The Brotherhood: Blood (85 page)
“You killed it bare-handed?” Odin frowned.
Of course he did. Why else would his nails be covered in blood?
“Yes, Odin—I did.”
“How’d you manage that?” Nova smirked.
“I’m not as raucous as I appear to be, Nova. I am an Elf after all.”
“I’m not saying you’re loud or clumsy, but how can you hunt bare-handed when you’re so big?”
“Very carefully,” Miko smiled. “Very,
very
carefully. Odin chuckled. The Elf flashed a grin and set a hand on Odin’s back. “I trust the two of you slept all right last night?”
“I slept fine,” Nova said. “Odin?”
“I did too.”
“Good,” Miko said. “I was worried that you might be cold in just your bedrolls.”
“My people have no need for shawls of fabrics,” Sunskin said, looking up just as she pulled the top layer of a rabbit’s skin off with one mighty tug. “I am sorry if you were uncomfortable, fire-hair and red-eyes.”
“We were fine,” Odin smiled. “Don’t worry.”
Nova nodded his agreement.
With a grunt, Sunskin tore the rabbits head off and tossed it next to the flayed piece of skin. Odin nearly gagged at the brutality of it.”
“I’m sorry,” the Elf murmured. “Don’t expect my mother to change her habits just because she has guests.”
“We won’t,” Nova grinned. Odin pounded his chest and coughed a few times. “Gonna make it, bud?”
“I’ll live,” he managed between another cough.
“Would you like to take a walk?” Miko asked. “I’m sure you’d both appreciate a breath of fresh air.”
If only he knew,
Odin thought.
It didn’t take long for him to follow his knight master out once Miko stood and made his way for the entryway.
“Stay close to me,” the Elf breathed. “We’re strangers here.”
“Don’t most of them know you?” Odin frowned.
“No. They don’t.”
Shifting, Odin glanced at a group of Ogres standing on the side of the road. Each bearing a slightly-different color, the tallest and most-dominate male looked the color of burnt orange, while the two beside him bore variations of green and grey. He wondered why the Ogres would look so radically different in color from one another, then figured that they had to have come from different bloodlines.
Just like people.
It could be true, in theory. The people in Neline looked pale as sheets, unexposed to the sun and not in the least bit burnt, while those from the Cadarack appeared to have been born from the rock itself. With their black skin and their hollow, sunken eyes, they looked different only because of the climate they lived in. Pale men did not need to be dark without a sun and dark men did not need to be pale when there was a fireball in the sky constantly shining overhead. For that alone the idea of the Ogres’ colors being based on their lineage didn’t seem too outrageous.
Continuing on through the village, Miko turned left and began leading them down a long path. Just like the road before, this one lay blanketed by varing sizes of mounds. Some only as large as a small shack, like Sunskin’s, others as massive as a small armony—each varied in size and design. Some even bore handprints or insignias in their mud or clay surfaces, clearly signifying who or what lived there.
“What do the insignias mean?” Odin asked.
“Well,” Miko said. “As you already know, my mother is the Talon of the Black Heart, which is why you’ve been seeing claw-shaped markings on some of the homes. Others—like the half-circle with the sharp, triangle point—sifnigy lineage.”
“But everyone here’s part of your mother’s tribe?” Nova asked.
“Yes, Nova—they are.”
“Why is lineage important then?” Odin offered.
“Just like we are proud or ashamed of where we have come from, the Ogres are as well.”
“How many different tribes are there on this island, sir?”
“I couldn’t say for sure,” Miko sighed, stopping in midstride. He looked up as a lumbering Ogre of fourteen or fifteen feet approached.
“Nafran of the Talon’s Black Heart,” the Ogre said, leaning forward to look into Miko’s eyes. “Why have you brought humans here?”
“They are friends, Bafran of the Ocean’s Blue Moon. You have no need to worry for you or your children—they will not harm you.”
“My children do not need to be corrupted by human filth.”
“I understand your concern, but as I’ve said, you have no need to worry. They—”
Bafran growled. He raised a hand as if to strike, but only curled his fist, clenching it until the joints popped. Each individual noise sounded like bones breaking in a human’s body.
He’s so,
Odin thought, then stopped.
In looking at the creature, saltwater-blue and bearing pockmarks of dark violet across his upper arms and shoulders, he seemed to be nothing more than an animal—raged, confused and disoriented, as though something about his current surroundings and happenings was plaguing him to the utmost degree. It was possible, all things considering, but could their presence really have that much of in impact on this community?
Possible.
When the Ogre lowered his fist and returned it to the ground, his knuckles crunching into the dirt and debris below him, the creature thrust its head forward, almost so close that his and Miko’s noses touched, and growled, “I will have no trouble crushing your bones, Nafran. Keep your humans away from my family and we will not have trouble.”
“Understood.”
Turning, the Ogre lumbered down the road, mumbling things in a language that made Odin’s knees shake. It was only when he was sure that the creature would not turn around and survey them did he begin to shiver.
“We have a problem,” Nova mumbled.
“It appears we do,” Miko nodded.
“Bafran has no need threatening you to get his point across,” Sunskin said.
Odin grimaced as the pot the Ogre boiled in popped. Liquid spat in an eager attempt to inflict harm upon the shaman, but came nowhere near close enough to actually burn her.
“I would not have mentioned this were I not concerned for my friends, Mother.”
“I understand, Maeko. Do not fear telling me the happenings of you and your friends’ travels. I do not judge based upon what others do to you.”
