The Brotherhood: Blood (45 page)
“Sleep, Odin,” Miko said, setting a hand on his bloodied, naked chest. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”
The last thing Odin saw before his eyes clouded back was the slight figure of his master’s face.
“Odin… Odin… Wake up, Odin. Wake up.”
He opened his eyes to find the Elf standing over his bed. His first recollection and instinctive thought was to wonder why he had gone to bed so early despite the fact that it appeared as though his knight master needed him. However, in the short moments that followed, memories of what had happened earlier began to flash before him in slow motion, as if he were replaying the horror that had taken place that very evening in his mind repeatedly and without regret.
“Is… is Nova ok?” he asked.
“He’s fine,” Miko said, running a hand over Odin’s brow. “You should be worried about yourself, not Nova.”
“I don’t…”
Multiple waves of pain showered his body.
Odin looked down. Both of his arms were covered in layers upon layers of cloth.
“How… how bad are they?” he asked.
“Bad enough to where I had to sew them together to make sure they’d heal properly.”
“Can I see?”
“No. For one, I spent a fair amount of time wrapping those bandages so the open air wouldn’t get on them and into your wounds. And for two, I’d rather you not see them—at least not now, while you’re still upset.”
“I’m fine,” Odin said. “Really, I—”
Miko shook his head. “No.”
With that said, Odin crawled out of bed. Tears stained his eyes and a series of shakes so unimaginable they wracked his body overtook him in the short amount of time after he crawled from beneath the covers. Somehow, however, he was able to keep from crying, though he knew it did little good to raise his hands to cover his face and hide his eyes. It took all his will to keep from screaming.
“It’s all right,” Miko said, setting a hand on Odin’s lower back.
“No it isn’t. So many men died out there. I should’ve used my magic.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
“What?” Odin asked, a sniffle tearing the word to pieces and making him sound bloated and unintelligible.
“You were worried enough about Nova when all that was going on. How could you have used magic to save others if you were only concerned about one?”
“I…” Odin sighed. Finding nothing to say, he turned and finally let loose a series of tears that, though silent, streamed down his face and formed rivulets along his cheeks.
Miko reached forward, set his hands on both of Odin’s shoulders, and pulled him into an embrace. “There,” the Elf whispered, holding him close. “Everything will be fine. You’re both safe.”
“Where is he?”
“In another room, being tended to by other sailors.” Miko tilted Odin’s head up so they could look at one another. “Don’t worry. He wasn’t hurt.”
“Are you sure?”
“The worse he probably has is a case of the shakes, if that.”
“Why isn’t he here, with us?”
“I wanted to pay attention to you, so I asked if someone else could care for him. I also didn’t want Nova to wake up and fly into hysterics when he saw your arms.”
“Would he remember what he did?”
“I believe he would. I know nothing of the siren’s song erasing men’s memories.”
After pulling away from the embrace and taking a moment to console himself, Odin walked back to the bed and settled down atop it. He set the topmost blanket over his lap, but remained upright and instead leaned against the headrest. “What attacked us,” he said, turning his head to look back at his master. “They’re… they’re women of the sea, right?”
Although he knew his question would be unexpected, he wanted to steer the conversation in another direction—in a place where, at the very least, he could learn from this event instead of actually suffering from it. He didn’t want to think of Nova and how he’d torn his arms apart.
“Yes,” Miko said, setting a hand over one of the headrest’s intricate knobs. “Have you read of them?”
“Not a whole lot. They were mentioned in some of my textbooks, but I’d like to know more if you’re willing to tell me.”
“So long as you’re willing to hear more, then yes, I’ll tell you.”
“Yes sir,” Odin nodded. “I understand.”
Miko took place at the foot of the bed. He closed his eyes, expelled a breath, then inhaled another. “The sirens,” he began, his head slightly downturned and his eyes cast to the floor, “are what are believed to be the descendants of angels fallen from the highest parts of the heavens. You as well as anyone should know that the angels are the supposed harbingers of the gods—the ones whom, by definition and purpose, are said to deliver the souls of the dead to the other realms of the existence. They sing for the gods, trumpet for kings, sing hymns of holy power upon the death of a mortal and raise their souls from the earth. The sirens, however, were angry, bitter and jealous of those far more beautiful than them, and for that began to plot against their companions. Some, it is said, were slain, and their bodies could be seen falling from the skies and burning in the air, as a true holy creature is never allowed to touch the ground. When their crimes were committed, the gods cast them out, where they were banished to the deepest parts of the sea to forever be imprisoned to the water.”
“I thought angels were like birds?” Odin frowned.
“They bear similarities—the wings on their arms and the beaks on their faces—but true angels bear no human similarity. I believe humanity has tainted the legends and have made such creatures much more human than they actually have appeared in the past.”
“Why do they sing?”
“For vengeance, in anger, with hate. They lure men to the deepest parts of the ocean and in the final moments of their lives impregnate themselves with their seed in order to reproduce. But before you ask, I must clarify: the voice alone isn’t what lures men to the deep. The magic imbued within the note is what drives any mortal man who hears it to depths of the ocean.”
“Why didn’t I want to go to them then?”
“You’re a Halfling, Odin.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat. So that was why he hadn’t been attracted to the sound—why, on the brink of a moment, he’d been able to maintain a level head and a steady course of action while fighting with Nova?
