The Brotherhood: Blood (66 page)

That night, Odin huddled close to Nova, as he had in days previous before entering the Globe Village, and watched Miko sit near the enchanted fire. The Elf pulled his hood back and let his hair fall across his chest, offering but the slightest smile when he saw Odin’s watchful eyes. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Responding with only a nod, Odin set his head on his arm and closed his eyes, listening only to the sound of Nova’s deep breathing. While only enough to drown out the majority of his thoughts, the sound did nothing to ease the worry of how Miko must have felt about the pregnancy.

Could I leave my child like that?

Though he already knew the answer, he entertained the idea of what he might do or how he might feel should he have to leave the son or daughter he would one day have. If war, duty, or honor called him away from his family, how would he respond to the pressure of not knowing whether or not he would ever see that child again? Would he cry, like most fathers of worthy status and kindness likely would, or would he remain stoic and ride on, despite the circumstance and the possibility that he may never return?

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about that for a long time.

Or at least for a few more years.

The kingdom required attention, not only for the unease between Ornala and Germa, but because he was training to protect it.

Does Nova feel like Miko does?

Regardless, it was the closest thing he had to relate Miko’s feelings to. The night he’d sent the message to Katarina, Nova’s tearful passion had struck something in him that he could’ve never imagined. He’d always thought that, because he’d been locked in a tower, that any emotions other than his own would be dull, blank slates devoid of color. Those gut-wrenching two years had molded him into a completely different person than what nature should have obviously intended for him.

It doesn’t matter.

After making sure Nova hadn’t accidentally set his hand, arm or face against any part of his body, Odin crawled toward his knight master and pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” the Elf asked.

“Not really, sir.”

“All right. We’ll sit up then.” Miko draped an arm across Odin’s back and pulled him closer. He held this one-armed, half-embrace for quite a while, his breath easing in and out of his chest like some broken harp played by uneasy hands, before he sighed and asked, “Are you ashamed of me?”

“What?” Odin frowned.

“I asked if you’re ashamed of me.”

“Why would I…” He paused, resisting the urge to sigh when he realized what the Elf truly wanted to know. “I don’t have a right to answer that.”

Do?
Odin thought, trembling, the flame of unease burning within his chest so bright and hard it threatened to overwhelm him whole.

How was he to say that what he felt Miko had done was wrong—that, regardless of his actions, his merits or his intent, he had forcefully taken perhaps the most vulnerable thing from a woman whom deserved no harm or hill will? With that in mind, what, he wondered, could she possibly be feeling now? She carried within her womb an illegitimate child, a bastard whose father had run away and an individual whose fate now was held within her hands? Did she cry at night for the things that were taken, for the crimes committed, for all that was lost, or did she simply refuse to believe that what transpired was, in fact, happening?

Did she…

Odin swallowed the lump in his throat.

No. He couldn’t think about such things.

You know it might be true,
he thought, this time unable to shake the feelings from his body.
You as well as anyone should know that if a woman doesn’t her baby and there’s a mage nearby, all she has to do is—

Miko said nothing. Instead, he watched him with the same unblinking stare that Odin had become accustomed to. For the next long, several moments, he stared into the creature’s eyes, unsure of what to do or say, before, at the same time, they both turned their eyes to the fire.

“Yes, my friend, I do. It’s in times like these that I’m thankful that someone is watching out for me, because if no one did, I don’t know what I’d do.

The following day brought them to the location of where they’d been attacked by the Kerma. A once-grand chain of hills, now lying in ruin, bore the children of rock and ice, jagged across the landscape and appearing as though a clod of dirt had been ground by a mighty hand and was allowed to fall wherever it pleased. Somehow—by either sight, memory or revelation alone—old wounds flared up along Odin’s thigh and hip, slicing unease throughout his body and forcing him to reach down and grip the hilt of his sword.

You’re there,
he thought, sighing. “You really did a number on that hill,” he said, imagining the purple beam of light that his knight master had shot at the hills.

Miko nodded. Through the fur hood and the cloak, the Elf appeared to be a Kerma—a lost, dying species afraid to show its true face. While one rotted in agony, slowly-but-surely decaying away, the other suffered in beauty, one so terrible it struck more fear than awe into the eyes of his beholders.

“You think they’ll leave us alone?” Odin asked, releasing hold on the hilt of his blade.

“I don’t think there’s any around these parts,” Miko said, pointing to the toppled remnants. “Unless they’ve somehow carved shelters through the ice, which I highly doubt they did, they’ve moved on.”

“We can take ‘em,” Nova nodded. “We’ve already proved that.”

“Let’s keep going. I don’t like being at a standstill.”

Neither do I,
Odin thought, sliding up against his knight master.

Last year’s attack had been his first real test of power, and while he hadn’t escaped unharmed, he’d survived, a testament not only to his strength and prowess with his magic and might, but the luck he’d been blessed with either by chance or from some divine power. Something with as much magical power as that Kerma could’ve easily killed him, but somehow, someway, he’d managed to fend off the onslaught of blades
and
kill the chieftain.

In the distance, a mercury of blue cloud skirted across the horizon, trailing the far eastern sky. With it came lightning in shades of electric blue and hot pink, forewarning of a violent storm that would soon be headed their way.

“How long do you think until it gets to us?” Nova asked.

“Not too long,” Miko said. “Come, let’s keep moving. We want to cover as much ground as possible before we have to stop for the night.”

Outside, the world exploded in sound. The wind howled and the snow pounded against the exterior of the shelter, shaking even Miko, whom, while normally grounded, seemed to tremble in spite of the fact that they were safely within their frozen dome. Even his hands—which, for the past year, had showed little-to-no unease—shook, his knuckles popping and his fingers flourishing to the beat of some earthly sound.

Even he’s scared.

From the way the Elf had just expressed himself, Odin couldn’t help but wonder whether or not his knight master had said they would be all right just to put him and Nova at ease. It wouldn’t be completely outside his behavior, as he’d done it before, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d lied, did it?

Did he?

After lying down and scooting back against Nova, Odin pushed an arm up and set his hand against it, watching the purple-pink flames dance and lick at the domed ceiling. Their vain attempts cast Miko’s barely-visible face in dull light.

“Besides,” Nova mumbled, setting his head just above Odin’s on his own outstretched arm. “Wouldn’t the energy just lessen after you fell asleep?”

“Yes. It would.”

“All right,” Odin sighed. “I was just offering. I don’t want you wearing yourself out.”

“Don’t worry,” the Elf said, spreading out along the length of the shelter’s floor. “Besides—traveling this way hardly wears me out at all.”

That’s good,
Odin thought, closing his eyes,
because I’m ready for all this to be over.

He got his wish three days later.

Rising up from the frigid depths of the sea, much like a lost icon to the world whom had been resurrected by the arts of dark magic, the boat drifted to shore like a wanderer in the night, three large anchors keeping it in place and a series of sails slowly tilting to accommodate the slight wind that tore from the north. Amidst the few men tending the anchors, wiping up the deck and navigating the boat with the sales, a twin series of lights lit up the pale, grey sky—one green, one orange.

Icklard!
Odin thought.
Domnin!

As he neared the boat, the twin lights stopped moving, as if taking notice of the figures making their way toward the boat. The brothers appeared at the side of the boat a moment later. “Hey!” they both called, raising their hands in greeting.

“Call the captain!” Domnin yelled, breaking the chorus of his and his brother’s cheers. “Tell him they’re back!”

Somehow, by miracle or chance, he resisted the urge to feel his cheeks and instead lifted his cup of tea. Honey tickled the inside of his mouth and the bottom of his tongue as he set it to his lips. “Thank you for the tea,” he said.