The Brotherhood: Blood (80 page)
There weren’t any children without their parents in Felnon though.
The thought alone made him shiver.
“Will it be cold tonight?” he asked.
“No,” Miko said, pulling his hood down. “It won’t.”
As Miko had said, not even the slightest amount of cold air fluttered into the room and disturbed the warm night. Odin, who had yet to be taken by sleep, rolled over to face the stone when he found his thoughts too troubling for his own good, hoping that the sight of a still, unmoving surface would put him to sleep.
Sighing, he forced his eyes shut, but not to the point where it caused him pain. He tried to push the images of young men in robes and children on the sides of dirty street corners out of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, they continued to start, taking shelter in the nooks and crannies within his head. At one point, he even opened his eyes to will away a terrible vision of Parfour arching his back in his bed, clawing at his chest as though demons inhabited his body.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, reaching up to rub sweat from his forehead. “They’re just bad thoughts.”
Despite his reassuring words, he still couldn’t believe that Parfour lived a life without troubles. The fact that he’d turned his head down in the presence of a kind stranger only proved that the monk’s teachings weren’t entirely good.
“Sir?” Odin whispered, hoping his knight master would hear. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes, Odin,” Miko said. “Come here if something’s bothering you.”
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he looked up to find Miko sitting up, all but a sheet covering his lower body. Odin stared at the Elf’s moon-brightened form for a moment, then rose and crossed the room.
“What’s troubling you?” the Elf asked, scooting back so Odin could sit down.
“A lot of things,” he sighed, taking a deep breath. “I just don’t like to see people suffer, that’s all.”
“You believe someone is suffering?”
“Parfour. He… he didn’t seem happy.”
“Seldom few seem happy in our day and age,” Miko said, running a hand down Odin’s back. “You can’t let the things that your mind wants you to see bother you.”
“Why am I feeling this way, sir? I… I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Odin. You can alleviate the burden of whatever you’re feeling by talking to someone, but only you can fight the things that rest in your heart.”
“It just seems like there’s nothing worth fighting for sometimes.”
“There are many things worth fighting for, my friend. You’ll come to find that in your life.”
“Sir, can I…” He paused. Miko waited, dark eyes visible even in the darkness. Odin wondered for a brief moment if the Elf’s eyes naturally glowed, or if he just happened to see something that wasn’t really there, before he took a deep breath and expelled it. “It’s childish, but… may I sleep with you tonight?”
“There is nothing childish in wanting the comfort of another person at your side.” Miko slifted the sheet.
“Thank you, sir.”
Miko said nothing. He merely raised an arm, rested his head atop it, and closed his eyes.
That night, Odin ell asleep with the Elf’s chest pressed against his back and an arm draped over his side.
He woke feeling warm.
At first, Odin thought that Miko hadn’t left the bed, and rolled over to press himself against the Elf’s warm body. But, as he soon found, his knight master had long since left, leaving only his warmth to signify that he, too, had slept there throughout the night.
I shouldn’t have slept with him,
he thought, drawing a piece of the blanket into his curled hand.
A squire shouldn’t ask his knight for such a thing.
Then again, wasn’t that a knight’s job—to assure that his squire stayed as comfortable and secure as possible?
It wasn’t right.
Sighing, he opened his eyes to find himself alone in the room. He considered staying in bed, but decided against it and crawled out from beneath the covers, where he walked to his own bed, bent at the foot of it, and fingered through his pack until he found a fresh pair of trousers and a new jerkin.
“Nova!” he called, pulling the new pair of pants up his legs. “Miko, sir! Where are—”
“They’re not here.”
Odin jumped.
Parfour stood in the open threshold, watching him with curious eyes. “Are you all right?” the boy frowned, setting a hand on the wall. “I heard you calling and wasn’t sure if something was wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Odin said, shrugging his arms into his jerkin. “And don’t worry—I’m fine.”
“All right.”
The boy remained in the threshold, watching him run his hands through his hair and over his face. When he reached down to button the jerkin, the boy’s eyes followed his hands to his chest, seemingly marveling at the way his fingers snapped and secured the buttons in place.
“Are
you
all right?” Odin asked, looking up at the young man.”
“Ah-I’m all ruh-right.”
“You don’t seem like it.”
“Why don’t you thu-think that?”
“You seem uncomfortable around people.”
“I…” The boy paused. Shrugging, he stepped into the room and crossed his arms over his chest, soon leaning against the wall. Like he did yesterday, he stared at the floor, not able—or willing—to meet Odin’s eyes.
“I used to be like you,” Odin said, reaching for his sword that rested underneath the bed.
“What?”
“Always nervous, afraid of what people were going to say or think of me. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the most normal person you could meet.”
“Your eyes are red,” the boy nodded. This time, he looked up at Odin, his pupils a startling shock of green-brown sparkling with just the slightest bit of orange. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I was talking to you, Parfour. Don’t think that you can’t talk back when I say something to you.”
“All right.”
Odin stepped forward and set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, hoping, but not sure, if Parfour would give him his full attention. At first, the boy started to turn his head down, but stopped after a moment. Apparnetly, something about the look in Odin’s eyes had caught his attention and he chose to give him his full attention.
“You want to show me around?” Odin asked, tightening his grip on the fourteen-year-old’s shoulder. “I’d love to get to know you a little more.”
“Ah-Are you shuh-sure?”
“I’m sure,” Odin smiled. “Come on—let’s go.”
