The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “Why you couldn’t sustain it for longer.” Miko nodded. “You tried this when it was dark, correct?”

  “When we were coming down the hills, actually. It was the night the fog was on the ground.”

  “You were drawing light from places where it wasn’t. The moonlight helped you, of course, as the fog itself likely did in reflecting its light, but without a stable source of power it’s difficult to maintain an image for a long period of time. This dog you made out of light—how large was it?”

  “Small enough to be on my hand.”

  “And you held it for how long?”

  “A little while, but not a terribly long time.”

  “If you held it for more than a few moments, it proves your magical strength. Did you get tired when the image started fading?”

  “My head hurt, but it stopped after I got rid of the image.”

  “Did anything else happen? Did you get physically weak or unstable?”

  “No. I got a little buzzed after I did it. I started itching too.”

  “You’ll find that happens sometimes, but it usually only occurs when you pull energy from strange places.” Miko set a hand at the base of Odin’s neck. “I’d advise you to be careful when performing such feats. I’m not saying you shouldn’t experiment—because you should, especially since you’re so young—but you have to consider where you’re drawing the energy from.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. If I would’ve known, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know. I don’t worry about you too much, Odin, because you seem to know your limits. Sometimes, though, it’s not your limits you must consider, but the limits of the things around you.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll give you an example.” Miko raised a hand, but did not cast any magic. “Imagine you are trying to draw water out of a forest, but there’s no stream or pond in the immediate area, nor has it rained for a long time. Where would the water come from?”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  “Wrong.”

  Though a bit fazed by the answer, Odin nodded.

  “Can you tell me where it might come from, Odin?”

  “I could try.”

  “Do.”

  “Objects that hold water?” he asked, uncertain, but hoping the answer wasn’t completely wrong.

  “Correct,” Miko smiled, squeezing Odin’s shoulder. “You see, if you were to draw water out of an area where there wasn’t an available source, the magic would draw it out of whatever it could if you didn’t give it a particular target. Say you wanted to draw the element from a tree—the water might come out of the leaves, or it might come out of the bark. However, say you don’t specify where you want the water to come from.”

  “It’d come from anywhere it could,” Odin muttered.

  “Right. Because of that, you might end up hurting something you don’t intend to. Did you know our bodies are made mostly of water?”

  “They are?”

  “Yes. For example: If I wanted to draw water out of nowhere, it would come likely from yourself or Nova. The water wouldn’t come with a simple want, but if you willed it to come with a certain force, you could easily kill a man.”

  “I didn’t know, sir.”

  “Elementary mages do not explain such things because they never take into consideration the techniques needed to survive in the field. Most young men with such powers are trained only to attack and nothing but. I’ve seen squires and pages destroy each other with the simple desire to pull water out of a pond. It isn’t a pretty sight, Odin, especially when you know that these young mages are simply being used and trained for their magical ability. What I’m teaching you is something that you will rarely hear out of a magic teacher’s mouth unless a specific question is asked.”

  “It makes you wonder why they even train mages if they don’t teach them properly,” Odin mumbled.

  “Yes. It does. And it also makes you consider why they are a dying breed.” Miko stood. He walked to the window, where Odin had been standing just moments before, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t matter though. Most men die during wars anyway.”

  Odin swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “Although,” the Elf added, turning his head over his shoulder, “that doesn’t mean there’s going to be a war or that you’ll die should there be one.”

  “Can I ask you a question, sir?”

  “You may.”

  “What is your opinion on the country’s state?”

  “You mean in regards to Germa and Ornala’s relationship?” Miko asked. “I think it’s petty. Your king, though ample in his right, is unwilling to divide sections of land in order to sate those of his companions. Germa, meanwhile, is pressuring Ournul to do such things even though they have enough territory left to satisfy their people for hundreds, if not thousands of years. The desert it great, Odin, and it is harsh, but those of Germa know how to maintain themselves within it.”

  “I’ve always thought they were limited on resources.”

  “Oh, anything but. Sure—it may not rain so often there, but that doesn’t mean they are limited on food or water. Mages can enchant hidden rivers from the ground and turn them into wells. Men and women can farm plants that need not the kind of moisture the ordinary variety require. There are people starving, yes, just like there are people suffering from disease, but that is part of every society. Their king is blind and arrogant with greed. You would never see this kind of behavior in a true Elven society.”

  “You’re not—”

  “Referring to Draethel? No. They are constantly warring between one another, for one small space of island. No. The true, white-blooded Elves have made it a point to unite in order to keep from separating into such radical parties.”

  “What about the Dwarves?” Odin asked. “Do they fight with one another like humans do?”

  “The Dwarves are humble and keep to themselves. Their philosophy rings true even through such enlightened ears.”

  Odin gave a slight nod. He pushed himself off the bed to stand beside his master. “So,” he said, drawing closer to the Elf. “You’re not going to tell us where we’re going, are you?”

  “Not yet.”

  When Miko turned his head, Odin caught a slight smirk on the Elf’s face.

  The only thing he could think was, Damn.

