by Kody Boye
“Yeah.” Odin blinked. “Why?”
“You stopped packing your stuff.”
“Oh.” Odin looked down at the pair of pants spread out in front of him.
Nova slung his pack over his shoulder and ruffled Odin’s hair in the process. Odin, too, finished securing his belongings within the sack before rising to follow both his friend and his knight master out of the room, nerves in tangles and his heart beating ever so fast as they began to make their way through the halls.
The torches, the stone, the ornate rugs, the paintings in which heroes were predicted and the past was returned to the present—he wouldn’t be seeing any of this for some time.
Just like Father.
He should’ve spent more time with him before he left. Miko would’ve understood—would’ve encouraged it, as far as he knew. To think that they’d spent such a short amount of time together after being apart for so long tore his heart to strings.
A week? he thought, frowning. Was that all the time I got to spent with him?
Content with his misery, Odin continued forward, his eyes on his knight master’s dark cloak trailing behind him.
“Sir,” Odin said, frowning when Miko turned down a hall that led away from the castle’s main entrance. “Where are we going?”
“We can’t have you traveling without the proper accommodations,” the Elf replied. “Can we?”
Odin could only smile.
“It is the standard apparel for any traveling squire,” the royal armor-smith said, brushing out the fabric along Odin’s shoulders. “Designed to hold up even in the most outrageous of weather and the most horrendous of conditions.”
It was almost impossible to believe that he stood within the royal armory in leather armor that the king himself had especially designated to him. His panic long gone and his breathing only just returning to normal, he lifted his eyes to look at himself in the mirror.
In his heart rose jeopardy.
This person before him was not him—could not, in the least, be the boy from Felnon who once upon a time had run away with dreams of becoming a knight—for upon his shoulders he wore a jerkin made from leathers so exquisite they could have fed a village for years. Studded, upon his chest, to grant protection; lined, along the wrists and collar, with blood-red trim; centered, perfectly, upon his chest, and tailored to fit his form—his shirt beneath was fine and white, his pants snug and secure, the belt at his waist accented with the same straps that ran along his boots. Even the bracers upon his wrists reminded him of the burden he now held, as adorned across their surfaces was the very symbol of his kingdom: that sword and those twin warhorns.
This is it, he thought, flexing his fingers to test his dexterity. This is where it all begins.
“The start of my new life,” Odin whispered. “The beginning of everything—”
“What the fuck is this thing?”
Odin looked up.
Opposite him, Nova sat shifting beneath two men as they lowered and began to strap an intricate pauldron across his left shoulder.
“It’s a pauldron, sir,” one of the armor-smiths said. “Surely you know what a pauldron—”
“I know what a fucking pauldron is!” the red-haired man snapped. “I just want to know why you’re putting it on me.”
“It’s because you’re playing a very important role in this journey,” Miko said, stepping from the shadows in his black guise.
“I don’t care about my fucking role! Why do I have to put this thing on? I’m more than capable of defending myself—”
“On your right side,” Miko interrupted. Nova’s perplexed expression spoke for itself. “Do you not understand? One side cannot be guarded and the other left open. I saw your spar with Odin. You leave yourself vulnerable. That cannot be tolerated. Your purpose is clear, Nova. As our protector, you will serve to defend the party—and, most specifically, act as Odin’s honored guardian.”
It makes sense, Odin thought, that he would give him a title.
When Nova rose from his seat, the impressive fauld across his waist clinked together as the straps swung to and fro “So,” he said, spreading his arms. “How do I look?”
“Like a true warrior of the kingdom,” Miko said, stepping forward to test the accented metals across his belt, shoulder strap and armor. “Like the man who will ensure that all of us stay alive.”
Nova bowed his head while an armor-smith attached a dagger and satchel to his belt.
“I wasn’t really sure you would want to bring me along,” the man from Bohren said, raising his eyes. “I mean… being who I am and all… what I am. I thought you’d just turn me away.”
“Your place within this world is far grander than you believe,” Miko said, pressing a hand to Nova’s cheek and caressing his jaw. “It dwells within you, Nova.”
“What does?”
“Courage. Passion. Integrity. Grief. There’s something within you that not many have, especially those whose lives seemed destined for simplicity. When I look at you, I know only one thing: it burns.”
Miko leaned forward and pressed his lips to Nova’s brow.
Odin could only stand there as he watched the exchange.
He feels it too.
He hadn’t been wrong after all.
“Gentlemen,” Miko said, directing his attention to the armorsmiths. “We thank you for your time and patience. Please, give your forge-master and leather workers our regards.” He paused. “Odin, Nova—are we ready to see High Mage Daughtry before we depart?”
Nodding, Odin reached down to make sure his sword was secure at his side.
When his hand touched his blade, he knew one thing.
This was what he was born to do.
“Oh,” Daughtry said, upon opening the door to see the three of them. “Miko.”
“You’ve met before?” Odin frowned, shifting in place.
