by Kody Boye
Miko bowed his head. “Mother.”
A bird cawed nearby.
Odin jumped.
Seemingly-startled, the Ogre looked over Miko’s shoulder and stared at him. “Red-eyed child,” she said, thin lips retracted in a smile to exposed flattened, yellow molars and sharp incisor teeth. “Fear trembles in your chest like a newborn at night.”
“Yuh-Yes.”
“Still your trembling. You fear nothing of things that do not hurt you, no?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—”
“He is but a child, Mother,” Miko said. “Excuse his actions.”
“I do not fault a human for looking upon something he has never seen, my son.”
“Excuse my lack of empathy.”
“You are pardoned.”
Stepping forward, Miko set a hand on the Ogre’s shoulder and slid it down to her elbow, where he laced his arm through the gap between her body and leaned against the massive structure of her left arm. “Nova, Odin—if you would.”
“My lady,” Nova said, stepping forward. “It is an honor.”
Why isn’t he afraid? Odin thought, watching his friend fall to his knee. How can he just stand there and… and do that?
Lips pursed, but eyes hard as ever, Nova bowed his head the moment the Ogre reached out and set her hand over his entire back. “Who might you be, kind human?” she asked, index finger stroking the length of Nova’s arm. “I sense within you a great third eye.”
“I am Novalos Eternity of the Bohren Highlands, great lady.”
“It is a pleasure to know that such a soul has been with my son, Novalos Eternity of the human highlands.”
“Thank you.”
“And you, child, who shakes so violently. Who might you be?”
“Uh-Uh-Odin Kuh-Kuh-Ruse-Ah, of Feh-Fehl-Non.”
“Would you admit yourself so I may touch your hand?”
“Yuh-Yes.”
Something told him if he refused, Miko would never forgive him.
With weight in his heart and iron in his head, Odin stepped forward and took Nova’s place, only bowing his head when he could no longer bear to look at the creature’s face. Her dark eyes, her high but hollow cheeks, her flaring nostrils and her expressionless smile—all did nothing to ease his worry, but everything to enhance it. When she touched his arm, he tensed, instinctively tightening his muscles to protect himself. But after a moment, when her hand encapsulated his side and her finger stroked his back, he realized she wasn’t going to break him in half or pull his arm out of its socket and relaxed. “You’re not hurting me,” he whispered.
“It was never my intention to harm you, child. Why would I take an infant from the sea and raise him as my own if evil clouded my heart?”
With nothing to say, Odin bowed his head and accepted her touch, willing himself to relax each and every muscle. A few times, he felt a tingle work its way up from his tailbone and stop at his neck, but didn’t think much of it until he remembered her status as the village shaman.
Is she using magic on me? he thought, exhaling, then inhaling a deep breath. Is that why I’m loosening up?
“Are you,” he paused, swallowing, “using magic on me?”
“No, my child.”
“Then how am I—”
“Her touch is healing,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s shoulder. “It heals the sick, eases the weary, calms the frightened.”
“As is the way of the shaman,” the Ogre said, pulling her hand back. “You have nothing to fear of me, child; nor do you, Novalos of Bohren’s Highlands. Come, my son, my friends. Your journey was long and restless. You must eat and rest within walls of wonder.”
The Ogre turned and made her way into the village, but not without waiting for her son to come to her side.
The first thing Miko did before they got too far along was lace his arm within his mother’s.
“It’s been a long time,” Odin said, taking stride alongside his friend.
“Yeah,” Nova nodded. “It has—not only for us either.”
Odin didn’t bother trying to shake the feeling of the Ogre’s hand from his body.
He let it be.
In the darkened, hollowed space of the dirt mound, Odin settled down against the wall and watched a son bond with his mother for the first time. The intimate gestures, touches, looks, eye contact—all spoke of a connection that Odin couldn’t imagine dreaming of, much less having in a physical manner. Like butterflies to a freshly-blooming flower, questions fluttered to his consciousness, tickling his forehead and aligning the hairs on the back of his neck. What, he wondered, was it like, to have a person who raised you as if you were their own son? Did you feel loved, wanted, secure, peaceful, apathetic to the dangers of the outside world and comforted by a body warm and placid, or did you simply exist as though it were no different than having a father instead of a mother? One could say that one type of parent over the other could be interchangeable and that a father, as masculine as he was, could act on feminine ideals, and that women, oftentimes looked down upon, could assume a more dominating role in order to discipline a child, but did that necessarily ring true, especially when dealing with something that wasn’t even human?
Alienated, insecure and lacking positive emotion, he drew close to Nova and turned away from the scene.
“Something wrong?” Nova frowned.
“No,” Odin lied. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I just don’t feel like we should be intruding on such a personal moment.”
“There is nothing wrong with your presence,” the Ogre said, turning her head to face the two. “A moment treasured is a moment shared.”
“She wouldn’t have invited you into her home if she didn’t want you here,” Miko added.
