The Brotherhood: Blood (96 page)
“I’m not sure,” Icklard frowned.
“He could’ve had trouble with the tide,” Domnin shrugged, leaning forward and cupping his hands over his mouth. “Sir! Sir! Are you all right?”
The Elf’s head snapped up instantly.
The swiftness of the motion nearly sent Odin tumbling over the edge.
“He seems fine,” the older brother nodded, giving a nervous chuckle as the shrouded figure turned his head and surveyed the area. “I don’t think he’s hurt.”
How could you tell with all the black he’s wearing?
Odin thought, but somehow resisted the urge to speak.
Taking a few steps back, he allowed the brothers to call a handful of fishermen over in preparation for the Elf’s arrival, only pausing to nod at Icklard when the brother turned to look at him.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Odin mumbled, pushing the thoughts out of his head. “Nothing happened. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Regardless, the creeping sensation of doubt lingered at the small of his skull, pressing its weight against his back and taking his arms by the wrists.
Could Miko have run into trouble with the tide, like Domnin suggested, or could something more sinister have happened?
They don’t use bladed weapons. It’s against their religion.
Despite that, however, would the monks have cornered him, defying their religion in more ways than one?
Something crossed his back.
The wind, the air, the presence of something powerful and far greater than he could have ever possibly imagined—it panted in his ear and licked the nape of his neck, preparing to sink its fangs into his spine in but a moment’s notice.
Religion,
the gilded thing breathed,
is one to some, another to others.
How things invisible and dainty could speak the truth, and how evil could mask itself in folds of robes or adorn itself in crowns of gold, if only to deceive those naïve enough to be controlled.
Careful to maintain his composure despite the presence of an emotion that very well could have manifested itself from the dark energy of his thoughts, Odin watched a group of men string a rope over their shoulders and drag it to the side of the ship. Muscles heaving, arms bulging, they pushed forward, grunting and groaning as the rope balled itself around their limbs and tightened to what looked like an almost-unbearable pressure.
For a moment, Odin thought they might drop the rope, thus losing it to the sea. Only when they passed it off to a pair of other men and began stringing it through a series of pullies did he breath his sigh of relief.
“Sir!” Odin called, leaning over the railing. “Are you all right?”
As though startled, the Elf jumped. His boat almost flipped over in the process. “I’m fine,” Miko said, steadying his rocking ship against the side of the Annabelle. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure? I can lift you up if you need me to. I can—”
Odin stopped.
A flicker of movement below Miko’s vessel startled him from speaking.
Oh shit.
“Jerdai,” Odin whispered, grimacing as the captain came up behind him. “Do you see that?”
“See what?” the captain replied, leaning close to his lips.
“Whatever just moved below his boat.”
“Yes, my boy—I did.”
“What was it?”
“Couldn’t tell. If you ask me though, it looked like a worm.”
“A worm?”
“A serpent, lad. Though I’d be damned to say they didn’t exist this close to the mainland, I’d be lying if I said they didn’t.”
“Why would a sea serpent follow a boat?”
“Curious, maybe. We get the big ones coming off the coast of Elna because of the warm water, but I highly doubt this one’s anything like that. If anything, it’s a young’un that got separated from its pod and is following the biggest thing that moves.”
“Sir,” a nearby shiphand said. “Did you see—”
“Shut your damn mouth,” Jerdai hissed. “He doesn’t need to know there’s something swimming around just below his boat.”
“Then what do we—”
“Toss him the ropes and tell him to secure himself in place. We don’t want to dump him out when we’re pulling him up.”
Nodding, the shiphand returned to the pulley, where he threw the ropes overboard and began shouting isntructions down to the Elf who could possibly cease to exist in the following moments.
“All right!” Jerdai bellowed. “Are you ready in three… two… one…”
The pulleys snapped into action.
Leaning forward, Odin watched and prepared for the worst.
As the boat rose into the air, shifting and shaking in the absence of water, Miko reached out and slid a rope in both hands, taking care to keep his body steady as the small canoe tilted to accommodate the pull of the ropes. Like his companions before him, the Elf remained calm and collected, listening to the isntructions the shiphand offered as his body slowly tilted at an awkward angle.
With everything going so smoothly, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.
Odin took a deep breath.
Here we go,
he thought, tightening his grip on the railing until his fingers hurt.
He’s almost—
A pulley snapped.
Miko’s body flew to one side and the bow of the boat plummeted toward the sea.
“Shit!” Jerdai cried.
“Sir!” Odin screamed, terrified at the sight of his master hanging on to only one rope. “Are you all right?”
“What the hell happened?” Nova roared. “What’s wrong with your fucking pulley?”
“The ropes on the front end snapped!” a shiphand cried, raising his hands as Nova advanced on him. “I swear, sir! I swear! It’s not my fault! Huh-Huh-He must be tuh-too huh-heav—”
In a fit of rage, Nova pushed the man into a group of others, who made no move to step forward as the red-haired fury growled and made his way over to the broken pulley. “How do you expect to get him up now?” Nova asked, glaring at the two men who’d prepared the contraption. “You can’t pull him up with just one of them, now can you?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the other man sighed. “Icklard, Domnin—can you lift him up?”
“I don’t know,” Domnin frowned. “We’ve never tried lifting someone who can use magic before.”
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Odin frowned.
