by Kody Boye
Jerdai and the Elf gripped hands one last time before Miko started down the ramp. Odin and Nova followed closely behind, just in case one of them managed to slip and go flying toward the icy ocean below.
“You ready for this?” Nova asked, smiling through his chattering teeth.
“Not really,” Odin said, “but we’ve got to go anyway, so I don’t see a reason to worry. It’s not going to help anyway.”
“Miko will take care of us. You know that.”
Stepping onto the snow, the ice and the place where they would spend the next year, Odin turned to look up at the ship. Domnin and Icklard stood next to the captain, waving.
“Goodbye!” Odin called up, thrusting a hand into the air to acknowledge their action. “I’ll see you again!”
“You sure will!” Icklard called back.
“You know it!” Domnin laughed.
With that, Odin turned and followed his friends into the frozen wasteland, unsure of what might greet them.
“You cold, kid?” Nova asked.
“Yeah,” Odin nodded, rubbing his arms. “Are you?”
“A little.”
Odin looked up at the Elf. Though he had no idea how he could wear only that cloak and still be warm, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he concentrated and lined the inside of his coat with magic, envisioning within its folds and fabric the idea of warmth that sparkled within the linens and individual threads. After finishing his own coat, he concentrated on Nova’s layers, extending the magic toward his friend with a simple thought.
“Woah,” the man said, then laughed. “What the hell?”
“Warm?” Odin grinned.
“Yeah. You do that?”
“Uh huh.”
“Thanks.”
“He might not be able to do that for long,” Miko said without bothering to turn his head. “It might wear him out.”
“I know,” Nova sighed. “Anyway, thanks Odin.”
Nodding, Odin looked up. While there wasn’t a whole lot to look at other than snow, icy hills and the inevitable, towering spirals and clumps of ice, he found the scenery pleasant. For the first time in weeks, he was actually seeing something other than water.
I don’t want to get too used to it, he thought.
At the very least, he didn’t need the snow and ice to become familiar; and while he had no idea what the Globe Village looked like, it couldn’t be worse than this, could it?
I highly doubt it.
“Sir,” Odin said, increasing his pace so he could fall in place with his knight master. “What does the Globe Village look like?”
“You don’t want to be surprised?”
“I sure don’t,” Nova said. He, too, jumped a few steps ahead to fall in line with them. “Come on.”
“If I leave the village without description, it’ll make the journey all the more worthwhile.”
“I guess,” Odin mumbled.
Nova swore. Miko set a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Sorry Nova,” Odin said, watching his friend and the Elf.
“Ah, don’t sweat it, Odin. This is your adventure, after all. I shouldn’t spoil it.”
“It’s not just my adventure. It’s yours too.”
“No it isn’t.”
“You came all the way from Bohren to find me.”
Nova shrugged. Odin smiled, slid around the Elf, and wrapped an arm around the man’s lower back, careful not to lean too far into his side for fear of knocking one of them over or himself out on his friend’s massive pauldron. “I don’t regret you finding me though,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
“You guys are good friends too,” Nova said, wrapping an arm around Odin’s shoulders and Miko’s upper back. “It makes traveling more pleasant.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” the Elf said.
“Why?” Odin frowned.
“There’s a storm coming.”
Miko raised his hand.
In the distance, a series of dark-blue clouds swam over the horizon.
“Damn,” Nova growled.
“Yeah,” Odin sighed. “Really.”
The storm came sooner than any of them expected. Pummeling them with snow, ice, and with wind that screeched at the three intruders with a cry that resembled a scorned thing at night, impossible thunder crackled the air and pink lightning traced the sky, blanketing the horizon like talons against a chalkboard.
“When are we going to stop?” Odin asked, pressing his hands against his ribcage. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Nova said.
“We need to push on for as long as we can,” Miko said. “Travel across Neline must be made swiftly and while the weather is good.”
Odin bowed his head to shield his eyes and wind-scarred face from the snow. Words couldn’t describe how he felt. His bones—though deeply buried beneath skin, fat and muscle—seemed to burn, his throat and mouth tasted of salt, and what felt to be copious amounts of slowly-fermenting spit became an individual entity within his throat. Even a simple shake of his head took all the energy he had, as it seemed as though his skull, upon his spinal cord, weighed of iron, of mantles and breastplates far too heavy for a boy of sixteen to carry.
Just keep going, he thought, nodding, bowing his head.
“Are you okay?” Nova yelled.
Because he’d been paying little attention to anything but Nova’s face, he hadn’t noticed that the storm had worsened, and as he looked up he instantly recoiled, not expecting the sheer volume of white that blanketed the horizon. Hail plummeted down, miniaturized balls of agony; the wind tore across the landscape, daggers upon his skin; and his clothes, almost-constantly supplied with magic, felt soaked, oppressing hands which tried to pull him down to the ground.
“Sir,” Odin said, trembling, his voice light and without its usual baritone. “Please…”
“We need to stop!” Nova cried. “Look at him!”
“We’ll stop,” Miko said. “The storm is too bad.”
