The Brotherhood: Blood (37 page)

“Please, don’t argue with me. You’ve both been out in the heat all day. You deserve all the rest you can get, especially considering what we’re about to do tomorrow.”

Odin sighed, spooning a bit of the soup into his mouth. “All right,” he said, content with that sentiment. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Miko said nothing. He merely tipped a bit of soup into his mouth.

They started down the hill first thing the following morning.

The danger became evident immediately.

Starting at the base of the descent and growing ever so slowly as it continued down and toward the ‘Ela Alna Pass, the ground began to get bumpy and steep. In short, breathless tones, and in a way that alerted Odin to the fear within his voice, Miko instructed them to take careful steps and to correct their horses when necessary. If they started to get spooked, he said to bend down and take their lower leg to guide it to the correct spot, as to not send them tumbling down the hill and toward an untimely death.

It’s going to be dangerous,
the Elf had said,
but we’ll be fine if they don’t get spooked.

“Shh,” Odin said, calming the mare at his side. “It’s all right, Gainea. Be quiet.”

She snorted, nudging his shoulder. The gesture was enough to make him smile despite the arduous terrain. How he’d missed her all those years in the tower.

“She’s a good horse,” Nova remarked, grimacing when his stallion lashed out and nipped his shoulder.
“No!”
he cried.

“Why is he biting you?” Odin frowned.

“Because he’s nervous,” Miko said. “Nova, tell him it’s all right and stroke his face. He’s only nipping because he’s worried you’ll let him fall.”

“I won’t let him fall,” Nova sighed. He reached up and ran his hand along the animal’s jaw, stopping to rub the stallion’s one ear. “It’s ok, boy. You’re not going anywhere so long as you’re with me.”

The horse grunted in response.

“Sir,” Odin said, grimacing when he misjudged his step. He gripped Gainea’s reigns a little too hard to keep himself from falling and received a grunt of displeasure in response. “How are we going to sleep?”

Slowly, with eyes concentrated and focused, Odin watched it soar down the hill and bounce up the juts and bumps in the earth, its surface flailing as though gifted with arms and other unnecessary limbs. When it disappeared from sight, Odin started to reach for his friend, fearing his own body would repeat the same action, but stopped in midstride. “Sorry,” Odin said.

“For what?” Nova asked, the side of his lip curling down to one side. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re gonna get there eventually anyway.”

“We’ve been going for nearly thirty days.”

Miko said nothing. Odin didn’t want, nor expect him to. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d reiterated that they would be getting there eventually, but he didn’t particularly care to hear it.

Well, he’s right.

Still, being reminded didn’t help much.

“Hey, Odin,” Nova said, reaching out to slap his shoulder with the flat of his palm. “I’d race you down the hill, but, well, we can’t really do that.”

“I know,” he laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We’ll be entertained on the boat,” Miko said.

“You’re
still
not going to tell us?” Nova asked.

“Come on, sir,” Odin added. He couldn’t help but smile at how he sounded.
“Please
tell us.”

“I’m not telling you,” Miko said.

The laugh that followed shortly thereafter was enough to inspire warmth within Odin’s heart. It sounded much like something pure—a child, a bell, a dove cooing on a cold winter’s night or even a whisper of wind on a hot summer’s day. The world could have ended and yet there would be that one sound—echoing, endlessly, throughout time, a testament to things great, wonderful and magical. Such a sound was to grace oneself with the gift of hearing something free, and when Odin caught Nova smiling as well, he couldn’t help but realize that it had not only impacted him, but his friend.

Miko turned his head down. While his face was still hidden behind the hood of his cloak, Odin could still trace the slight presence of a smile upon the Elf’s lips. “Well, thank you,” the creature said. “I appreciate it.”

Overhead, the moon glowed and cast a haze about the area that made the hills seem haunting and completely lacking respect. Coupled with fog, which hung low to the ground and clung to their ankles like incessant children, the world around them was almost completely invisible. Each step taken in blind faith, each look managed with a world of unsurety, they continued toward their destination as though mad, consumed by their desire and enraged by their passion, and despite the fact that it seemed at any moment they would fall, they persevered, their hearts lost to the world below.

Lunging forward, the man pressed his hands against the stallion’s torso and clasped his arms around its sides. It took all of the man’s willpower and physical strength to keep it up, and even then it faltered a few paces before evenly writing itself in place.

“Let’s stop,” Miko said, this time without an ounce of regret.

Though they stood on uneven ground and were very likely in a place dangerous to tread upon, Miko retrieved the nails and passed them out, pausing to look at Nova’s stallion before returning to his own mount. Odin thrust his nail into the ground, purposely angling it in the hopes that Gainea wouldn’t be spooked sometime during the night.

