The Brotherhood: Blood (10 page)

Sighing, he touched the glass of water that sat no more than a breath away from him and fingered the moisture that beaded down and along its surface. He was, surprisingly, shown mercy in regards to his situation, for he’d been given the drink free of charge. The kindness there could only have been because of his age—or, at the very least, because he was here without his father and any money in the entire world.

Could he, he wondered, possibly request the barkeep or even the cook to let him do a simple job in exchange for one small meal?

I’ve never worked before,
he thought.

Though he knew all-too-well that such a thing would come at a high price, given the fact that he was in the capital and nowhere else, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would once again have mercy bestowed upon him if only for the fact that he was so young.

That’s ridiculous.

Who was he to kid himself over such sophisticated manners? It would take much more than simply washing the dishes or preparing food he barely knew how to cook to get a meal in exchange for his services.

Bowing his head, Odin stared directly into the glass of water and tried to make out the slight reflection of his face, all the while silently praying that he would not have to worry about encountering any more trouble, at least until his father arrived and beat him within an inch of his life.

To keep his spirits high and his attention set throughout the day, he watched the bartenders and the people they served as if they were animals currently sprawled out before one another expecting to be watched. Some lifting their hands in grand flushes, others speaking in tones and voices that Odin found almost unbearable to listen to, he watched over the course of several hours as men became too staggeringly drunk that they had to be physically removed from the bar by armed guards and as waitresses carried trays upon trays of food to almost each and every table within the settlement. With each platter set down he felt the familiar stab of pain within his gut—that feeling of which one had gone without food for much too long—and every time he caught one of their eyes he begged, silently, for some form of mercy.
Feed me,
he would have said, had he the voice or the inclination to speak up and ask for pity.
I’m here alone and I’m hungry.

When darkness fell upon the world, Odin found himself all the more wary at the fact that he’d seen neither his father nor any members of the caravan outside the bar’s window.

They’ll be here eventually,
he thought, idly toying with the bottom of his empty glass of water.

They’d have to be, he knew, because he’d managed to make the trip in less than a day’s worth of time. If they hadn’t yet come through the gates, they would soon. He knew in his heart that much was for certain.

On the opposite side of the bar, near where the stairs lay in easy access to lead up to the second floor, Odin caught a slight disturbance in the shadows and shivered when he felt a chill wind blow through the open bars doors.

What was that?

Could it have been just as simple as it seemed to be—a wisp of air and nothing more than that—or did the figure that watched him from the shadows seem to have a more deviant purpose: something that, while obscured, could easily be revealed in but a moment’s time?

Not able to know, Odin pushed himself further back into the chair he currently sat in and turned his attention to the barkeep—where, from his current perspective, he could see the slightly-aged man talking to the waitress who appeared ready to leave and embark home for the night.

Nearby, he caught what appeared to be a small, fleeting form making its way through the door and instantly sobered up at the image.

The little girl had returned—this time, however, with a figure in tow.

Great,
he thought, bowing his head.
Now I’m busted.

The little girl’s father had returned just in time to give him a lesson in dealing with children the wrong way.

When Odin turned his eyes up to allow himself a better look at the figure who’d appeared alongside the little girl, he found himself captivated by a splendid robe that fell all the way from the bottom to the man’s neck all the way to the tips of his toes. Flanked in color on both sides in shades of grey and blue, his hood pulled up to hide his eyes but doing little to obscure the strong chin beneath it, Odin merely watched in horror and fascination as the figure drew nearer.

Is that,
he thought.

The smile cresting the curve of the man’s mouth cut Odin off before he could finish his thought.

“It appears as though, from what my daughter has said,” the man started, gesturing the little girl to move aside so he could step forward and before Odin, “that you have a bit of a gift yourself.”

What?
he thought.

“I’m sorry,” Odin said, shifting in his seat to keep his anxiety from overflowing as the little girl danced about the bar, waving her arms through the air as if she were ready to send yet more butterflies into the sky. “It’s just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what young sir?”

“What you’re saying.”

“It’s not often we see mages pass through these walls,” the hooded figure said, “Especially ones of your caliber.” The man paused, waited, then pulled a seat out, but didn’t seat himself until Odin gave him a simple nod. “Might you possibly know who I am, mister…”

“My name is Professor Daughtry,” the man said, reaching forward to shake Odin’s hand before drawing his arm up and around his daughter’s shoulders. “I’m the magic instructor here at the castle. I also help king Ournul examine and determine whether or not particular mages are suited for magical apprentice in the midst of pages when they pass through our gates.”

Pages?
he thought.
Does that mean—

Breath caught in his chest, mind reeling at the possibilities, Odin took a few deep breaths and settled back in his seat, all the while attempting to capture the air he seemingly had not been able to inhale within the last few moments.

