The Brotherhood: Blood (87 page)
“Don’t they already though?” he asked, trembling, still unsure about the entirety of the situation. “The mages say trees and plants have feelings of their own. Doesn’t that mean they have thoughts as well?”
Nature does as nature pleases. It watches you or it does not; it pleases you or it does not; it lives for you or it does not.
“Do you want me to—”
No! I forbid you to try any such magic unless I specifically request you to. What I have done can takes months,
years
to learn. By doing such a thing, you are isolating yourself away from the powers of others. You could very well trap yourself into the very thing you are trying to transform into should your will not be strong enough.
“All right. I won’t do it.”
Good. Now stay back. I’m going to return to my original form.
As asked, Odin stayed put, bracing himself for the retransformation. It occurred as the original had—first with the layers breaking down, then with the branches on his hands returning to his body. The flowers wilting, returning to buds, then disappearing, the bark fading into skin—by the time the Elf’s original form returned, his cape and lower robe became visible, flapping in the wind as though nothing about him had changed. Strands of his hair slowly became visible as the bark that imprisoned it faded into nothing but keratin.
“This is why you brought us so far out,” Odin said, blinking as the Elf returned to his natural self. “Because you didn’t want Nova to see.”
“I didn’t want to frighten him or the Ogres that live here. Not many know that mages are capable of turning themselves into plants and rocks.”
“But I thought that mages couldn’t turn themselves into anything that didn’t have a mind.”
“Who says such things don’t?”
“They—”
“You’ve got to understanding something, Odin—just because someone tells you something doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“So this lesson has two meanings,” he smiled.
“True indeed,” Miko said.
“You’ve returned,” Sunskin said.
“What took you so long?” Nova grumbled. “And where the hell were you?”
Miko shot Nova a dirty look. The man scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was teaching Odin about the area,” the Elf smiled, setting a hand on Odin’s upper back. “Right, Odin?”
“Right,” he smiled. “Really, that’s all.”
“Like I’ll believe that for a second,” Nova mumbled. A sigh escaped his lips, but soon made way for a smirk. “Well, at least I know you didn’t ditch me.”
“We have no reason to leave you here,” Miko said, settling down on the floor beside his mother. “How long have you been awake, Nova?”
“For a little while. Not too long.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t bring you along. I figured we’d let you sleep.”
And avoid any potential fallout,
Odin thought, grimacing as a shiver traveled down his spine.
“I’m glad you returned,” Sunskin said. “I was getting worried.”
“About what, Mother?”
“I was afraid you’d run into Bafran.”
“We stayed far away from him,” Odin said. He, too, settled down on the floor, this time beside Nova. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Not if we can help it,” Nova added.
“Good. I’m glad you see it that way. There’s been enough trouble as it is, what with those humans ringing those damned isntruments.”
“The monks?” Nova frowned.
“Monks, humans, worshippers of God or Gods or dirt—I care not what they believe or practice. What I care is that they’ve been coming into our forests and threatening the children with their presence.”
“The orbs don’t hurt them,” Odin asked, “do they?”
“No. Humans are stupid, pathetic creatures, dear child. That is not to insult you or yourself, Nova of Bohren, but it is true. Their ways are tailored to fit the mold in which they were made.”
“She’s right,” Miko nodded. “They’ve been doing this since they’ve come to the island.”
“Too long for me to count,” Sunskin sighed. The rumble in her chest and throat that followed continued on for several moments afterward, trembling like a bell struck by a hammer. “Let us not talk of such things though. If it becomes necessary, we will simply destroy our village and move. We have done it once. We can do it again.”
Nodding, Odin crossed his legs, set his hands in his lap, and looked up at the Ogre.
In her dark, nearly-invisible brown eyes, he thought he saw a tear form.
That tear showed fear.
That tear showed hurt.
“Nova?”
“Yeah?”
“How come we think we have the right to take anything we want even when it isn’t ours?”
“We?”
“Us,” Odin mumbled. “People.”
“Oh.” Nova frowned. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Bowing his head, Odin closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, trying as hard as he could not to envision a mighty creature showing weakness in the most intimate of moments. Before—when young, ignorant, arrogant, and especially apathetic—he used to think that only women and children cried: that the weak, who couldn’t control their emotions, chose to let it out rather than hold it in. In those days, he used to think men with swords and arrows were incapable of feeling such things, much less creatures and monsters from lore and legend, so to imagine that after all this time, he’d been led to believe such things seemed impossible—juvenile, even. Who thought, much less believed that only choice individuals felt pain—that monsters couldn’t scream and sentient beings could not sing? Who instill these beleifs? Who said that Ogres were dumb, stupid monsters, and who said magic couldn’t, and shouldn’t, exist?
After all this time, after all this progress, why did people still say such things?
Because they can.
“Because they will.”
“Are you all right?” Nova asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Odin?”
“Huh?”
“You were talking to yourself.”
“Oh. Don’t worry—I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
Adjusting his position, Odin nodded and settled back against the monstrous mound of dirt and clay. He didn’t bother to look up when he heard the lumbering sound of foosteps approaching.
“Odin,” Nova whispered. “Get up.”
“What?”
“I said get up.”
With nearly no time to react, Odin was forced to his feet by Nova’s heavy hand before he even had the chance to stand.
A moment later, he realized Nova’s haste.
