The Bond of Blood

by Kody Boye

  “Your permission is granted!” one called back. “But what are you, cloaked creature?”

  Odin grimaced.

  Creature.

  So—despite the guise, they knew that Miko wasn’t just a large man in a cloak.

  “That is of no concern right now,” the Elf said, lowering his hand to grip the oar. “My name is Mikaeisto Unaistaio. We mean you no harm.”

  “Then come forward. Only those with wicked hearts would see fit to step onto a land only to harm those innocents who inhabit it.”

  Miko resumed paddling, carefully navigating a group of sickly rocks and a sandbar that lurked just beneath the surface.

  “Why didn’t you answer them?” Odin asked, touching the Elf’s arm. “Won’t they think we mean harm if we ignore them?”

  “I didn’t ignore them, Odin. I chose not to reply. There’s a difference.”

  Sure there is, he thought, shaking his head.

  He reached down to make sure his sword had stayed buckled at his side. While he didn’t think the monks would pose any danger, mostly because Miko had said they were men he’d want to meet, there was no harm in being cautious, especially around strangers.

  “I’ve met too many to be that dumb,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Nova asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He looked up at his knight master. “Will we stay with them, sir?”

  “For a little while,” Miko said, the flexing muscles in his arms visible even through the black cloak. “I think it would benefit you to listen to whatever they’d like to say.”

  “Why are they here, sir?”

  “That would be a question better left for them to answer.”

  “All right.”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll answer anything you’d like to ask.”

  When they came within a few feet of the beach, Odin kept quiet, eyes following what few monks had continued along the tree line, waving their curled hands as though connected to a greater instrument. The others who had remained behind watched them with indifferent eyes, waiting for the strangers to set foot on their land.

  “Just stay calm,” Miko said, stabbing his oar in the sand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing happens to the two of you.”

  With uncertainty clouding his thoughts, Odin stepped out of the boat and took his place alongside his knight master. Nova, meanwhile, struggled to remove himself, further complicated by his broad frame and the heavy scythe he carried with him. The ever-patient monks waited, lacing their fingers together and allowing their hands to rest about their pelvic bones. None of them spoke until the red-haired man came forward.

  “We welcome you to Ohmalyon,” the lead monk said, bowing his clean-shaven head, “Odin Karussa and Novalos Eternity, as we welcome you, grand being in black.”

  “We thank you for your kindness,” Miko said, bowing his head in turn. “I would like to request safe passage into the forest of Ohmalyon.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I am raising my squire to be a knight. I would appreciate the opportunity of letting him experience a land that few grown men have ever seen.”

  “There is no reason for a squire to enter these woods and cause trouble with our brethren,” the monk said. “Please, turn back while your boat still waits.”

  “We mean no harm to anything that makes their home in these woods. My words are true. We seek only to rest, not bother anything that may inhabit this place.”

  The monk said nothing. Instead, he looked at Odin, blinked—most likely at the sight of his red eyes—and waited. After a moment, he took a deep breath, but nodded. “I see no reason that you three cannot enter if you feel as though you must,” he sighed, looking back up at Miko. “That is, if you don’t cause trouble.”

  “We won’t.” Miko set a hand on Odin’s back. “Would it be possible for the three of us to stay with you for a few days, to recover from our long journey at sea?”

  “That would be no trouble, so long as the three of you don’t mind sleeping in the same room.”

  “We’re a party,” Nova grunted, shifting the scythe against his shoulders. “We’ve slept together since we left Ornala almost three years back.”

  “All right then,” the monk smiled, turning to face the stone building. “Follow me, my friends. We’ll get the three of you settled in, then we can talk about whatever you want.”

  “So,” the monk said, leaning across the stone table to face Odin. “You came from Ornala then?”

  “Yes sir,” he nodded, lifting his hands from the table. “I’m training to become a knight.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “A year-and-a-half.”

  “You’ve done well for yourself,” the monk agreed, turning to gesture a boy of about fourteen over. “Parfour, my boy—would you be kind enough to fetch our guests some water?”

  “Yes Master Beal,” the boy said, bowing his head. He scurried out of the room a moment later.

  “You have boys here?” Odin frowned, watching the wooden door cling shut.

  “Why yes,” Beal smiled. “We do.”

  “Why?”

  Miko cleared his throat. Odin, realizing his behavior, bowed his head, cheeks burning a bright scarlet. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “There’s no need to be sorry, my son,” the monk said, setting a hand on his back. “But, to answer your question: we have several young men among us.”

  “How come?”

  “Many come from bad or troubled homes. Most of their parents abandoned them to the streets or left them in the company of strangers that did not take care of them. We offer homes they do not—and, most likely, never will—have.”

  “What all do they do here?”

  “They learn what they would’ve in our average society,” Beal said, smoothing the folds of his robes before crossing his arms over his chest. “The majority of them learn the things we teach—discipline, valor, respect for others. Some choose to do other things though, like sing, paint or write. We’re quite diverse with what we let our young men do.”

