by Kody Boye
“Sir—”
“You need to rest now. I’m going to have a healer come up and look at you.”
“But I don’t—”
He wasn’t able to finish. Daughtry had already opened the door and stormed out.
Both Daughtry and Jordan stood to the side as a young healer applied pressure to certain points of Odin’s chest and gestured him to breathe every time he placed his hand flat and splayed his fingers along his upper torso. This man, who couldn’t have been any more than twenty-some years of age, directed Odin to take several slow, deep breaths and planted what felt like a tingling sensation throughout his chest. It began as a spark which flowered with warmth, which in turn flickered down his arms and up his throat until it hit the inside of his head. Here, the sensation turned into static, and though he couldn’t necessarily see what was happening, Odin imagined his hair now stood on end.
“You’re very ill,” the healer said, pulling the blanket over Odin’s shoulders. “You need to stay in bed.”
“But sir—”
“Listen to him, boy,” Jordan said, then set a hand on the healer’s back when he came forward. “Will he be all right?”
“He’ll be fine if he rests,” the man said, narrowing his eyes as if to drive the point home. “What triggered this?”
“He was performing magic,” Daughtry said, “and I—”
Jordan turned his head. Daughtry’s eyes widened with hurt and worry.
“It’s not his fault,” Odin croaked. “I’m the one who pushed myself.”
“You should’ve been more careful,” Jordan said. “Daughtry, can you take this gentleman outside for a moment? I need to talk to Odin.”
Daughtry merely nodded.
The moment the two were out the door, Jordan ran both hands through his short hair and walked to the window, where he looked out its small surface before he began to speak. “I’d like to write to your father,” the weapons master said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sir?” Odin managed.
“I can’t be here to take care of you, and the healer or Daughtry can’t be here all day—especially Daughtry.”
“You want my father to come to Ornala to take care of me?” Odin frowned.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but both me and your father have been conversing through letters over the past few months. He’s wanted to come and visit anyway.”
“After all this time?”
“He was afraid of writing you directly. He feels you hate him.”
Hate him? Odin thought. But how… why…
He could never hate the man who had raised him—could never hold that much anger or regret to ever think of his father in anything but a wholesome light. While they’d had their differences in the past, and while it seemed that things would never truly be simple between them, he could at least appreciate the man for getting him as far as he had when, ultimately, he’d been the one to abandon the group two years ago.
“He would be here to help you recover,” Jordan said, pulling Odin’s eyes away from the blanket. “It’s better to be watched with an illness like this anyway.”
“What do I have?”
“Blood cough.”
Blood cough?
How could he have caught an illness that ran so rampant through children now, when he was nearly an adult?
“When you felt the magic on your chest,” Jordan continued, “it was the healer looking into your lungs. He says they’re very dry.”
“Why is that?”
“He doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks it has something to do with the weather. He wants to bring a tub of water up here to help moisten the air in the room.”
“All right.”
“You ate breakfast, I assume?
Odin waved his hand to the end of the mattress. Jordan stooped to pick the platter up. “All right,” Jordan said, rising to his full height. “Get some rest. I’ll write your father and have the healer come in with a tub of water. You stay put. You don’t need to overexert yourself again.”
The moment Jordan left the room and the door shut firmly behind him, Odin closed his eyes, pulled a single blanket around his body, and tried to go to sleep.
If he truly had what Jordan said he did, then the next few days and even weeks would not bode well for him.
Days later, after what seemed like an eternity of suffering, the healer kneeled at Odin’s bedside running a damp rag over his face, chest and upper arms. Several times, he asked Odin to inhale from the cloth, damp with water and solution. Though he said it would help his breathing, it only served to make Odin more miserable.
“When will I get better?” Odin asked, setting a hand over his brow.
“Eventually,” the healer, whom Odin had come to know as Barmut, said. “You need to be patient. The body heals at its own pace.”
“Can’t you just use magic on me?”
“If it were a physical wound that I could see, yes—I most likely could. In cases like this, however, it would be like you asking me to lift a metal object you swallowed out of your stomach. How would I know which side of the object wasn’t sharp if I couldn’t see it?”
“But Master Jordan said you were looking at the insides of my lungs.”
“I can’t literally see them though.” The healer paused. “I don’t know how to describe it, but to explain it as simply as possible: it’s like looking at a gem and seeing the tiny flaws in it. You can’t see the very flaw—like you could see how a piece of cheese was cut with a knife at an awkward angle—but you can see the bubbles that were trapped during the gem’s creation. Do you understand?”
“Sort of.”
“Good.” Barmut set a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “Like I said, just get some rest and stay in bed. If you need to go to the bathroom, do so, but go right back to bed.”