“Turn away from the snow, buddy.”
Beside them, Miko raised his hand. Fire the brightest purple and in brilliant shades of pink exploded over his palm. Snow, both settled on the ground and falling, stopped and sailed to an area not too far away, where an invisible sphere displayed only by the wind and the downpour the rough outline for a shelter that would protect them for the rest of the night. Through strength and will, sacrifice and glory, the Elf gathered these earthly materials and melded them to his will, first completing the sphere, which stood some five feet tall, then forming the tunnel, as wide as Miko’s shoulders and just long enough to offer protection.
“Go, Odin,” Miko said.
Almost unable to comply, Odin fell to his knees and forced his way through the entrance of the tunnel, which felt suffocating at best and seemed less welcoming despite the fact he was no longer being assaulted by snow.
At the end of the tunnel, and beneath the dome of frozen snow, Odin curled into a ball near the wall, where he drew his legs to his chest.
“You okay?” Nova asked, pushing himself from the tunnel.
Odin nodded.
Miko appeared shortly after Nova sat down near the wall. Once settled in, he extended his arm, tightened his fingers into a claw, then forced snow into the tunnel and compacted it together. Melted snow quickly froze over.
After making sure both Odin and Nova were safely against the wall, Miko turned and shot a single purple flame into the center of their shelter, which pulsed to life and lit the interior of the dome pink.
“Is this warm?” the Elf asked.
Odin shook his head. Yes, he thought. It’s better than I could have ever imagined.
“Where in God’s name did that storm come from?” Nova asked, pulling his gloves from his hands. The tips of his fingers blushed red, as if they’d been burnt. “Shit.”
“Here.” Miko took Nova’s hands and summoned a slight amount of magic. Here, he weaved it across the man’s palm and along the cu
rve of his wrist, where upon contact the swelling began to creep away. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” the man shivered. “Thank you.”
After Nova replaced his gloves, Miko slid to Odin’s body. There, he set his large hands on Odin’s stocky, well-built chest, channeled magic into his torso, and didn’t stop until he let out a series of coughs and gasps.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed.
“We’ll stay here for the time being,” Miko said. “I don’t like the look of that storm.”
“Where did it come from?” Nova repeated once more.
“I don’t know.”
“It couldn’t have come from nowhere,” Odin said, stripping his gloves off his hands and holding them in front of the magical flame. “It had to have come from somewhere.”
“Most of these storms originate from the north, where the currents seem to endlessly spiral and radiate out onto the rest of the island.” Miko pulled his hood down, revealing his immaculate, near-emotionless face. “We’re lucky the Globe Village is in a spot where we can actually survive the weather conditions.”
“You mean this is the worst climate you could possibly live in?” Nova frowned. “Even you, Miko?”
“I might be able to survive further north, in places where even the most foolhardy of men dare not travel, but I have no desire to test the limits of my body or my magical ability. I wouldn’t dare attempt travel that far with the two of you in tow.”
“Are we going to die out here?” Odin asked.
Both of his companions turned to look at him.
“No,” Miko said. “We won’t.”
Outside, the storm continued on, howling, screaming, and thundering its rage.
The moment they dismantled the shelter from the inside out was the moment Odin started to regret ever agreeing to be the creature’s squire. Snow, blowing at its hardest, whipped at his cheeks like callused palms, while the wind, howling almighty, sent his hood away from his head and slapping into the back of his neck. This, combined with a fresh buffet of snow that immediately hit him in the face, was enough to instantly dissuade him from ever looking at a morning on Neline as anything other than miserable.
“Tie your hood off,” Nova said, so close to his ear that Odin jumped. “It’s all right. It’s just me.”
“I know,” he muttered.
After tightening his hood and snapping the extra buttons on his mouthpiece together, Odin slung his drenched pack over his shoulder, hoping the books he’d brought along would be safe in their protective leather cases.
Here I am worrying about books while we’re out in the middle of a storm.
“What’s so funny?” Nova asked.
Apparently, he’d been chuckling and hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m worried about my books in this weather,” Odin confessed. “Can you believe that?”
“Yeah. You appreciate the few material possessions that you own.”
Which makes me sound even worse.
“Not that that matters,” Nova continued. “I mean, I appreciate the scythe that’s strapped to my back, and it’s a material possession.”
“Your father made that for you though. That’s not material at all.”
“No—it is, but you see my point.”
With little more than a shrug, Odin began to warm both him and Nova, this time concentrating on the hoods, as from previous experience it seemed that if the head was warm, the body would be as well. If he could help his friend even a little, especially in these conditions, that would make the process worth the while even though it was a little draining.
“Thanks,” Nova said, brushing up against Odin’s side.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied.
“I would help the two of you,” Miko said, speaking up for the first time since the morning had begun, “but I’m using a good amount of my energy warming myself and blocking the wind.”
“You mean this isn’t the full brunt of it?” Nova frowned.
“No.” Miko shook his head. “You don’t want to feel it. It… would blow us away.”