“He was one of the men who witnessed my appearance when I came through the gates,” the Elf said, nodding in the mage’s direction. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have made it sooner, Daughtry. We were delayed.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” the mage said. “Come in. I have your things right here.”
Careful to let his knight master go first, then to allow Nova entry next, Odin stepped through the threshold and scanned the house with wary eyes, already dreading the emotions placating his conscience as if he were a stray apple left out for the worms.
To think, he thought, that you were here before it all went down.
From the archway that led to the stairwell came a little girl. In a forest-green dress, fancy black shoes and her blonde hair in pigtails, she looked to be the very definition of youth, with a wild spirit that existed within her dark green eyes, and stopped midstride upon noticing the strangers in her house. Her eyes immediately fell to Odin—which seemed to widen—before her attention trailed up to Miko’s hulking form.
“Anna,” Daughtry said, gesturing to his daughter to follow them into the room.
“Yes Father?” the little girl asked.
“You remember Odin, don’t you?”
When the little girl gave a slight nod and pout of her lip, she raised her hand and conjured the butterfly she had summoned all those years ago. “I remember,” she said.
Odin pushed his hand palm-up and made a white butterfly of his own. Together, the summoned constructs flew into the air and danced around each other, almost as if both he and the little girl shared the same thought.
“These are the clothes I’ve arranged for the pair of you,” Daughtry said, drawing Odin’s attention away from the scene before them. “A few of the villagers were willing to offer up their teenage sons’ clothing. These I had spare for you, Mr. Eternity.”
“Thank you,” Nova said, running a hand along one of the simple shirts.
“I assume the three of you are leaving then?”
“Yes,” Miko said. “We are.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that you can’t leave on a boat h
ere. You’re going to have to go to Elna.”
“Elna?” Odin frowned. “Miko, sir, why—”
The Elf raised a hand. “Yes, Daughtry,” he said. “I’m more than aware.”
“Your horses are being tended to as we speak,” the high mage said, stepping up to one of the windows and parting the curtains to look outside. “Would you like extra bags for your clothing, friends?”
“They can fit them in their sacks,” the Elf said. “Right, Odin? Nova?”
“Right,” Nova said.
Still a bit dumbstruck to speak, Odin went about unlacing the pack over his shoulder and securing the clothes within its confines. To think that they would be heading more than halfway across the country to secure themselves a destination was more than unsettling. How long would such a journey take? Weeks, possibly months?
Why can’t we just use one of the kingdom’s boats? he wondered.
Could their inability to charter a boat from here be because Ornala was not equipped for such travel, or was it because Miko was not truly royalty and would not be allowed such privileges?
Either way, he couldn’t think about it.
After the clothes were tucked away within the sack, Odin rose and faced Daughtry.
In that man’s dark-blue eyes, he thought he saw worry for the three of them.
This will be a long journey, his eyes seemed to say. Prepare for it.
2
“Elna?” Nova asked. “That’s the only way we can disembark?”
“That’s the only way we can leave on a big ship,” Miko said, running his bony fingers through his stallion’s mane.
“Why can’t we just charter a boat from Ornala?”
“Because I am not royalty.”
Of course, Odin thought, his suspicions confirmed in but a few simple words. “But sir,” he continued. “Why do we need a big ship?”
“We just do.”
Just do.
The secrecy was starting to get to him.
“Sir,” he continued, hoping his tone didn’t sound childish and his thoughts irrational. “Does this really have to be a secret?”
There you go, he thought. Now you sound like a child.
He chuckled at the thought.
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Miko said, his smile revealed from beneath his hood. “But yes. It’s a surprise.”
“How long will it take us to get to Elna?” Nova frowned.
“A good while. Have either of you been so far west?”
Odin and Nova shook their heads.
“I’ve only traveled north of Felnon,” Odin said.
“I’ve been east,” Nova added, “but that’s because I came from Bohren. This is the farthest west I’ve been my whole life.”
“The terrain gets a little rough as we go along,” Miko explained. “The plains are one thing, but the lowlands are another.”
“How bad are they?”
“Bad enough to merit several extra days of travel if we want to be safe. The lowlands aren’t even the worst of it. It’s the ‘Ela Alna Pass.”
“‘Ela Alna?” Odin closed his eyes, trying to picture the area. Nothing immediately came to mind. “What is that, sir? It seems familiar, but—”
“The pass is a long, descending slope that’s very difficult to travel,” Miko explained, “especially during storms—which, unfortunately, the west has many of.”
“What’s so bad about it?”
“Downhill terrain,” Nova said, “is slick, especially when wet.”
“Our friend is right, Odin. To make matters even worse, grass doesn’t grow on the pass because it’s almost constantly wet. There’s no way for plants to root themselves to the soil, so they constantly get washed away. We’ll have to take extra precautions when traveling this route.” Miko arched his back, stretching the muscles before settling back into place. “So, Nova, to answer your question: we’re looking at a month’s worth of travel.”
“Fifty days?” the man asked.