Odin nodded before the healer took his leave. He rolled onto his stomach and hoped that the sudden movement wouldn’t start another coughing fit. The reminder of his personal body functions alone revolted him to no end. Here he was—in a tower, having to use a bucket to relieve himself—when he could just as easily be escorted down to the castle and use the sewer system there.
The door suddenly opened.
At first, Odin thought Barmut had returned for something, but when he raised his head and found that it was Jordan who had stepped into the tower, he frowned and pushed himself up with one elbow. “Sir?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”
Jordan closed the door—quietly, as if he were treading into dangerous waters and ready to face the witch herself. “Your father is here,” he said.
“Already?”
“I wrote to him days ago. The messengers are quick. You know they stop for little.”
The lapse of silence that followed forced Odin to realize that, in but a few moments, he would be talking to the very man he had run away from all those years ago.
“Will you stay in here with me?” Odin asked.
“I promised to give the two of you time alone.”
Unable to look at his weapon’s master, Odin bowed his head.
“Don’t worry,” Jordan said, kneeling to meet Odin’s down-turned gaze. “Your father wants to see you, and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t plan to yell at you.”
“You think?”
“I do.” Jordan rose. “Just be thankful that your father still cares, Odin. Not many men would if their sons ran off.”
Jordan left the tower before he could say anything else.
All right, Odin thought, waiting for the door to reopen and his father to step in. Here he comes.
Several long moments passed without anything happening. It could have been a blessing, as it gave him ample opportunity to brace himself for whatever was to come, but it could also have been seen as a consequence, for with each moment that passed it felt he was being sawed open and forced to lay prone for the eagles and starving fawns to tear his innards from his body.
“Come on,” he whis
pered, closing his eyes. “Just get in here and—”
The door opened.
Odin drew a breath.
The moment the door opened, Odin saw his father—a man whom, by all respects, appeared the same as he had before, save for several days’ worth of stubble on his face and a few streaks of gray in his hair.
“Son,” the man said, the tone so plain Odin could barely derive any emotion from it.
“Sir,” Odin replied, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Father, I—”
Ectris Karussa took one step forward.
Odin froze. Instinctively, as if grasping for comfort, his fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.
I’m a child, he thought, awaiting a beating.
“By God,” Ectris smiled, falling to his knees beside the mattress. “Look at you. You’re so… you’re so grown up.”
“I’m sorry I ran away,” Odin replied, unable to restrain the tears that coursed down his face in the following moments. “I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to come here.”
“I should never have threatened you like that,” Ectris said, opening his arms. “I hope you still love me even after all this time apart.”
Instead of answering, Odin slid into his father’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry, Odin.”
“I fall asleep crying sometimes because I know how bad it must’ve hurt you to have me run off like that.”
“Yes, it hurt,” Ectris sighed, pushing Odin away from him. “Damn you, boy. Damn you and your brave heart.”
Odin found himself smiling.
Ectris smiled in return. “Your weapon’s master tells me you’re very sick.”
“I’m sorry you had to come all this way, Father.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault you’ve got a cough.”
“It’s not just a cough—it’s the blood cough.”
“The blood cough?” Ectris frowned.
Odin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Though he could not see his father’s action, he sensed one arm rise and then part over the curves of his hair, where he pushed it away from his face. It took but a moment for Odin to open his eyes and see his father pulling from his belt a canteen.
“There you go, “Ectris said. “The healer, what’s his name? Barmat, Bartus—”
“Barmut,” Odin said.
“Yes. Barmut. He said you needed to drink water to keep your throat wet.”
“All right.”
Odin took another long drink before settling down on the bed. He watched his father, waiting for him to say something else, before he scooted over and gestured for him to settle down on the bed. “Do you want to rest with me, Father?”
“One of the guards said they would bring a second mattress up. I can just—”
“You don’t need to wait. I know you’re tired.”
“I’m fine, son. Really, I’m—”
“You’ve got shadows under your eyes.”
“You need your rest,” the man began. “I can’t—”
Odin shook his head. “Come on,” he said. “The pillow is big enough for the both of us.”
Thinking his father would argue, Odin reached for the man’s wrist. Before he could grab it, however, Ectris unlaced his boots and settled down beside him.
“Thank you,” Ectris whispered, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
“I am too,” Odin said.
Maybe now he could truly start to recover.
2
Throughout the next few days, the healer continued to bring buckets of water into the tower and apply the solution to Odin’s face. His father, standing off to one side, watched the healer with concern. Odin wanted to beg his father to have the healer stop, as the solution both smelled and tasted horrible, but so far hadn’t been able to muster the courage for fear that Barmut, who was tending to him so well, might feel slighted.
“Sir,” Odin said, pushing the man’s hand away before sitting up. “Am I getting any better?”
“I think so,” Barmut said, running a hand through Odin’s hair. “Your cough has gone down, correct?”
“A little.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, because if your symptoms are starting to lessen, you are showing improvement.”