Bafran stood no more than a few feet away. Face lit in a scowl, the Ogre leaned forward and bared his teeth at the two of them. “Humans,” he growled, his deep voice reverberating in Odin’s chest and ears. “I thought I told you to stay away from my family.”
“We haven’t been anywhere near them,” Nova growled back.
“Test me, human. Your bones are no more than twigs to me.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Odin said, taking hold of Nova’s shirt and pulling him back a step. “We’re sorry. We won’t bother you anymore.”
“Your simple presence here bothers me, Nafran child. Both you and your impudent friend are no more than insects in my eyes. Had we our way, your entire race would be enslaved and forced to toil in the filth and shit that is humanity.”
“We didn’t do this to you. Don’t blame us for something someone else did.”
“You are human. You are the cuase.”
“That’s enough, Bafran.”
Odin grimaced as the female Ogre set her hand on his shoulder. Dwarfed by at least five feet, Sunskin’s prescence did little to demean the bigger Ogre’s size.
“I want them gone,” the saltwater Ogre said. “Now.”
“I don’t care what you want, Bafran Cacknea of the Ocean’s Blue Moon. These are my humans, as this is
my
son. They are as much my family as your children are yours.”
“They are a danger to our livelihood!” Bafran growled. “I won’t stand for this, Black Talon. Every day they are here further exposes us to the damned on the beaches. What will you say when your son and these humans he brings with them bring about the destruction of our tribe? What will you say,
Shaman? What
will you tell your people when they are all but dead and homeless?”
“As long as I am here,” Sunskin began, “nothing is going to happen. I have assured you this before, Bafran. If it is truly of your utmost concern that these humans are a threat to you, then by all means, leave. There are caves not far from here that are perfectly hospitable to you and your family.”
“Why should I leave when I have been here longer than they?”
“Because you are the only one complaining.”
Not a word passed from Bafran’s lips following Sunskin’s accusation.
For a moment, it looked as though the larger Ogre might lash out in retaliation. His deep-pitted eyes darkened, his lip curled over his front teeth, and the muscles in his forearm bulged as his fist curled into a massive lump.
Just as Odin knew—and expected, despite the ever-present danger—Bafran remained stoic, if somewhat-angry “Fine,” the Ogre said. “So be it, Black Talon. Our bond wears thin.”
With that, the Ogre turned and stalked into the village.
A pit formed in Odin’s chest.
Slowly, it began to deepen.
“Mother,” Miko sighed. “You shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t question my morals, Maeko. I am the one who leads this tribe, not the other way around.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s larger than you.”
“Bafran would seem fit to an untimely and painful death should he inflict harm upon any of us.”
“I… Mother…” Miko stopped. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he cast a glance out at the paling midafternoon light and sighed. It took no more than a moment for him to return his gaze to the Ogre. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. You know what I’d do.”
“His heart would be in your hands would he ever hurt me, my son. I know. I understand.”
His heart would be in your hands.
Odin swallowed a lump in his throat. While he didn’t doubt Miko could, or would, do such a thing should someone hurt his mother, the act of imaging the feat alone forced a long, cold shvier down his spine.
No one hurts his friends.
“Unless they want to die.”
“Hmm?” Nova said. “You say something?”
“No,” Odin said, shaking his head. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I think we should stay inside for the rest of the day,” Miko said, lacing his arms around Odin and Nova’s shoulders. “Mother?”
“Yes, Maeko.”
“Would you like help with something.”
“Have you taught the boy to knit?”
A faint smile crested Miko’s lips. “The perfect thing to teach,” the Elf said. “Knitting without magic.”
With his head bowed, Odin guided the yarn around his thumb and through the knitting needles, repeating the process each time with equal precision. At his side, Miko watched with intense fascination, never once allowing his gaze to slide from the long wooden needles Odin balanced in both his hands.
“I never knew you were left handed,” Nova mumbled, leaning back against his bedroll and watching as Odin readjusted his hold on the one needle.
“You didn’t?” Odin frowned.
“No.”
“I’ve been using my left hand since I was six. I kinda had to after I broke my arm.”
“Oh.”
“How come you mentioned it?”
“You’d think it’d be harder to use your left hand than your right,” the older man shrugged, reaching up to scratch his tangle of fiery chinbeard. “Then again, I’ve only ever had to use my right.”
“Which is surprising,” the Elf mumbled, eyes still set on the knitting needles. “It’s not often you hear of a farmer’s son coming out of the fields after years of work without injury.”
“No,” Nova laughed. “It isn’t.”
Sunskin snorted. Odin couldn’t help but chuckle. “You humans amuse me,” the Ogre said, shifting her massive bulk. “It’s not often you hear such trivial banter among Ogrekind.”
“What do you expect?” Nova grined. “It’s not like we’ve ever been around Ogres before. Here I was, a humble farmboy out in the hills of Bohren, thinking all you Ogres did was run around and terrorize villages. Guess you proved me wrong.”
“The false modesty used against us by your human storytellers has done much damage to our kind over the generations. It is they that forced us from the mainland with their lies and deceit.”
“How did you end up on the island?” Odin frowned. “You couldn’t have made ships, could you?”
“Dear child, we Ogres can do anything you humans can—we just choose not to. Why do you think we build our homes from clay and dirt or choose to live in tribal groups rather than cities?”