“What does ‘Nafran’ mean?” Odin frowned.
“He called you a Nafran?” Sunskin growled.
“Yes, Mother—he did.”
“I will see that he is punished for calling my soul such a vile thing.”
“No. I don’t want any trouble following us while we’re here.”
“Maeko—”
“I know you care for my feelings, but there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ve been called worse.”
Trouble in her old eyes, Sunskin turned her head down and continued to stir the soup, occasionally adding spices and peppers that resembled something like stars alight in the bright night sky.
“To answer your question,” Miko said, drawing attention back to him,
“Nafran
is an Ogre word for bastard-blood.”
“Why would he call you that though?” Odin frowned. “You’re not a bastard. You don’t even know if your real parents are even still—”
“Alive,” Sunskin nodded. Miko turned his head away. A throb of guilt sounded in Odin’s chest. “He has been called a Nafran since I pulled him from the sea.”
“You’ve never told us about that,” Nova said. “You were at sea?”
“I don’t know, Nova. I was only a child.”
“Before humans came to the island,” Sunskin said, “we used to live along the beach and bring fish in from the sea. One day, while I was tending to the nets that once ran along the shoreline, I saw what appeared to be a piece of wood entangled in the seaweed’s folds. When I came closer, the waves came up and started tossing the debris. I soon realized after that it wasn’t a piece of nature when I heard a child crying.”
“Which is why I’ve been called a Nafran ever since I can remember understanding the word,” the Elf continued, turning his dark eyes on Odin and Nova. “I was tossed at sea and left to die.”
He couldn’t have,
Odin thought.
He’s too… too—
“Not all things are pure,” Sunskin said. “Even the most beautiful of creatures can be wicked.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I… I didn’t know.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Odin. Whoever my parents are or were, they didn’t care enough to merit my presence. I do not take my life for granted.”
“Nor should you, my son.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“Come. Let’s not talk of such things any longer. Food is ready. We must not let it go to waste.”
Odin settled down on the floor only to find himself sinking lower.
How could someone have done something so cruel?
How could someone have tossed a child at sea?
They spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for both the day and the intruding feelings to end. Inside—pressed together with an Ogre, an Elf and a fellow human being—Odin felt claustrophobia set it. In took hold of his chest, squeezed his heart, threatenened to overwhelm him as though he were nothing more than a spider trapped within a glass bottle with water pouring in from above—images of a tower and a large, locked door came to mind and nearly sent him over the edge, toward the place where madness lay hungry and present like a dog starved and awaiting its kill.
Heart pounding, he took slow, deep breaths and waited.
When night fell, fireflies came out to play.
Ranging from the occasional, small group to larger swarms of about three or four dozen, they spirited amidst the mounds and danced to the sound of the wind. Several, in ritualistic lust, latched onto one another and began plummeting to the ground, only to save themselves at the last minute and return to the air as though nothing had happened. This bizarre, if somewhat-beautiful display brought warmth to Odin’s dark heart and secured within him a sense of peace he had not felt since their encounter with the saltwater Ogre.
While Sunskin slept and Nova dozed in the corner, Miko sat in the entryway, watching the spectacle unfold.
“Sir?” Odin asked.
The Elf glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Can I sit with you?”
Miko set a hand on the spot beside him. Odin wasted in no time in taking his seat. “Have you been watching them?” the Elf asked, extending a hand out of the mound. “They’re quite beautiful.”
“They are,” Odin nodded. A firefly broke away form the group and made its way toward them, then took its place on Miko’s extended nail. So close up, Odin could make out the pulsing bulb on its throax and its glistening, veiny wings, so waxlike that they could have very easily been crafted by a goddess. It arched its body as though stretching, pumped its wings, then took flight to rejoin its group. “Wow.”
“It’s quite a sight, this island at night.”
“How come we didn’t see any fireflies by the beach?”
“Too cold, windy. They prefer the woods.”
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier, sir.”
“Hmm?”
“When I asked you what it meant to be a Nafran.”
“Oh.” Miko paused. “Don’t worry. I’m not upset.”
“You say that, but I know.”
“You read me like a book, my friend.”
“It’s because you’re not bothering to close your cover.”
The Elf smirked. Odin couldn’t smile.
“Like I said,” Miko continued, “there’s no need to worry about how your question did or didn’t effect me. I am not prone to insult or injury.”
“I know, but it’s never nice to have feelings hurt.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Scooting closer, Odin reached across his knight master’s back and gripped his shoulder. He said nor did anything for the next several moments, simply enjoying the closeness and the bond they shared. After he felt he’d done his part, he withdrew his arm and set it in his lap, content with his gesture and what it had accomplished.
“They’re beautiful,” Miko whispered.
“Sir?” Odin frowned.
The Elf said nothing. He only continued to watch the fireflies.
Like a creeping spider slowly making its way up a tree, the sun rose over the horizon and gave birth to the light of a new day. Birds rose from their slumber, cawing and crowing in glee and grief, Ogres shuttered to and fro, and Odin, barely conscious, tossed and turned, tangled in the folds of his bedroll.
Child.
The voice, deep but female, rumbled in his head.
Still your meaningless shakes.
He settled down.
World bleary, eyes unfocused, he caught one glance of the Ogre before he drifted back to sleep.
Later, after his body calmed and his mind fully came to consciousness, Odin pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths in order to gain his bearings. Outside, an Ogre passed by, dragging what appeared to be the bloody carcass of a giant pig in tow.