Ectris stood, squeezed Odin’s shoulder, and walked to the window.
“I still have to stay in bed,” Odin said, pulling his eyes back up to the healer, “right?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s better to relax and stay inside than to move around in the open air.”
“Is anyone else sick?”
“A few pages, yes, but not any of the older boys.” Barmut frowned and applied the rag to Odin’s nose once more. “This is strange, because young men such as yourself don’t normally succumb to this kind of illness.”
“Blood Cough?” Ectris asked. “He’s never had it.”
“That might explain why he is only just getting it,” Barmut sighed. “Breathe, Odin.”
Guiding him back onto the bed, Barmut held a hand steady to Odin’s neck and continued to apply pressure over Odin’s mouth. Taking slow, deep breaths, in through the mouth and then out the nose, Odin found the moisture and solution within the rag to be comforting in that moment rather than complicating, as it soothed his ragged lungs and his parched throat almost instantly.
“I’m going to put some of this on your chest,” the healer said, pulling the sheet down to Odin’s waist. “It might help if you’ve got some of this on your body.”
“There isn’t anything better you can give my son?” Ectris asked.
“No, sir. I’m sorry, but this is better than nothing. Most young men go for weeks without any kind of medicine. It’s not dangerous, of course—unless you’re coughing so much blood it’s making you pale—but this isn’t a very enjoyable process.”
“It’ll be all right,” Ectris said, taking Odin’s hand.
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Barmut agreed. “As long as you get plenty of rest, you’ll be fine.”
The door opened.
Upon instinct, Odin pushed the rag away from his face and sat up.
Weapons Master Jordan stood in the doorway, a slight look of unease upon his face. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said, “but someone’s here to see you, Odin.”
“Really?” Odin asked.
“Really.”
Odin glanced from Jordan to his father, who only smiled in response.
“He’s more than willing to wait if you’re not ready to see anyone,” Jordan continued. Then, after making sure the door was firmly shut, stepped forward and added, “Though if I were you, I’d see him now. He’s come a long way.”
“Where from, sir?”
“He didn’t specify. Just that he came to see you.” Jordan looked at Ectris, then Barmut before sighing. “Like I said, he’s more than willing to wait if you’re feeling ill or don’t want to see anyone.”
“It’s fine, sir.”
“Are you sure?” Ectris asked, setting his hands on Odin’s shoulders. “He even said that he would wait. You can always just—”
“He’s the only one who’s wanted to see me,” Odin said, reaching up to set a hand over his father’s. “Send him in, sir. Please.”
“I’ll excuse myself,” Barmut said, making his way for the exit. “Please rest, Odin. Don’t strain yourself.”
“I won’t, high healer.”
The healer bowed his head before opening the door. He paused, stared at someone outside as if the individual was about to commit bodily harm upon him, then slipped out without another word.
“All right,” Jordan said. “Give me a moment. I’ve told him you’re sick, so there’s no need to worry about embarrassing yourself or him. He’s an honest man.”
Turning, Jordan crossed the room and disappeared out the door.
“Who do you think it is?” Odin asked, turning to face his
father.
“I don’t know,” Ectris said.
“He’ll be the only one who’s come to see me.”
“So? At least someone wants to see you.”
“I mean… why did this man, out of all the other knights, come here, for me?”
“I don’t know, Odin. Let’s just wait and find out.”
The door opened. Jordan stepped inside, but left the threshold open.
Behind him, a behemoth of a figure in a dark cloak stooped through the entryway, then rose. His gargantuan height dwarfed Jordan at seven-feet in total.
“Heh-Hello,” Odin managed.
“Hello Odin,” the deep-voiced figure said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yuh-Yes sir.”
For no apparent reason, as if it were a gust of wind skirting through the threshold and wrapping around him, a series of violent shakes began to overtake Odin’s body. His heart beat faster, his breathing came in ragged wisps, and to his and his father’s horror, he began coughing, but quickly regained his composure when the tremble in the tall figure’s voice stopped reverberating throughout the room.
Is his voice doing this to me?
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” the cloaked person said. “Jordan. Could you please close the door?”
The weapons master did as asked.
“I apologize,” the figure said. “I’m not comfortable revealing myself to strangers.”
“Why?” Odin managed.
“Let’s just say that I’m not something you would normally see.”
Ectris stood.
From the corner of his vision, Odin watched his father’s hand trail to the dagger on his belt.
How did he—
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” the figure said. “I have no desire to harm your child.”
“What are you then?” Ectris asked. “Why won’t you reveal yourself?”
“If you would stand back, I will.”
The figure lifted his hands and began, ever so slowly, to pull his gloves off, which revealed porcelain-white palms that were tipped with the darkest shade of purple nails that had been sharpened to points.
“What are you?” Ectris asked.