him a short goodbye, then turned and made his way back down the bridge of the T.

  “Your time’s up,” one of the guards grunted.

  “Yeah,” Odin replied. “I know.”

  After stepping into his prison and listening to the locks sliding into place, he made his way to the mattress and collapsed atop it.

  Maybe later, when his mind had settled and his heart wasn’t aching, he would find a way to ask the question he so desperately needed answered.

  Evening came slowly and with little reward. Dozing, fitfully, between the hours he’d met with the knights and the time the sun began to set, Odin turned to and fro in an attempt to lose himself in a world where there was no worry, consequence or fear. Much to his regret, however, each and every time he managed to fall asleep, he dreamed of the tower and his eternal existence within it.

  This is where you will stay, the voice in his head said, for the rest of your life.

  Was that truly the case? He’d enlisted within the military to emancipate himself from his father. Now that he’d been incarcerated, he wondered what would happen when he came of age. Would he be allowed to leave the tower and return to Felnon, or would he be asked to remain until the knights returned the next time around for new squires? With no clear answers in sight, the questions did little to comfort him, as it appeared that every logical answer could be explained away.

  From outside the door came the sound of hushed negotiations.

  Fearing the worst, Odin pushed himself upright, drew the blankets over his waist, and waited for whatever was to come.

  The locks began to slide out of place.

  The metal bars screamed hellfire as they ground against the door.

  No more than a few several moments later, the door opened to reveal Jordan—dressed, unusually, in formal attire for such a late hour of the day. “Odin,” he said, turning his head and gesturing the guards to close the door behind him.

  “Sir,” Odin replied.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. Why?”

  “You said you were having trouble phrasing the question you wanted answered earlier.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He took several long moments to compose himself for what he was about to say. Eyes closed, breath even, cheeks burning from unease rather than any actual embarrassment, he opened his eyes to look at the weapons master and gave him a slight smile before expelling lungfuls of air. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, bowing his head to look at the floor. “My question… it’s selfish, but—”

  “No question is selfish unless it benefits the one who asks it.”

  “It would benefit me, sir.”

  Jordan nodded. He scratched his chin before seating himself on the lone stool within the room. “Ask your question, Odin.”

  “I wanted… I wanted to know what would happen if a knight didn’t take me as his squire.”

  “That’s quite a thing to ask, especially since you know someone’s going to take you as his squire.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because most of the knights have already picked their squires.”

  “There are more on the way.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about, sir.”

  “To answer your question,” Jordan said, bracing his hands on his thighs before leaning forward, “you would likely be kept here.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” the man laughed. “You committed a royal offense, Odin.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Either way, the sole reason you’re being held here is because the king believes you’re a danger to those around you.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “No.”

  “Why won’t you say something then?”

  “Because that would require gaining an audience with the king. That could take months.”

  I’ve been here for two years, he thought, and you haven’t said one word about me being up here this entire time?

  Knowing that expressing such thoughts would only land him in ill favor with the one man who actually gave a damn Odin sighed and titled his head up to look into his weapon master’s eyes. “Would they let me leave if someone didn’t pick me?”

  “I’d imagine so, but where would you go?”

  “Felnon.”

  The idea of having to travel the four days by himself unnerved him to no end. It didn’t mean he couldn’t do it, though, and while his confidence had plummeted throughout the past two years, he knew for a fact that his abilities would allow him to make his way back to his homeland without a companion or even a sword.

  In the moments of silence that followed, Jordan merely stared at him, eyes souring as the breaths of time continued to pass. “Would you really throw all this away?” the weapons master asked.

  “Throw what away?” Odin replied. “This?” He gestured to the stone walls around him, to the mattress he sat upon and the door that stood no more than a few feet away.

  “You realize this is only a temporary—”

  “Temporary? I’ve been here for two years, goddammit!”

  “Don’t speak to me in that tone!” Jordan barked. “You have no right.”

  “Do I?”

  The vein in the man’s temple throbbed.

  Good, Odin thought. Now you know how I feel.

