The Brotherhood: Blood (93 page)

“So what do we do?” Odin frowned.

“We take Parfour,” the Elf began, “and return to the castle. Only testimony from the boy himself would convince the court that something should be done. The Tentalin Isles aren’t governed by your king, regardless of what anyone thinks or believes. Only activity that causes harm to the Ornalan people can merit an investigation on foreign soil.”

“Which means—”

“Yes, Odin, Nova. If Parfour is dead, or the monks refuse to give us to him, we may have to face coming off this island as heathens.”

Tension filled the air. Wrought with worry, despair, agony, crime, and everything that could and would be wrong with the world, they sat in the antechamber awaiting Beal’s assembly, all the while trying to maintain a semblance of sanity and secure their troubles.

Nearby, a servant boy stood with his back to the wall, eyes warry and full of caution.

Something’s not right here,
Odin thought, trying his best not to squirm in his seat.
His eyes.

Calculating, crab-like, centered on each and every one of them at any given time—the boy seemed abstract, unsure of his surroundings, but dead-set on keeping track of everything that went on within the room. From the brief shift of Miko’s hand to the slack, nonreserved drum of Nova’s fingers on the stone table, nothing seemed to go unwatched or unnoticed. For that, it seemed, he was a spy—a rat, some would describe him, keeping track of his surroundings to report back to his emperor.

Those without secrets had nothing to hide. Those that did had everything to lose.

Looking up, Odin had just enough time to catch the boy looking away from him before the door opened.

Stepping into the room, the most despicable man Odin ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon set his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gestured him out of the room. Brown-green eyes indifferent, Beal turned his gaze on the shrouded figure sitting at the end of the room and smiled. “Ah,” Beal said. “I figured it would be you.”

“Congratulations,” Beal said, tipping his head in Odin’s direction. “It must be liberating to know that your training is finally over.”

“Yes sir.”

But it’s even more liberating to know that I’ll be putting bastards like you in jail.

It took all of his willpower to keep from lashing out. Hand balled into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm, he lowered his appendage onto his lap and forced a smile, one Beal quikly returned.

“I’m sorry,” the monk continued, settling into a chair at the head of the table. “I assume you didn’t come to listen to me prattle on. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“As you already know,” Miko began, “my time with Odin is almost over. Since he’s almost ready to ascend to knighthood, this leaves me without someone to help me with my current affairs—an assistant, more or less. Though I’d be the last to say that I am completely helpless, I can say without a doubt in my heart that my time with these young men has been some of the greatest I’ve ever experienced.”

“I can imagine,” Beal said. “To counsel young minds and shape them for the future is a brilliant thing. A man can give no better gift to a boy than guidance.”

And the snake bears its fangs,
Odin thought.

“Which boy”? the man asked after a moment of hesitation. As though startled into submission, he reached out to steady himself on the table, but even then, that did little to conceal his quivering lips and shaking eyes.

“I think you’re asking the worng question, Beal. I think you should be asking what purpose he serves for
you.”

“Bastard.”

“I know what you’re doing here, Beal—I know what each and every one of you are doing. I know what the men who sail into the docks of Elna and Ornala are doing, I know what they’re doing when they bring those unruly or incapable onto their boats, and I know what you’re doing when they bring him here.” Miko stood. He circled the table with his arms hung slack and his fingers flushing in a single, rhythmic pattern. As if drumming chords across a harp, he played the situation into his own hands, dealing cards when they came and tossing them when they went. He played the knight and checked the king, struck the queen and destroyed the cavalry. He did all of this thing with his words, not might, and with his eyes set on Beal’s body he advanced forward, pressing himself further into the room as though ready to strike him down. Finally, when he stood no more than a foot away from the Tentalin monk, he dealt the single and final card, the only one that neeed be played. With his head held high and not a slight amount of his face showing, he said, “Tell me, Beal—how does it feel to know that you’re touching something you know you’re not supposed to?”

“Fuck you.”

“No, Beal—I’d like to know, specifically how you keep the boys quiet when you have visitors. Is it that you…
trust
them? Is it because you…
torture
them? Is it because you…
lock
them into little rooms during the day and wait to let them out at night? You know you can’t let
all
of them out during the day, so you let one or two out, maybe three if it strikes your fancy. That’s why you let Parfour out a year ago when we first arrived on the island, wasn’t it?”

