The Brotherhood: Blood (47 page)

Through all of this, Odin realized how much Nova had sacrificed. Here, two years after he had left his wife to come in search for someone a vision had proclaimed to him through a number of weeks, he had done what many would have considered little—mad, even, for the fact that he’d left all behind in order to search for someone that possibly wasn’t even real. In a way, it made him realize how important it was to hold on to the things you loved dearly—because, in the end, if you didn’t hold onto those things, and if those things suddenly disappeared without the chance to hold them dear, one would always regret they never had the chance to appreciate them.

Fourteen long days later, ice started clouding the windows.

Because of the frigid cold that plagued them day in and out, a monster of which could not be described or related to in physical terms, Odin and Nova had succumbed to wearing long-sleeved shirts and underwear that Daughtry had specially provided for them on the trip. Nova, now suffering from the beginnings of a cold, sat in one of the chairs, fingers jammed into the armpits of his wool shirt, while Odin stood near the window, watching the crystals of ice form and expand across the panes of glass over each passing moment as if they were insects crawling acoss the greatest of looking glasses.

“It’s
freezing,”
Nova said from his corner, attempting to still his chattering teeth.

“I know,” Odin sighed.

While not as miserable as Nova, he seemed to be getting there. He hoped that his raw, runny nose was a result of the weather and not some bodily ailment. All he needed was to be sick.

I won’t get the blood cough, will I?

If such a thing happened, he’d need to stay in bed and rest the cold off, which would put yet another temporary halt on their journey. He wanted no such thing. He’d waited long enough to get to where they were at for it to all come crumbling down.

“I get that, but he has to make me
suffer?”

“
You?”
Nova laughed. “You’re not the only one suffering.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not like saying you’re sorry is going to make me feel any better anyway.”

Odin sighed, once again frustrated with his surroundings, and turned to face the window only to find that it was, as it had been before, covered with ice. “Now we’re stuck without anything to look at,” he mumbled.

It must have something to do with where we’re going,
he thought, once again looking at the window.

How far north could they be? Could they have passed the Hornblaris Mountain chain, beyond the distant rim of the continent, maybe even further than that?

“Suit yourself.” Nova gasped three quick times, raised his hands, and sneezed. “I swear, I’m going to rip that Elf a new one when he gets back. It’s his fault I’m sick.”

Instead of replying, Nova spread out along the couch and brought his knees up to his chest. “I’m going to sleep,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

By the time the next two weeks came by and bestowed upon them a fresh amount of chill, all the men had donned their winter clothing in preparation for what could only be considered the most horrific weather of their lives. Hats, mouthpieces, coats, gloves, fur-lined boots and insulated pants—all clung to each sailor as though they were living, breathing organisms, pulsating and breathing with each and every stepped.

Odin, having braved the cold to examine his surroundings, stepped up onto the deck and peered out at the horizon. Chunks of ice floated in the water near the ship—some as large as a small house, others larger than the ship itself. The sight alone was enough to instill within him a sense of fear, as never in his life had he ever seen something of the sort.

Will it break?
he thought.

“Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about.” Jerdai paused, looked around as if trying to locate something, then pointed at the front of the deck. “See those two men there? Those young’uns?”

“I…” Odin paused. He waited a moment until the deck cleared and he could see the two figures Jerdai had pointed out near the bow before nodding. “Yes. I see them.”

The two men, possibly around his age if not a little older, stood near the front railing, just above where the figurehead rested and where the front of the ship eclipsed into one solid, unified point. Each chattered and pointed at the occasional iceberg, almost as if they were about to turn and run in fear, but other than that did quite little. Why they were so important he couldn’t be sure, but upon second examination realized they had to hold some merit, as Jerdai had pointed them out to him specifically.

“What about them?” he asked after a moment’s consideration.

“Domnin and Icklard are their names. They’re mages. Been with me for around two years, probably since they were around your age, maybe a little younger. Their job is to make sure the boat stays safe if we encounter any trouble.”