The Ogre grunted. Shifting, she reached over and pulled a large, hand-carved wooden staff from her hand. A skull inlaid with two emerald-like gems for eyes tipped the top of it, though what type of creature the bone had come from Odin couldn’t be sure. Its face, twisted and gnarled, appeared old—ancient, even, as within its yellowing cracks lay dirt and possibly even blood.
“My son has reminded me that I have not introduced myself, fellow humans,” the Ogre said, lifting her head from her staff to look at the two of them, “so I shall do it now. Ogre language may be too difficult to pronounce—as my son has likely mentioned with his own, bastard-blooded name—so I will request that you call me the Black Heart. If you feel uncomfortable with this choice of recognition, you may address me as Sunskin.”
“Sunskin,” Odin murmured.
“We understand,” Nova nodded.
“Understanding is a must within our circle. I assure that no harm will befall either of you while you are within my range of sight, but I cannot promise the same should you not be close by. I urge you not to wander the village or the outer woods surrounding us. We are wise by design, but violent by nature. An Ogre will not think twice to attack you should you wander his or her property.”
“We won’t leave,” Odin said. “We promise.”
“My son is recognized by several of our tribe, as you have already seen. Should you require time away from my home, please, take him with you. If anything, his presence will protect you.”
“Is there anything else we should know?” Nova asked. “Any rules or customs?”
“Never approach a mother pregnant with child, nor the young in our tribe. Seldom do humans pass through these parts, and even rarer are the times in which our young come into contact with them. By all means, don’t be afraid to pass by or look at them for a brief moment, but don’t attempt to speak to or engage with them. It is our desire that our young remain free of human morals if possible. Also—never leave the clearing, never leave the village without permission, and never wander into the woods near the hills at night.”
“How come?” Odin frowned.
“There are… troubling things, in those woods,” Sunskin sighed. “There is no reas
on to explain.”
“We understand, Sunskin,” Nova said, sliding an arm around Odin’s shoulders. “Right kid?”
“Right,” Odin said.
“Then we’ve reached an understanding.” She turned to Miko. “How long will you be staying, my son?”
“Until the snow touches, then falls from the far mountains, Mother.”
“You may stay until you are ready to leave. Food is aplenty, and although I can’t promise you free run of our home, I can promise you there will be no lack of learning here.”
“What?” Odin asked, startled.
“I see in your eyes that you are a king-maker, Odin of Felnon,” Sunskin said, lips once again curling to reveal teeth. “Fear not, my friend. This year will not pass without triumphs.”
That night, huddled between the folds of his bedroll, Odin watched the Ogre rise and fall with each breath. Beneath her massive girth and stature lay Miko, content in sleep with his head resting on his outstretched arm. The sight itself stirred feelings of loss in Odin’s heart.
How does it feel?
Would being raised by a mother have felt any different—and by mother, a real, true woman, one of flesh and blood? Of course, the loving, more-compassionate female figure would have been a help growing up, but he didn’t blame his father for his lack of a mother, nor could he necessarily discount the work that Mother Karma had done in helping raise him. Her hand was not gentle, and while oftentimes harsh, she’d always tried to instill within him a sense of independence that, in the long run, had ultimately granted him the ability to survive even the most hellish of lonely times.
But his mother—his real, true mother… what would it have been like with her?
She died during childbirth, his father had once whispered, setting a hand on his shoulder in the darkest night—when, as a child, he’d risen from a dream in which he’d saw a woman rotting and bleeding. Your mother was a very beautiful woman, son. Her last words were—
“Odin,” he whispered. “His name is Odin.”
The Elf’s eyes stirred beneath his lids.
Odin sank his chin into the bedroll and watched his knight master with wary eyes. Surely, he couldn’t have just heard him, could he?
No. He’s dead asleep.
For what seemed like the first time since he’d met him, the Elf seemed content—peaceful, even, as though nothing could disturb him from his silent slumber. With his mother’s arm over his side and his back against her chest, how could he wake, if not for a scream or cry of anger, hurt or loss?
He can’t help what you don’t have.
“No one can.”
“Odin.”
The rough, disgruntled sound of Nova’s deep voice jolted him from his thoughts. Rolling over, he turned to face his savior from his waking nightmare.
“What’re you mumbling about?” the red-haired man asked.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I’m not stupid.”
“I never said—”
Nova clamped a hand over his lips. “You gotta be quiet,” he whispered, leaning in so close that Odin could feel the wiry stubble of his friend’s mustache against his cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Now?” Odin mumbled, voice masked by the older man’s hand.
“Better now than never, right?”
Nodding, Odin pushed himself out of the bedroll and crawled across the room, toward the wall where his voice was less likely to be heard. Nova joined him a moment later, scratching his chin and rubbing his eyes.
“Them.” Odin gestured to the sleeping Ogre and her half-blooded son.
“Them?” Nova frowned.
“It…” Pausing, he glanced over at the two, then took a deep breath. After he expelled it, he returned his eyes to Nova. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Well… don’t rush. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
“I know.”