Miko shook his head. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Nova sighed. “I mean, you can’t help it. I trust you more than I’d trust anyone else.”
Miko smiled.
Odin couldn’t help but do the same.
The sun beat down with such unrelenting force that, come midafternoon, both Odin and Nova had parted jerkins and unbuttoned shirts in an attempt to cool. Oddly enough, despite his companions’ distress, Miko seemed unaffected by the heat, and still wore his black facade as if it were nothing more than a simple shirt or bowtie.
Maybe it doesn’t bother him, Odin thought, raising a hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. He is an Elf, after all.
It was possible that Elves could control their body temperature. If he truly thought about it, though, why would Miko have asked for a blanket the night of the storm if he was capable of such a feat?
He didn’t have his cape on, he thought, shifting in his seat.
“Hey, Odin,” Nova drawled, voice hazy and rough. He leaned forward until their shoulders touched. “You got any water?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching down to retrieve one of the many canteens from his pack. “Why? Where did yours go?”
“The damn thing had a leak.”
“I can share.”
“Thanks bud. You’re a lifesaver.”
Nova tipped the canteen back and took a short swallow before returning it. After securing it in its place, Odin raised his head to survey the land before them. Bare, save for a few scattered pockets of trees along the sides of the roads, the plains seemed to go on forever, extending into the vast distance of yellow and gold grass and weed for what seemed like eternity.
“It’s plains land for a good while,” Miko said, noting Odin’s observation. “There’s very little to look at out here.”
“I’ve noticed,” Odin said. “Aren’t you hot, sir?”
“No. Why?”
“We’re dripping sweat,” Nova laughed. The sound of his voice lacked its normal enthusiasm.
“Don’t worry. The weather doesn’t bother me.”
“How?” Odin frowned.
Miko shrugged.
That’s the best answer I’m going to get right now.
The Elf had remained silent for most of the morning. Odin recalled him speaking only once or twice, if that.
There’s not really a whole lot to say.
What could they speak of if not their own personal matters—their lives, their hardships, their troubles and insecurities? There were no landmarks to point to and make casual banter about, no pools of water at which to stop and fill their canteens, and there seemed little in the manner of joking to be done. There was, essentially, very little to actually converse over, so silence would ultimately rule the majority of their travels.
“Hey kid,” Nova said. “Wanna play a game?”
“What kind of game is it?” Odin asked.
“It’s a ‘who can beat the other to the hill first’ kind of game.”
Nova kicked his horse into a run, laughing like a madman as he gradually got further and further away.
“He’s delirious,” Odin mumbled.
“Better go catch him,” Miko said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Miko reached over and set a hand on his shoulder. “Go. Have fun. Besides—if he falls off, someone needs to be there to catch his horse.”
No one ever said heatstroke was fun, Odin thought with a slight smile.
After kicking his horse into gear, he pursued Nova in the hopes that somehow, someway, he could still catch up.
The next few weeks took them across the plains. Skirting across the boundaries of the Ke’Tarka Military Outpost, through the other smaller, unmapped villages and settlements that dotted the lands and around isolated areas of forest broken apart from the Felnon providence—it seemed their pursuits were taking the longest time in the world.
Tired, sunburnt, and more than ready to h
ave this stretch of the journey over with, Odin lifted his head out of his horse’s mane to find the blinding sunset stretching across the sky in hues of orange, pink and purple.
There, in the near distance, the land began dropping—first slowly, then out of view completely.
“These the lowlands?” Nova grunted, tightening his hold on his stallion’s reins to still its incessant movements.
“Yes,” Miko nodded. “These are the famed outskirts of the Deldonian Lowlands. We will have to be very careful here.”
“I see grass,” Odin said. “I thought you said there wasn’t any?”
“Here, on the top of the incline, there is. Further down, it starts thinning out until it all but disappears.”
“This is where we’ve gotta watch the horses,” Nova said. “Isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Miko dismounted. When the giant horse made a move to follow, the Elf raised his hand, stilling the creature. He bent and set a hand on the ground, holding it there for a moment. Not once did he run his concealed nails through the blades of grass or pull any of the soil out. He then raised his head and said, breathless and as though he’d just run a thousand leagues, “You may want to dismount and consider letting the horses rest.”
“But it’s not dark,” Odin frowned.
The sun had not yet fallen to the horizon, but it would soon enough. With the colors bleeding from existence and the lapse of dark blue spilling from the east, it would not be long before the stars would twinkle into existence.
“I understand, Odin, but the horses will be much better off with rest, especially since we’re going downhill tomorrow.”
“What if the horses don’t want to go downhill?” Nova asked, stepping down from his mount. “I mean, the animals are skittish enough as it is. Won’t a downhill journey spook them?”
“That’s my point, Nova. We’re going to have to dismount and walk them down the hill.”
Odin looked up.
Tomorrow morning, they would step from their horses and lead them forward, directly into what could possibly be a deathtrap.
“We’ll be okay though,” Odin said, “right?”