“It doesn’t work because the resisting magic usually cancels the aggressing magic out,” Icklard sighed, running a hand across his forehead. “There’s no way we could lift him. His magic would probably kill us if we tried.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“The only thing we could do is try to lift the boat.”
“Then do it!”
Taking a deep breath, Domnin lifted his hands and sparked them to life.
Aided by his brother, the now-dangling end of the canoe lfited from its skewed position, allowing Miko to touch down and steady himself on the vessel.
“I’m going to snap the other ropes,” the Elf said. “Odin—help them keep the boat afloat.”
“Sir,” Odin said, gently pushing Nova out of his way. “What if something happens?”
“Then to the sea I go.”
The ropes snapped without warning.
The fishing boat dropped at least a foot before Icklard and Domnin steadied it.
“A little help,” Icklard mumbled.
“I thought you could move the Annabelle,” Odin asked, spreading his conscience into the boat.
“We can,” Domnin said, “when we’re not forcing it to do something it isn’t supposed to do.”
“Just keep the boat steady,” the Elf said. “I’m going to push it forward now. You might feel resistance, but don’t fight it. Allow it to control your magic.”
Odin and the mage brothers nodded.
As though strung like ragdolls, all three of them stumbled back as the Elf spread his influence into the boat. Like being pushed by something that could not be resisted, Odin, along with the mage brothers, continued to stumble back until all three of them stood with their backs against the mast. By this time, Miko had gained enough momentum to push forward without dipping into the pool of magic currently laid out before them. He pushed the boat forward until the bow crested the tip of the railing, then lessened his hold on the mages before him. A group of a dozen fishinghands, Nova included, rushed forward to pull the canoe onto the ship.
What seemed like an eternity of tug-and-pull pressure later, Odin and the mage brothers stumbled forward, relieved of the unearthly pressure.
“Are you all right?” Odin frowned. “Sir, are you—”
A trickle of blood fell from the Elf’s side.
“You’re hurt.”
“Yes, Odin—I am.”
“Who—”
“It doesn’t matter. Please, just take me to our room. You must tend to my injuries.”
Odin wasted no time.
Wrapping his arm around his arm around his knight master’s side, he pressed a hand to the wound and pulled him toward the stairway.
Warmth spread up his arm and made its way into his chest.
It wasn’t until they touched down at the bottom of the stairs that Odin realized he’d cut his hand while stumbling back into the mast.
A sword, a dagger, a jagged piece of wood or a broken chunk of metal—it didn’t matter what pricked his flesh and took his blood for its own.
With broken skin pressed to an immortal’s bleeding wound, Odin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He couldn’t worry about it now.
His knight master was hurt.
“What happened?” Nova asked. “Who the hell did this to you?”
“Not now Nova,” Odin said, parting the folds of his knight master’s cloak. “Sir…
sir.
Look at me. Are you all right?”
“I’m… fine,” the Elf mumbled, eyes glossy and struggling to remain open. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Right near your fucking heart,” Nova growled, balling his hand into a fist. “I swear, if we were anywhere near that island, I’d—”
“
Nova,”
Odin sighed. “Please, not now. I know you’re mad, but getting angry isn’t going to help anyone in this situation. If you’re not going to help me, please, get the hell out of here.”
“Odin—”
“Nova,
please
—for just this once, keep your big mouth shut and do what I tell you.”
The older man said nothing. Reaching forward, Nova tangled his hands in Miko’s cloak and began the long and lengthy process of removing the ensemble. Freeing the cape from the Elf’s broad shoulders, unslinging the clasps at his neck, undoing the intricate brooch and the pin and needle that held it together—he ran his fingers along the Elf’s chest and undid the buttons on the long-sleeved shirt beneath, popping each individual one unil he reached the bottom. There, he slowly, and carefully, pulled the fabric away from the skin, taking extra care not to rip the wound open in the process.
Anger visible in violent flushes of color upon his face, Nova looked up at Odin with sad eyes.
Look,
he mouthed.
Crossing the room and making his way around the bed, Odin set the medical supplies on a nearby table and sighed when he saw the wound.
No.
Though not shallow, the thin wound opened just beneath his underarm in a single, clean flush, as if the attack had been concise and not in the least bit hindered by any reciprocatory strike. There was no tear, no push, no flush or even a jagged exit wound. Whoever had stabbed the Elf had taken extra care not to be noticed until the very last moment.
“Sir?” Odin frowned, falling to a knee beside the bed. “Does it feel any different than it should?”
“It feels fine,” the Elf whispered, eyes closed with no signs of reopening. “I feel pain, but it isn’t unbearable.”
“Go find someone who can help us,” Odin said, glancing at Nova before reaching for the washcloth. “I don’t know how to help him.”
“Your inexperience is my fault,” Miko continued, chest slowly rising and falling. “I should’ve taught you how to tend wounds.”
“It’s fine, sir. Just… don’t talk. Stay quiet for me.”
“I will, Odin. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.”
With one last look at Nova, Odin pressed the washcloth to his knight master’s side and closed his eyes.
Slowly but surely, his head began to tingle.
Hand throbbing, he took a breath of his own.
It’s starting,
the gilded thing breathed.
You’re becoming him.
“No,” Odin whispered. “I’m not.”
In the corner of the room, Parfour raised his head and frowned.
“It’s fine,” Odin said. “Don’t worry—we’ll have whoever comes down look at your eye too.”
“My eye’s fine,” the boy mumbled. “It’s him I’m worried about.”