Miko spaced his horse away from Odin’s and Nova’s—mostly for its large size, but also because of the creature’s solitary personality—before walking to Nova’s mount. There, he raised a long, gloved hand, then ran it over the creature’s face and down its neck before his shoulder.

Though he said nothing, Odin instinctively knew his master spoke with the animal. While the air was not filled with energy known for higher forms of magic, it tingled in a way that was reminiscent of earthly things, much like entering an area recently hit by lightning or stepping into a field freshly burned and devoid of life. The wheat beneath your feet, the bones within the earth, the flesh and blood and living things crushed beneath the weight of a body—a brief shiver ran across Odin’s arm and crested the curve of his collar before skirting off his body, leaving him with a sense that he’d just been touched by something he could not see.

“I thought,” Nova began.

“He is,” Odin said.

Nova frowned. He retrieved the saddle from the stallion’s back and set it on the ground to his left. Here, Odin assumed, they would sleep—backs up, heads facing the direction in which they’d just come from. The positioning, while awkward, would take a while to get used to, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about rolling downhill.

Could you stop if you ended up rolling down?

“I spoke with him, told him everything was all right and that the fog wouldn’t hurt him, that it was just colored moisture and that it would do nothing to harm his person or his companions.”

“I…” Odin paused, then shrugged. “If you think so.” In one swift motion, he pulled his saddlebag off his mare’s back and settled it down beside Nova’s. “Are we sleeping here, sir?”

“Yes. It’d also be a good idea to arrange our bedrolls side by side, so we don’t have to worry about getting too far away from each other.”

“Guess I’ll be in the middle then,” Odin mumbled.

Nova laughed, slapping Odin’s arm when he bent to set sift through his own saddlebag. Odin then rose to take his master’s bag, looking up at Nova once he’d arranged them side-by-side.

“I
am
the shortest,” Odin smiled, rising.

Odin frowned. The way Miko had spoken bothered him, particular for the fact that he’d tightened his cloak around his body and because his voice had been so low.

He just needs a little rest,
he thought, nodding.
That’s all.

“Goodnight, sir,” Odin said. “Night, Nova.”

“Night,” the two replied.

Sliding into the bedroll until all but his shoulders lay beneath the covers, Odin watched the foggy area with little interest and allowed his mind to wander with but a leash to restrain it. Though tired, the buzz from the day’s hazardous travel would keep him awake for a fair while, at least until the moon began to shimmer in the east. Then, before he had time to fall asleep in the deeper parts of night, he could wake Nova and things would be just fine.

And tell him to let Miko sleep.

He couldn’t be sure how long his master stayed awake at night, but it had to be a long time, particularly because of recent changes in his behavior that seemed off and not in the least bit like him. The Elf seemed tired—unaware, even, of his surroundings or the people he traveled with. Earlier, just before they’d ground to a halt for the day, Odin had asked whether or not his master was fine and received no answer, even after he’d asked more than once.

In the end, even though he’d pushed himself yet again to ask once more, Nova had said to leave him alone, and that had been that.

When he thought about it in pure detail though, it wasn’t as though he could just leave his knight master alone, especially if there seemed to be a troublesome affair about. For one, he owed the Elf more than he could ever give in return—his freedom, his life, his newfound wings and the ability to fly from the place that had once caged him so. Along with this, his conscience would never rest easy if he simply ignored the Elf’s emotions. He’d never been one to shut someone out should they want to talk, nor had he been one to ignore those who obviously needed someone to talk to. Even though he hadn’t had that sort of experience before, he knew that, should the time come when someone needed his support, he could offer it, if only because of his compassion and the way he truly cared for those around him.

On a whim, when his thoughts seemed too troublesome and heavy for their own good, Odin lifted his hand and ran it through the mist that covered the ground.

Instantaneously, the haze of moisture parted for his fingers, offering passage to a nonexistent destination before sealing the way once more.

It’s… not even cold,
he mused.

Then again, was mist
ever
cold?

At his left, Nova muttered something. The man rolled over shortly after, leaving Odin to ponder just what had been uttered from his friend’s lips.

He must be asleep.

Sitting until the bedroll came up to his waist, Odin held his hand in front of him, palm up, and decided then and there to summon a small orb of light, his sights intent on trying something he’d never done before. With the same method he’d used to shape the water, he twisted and contorted the image of light reflecting from the moisture and garnered from the moon’s light into something that partly resembled a dog. The form, though concrete, was not perfect. The struggle to keep it together was greater than he imagined it to be.