Blow us away…
Odin didn’t dare ask whether the Elf meant that literally.
“Well,” Nova began, “as long as you’re keeping the majority of it away, I’m fine with my face being a little windburnt.”
“Me too,” Odin said. “But sir, if you need to stop for any—”
“I won’t need to stop, Odin. This process involves more than putting a dividing triangle around us.”
“How do you—”
“It’s done with a thin layer of magic.”
The stern tone forced him a few steps back. Now in pace with Nova, Odin pushed his hands under his arms and took a deep breath, careful not to expel it too quickly for fear of Miko hearing and possibly turning to lecture him.
“It’s all right,” the older man whispered. “He’s just antsy.”
“I know,” Odin returned. “It’s just… I don’t want him wearing himself out.”
“I know. You have to remember though, Odin—he’s an Elf. Did you see what he did last night? He caught the snow out of the air and made a shelter for us, all by himself.”
While his knight master did possess a great deal of power, all things had weaknesses. No one could control such a high degree of magic for so long, much less warming oneself up through a blizzard while blocking the wind, could they?
Regardless, all he knew was that he wanted to get to the Globe Village as soon as possible.
They didn’t need to go through this kind of hell.
That night, after climbing into the shelter and settling down after a cold dinner, Odin lay near Nova, huddled together as close as possible in the hopes that they could share what little body heat they had. Though he put off and received little, his friend’s faint breaths through his mouthpiece did much to bring comfort in spite of the fact that everything seemed so cold.
Outside, the storm continued to rage on, screaming at any and all that could hear.
Did it always storm so bad in Neline, or had it happened just because they stepped foot onto the wasteland?
You know it didn’t.
The idea, though absurd, entertained his darkest fantasy; and while he wasn’t normally one to believe that a person’s presence could bring about something, much less the forces of the natural world, he believed in it now. Why hadn’t they seen the storm from the boat—and why, of all times, did it begin right after they started for the Globe Village?
“Coincidence,” he muttered.
“Hmm?” Nova asked.
“I’m just talking to myself.”
“All right bud. Whatever works for you.” Nova slid an arm under Odin’s side and pulled the two of them closer.
“I was trying to give you a little space.”
“I know, but I don’t want space. You’re warm.”
“Yeah right,” Odin laughed, chuckling when Nova set his hand against his shoulder and his beard raked against his neck. “That tickles.”
“Can’t help that I have a beard.”
“You could if you shaved it.”
“I’ll try and think of a smart remark for you later,” Nova said. “I’m too cold right now.”
“Me too.”
Closing his eyes, Odin scooted back until his back and Nova’s chest touched. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Nova said nothing. He merely readjusted his head and kept breathing.
After a day’s worth of travel, and when safely beneath their dome of snow and ice, Odin sat up. Nova, who had since fallen asleep, mumbled something about the cold and how good it would be to have a beer. Miko remained upright despite the extent of the day’s expense, though did not appear active despite the fact that the flame still burned.
He must be awake, Odin thought, reaching forward to set a hand over the purple flame’s warmth. “Sir?” he asked, trying to see whether or not his knight master was aware of his surroundings. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” the Elf said, raising his hooded head. From the fire’s dim light, Odin saw everything below the finely-structured nose, but nothing else. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine. I was just wondering if you were asleep.”
“Do you have something on your mind?”
“Not really,” Odin said, then sighed after a moment’s span of time. “Actually, yes sir. I do.”
“You’re free to tell me whatever you like.”
As if sensing his unease, the Elf pulled his hood down and gave Odin a small, reassuring smile.
“I’ve… seen things,” Odin said, shivering at the image of three figures—small, cloaked, and in brown animal fur—following them along the hills. “Small, brown-cloaked—”
“It’s no secret that we’re being followed, Odin.”
“Are they dangerous?” he frowned.
“No.”
“Have you told Nova?”
“Unless you yourself have said something, I’ve said not a word.”
“What are they?” Odin frowned.
“They’re called Kerma,” Miko said, crossing his arms over his thick chest. “You’ve only seen small, brown-cloaked shapes in the hills so far, but that’s not all there is to them.”
“No?”
“The Kerma are the last of a dying race. Due to a famine that struck Neline several hundred years ago, it dimmed much of their population, literally reducing their numbers to the thousands and, I sadly now believe, possibly the hundreds. It’s not from ignorance that you’ve not heard of them—they’re simply a lesser-known race in the world.”
“What do they look like? I mean, under the hoods and cloaks?”
“They have large, yellow eyes and the form of an animal, that of which you would know as a bear. Their whole body resembles an upright-walking creature, but they have the musculature of, say, a child. Most are covered in dark hair, but many bear other similar markings. The most common are twin, gray rings around their eyes. I assume it helps them see in the blinding light, but I can’t be sure.”
“You said they’re dying then?”
“Sadly, yes,” Miko sighed. “I’ve come to know some Kerma during my time in this life and every one was a fine creature. It pains me to know that I will most likely outlive the last of their kind.”