  When the sun fell to the horizon the ocean turned orange. Beautiful, breathtaking, reflecting the light in hues of red and maroon that made it appear as though a separate entity existed beneath the dark and blue waves—Odin grimaced, but didn’t bring his hand up to cover his eyes from his place at the window. He hadn’t realized how bright the sun’s reflection off the sea could be.

  “Are you ready?” Miko asked.

  Odin turned just in time to see Miko slide the hood over his face. Nova, just barely rising, pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed out his beard. “I am,” Nova said.

  “Me too,” Odin added.

  The two of them followed Miko out the door and into the hallway.

  As had happened before, the patrons turned to look at them as they descended the stairs.

  “Ah, gentlemen,” the bartender said. “Pleasure seeing you.”

  A few men snickered. Odin ignored them. Nova, on the other hand, muttered something so faint that Odin caught himself saying a quick prayer. There was no need to get into a fight—not here, of all places.

  “Hear, hear,” the bartender said, gesturing to three open spots at the bar. “Dinner comes with fried fish and liquor.”

  “What kind?” Nova asked, eyes brightening as he settled into his seat.

  “Hard liquor,” the man grinned. “A good mix of seaside ale for the three of you, complete with a bit of rainmelon mixed in.”

  “What’s a rainmelon?” Odin whispered when the bartender turned to prepare the food.

  “It’s a fruit that grows from a vine,” Miko explained, voice lower than normal. “It’s sweet.”

  “Oh.”
<
br />   Odin turned to look at Nova. Eyes intent on an amber-pink liquid that stood in a series of large glass tubes no more than a few feet away from the counter, a bit of drool trailed out the side of his lip and into his beard. Odin almost reached out to wipe it aside before the bartender returned.

  “Here you are, son,” the man said, setting a glassful of alcohol in front of Nova. “Enjoy.”

  Nova took a swallow of the stuff. He digested the taste before taking yet another sip.

  “And here you are, sir.” The man set a glass before Miko. “And you, son.”

  Odin’s lip curled up when he saw the drink.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his master drinking, so he figured he should as well. Upon taking the first sip, he grimaced, face scrunching in disgust. After a moment, the bitterness wore off to be replaced by a sweet feeling he compared to the buzz of magic.

  “Don’t drink too much too fast,” Miko explained. “You don’t want to get drunk.”

  Meanwhile, Nova had just ordered a second.

  You don’t have to worry about me getting drunk, Odin thought, and couldn’t help but chuckle.

  A few moments later, a bartender set a bowl of fish before each of them.

  Just as Odin thought it was all over, the man slid an eye-searing-yellow lemon, bearing a mortal wound down its center, onto his bowl. “For flavor,” he said.

  Odin shrugged. He lifted a piece of fish, took a bite, and decided he wouldn’t need the lemon after all.

  While he ate, he took in the way place looked. Though worn by ocean air, sweat, beer, spit and possibly even blood, the building had an ornate, rustic look to it that enhanced its charm and bolstered its appearance. A few dents lined the far walls—where beer bottles had, most likely, been broken—while on the mantle above them a series of stuffed fish lay, preserved for all to see

  “You like the place, son?” the bartender asked.

  “Yes sir,” Odin said. “I’m sorry, you never introduced yourself.”

  “Oh, sorry. Most folks around here know me. My name’s Acklan. Yours?”

  “It’s Odin.” Out of respect, he reached over the counter and offered his hand. Acklan seemed taken aback, but shook it nonetheless.

  “What’re you three doing out here?” Acklan asked. “It’s not often I see strangers around here.”

  “I’m a squire, sir. This man here, to my left, is my master.”

  “Ah. And your friend?”

  “I’m Nova. Their guardian,” Lifting his hand from his fish and drink, he, too, pumped Acklan’s wrist before returning to his food.

  “Your master’s not much of a talker, is he?” Acklan smiled, returning his attention to Odin.

  “I… don’t know.” Odin couldn’t help but shrug.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Miko said, turning his head up to meet the man.

  “How come you’re still in that cloak?”

  “I have sensitive skin,” the Elf answered.

  Better than anything I could’ve come up with, Odin thought, sliding a piece of fish into his mouth.

  “Really?” the bartender asked, leaning forward as if to examine the Elf beneath his hood. “You know… just between the two of us… I don’t mind if you’re black, so long as you’re not trouble.”

  “He’s not black,” Odin frowned. “Why would you think that?”

  “A lot of those over-the-border types cause trouble when they come through here. It’s no secret that we’re almost at war with those old boys, but that gives us no reason to not serve them, especially if they’re pure-blooded Ornalans. Can’t be too careful though. Why, we had a few in here a month or so back that decided to beat a guy up just because he asked what the desert was like.”

  The scene, so vivid in Odin’s mind as if it had just been replayed before him, made him grimace. Though he knew, without a doubt in his mind, that one’s skin color did not determine whether or not they were violent, the feelings toward those who were different could easily shape the oppressed reactions. Given the stifling climate between the two countries, it would be nearly impossible for anyone, especially someone of Germanian descent, to not feel unsafe, especially in the presence of such judgmental men.

  “So,” Acklan said, once again tilting his head back to examine Miko, “if you’re worried about someone saying something about you being black, don’t worry—they won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I’m not worried,” Miko said, “because I’m not a Kadarian.”