“And this is where the monks train us to fight with our staves.”
“Wow,” Odin said, stepping into the huge, sand-covered sparring circle. “It’s… so different from what I’m used to.”
“Your sparring circles aren’t covered in sand?” Parfour frowned.
“No. They’re covered in dirt or mud.”
“Oh.” The boy shrugged. “All right.”
“Are you any good?” Odin asked, lifting a staff from its rack. He traced the polished wood, surprised at its smooth texture and its eccentric shape, in which a bulb of carved wood adorned each side of the weapon as well as in the center, between where the user would place his hands likely to balance out the weight of the weapon.
“Oh, we can’t,” the boy said. “Please, don’t—”
“Why not? Will you get in trouble?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“There’s no one around to see us, Parfour. Come on—spar with me.”
“I don’t know,” the boy said, looking down at his feet. “Please, don’t make me, Odin.”
“If you don’t want to, I won’t make you. I’m just saying—if someone says something, I’ll just say it was my idea. That way you can’t get in trouble.”
“I know better though.”
“So do I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun, right?”
Parfour chose to remain silent. Odin sighed, set the end of his staff in the sand, and waited for the boy to respond.
I don’t know what they did or told him,
he thought,
but whatever it was, it’s completely warped his personality.
“Parfour,” he started.
“All right,” the boy said. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
The young man nodded. “I will,” he said, lifting a staff of his own. “I… I don’t think we’ll get into trouble.”
“We won’t,” Odin smiled, taking a few steps back to allow Parfour entrance into the ring. “Tell me something though.”
“What’s that?”
“How come your rings are filled with sand?”
“Beach fighting,” the boy said. “Pirates sometimes come and try to raid. They never get past the beach.”
“I bet,” Odin grinned. “You ready?”
“Whenever you are,” the boy mumbled.
Tightening his grip on the staff, Odin began to walk the outer edges of the circle, nodding when Parfour began the same motion. He waited—trying to gauge whether or not this small, meek boy would attack first—and watched his feet, thinking back on his duel with Nova in Ornala and how easily his friend had taken him out.
Watch your feet,
he thought, readjusting his grip on the staff.
“Are you nervous?” Odin asked, hoping his question didn’t sound like a taunt.
“No,” Parfour said. “I’m waiting.”
Oh,
Odin smiled.
They teach the same kind of fighting they do in Ornala.
It couldn’t hurt to initiate the fight.
Stepping forward, Odin thrust his upper body to side to side and threw a thrust at Parfour, ducking when the boy returned with one of his own. Surprised, caught off-guard by the boy’s agility and stumbling as the sand shifted, Odin barely had time to jump and avoid a sweeping attack.
Shit,
he thought, hopping back only to stumble.
So he’s not as bad as he looks.
“Didn’t expect that, did you?” the boy chuckled, spinning the staff over his head. He jabbed the bulbous end at Odin and laughed when he jumped back to avoid it.
“No,” Odin laughed. “I didn’t.”
He continued to block and doge Parfour’s attachs, more than convinced he would not win a fight like this. With each step he took it seemed his body would sink—first slowly, then more quickly as his legs gained weight on looser, less-compact sections of the material below them. Occasionally, when Parfour struck outward, Odin would return a strike of his own, but any time he did the younger boy would deflect it, using his momentum in order to retaliate. The staff came so close to his head and feet so many times he thought he would surely lose, felled by a clunk to the head or a trip of the feet.
Parfour spun his staff.
Odin blocked the hit, but didn’t expect the opposing end to flip back around and knock his weapon aside.
The tip of his staff flew up, over his shoulder and struck the sand at his ankles. He was forced to drop the weapon when Parfour swung his weapon around his body and then in front of him with one hand.
Odin ducked.
Parfour’s staff passed inches over his head.
Damn,
he thought, panting, grabbing his weapon and trying desperately not to lose his footing. He lunged, throwing both his head forward and his staff at the boy’s ankles, but was once again deflected with a simple downward thrust.
“You keep going for my feet,” the boy said, retaliating with another one-handed swing of his own. “You’re not going to beat me that way.”
“I’ve always been told to go for the feet,” Odin gasped, sweat trickling down and over his forehead.
“That doesn’t work when you’re fighting a Tentalin Monk.”
Odin smirked.
Parfour faked a lunge, then spun and swung his weapon in a complete circle. Odin brought his weapon up just in time to catch Parfour’s weapon between the two bulbous orbs at the center of his staff.
Could’ve broken my fingers there.
“Your hands aren’t supposed to be that close together,” Parfour scolded, flicking the bottom of his staff up, then the top of it down, consecutively knocking the tip of Odin’s weapon into the air and onto the sand. “You’ll break your fingers.”
“I know,” Odin chuckled.
He kicked a leg out, spraying sand at Parfour’s feet.
On instinct, the boy threw an arm over his ceyes.
Odin lunged forward, then lashed out at the boy’s feet.
Wood met flesh.
Parfour lost momentum and fell on his back—startled, but otherwise unhurt.
“Damn,” Odin gasped, letting his staff fall from his grip. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” the boy breathed, accepting the hand Odin offered. He waited to be pulled up before he brushed sand and spittle off his face.
“I didn’t think you would be that good.”
“Neither did I,” Parfour smiled. “Well… I mean, I didn’t think you would be that good with a staff. I figured you knew how to use a sword, but I wasn’t sure if you’d been trained with other weapons.”