  “This place is very old,” Miko agreed, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered. “You do very good work, Master Beal.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the man nodded, turning just in time to see Parfour return with the water. “Thank you, young sir.”

  “You’re welcome, Master.”

  The boy set an ornate, stone-carved goblet in front of the monk, then walked the curve of the table to give Nova one. He nodded, offering Nova a polite smile before making his way toward Miko. He stopped, examined the cloaked Elf for a brief moment, then offered the glass, which Miko took with a small nod and a quiet thanks.

  “Thank you, Parfour,” Odin said, accepting the glass as the young man offered it.

  “Yuh-You’re wuh-welcome,” the boy replied, surprise lighting his eyes. Odin imagined he’d never been addressed by name by strangers.

  “I regret to inform you that I have business to attend to,” Beal said, taking one last sip of his water and rising. “Parfour, can you stay with our guests and assist them with anything they may need?”

  “Yes, Master Beal, sir.”

  “Thank you.” The monk returned his focus to the three of them, eyes lingering on Miko. “If you need anything, please, feel free to ask the boy. He’s here to help you with whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” Miko said, sipping his water. “We appreciate your generosity.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” Beal smiled, turning to leave.

  Odin watched the old man leave with a strange, disturbing sense of peace. While he’d seemed polite and used his authoritative figure properly, something about the monk bothered him, like he was a dirty bird contaminating fresh drinking water.

  You’re just paranoid, that’s all.

  Looking up, he smiled at the younger man and sipped his water. “Do you like it here?” he asked, setting his glass down.

  “Muh-Me?”

  �
��Yes you,” Odin smiled. “It’s all right. You don’t have to be so proper.”

  “We don’t care,” Nova grunted, kicking his feet up on the table.”

  “Nova!” Odin laughed.

  “Shut up, kid—I’m tired.”

  “I can take you to your rooms, if you’d like,” Parfour offered, heading for the door.

  “We can wait for a moment,” Miko said, turning his eyes on Nova. “Unless you’d like to leave now, Nova?”

  “I can wait. Don’t worry.”

  Miko nodded. He lifted his glass, his long, gloved nails wicked in the subtle light pouring in from the high open windows.

  “You never answered my question,” Odin said, looking back up at the boy. “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s all right,” the boy shrugged, rubbing his robe-covered arms. “I don’t have to do a whole lot, other than listen to what the monks say and go to classes every few days.”

  “It sounds like a nice life,” Odin agreed. “And there’s a nice view.”

  “I guess.”

  Parfour looked down. Odin followed his gaze, imaging he’d seen a rat or something similar scurrying across the floor. As he figured, nothing except the cold, hard ground lingered at his feet.

  He’s nervous, Odin thought, scratching a cheek.

  “I’m ready,” Miko said, rising. “Would you escort us to the room we’ll be staying in, Parfour?”

  “Yes sir,” the boy said, stepping back so Odin could rise from his stone chair. “Please, follow me.”

  “Everything’s made out of stone here,” Nova grunted, adjusting his position on the blankets arranged below him. “It hurts my back.”

  “The blankets aren’t helping?” Odin frowned.

  “Not really.”

  “We have extra,” Miko said, sorting through the largest of their four packs. “Would you like another blanket, Nova?”

  “If you want to get me one, sure.”

  Miko pulled a quilt from the pack and passed it to Nova, who folded it double and spread it across the length of the stone. Unlike a normal bed, the stone that the Tentalin monks slept on had head and footrests, which appeared to have been carved out of the wall, but Odin couldn’t be sure.

  “How long will we be here, sir?” Odin asked, sitting on his bed of choice.

  “Not too long,” Miko said, lifting his head to look at the wooden door. “I don’t like it here either, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Why?” Nova frowned. “They seem all right, if a little strict.”

  “Their ways bother me. The young men have little time to themselves, and what little they do is spent sleeping. They’re forced to stay here until they come of age, or until they escape to the boats that occasionally come to drop off supplies. Or worse—they flee to the woods.”

  “Is it really that bad here?” Odin asked.

  “You tell me,” the Elf said. “You’re the one who saw Parfour turn his eyes away at your kindness.”

  Odin nodded. He’d just started to shut the image out of his mind until his master mentioned it. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, spreading out along the blankets. “I’m just thankful that I had such a good father.”

  “Me too,” Nova said. “Even though the man wasn’t my real father, he still took care of me.”

  “You had a good man to raise you,” Miko said, pulling an extra blanket for both himself and Odin out of the pack. “It’s easier to grow up if you have a stable parent.”

  “Do you remember your parents, Miko?”

  “No,” the Elf said, “I don’t.”

  While Miko turned, dropped his pack near the foot of his bed and began to smooth a new blanket out over it, Odin thought about his father and how it would’ve been to grow up without him. He dared to think about what would have happened if he would’ve grown up on the streets of Felnon as a child and how he would’ve survived.

  There weren’t any children without their parents in Felnon though.

  The thought alone made him shiver.