  Standing, Jordan turned and started to make his way to the door. Before he could get there, he turned to face Odin. In his eyes the flames were bright, the wars heavy, the forbidden fruit ripe, and in his facial expression Odin could see a world of pain—of being stabbed with daggers and ripped open by machines with iron gears. It would not matter whether he turned and walked away, Odin knew, because the damage had already been done, the unease vibrant, the boiling rage apparent.
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br />   While waiting for Jordan to respond, Odin began to tick down the moments—first one, then two, then finally three.

  On the fourth, the man let a sigh escape from his lips before leaning against the wall. “You asked if your question was selfish,” he said. “I would say no, as you’re worried about your wellbeing. That’s all.”

  “Doesn’t that count as selfish though?”

  “Let me tell you something, Odin: I’m of the opinion that if you’ve got nothing or no one to worry about, fearing for your own safety isn’t selfish. It may seem so, sure, but you above all else are more important in your life, right?”

  “I… I guess.”

  “And you, above anyone else, know what’s best for you. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So in the long run, worrying about your own wellbeing is a good thing, because you as well as I both know that no one else is going to give a damn if you don’t.”

  When Jordan turned and knocked on the door three times, he cast a glance back over his shoulder and gave him a smile comparable to several thousand diamonds shining along the grandest mountain in the Three Kingdoms. “Don’t worry about being selfish,” Jordan said when the door opened. “Just worry about what you’re going to do with your life. I can’t make the decisions for you.”

  Of course not.

  Jordan departed.

  Odin sighed.

  Outside, the world continued on.

  If only inside it would as well.

  Early the next morning, after a series of nightmares that woke him several times throughout the night, Odin rose with a cough so bad it hurt to breathe. His throat raw, his chest aching and his head feeling like it would begin to weep blood, he lifted his hands to his face and tried desperately to keep from coughing.

  When one of the fits went on for more than a few brief moments, paranoia sewed its seed and threatened to give birth to the flower of agony.

  It can’t be, he thought, coughing, lifting his hands away to find blood staining his skin. It just… it can’t.

  The sun, which had since begun to rise, pierced through the sky and lit the opposite side of the room in white and yellow.

  As the locks on the other side of the door began to slide and click out of place, Odin’s cough returned—fiercer this time, and with a malevolence that he could not shake.

  When the door opened to reveal a guard, who stepped forward with a platter of likely-cold food, he asked, after setting the offering on the stool beside the bed, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I think I’m sick,” Odin said. “Can I have a glass of water?”

  The man reached down to unclip the canteen at his side before offering it to Odin. “You can have that,” he said, watching Odin take several long drinks with uneasy eyes. “I don’t want to catch what you have.”

  With little more than a nod, Odin capped the canteen, set it on the floor, then rolled onto his side, where he pulled the stool forward with a few meager tugs and shoved a biscuit in his mouth.

  He ate in bitter silence, dreading each moment. His lungs ached, his throat felt as though it was being scraped whenever he swallowed. Even his mouth—which, up until that moment, seemed fine—was dry, despite the fact that he’d taken sips of water to alleviate his symptoms.

  By the time he finished eating and pushed himself back into bed, he found himself nearly unable to remain awake.

  As his head hit the mattress, only one thought occurred to him.

  I won’t be able to see the knights today.

  He lost time of how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling and dozing between the realms of reality. Head heavy, eyelids drooping, vision out of focus, he slicked his tongue across his lips in an attempt to remain awake and found himself unable to do so. Eventually, he dozed off and dreamed of nothing, but when the door opened what seemed like several hours later, High Mage Daughtry peeked into the room.

  From his current perspective—near-asleep and spread out along the bed—Odin could just barely make out the frown that crossed the man’s face.

  “Are you sick?” the mage asked.

  “Yes,” Odin said, pulling the blankets tightly around him. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. If you’re not well, I can leave, if you’d like, I—”

  “No!” Odin cried, coughing when he realized his outburst. “It’s all right, I mean. You can stay.”

  Though Daughtry’s eyes narrowed, he nodded and closed the door before moving the empty plate of food off the stool. “When did you get sick?” he asked.

  “This morning. I woke up because I was coughing.”

  “Bad?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “Sit up. Let me feel your chest.”

  Odin did as asked. He gripped the blankets and took several long, deep breaths and exhales as the mage tested different points on his chest with two extended fingers. He even took the time to place his hand at Odin’s brow.