“But sir,” Odin said. “My head was spinning.”
“You are still half human.”
“But if I was suffering from the effects, shouldn’t my body have been fighting with itself?”
“Maybe it was. Maybe the ache in your head was caused by your mortal and immortal self fighting within you.”
“But I don’t understand…”
“It depends on which side of your blood is stronger.”
So,
Odin thought, sighing.
I’m more Elf than I am human.
“All right,” he said, a bit troubled by the revelation.
“There’s nothing to be worried about. This act of your body was what kept both yourself and Nova alive. Think of it as a blessing. To know that human rationale is null when dealing with creatures that prey on mortal men is a great gift to have, especially when such creatures are quite prevalent in the wilder parts of the world.”
“I’m trying, sir. It’s just that—”
“Don’t say that you did nothing to help the others. You could do nothing.”
“But I—”
“Even I could do little more than try and keep some of the men from diving down. But, as you saw, even that didn’t work out perfectly.”
The image of a man clawing at his ears entered Odin’s mind. “I remember,” he said, attempting to shake the thought from his head.
“There are limits to what we can achieve in this world, Odin. I myself once though that because I was born of both the dark and pure that I would be more powerful than anything I could have ever possibly imagined. It wasn’t long afterward that I leaned I had just as many weaknesses as any other creature.”
“The blood cough,” he said.
“A prime example of one of my greatest faults. Can I control this? No. Can you control that you were overwhelmed with so much going on? No. I don’t believe you can, so do not think you did nothing. Saving Nova insured that he would see his wife again.”
Odin bowed his head. Here he had just tried to change the conversation, yet he’d brought it back onto himself.
“Do you want to know what one of your biggest faults is, Odin?”
“What, sir?”
“I asked—”
“No,” he said, grimacing. He waited a moment for the Elf to continue, but when he didn’t, he sighed. “I want to know what my fault is.”
“You worry too much.”
Odin blinked. “That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s a fault that can kill you. Say Nova went under, lured to the depths by the very thing that you were attempting to keep him from. What would you have done?”
“Swam after him.”
“And why would you have done this?”
“Because he’s my friend.”
“This is exactly what I mean,” Miko said. “I, as well as anyone else, would do
anything
in their power to save a companion. But let me pose another example—what would happen if you tried to save that friend from death, even if you knew you couldn’t?”
“I… I don’t—”
“You would die as well.”
Without padding to absorb the blow that was so obviously-barbed and filled with contempt, the words slid into his heart and impaled them upon their staff. They stung at his conscience, menacing hornets to the smaller parts of his mind, and left him reeling in the reality of which Miko had just spoken. What, he questioned, would he have done if Nova had broken away from his hold, or if he’d dived into the water; and what, he dared to think, would he have done if he couldn’t save Nova—and, most importantly—how would he have been able to cope with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to save his friend? Such thoughts made him delirious with pain and threatened to bring forth the tears he’d been so painstakingly able to fight.
How could he be so cruel?
“I… I think I understand now,” Odin said, forcing himself to look up at his master and face his hard, unruly eyes. Thu… Thank you for explaining it to me.”
“There’s no need to thank me.” Miko stood, rounded the table, then set a hand on Odin’s chest to guide him down onto the bed. “You need to rest now. You’ve too much on your mind as it is—I don’t need to fill it with anything else.”
“Sir—”
“I’m not asking you to sleep, Odin. I’m asking you to rest.”
“But—”
“If you ask me something else, I won’t answer.”
Miko seated himself on the bed. After turning to look at the end of the mattress, he spread out alongside Odin and drew up his legs so they wouldn’t be dangling in midair.
“Sir?”
“Goodnight, Odin.”
Miko closed his eyes.
Though Odin thought of saying goodnight, he thought better when he realized the Elf had already fallen asleep.
It was the first time he had ever seen the Elf breathe so smoothly.
He sat in a chair—book balanced against one knee, eyes downcast to look at its text—when the door opened without any prior warning. Startled to the point where he nearly jumped from his chair and arms screaming with pain, Odin turned to look at the threshold with eyes hard and unforgiving. Whom he found, however, was Nova, standing in the threshold and the rough hair at the stem of his neck
“Nova,” he breathed.
“Hey,” the older man said.
Odin glanced over his shoulder. Miko turned his head to look at the two of them before returning to his window-watching.
“Hey,” Odin replied, standing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Nova said, stepping into the room and closing the door with the heel of his foot. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“That’s good.”
Nova slid his hands into his pockets. After a moment of silence, he looked down at the floor, as if something had caught his attention, and bowed his head. In response, Odin sighed and set the book down. “Nova,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened last night.”
“Why are you telling me sorry? I’m the one who hurt you.”
“It’s not your fault. The sirens, they—”
For reasons he couldn’t immediately interpret, he could not finish his sentence. Instead, he took his first few steps forward since Nova had entered the room and wrapped his arm around his friend, bowing his head into the jut of his collarbone and trying his hardest to resist the urge to cry. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not hurt.”
“Yes you are. I tore your arms up.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
Nova set his hands at Odin’s lower back and rested his head against the curve of his neck. Odin closed his eyes when he felt his breath’s hot breath against his collarbone. He hadn’t realized until that moment that being in a friend’s arms felt better than anything else in the world.