  “Will it be cold tonight?” he asked.

  “No,” Miko said, pulling his hood down. “It won’t.”

  He woke feeling warm.

  Odin opened his eyes to find himself alone in the room. He considered staying in bed, but decided against it and crawled out from beneath the covers, bent at the foot of his bed, and fingered through his pack until he found a fresh pair of trousers and a new jerkin.

  “Nova!” he called, pulling the new pair of pants up his legs. “Miko, sir! Where are—”

  “They’re not here.”

  Odin jumped.

  Parfour stood in the open threshold, watching him with curious eyes. “Are you all right?” the boy frowned, setting a hand on the wall. “I heard you calling and wasn’t sure if something was wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Odin said, shrugging his arms into his jerkin. “And don’t worry—I’m fine.”

  “All right.”

  The boy remained in the threshold, watching him run his hands through his hair and over his face. When he reached down to button the jerkin, the boy’s eyes followed his hands to his chest, seemingly marveling at the way his fingers snapped and secured the buttons in place.

  “Are you all right?” Odin asked, looking up at the young man.”

  “Ah-I’m all ruh-right.”

  “You don’t seem like it.”

  “Why don’t you thu-think that?”

  “You seem uncomfortable around people.”

  “I…” The boy paused. Shrugging, he stepped into the room and crossed his arms over his chest, soon leaning against the wall. Like he did yesterday, he stared at the floor, not able—or willing—to meet Odin’s eyes.

  “I used to be like you,” Odin said, reaching for his sword that rested in the nook beneath the bed.

  “What?”

  “Always nervous, afraid of what people were going to say or think of me. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the most normal person you could meet.”

  “Your eyes are red,” the boy nodded. This time, he looked up at Odin, his pupils a startling shock of green-brown sparkling with just the slightest bit of orange. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I was talking to you, Parfour. Don’t think that you can’t talk back when I say something to you.”

  “All right.”

  Odin stepped forward and set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, hoping, but not sure, if Parfour would give him his full attention. At first, the boy started to turn his head down, but stopped. Apparently, something about the look in Odin’s eyes gave him his full attention.

  “You want to show me around?” Odin asked, tightening his grip on the fourteen-year-old’s shoulder. “I’d love to get to know you a little more.”

  “Ah-Are you shuh-sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Odin smiled. “Come on—let’s go.”

  “And this is where the monks train us to fight with our staves.”

  “Wow,” Odin said, stepping into the huge, sand-covered sparring circle. “It’s… so different from what I’m used to.”

  “Your sparring circles aren’t covered in sand?” Parfour frowned.

  “No. They’re covered in dirt or mud.”

  “Oh.” The boy shrugged. “All right.”

  “Are you any good?” Odin asked, lifting a staff from its rack. He traced the polished wood, surprised at its smooth texture and its eccentric shape, in which a bulb of carved wood adorned each side of the weapon as well as in the center, between where the user would place his hands.

  “Oh, we can’t,” the boy said. “Please, don’t—”

  “Why not? Will you get in trouble?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “There’s no one around to see us, Parfour. Come on—spar with me.”

  “I don’t know,” the boy said, looking down at his feet. “Please, don’t make me, Odin.”

  “If you don’t want to, I won’t make you. I’m just saying—if someone say
s something, I’ll just say it was my idea. That way you can’t get in trouble.”

  “I know better though.”

  “So do I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun, right?”

  Parfour chose to remain silent. Odin sighed, set the end of his staff in the sand, and waited for the boy to respond.

  I don’t know what they did or told him, he thought, but whatever it was, it’s completely warped his personality.

  “Parfour,” he started.

  “All right,” the boy said. “I’ll do it.”

  “You will?”

  The young man nodded. “I will,” he said, lifting a staff of his own. “I… I don’t think we’ll get into trouble.”

  “We won’t,” Odin smiled, taking a few steps back to allow Parfour entrance into the ring. “Tell me something though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How come your rings are filled with sand?”

  “Beach fighting,” the boy said. “Pirates sometimes come and try to raid. They never get past the beach.”

  “I bet,” Odin grinned. “You ready?”

  “Whenever you are,” the boy mumbled.

  Tightening his grip on the staff, Odin began to walk the outer edges of the circle, nodding when Parfour began the same motion. He waited—trying to gauge whether or not this small, meek boy would attack first—and watched his feet, thinking back on his duel with Nova in Ornala and how easily his friend had taken him out.

  Watch your feet, he thought, readjusting his grip on the staff.

  “Are you nervous?” Odin asked, hoping his question didn’t sound like a taunt.

  “No,” Parfour said. “I’m waiting.”

  Oh, Odin smiled. They teach the same kind of fighting they do in Ornala.

  It couldn’t hurt to initiate the fight.

  Stepping forward, Odin thrust his upper body to side to side and threw a thrust at Parfour, ducking when the boy returned with one of his own. Surprised, caught off-guard by the boy’s agility and stumbling as the sand shifted, Odin barely had time to jump and avoid a sweeping attack.