We’ve got too much time.
Nova wouldn’t let something like this pass, especially not after being woken up.
Taking a deep breath, he gave himself a moment of consideration for what he was about to say, then said, after pulling his knees to his chest, “I was thinking about how it would feel to have a mother. I was thinking about how different it would be if your mother raised you instead of your father.”
“Weren’t you raised by a midwife?”
“Partially, yes.”
“Why are you wondering what it would be like to have a mother then?”
“Mother Karma was… strict,” Odin sighed, drawing himself into as tight a ball as possible. “She… she was much like my father, in a way.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was usually the one to discipline me, to send me to my room, to smack me when I did something wrong or scold me when I said something improper. My father… he was a bit on the soft side when I was little, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t discipline me.”
“I understand.”
“What did you do when you were my age, Nova?”
“Worked in the fields, trimmed the grass, walked around the village, dreamed of one day not being so poor I could barely eat. Not a whole lot happened. How come?”
“Just wondering.”
“Before we get any further with this, Odin, I want to say something. You listening?”
“Uh huh.”
“You can’t regret how you were brought up when you were younger, how you were disciplined, what your parent did or said, what the midwife told you or how you didn’t grow up with a mother. We’re raised the way we are because it’s the way whoever raised us think we should be. Your father was afraid of your magic. Mine was afraid that he would die and leave me alone without any work. If you really think about it, our past has shaped the men we are today. Even though it might not have been what we wanted or what we should’ve had, it’s still the reason why we came to be who we are. You understand?”
“I know.” Looking up, Odin took in the sight of Miko and his mother and tried as hard as he could not to let his emotions betray his actions. It seemed to be a snake, this thing of his, slowly curling around his heart and suffocating him whole. He imagined it large—brutal, even, with scales that dug into his skin with every squeeze and drew blood from his pores—and with his torment would come its passion, its innate need to crush him before devouring him whole. To think that he could even begin to deny what Nova had said was impossible, as his words spoke truer than anything he could’ve ever possibly thought on his own.
Does that make me selfish, he thought, to want something as simple as a mother?
“Nova,” Odin said, raising his head from the ground to look his friend in the eyes. “Can I ask you something now?”
“Might as well,” the older man chuckled. “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, right?”
“I know I’ve probably asked you this before, but… why were you so willing to leave your wife just to come and find me?”
“My father once said to follow your heart and not let anything else get in the way. I sacrificed a lot in leaving my wife—my happiness, my security, my home, possibly even my relationship. In my mind, though, and most importantly my heart, I knew I had to help you, or at least try, even if you weren’t real. Let me tell you something, Odin, and I won’t leave you without the details—I wasn’t too willing to leave my wife. It killed me on the inside to think that I would be leaving her for months, let alone years. I hadn’t even been married for more than a few months before I started having visions about you, so you can imagine how hard it was to tell her that I was leaving to find a boy I had seen while I was asleep. I got into a fight with my father-in-law the night before I left.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Look at it this way—if I hadn’t’ve left, would I be here with you right now? Would I have met an Elf and his Ogre mother or even gotten to see places and things most people don’t ev
en begin to dream of?”
“No.”
“Then don’t apologize, all right?”
“All right.”
“Let’s get back to bed. I have a feeling that they’ll wake up if we keep talking for much longer.”
“Okay.”
“Odin?”
“Yeah?” He paused. Almost halfway into his bedroll, he looked over at his friend and frowned.
“Just remember what I said. Promise?”
“I promise.”
Closing his eyes, Odin settled into the bedroll.
He fully intended on keeping his promise.
“Wake, red-eyed child,” Sunskin said, pressing her palm to Odin’s chest. “Dawn comes and the sun lights the world.”
“It does?” Odin yawned, opening his eyes. The sight of the Ogre made him jump, but he calmed down soon after. He even chuckled when the shaman’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize. Wake. My son hunts rodent in the woods. He’ll soon return with hare.”
“Sounds like breakfast to me,” Nova grunted, stretching his arms over his head. “Morning, Odin.”
“Morning,” he said, pushing himself out of his bedroll and to his feet. “Thank you for waking me, Sunskin.”
“It is my honor, child.”
Taking a moment to gain his composure, Odin reached down, grabbed his shoes, and settled down on the mound’s dirt floor. He went to work putting his boots on, securing buckles and doing up their laces. By the time he finished, Miko walked through the door with three freshly-killed rabbits in hand.
“They’re bigger than the ones on the mainland,” Nova mused. “Or at least the ones near Bohren.”
“I don’t believe rabbits could exist this large on the highlands you’re from. The altitude would make them easy prey for predators.” The Elf pulled his hood from his head and extended the rabbits to the Ogre. “Mother.”
“Son,” she nodded, taking the mammals in hand.
“Would you like me to skin them?”
“No. Rest, Maeko. You’ve done enough for the morning.”