“Suh-Sir,” he managed, reaching up to rub his throat, which felt as though it’d just been put in a vice-grip that had nearly broken his neck. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“It’s not difficult, Odin. We enlist mages within our knighthood based solely on the fact that there seem to be so few of them nowadays, especially within our kingdom.”

“You will be granted an audience with the king as soon as possible,” the mage said, gesturing Odin his feet with but a wave of his hand. “Come with me, young sir. I won’t have you waiting here all night and going hungry while you’re at it.”

Odin followed the professor and his daughter through the darkened streets. Led by a single, magicked hand, of which was illuminated in the most pristine blue light, Odin found himself drawn to the man who seemed to dangle his future within his fingers all the more as they made their way due west and toward the opposite side of the Outer District. Almost unable to believe his eyes not only because of the way the light was cast off the man’s hand, but at the fact that everything seemed so clear and visible, he drew closer to Daughtry’s side and watched as, slowly, he cast three orbs of blue light out in front of them, which spiraled around the radius of Daughtry’s person before setting down in front and to the sides of him.

“Wow,” Odin said.

“You’ll come to learn that this sort of magic is probably the simplest thing you’ll ever attempt,” the high made said, setting an arm across Odin’s shoulder as he continued to lead him through the streets and as his daughter skipped out in front of them. “Anna, stay here.”

“But daddy! I want to go ahead!”

“Fine. Cast your butterfly to let me know where you are.”

When the little girl skipped forward and into the darkness, disappearing from view for almost an entirely too long a period of time, Odin’s chest seized up in agony for fear that, from the alleyways sequestered throughout the District, the little girl had been taken away.

No.

“No,” he whispered.

Almost immediately after the word passed from his lips, the green butterfly, now with what appeared to be a ribbon-like tail, came into view, then began to circle around the air, assumedly directly above where Anna the little mage stood.

“There’s not a man alive in this part of the country who doesn’t know of Felnon,” the high mage said, flushing his hand out and in front of them. “Especially considering the war heroes who have risen from there.”

Rather than recant history lessons within his head, Odin drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders, then tilted his head up to the sky—where, in the deep, awe-inspiring darkness, he saw two shooting stars, closely pursued by their distinguishable tails of light.

Though doubtful that such a thing, especially a superstition, was likely to set off a chain of events in accordance to just what it was he so desperately desired, Odin bowed his head, closed his eyes, then, beneath his breath, began to make his wish.

I wish,
he thought, trying desperately to maintain hold on his sanity and beliefs as he continued forward and alongside Daughtry,
to be considered by my king to enlist within his royal army.

Odin tilted his head up.

While his wish seemed all the more obvious in light of the current situation, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d just made what he considered would be a life-changing decision.

Above, the shooting stars fell on.

Odin almost dared to ask if he could have more than one wish.

He woke beneath a quilt so vast and wide it nearly drowned him to dwell beneath it. Suffocated, as it lay so close to his mouth, and sweating for the fact that the blanket was made in so many layers of fabric, Odin pushed it off his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed, trying his hardest to gain some sense of control over his trembling motor functions and slowly but surely awakening as his mind began to grow acclimated to the air within the room.

At first unsure of where exactly he was, he merely stared at the floor, at his sock-covered feet and the wood panels below him.

In but a moment, it dwelled on him—when, from the floor below, he heard the sound of footsteps and realized he was not in a room with his father, but in the presence of one of the high mages of the royal court.

I’m here,
he thought, almost unable to believe the state of his circumstance.
I’m really here.

Unsure what to do at that current moment, he pushed himself onto the mattress and onto the floor below, then crossed the short distance between him and the window.

Outside, he looked upon the Outer District of the most famous city in the entire country and at the stone wall that separated the royals from the peasants.

Shivering with excitement, he crossed the room, pushed himself into his boots, then exited out and into the hall. From there, he looked up and down the corridor, then, as swiftly but softly as possible, descended the stairs, taking extra care to hold onto the railing for they were steep and not in the least bit forgiving.

I can’t believe I’m really in his house,
he mused, looking first at the pictures hanging on the side of the walls, then to the grand, nearly-golden wood beneath his fingers.

To think that he had stayed in such a lavish place nearly discomforted him, for the moment he stepped at the foot of the stairs he began to dwell on his father and just where he could have spent the night. He had the money, of course, to stay in the inn, and it surely would have been a fine experience. However, there was also the likelihood that the caravan hadn’t yet made it to Ornala and was still in the wilderness—where, beneath the trees, they had only just rose and began to pack the camp.