Miko’s sword was out and resting against the monk’s neck in a moment. “If you move even one
breath
closer,” the Elf said, “you’ll never have the chance to hurt anyone again.”

“All right,” Beal breathed. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Just don’t expect to be welcomed onto this island again.”

“Don’t worry,” Miko said. “I won’t.”

They were out of the monastery no sooner than they’d gotten in.

Parfour in tow, they stole along the beach and retreated into the forest.

Bloody, bruised, without the majority of his clothing and his right eye swelled shut, the boy couldn’t help but sob as Miko brought him to the ground and wiped his hair out of his face.

“There,” the Elf whispered, tipping Parfour’s head up to examine his injuries. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be just fine, Parfour.”

“What happened?” Odin asked, falling to his knees at the boy’s side. “What’d they do to you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Parfour managed, bringing his legs to his chest. He shivered as Nova set a blanket over his shoudlers, but made no move to continue what he’d just said. Who could blame him though? Who could blame a boy who’d gone through inexplicable, unmountable tortures, all for the sake of one man’s twisted pleasures? Who could blame him for staring at his feet, losing himself in his thoughts and a world imagined to deal with the harships of his life, and who could blame him when he took his time to muser up the urge to turn his head up, to look into his savior’s dark, hidden eyes and ask the question everyone had been waiting for him to ask? Who could blame the boy when, after an eternity of staring at his feet, he sighed, took a deep breath, and asked, “Why me?”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Odin whispered, setting his hands on the young man’s back. “I’ve wanted to save you since we got on the island.”

“What the hell did they do to him?” Nova asked. “It’s like they threw him into a ring and told everyone to have at it.”

“That’s probably what they did,” Odin sighed. “He looked up just in time to see Miko set the boy on Nova’s bedroll, but said nothing in regard to the young man’s ordeal. Instead, he took a deep breath, expelled it, then reached up to run a hand through his hair, all the more troubled at their current ordeal. “I still can’t believe he screamed when I told him that. My ears are still ringing.”

“Anger is expressed in many different ways,” Miko said, frowning when he brushed a piece of hair from the boy’s face. “Some hurt one another, others scream and cry until their purpose has been met. It’s only natural that he would react this way. He’s been abused for months, maybe even years. Be thankful he didn’t do somhing more drastic.”

“As it stands, no—I don’t think so. We’d need cold water if we were to bring the swelling down, but the only way to get that would be from the ocean, which wouldn’t work anyway because the salt may harm his eyes. Even if we
did
go and get it, we’d have to deal with purifying it… which would require a fire… and might draw the monks.”

“You don’t think they’d try anything after what we pulled, do you?”

“I highly doubt it, but there’s no reason to put ourselves in danger. As far as both I and the monks are concerned, we’re nowhere near the beach, nor do we intend to be.”

“What happens when the Anabelle comes?” Odin asked. “What’ll we do then?”

“The monks would be hard-pressed to attack us while there’s a crew of fishermen nearby. Beal’s pride’s been hurt enough—he’ll leave us alone when the boat comes.”

In the back of his mind, Odin knew that the boy dreamed of nightmares long past. How, he didn’t know. He didn’t bother to question it. He didn’t need to.

They watched the beach throughout most of the night.

Barely able to sleep and startled at each and every moment, Odin lay awake, watching the slow rise and fall of Parfour’s chest while listening to the low wheeze of Nova’s breath. Behind him, the older man readjusted his position and pressed his chest against Odin’s back, likely trying to reap the warmth of his body.

On a night without fire and nothing to guide them, Odin shivered, thankful for his friend’s closeness.

Shrouded in darkness, each shadow became a movement, each snap of a twig and whisper of the wind a man watching from the darkness. Arms poised with weapons, faces lit in sneers, it would take but a moment for them to jump from the shadows and sink their blades into their backs, thereby cutting from the world a life which had horribly wronged them so. It would be glorious, Odin knew, for people who robbed others were horribly-wrong, even when it seemed as though their rights were just.

Forcing the image from his mind, Odin closed his eyes.

He opened them almost immediately.

Shifting, Miko raised his head, black hood a harrowing visage in the darkness. “You can’t sleep,” the Elf mumbled, clearing his throat to smooth his raspy voice. “Can you?”

Odin said nothing.

It doesn’t matter if it’s dark,
his conscience chastised.
He can still see you.

He’s not going to let you get away with this. He already knows you’re bothered by what’s going on.