“If they’re supposed to help, sir, why didn’t they—”

“The sirens.” Jerdai took a deep breath. He even reached up to rub his eyes. “They tried. You might not have seen or heard them with all the commotion, but they were assisting your knight master. They channeled energy into the clouds to help fight the sharks and other monsters off.”

“Not your fault, lad. Those men willingly came knowing that they could lose their lives. I just feel bad for their women back home.”

“I don’t think I could do this,” Odin said, examining not only the deck around him, but the men whose faces appeared tired and all the less full of life.

“Good. You’re much better off on land as it is.”

Jerdai squeezed Odin’s shoulder, then took a step forward. He almost left entirely, but stopped before he could do so. “I’d suggest you be careful if you’re walking near the sides,” the captain said. “The men have been trying their best to keep the mist off the deck, but that doesn’t mean they got all of it. You might slip if you’re not careful.”

With one last pat on the shoulder, Jerdai left Odin to his own devices.

Now more curious than ever, Odin walked toward the railing, careful to keep a few steps back. If he managed to slip and go overboard, who knew how easy it would be to save him from the frigid water below.

Or from anything that would want to eat me.

The image of a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth entered his mind.

With a slight shiver, he shook his head and stared at the horizon—where, in the distance, mountainous chunks of ice floated too far off to pose any danger, threatening mortal men with their image alone. Smaller chunks near the side of the boat simply bounced off and drifted away, content with the prospect of life and their purpose within the world.

If they could talk, he imagined, they would probably say,
You don’t belong here.

Really, though—who
did
belong here, other than animals? Human men obviously didn’t, for they were no more fish than the birds that drifted in the sky, but what about the other species? The Dwarves dwelled within their mountains, content to mine their lives away, while Elves remained in their mythical forests to the south of the Ornalan Border living peacefully and without contempt. The other creatures—those mentioned briefly in his books, but otherwise not talked about—surely couldn’t exist up here. Did not the Goblins, Orcs, Trolls and Ogres need warmer climates to survive?

I don’t think I’d want to see the kind of creatures that live here, if any exist.

Then again, didn’t sentient beings capable of complex thought exist almost everywhere?

Yes,
he thought.
They do.

Jamming his fingers into his armpits, he turned and surveyed the area, his eyes once more drawn to the two young mages who stood near the bow. Maybe, if he went up and talked to them, they might teach him their ways of repelling ice away from the ship.

“At least I wouldn’t be bored,” he muttered.

And maybe I’ll make a few more friends.

Upon second thought, Odin realized that it might not be in his best interests to be friends with men he would probably never see again.

It’s worth a try.

If anything, he could at least acquaint himself with the two of them.

After crossing the short distance of the deck to stand behind the two men, Odin cleared his throat to draw their attention. When they turned to examine him, he said, “Excuse me,” then added, “Can I bother the two of you for a moment?”

“Sure,” the taller, darker-haired man on the right said. “What can we help you with?”

“The captain was just talking about you. He said you were mages.”

“That’s right.” The man smiled, then reached up to scratch at a tuft of stubble on his chin. “I’m Domnin, and this is my brother, Icklard.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Odin said, taking scope of the second, fire-haired brother before extending his hand. “My name is Odin.”

While they exchanged greetings, Odin took in the faces of the two men and tried to distinguish one from the other. They were very obviously from the same father, as uncommon as that may have seemed to be from men who lived their lives aboard the sea. Olive-skinned, with square jaws and low-set cheekbones—their eyes were fair but masculinized within their deep hollows, and each brother bore a pair of strikingly-colored eyes that, for all his understanding, Odin had come to distinguish as familiar traits to mages.

“And we help control atmospheric conditions when there isn’t wind,” Domnin, the eldest, replied. He, too, examined him with his stark-blue eyes—which, in that moment, resembled something of finely-coated ice within their very vicinities.

Unsure what to say, Odin kept his silence, jaw clamped tightly and eyes shifting between the two brothers. After a moment of reminiscing over the terrible event that had happened those few fateful weeks ago, the brothers looked up, smiles on their faces when it seemed that none could be had.

“Oh well,” Icklard said, his sigh not deep, but there. “We tried. That’s all that matters.”