  Shrugging, Acklan turned to serve another patron.

  “We don’t need anything stirred up,” the Elf said, setting a hand on Odin’s back.

  “I don’t want you to get into a fight.”

  “I doubt anyone would try and fight with me, Odin. And should they decide to try, I will subdue them without violence.”

  “I thought it was immoral to use magic on someone—”

  “Unless you are defending yourself.”

  Though he couldn’t see his master’s face, he imagined a smile perked his lips.

  Odin returned to his food with little more than a shrug. Occasionally, he’d look up and glance at Acklan, particularly when he filled Nova’s glass, but looked at little else than his food, his friends, and his server. Such a wandering gaze would likely cause trouble, especially if they considered Miko to be a threat.

  With his thoughts secured, Odin paced himself with his meal. When he finished, he pushed his now-empty bowl of fish up the counter, sipped the last bit of his liquor, then pushed that up as well.

  “Are you feeling well?” Miko asked.

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “I didn’t expect you to finish your drink.”

  The Elf lifted his glass, slid it under his hood, and swallowed the last little bit before setting it to the bar. Nova, though already finished with his meal, ordered yet another glass. Miko stood and walked to the man’s side. “That’s enough for now, Nova.”

  “I’m still thirsty.”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Miko gestured for him to rise, but Nova didn’t budge. Odin slid off his seat just as Acklan returned.

  “You need something?” the bartender asked, the bitter tone in his voice causing Odin to become uneasy.

  “My friend’s had too much to drink,” Miko explained, “and I don’t have the money to pay for more.”

  “That’s fine. All I need is three more copper pieces.”

  Nova started to complain, but Odin took his arm and managed to pull him away from the bar. The Elf set the coin on the counter and began to lead the pair of them to the stairs.

  “I don’t need to quit,” Nova said, trying to break out of Odin’s grip. “I’m not drunk.”

  “Yes you are,” Odin muttered.

  “Fuck off, kid.”

  “That’s enough, Nova.”

  “Leave me alone.” The much bigger man lunged back, trying to tear Odin’s hand from his shirt. Odin managed to hold on despite the force. “Let go, Odin.”

  “No, Nova,” Miko said. “I don’t mind when you say you want to go back for more alcohol, but I don’t want you using such language with my squire.”

  Before Nova could even begin to say anything more, Miko gripped the back of his shirt and literally began dragging him to the top of the stairs and to the end of the hall. Once in the room, Miko cast him across the space with one simple flick of his wrist.

  Nova, in his drunken, disoriented state, immediately fell onto the bed. “Come on,” the man said, deciding to switch tactics as he stood and began to make his way back to the doorway. “I’m sorry for what I said to Odin. Just one more drink, just one.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Miko said. “Tell Odin.”

  “Really, sir, that’s not necessary,” Odin said. “I know he didn’t—”

  “I’m sorry, Odin,” Nova wailed, falling to his knees in front of him and pawing at the knees of his trousers. “I’m an ass.”
/>   “You’re not—”

  “Yeah I am.”

  Although he did his best to try and stand, Nova did no more than fall back to his knees each time he attempted to. Such a sight was pitiful—akin to a toddler trying to take its first steps. That alone was enough to make Odin reach down, hoist his friend up under his arms, then push him onto the bed.

  “Just go to sleep,” Odin said, removing his friend’s boots with a few tugs before throwing a blanket over his body. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

  He expected a reply, but none came. It wasn’t long before he realized Nova had fallen asleep.

  “He doesn’t need any more alcohol,” Miko grumbled, disrobing. “It’s a poison to the mind and body when abused. Would you close and lock the door, please?”

  Odin grabbed the nearby key. A click later, he set it back in place on the rung beside the door.

  “I knew a man could get drunk,” Odin said, “but I didn’t know it made him mean.”

  “Some men are different,” Miko shrugged. He looked around the room, then slid his cape off. He unfurled it until it was at its full length and then laid it across the floor.

  “Here.” Odin grabbed the second pillow off his bed. “I don’t need two.”

  “Thank you, Odin.”

  After double-checking to make sure that the premises were secure, Odin crossed the short distance between him and the bed and bent to take his boots off. He glanced up at Miko to see him untying his lower robe and turned away on instinct.

  “You’re not bothered, are you?” the Elf asked, standing there almost-nude with his robe hanging from one hand.

  “No,” Odin said, turning his head up to face his knight master. “I just don’t think it’s polite to stare.”

  “You’re not staring if you’re just glancing.”

  Truth be told, he was staring, and couldn’t help it. Just the amount of muscle on the Elf’s torso would have made any man envious, for his physique was carved from calculated training and exercises he performed every morning just after he rose. The bulging muscles in the man’s arms, the cords along his thighs, the smooth but defined lines of his abdominals that, beneath the sheer breath of skin, appeared like monuments that tapered out to a lean waistline—there was nothing that couldn’t be admired about his entire appearance. In the end, however, it all came down to one thing—that Odin, as envious and mystified as he was, couldn’t be prouder to serve beneath such an inspiring creature.