  “You’ve got a fever,” Daughtry said, glancing down at the blankets. “Are you cold?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not going to tell you to take them off, but I’d suggest getting rid of them. Overheating yourself when you have a fever will only make you sicker.”

  Upon Daughtry’s suggestion, Odin cast the blankets to the end of the bed, though regretted it almost instantly.

  “Sir,” Odin said, managing to contain another cough when it rose in his chest. “I can try to do a little magic, if you’d like.”

  “Are you up for it?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

  “It’ll test my limits,” Odin smiled. “Right?”

  “I suppose,” Daughtry shrugged.

  The professor removed himself from the stool, then crouched down, where he pulled from his usual bag the wine glass so stable within their teaching and retrieved a vial of water from his robe. He watched Odin for a brief moment before uncorking the tube of liquid and dumping its contents into the glass.

  “All right,” Daughtry said, raising his head. “If you don’t think you can do it, don’t. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

  “I know, sir.”

  With little more than a nod, Odin raised a finger. The tip glowed white.

  Whilst concentrating as hard as he could despite the pain in his body, he managed to pull a few individuals strands of water into the air that resembled something like snakes gliding from the highest parts of the trees. From these fragments he formed three orbs—which, by will, he set to revolve before Daughtry’s eyes in a complete circle.

  “Did you try to do this,” the mage asked, “or were you trying to get all the water out?”

  “Just this,” Odin managed.

  Of course, he chose not to let on that his meager attempt at drawing the water from the glass had caused him some discomfort. For that reason, he took his time in allowing the three floating masses of water to rotate before combining them into one larger entity, as doing so made a spark of weightlessness appear at the center of his vision.

  “Very good,” Daughtry said, watching the progress with his eccentric brown eyes.

  “What do you want to see?” Odin asked.

  “What do I want to see?” the professor frowned.

  “Yeah. I want to try to make something.”

  “Out of the water?”

  Odin nodded.

  “All right,” the man shrugged, setting three fingers to his chin. “How about a horse?”

  From the moisture Odin formed the figure of a horse within his mind and willed it into existence—from the legs, to the flank, the midsection and then finally its proud head. With extra thought, he willed the stallion into artificial life, feeding movements risen from his mind and into the magic with little more than a passing thought. In response, the stallion reared up and kicked its forelegs at Daughtry. It even managed a little whinny.

  “Did you make it make that sound?” Daughtry as
ked.

  “I… guess,” Odin frowned. All he’d had to do to produce the affect was imagine the replica making a noise. “Was it supposed to do that?”

  “If you made it, yes, it was supposed to. I don’t know how it could’ve made the sound though.”

  “I just thought about it.”

  “Yes. I know.” Daughtry set a hand to his face and watched Odin through the fingers splayed out across his cheekbones. “Did you find it hard to make the creature replicate the noise?”

  “No.”

  Daughtry nodded. “This is very good,” he said. “Try making something else for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, anything you want. This is your lesson, after all. I’d like to see something you would like to make.”

  What to make, what to make, Odin thought.

  Instantaneously, his mind traveled back to the night he’d fled from his father.

  Pouring over the details within his head as if his thoughts were the pot and the air before him the land in which the tea would be dumped upon, he created the shewolf on the flat of his hand as if he were looking upon. From her proud, elegant figure, her tall, muscled thighs, and the intent stare that lit her face in a light so intimidating Odin found it hard to even visualize, he filled in every tiny detail he could think of and made her prance around in front of the professor.

  “A werewolf,” Daughtry said, eyes transfixed on the image before him. “Odin, are you sure you can hold something that long in your condition? I mean—”

  A series of coughs escaped Odin’s chest.

  Desperate, intent, wracked with pain but somehow able to maintain the image, Odin held the figure in place as he continued to cough until, finally, one long bout of pressure sent blood from his mouth. These small speckles, seen as liquid by his magic, joined with the shewolf and began to swim within her like parasitic worms bent on destroying her from the inside out.

  “Release the image,” Daughtry said.

  “But sir,” Odin managed.

  “Do it.”

  Before Odin could fully lose hold on the construct, Daughtry lashed his hand forward, caught the figure within his grasp, then superheated the water and blood until it disappeared into a plume of mist.