The Brotherhood: Blood (97 page)

“Well,” the healer frowned, taking a deep breath before replacing the bandage over the wound. “There’s not much else I can do that you already haven’t, Mr. Karussa. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound already, so the most we can do now is wait to see if it becomes infected before we seal it up.”

“It’s not fatal though,” Odin asked, “is it?”

“Oh no—not at all. Given the state of his health and what… excuse me…
who
he is, I’d be surprised if this kept him in bed for more than a few days.”

“So you don’t think we’ll need to do anything else for it,” Nova nodded, drawing the curtains around Miko’s bed.

“If you’re asking if you’ll need to stitch it, yes, that’s a given.
But,
like I said, we need to watch for infection, especially since we don’t have the blade he was injured with.” Pausing, the healer glanced over his shoulder, watching for signs of movement. A short moment later, he turned his head, sighed, then said, “I hate to ask this, but what might’ve given a monk reason to stab him? I’ve never heard of such a thing, especially from men such as them. They seem so—”

“Righteous,” Odin nodded. He turned his head up at Nova and Parfour, forcing a smile even though it didn’t want to come. “Can you give me a moment, guys?”

“Fine with me,” Nova shrugged, stretching his arms over his head. “I think I’m gonna lay down anyway.”

“It’s fine,” Parfour mumbled.

With one last nod, Odin gestured the healer out of the room, making sure to close the door behind them before they made their way down the hall.

“Did you see that boy in there?” Odin asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Not until after he spoke.”

“He was with the monks until today. He… well… I hate to say this, sir, but those men on that island aren’t anything like they say.”

“What do you—”

“I’m not going to play games with you, sir, because you deserve to know what happened, especially considering the circumstance and how my knight master was hurt because of it. I just want you to promise me that you’ll keep what I’m about to tell you between us for now. All right?”

“Of course, sir. You can trust me.”

“I’ve learned you can’t trust anyone,” Odin chuckled, leaning against the nearby wall. “Especially after what just happened.”

The healer said nothing. Straightening his posture, the man fiddled with his shirtsleeves and waited for Odin to respond, all the while looking him straight in the eye.

You just have to come out and tell him. There’s no other way around it.

“The boys on that island are being raped and abused.”

A flicker of unease crossed the medicine man’s eyes. In response, the man turned his head down and stared at his shoes, as though waiting for them to come alive and swallow his lanky self whole.
“Raping
then?” he asked after several moments of indecision.

“That’s why you don’t want anyone to know,” the healer laughed. “This ship would be turned around faster than you could explain if word of this got out.”

“Which might get me and my knight master thrown in jail,” Odin nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only thing I can do is make sure Parfour gets back to the mainland safely. Right now, that’s my only option.”

“What happens then?” the man frowned. “They just leave the boys in that godforsaken place?”

“As far as I understand, most of them come from Ornala, and I know for a fact that Ournul won’t stand for this kind of behavior, especially toward boys from his kingdom. All I know is that if something goes wrong before we get back to the mainland and the monks try to argue our claim, we might get charged with trespassing, not to mention kidnapping.”

“I understand. Mark my words, Mr. Karussa—I’m not a lying man. I’d rather die than put another’s life at stake.”

“Thank you,” Odin smiled, reaching out to take the man’s hand.

“You’re hurt,” the healer frowned. A moment later, he turned his head up, eyes incredulous and mouth agape. “You were tending to an open flesh wound when you had one of your own.”

“I can’t think about that now,” Odin sighed, shaking his head. “Can you bandage my hand, please? Before we go back into the room?”

“He’s an immortal… you’ve touched his blood with your own.”

“It doesn’t matter, sir. There are others whose lives are more important. Mine isn’t one of them.”

“Sir,” Odin said, kneeling down beside his knight master’s bed. “Can you hear me?”

Though no response followed, Odin took comfort in the fact that the Elf seemed at peace. Hidden beneath the shroud of blankets surrounding his bed, his chest rose and fell in a steady, rhythmic pattern, giving birth to bliss that shouldn’t have otherwise existed in his current situation.

Lips pursed, eyelids fluttering and nostrils expanding and contracting, Miko looked anything but pained in a world where feeling didn’t exist.

Odin couldn’t help but feel envious. “I knew something bad was going to happen,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Miko’s face. “Dammit, Nova—one of us should’ve stayed with him.”

“He wouldn’t have let us, Odin—you know that.”

“
How?
We didn’t even try!”

“Shh!” Nova hissed. “You’ll wake him up.”

Sighing, Odin rose from his place beside the bed and paced over to the wall, where he seated himself into a chair and tried not to let his guilt eat him alive. It seemed tangible, this thing of his—this pain, this agony, this frustration, this grief—and with its fangs and claws it would eat him alive, slowly but surely cannibalizing his body until nothing but bones existed.

And then you’d be dead,
he thought, bowing his head and closing his eyes.
And there would be nothing you could do about it.

“Neither of us can help what someone else did,” Nova said, settling into a chair beside him. “He wouldn’t have let either of us stay with him, Odin. He was more worried about Parfour than he was himself.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Still… we could’ve tried.”

“Odin, don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not he would’ve let us stay, Nova—it’s the point. He got hurt because we left him by himself. On top of that, he had to push himself all the way back to the Annabelle by himself. I could’ve just as easily went back myself and helped him.”

“Yeah, but how could we have known someone would be waiting to get one of us alone? Think of that.”

“I…” Odin glanced down at his hand. It took only one look at the bandage for the realization to set in. “We couldn’t have.”

“Exactly.” Nova stood, about to cross the room and make his way toward the door. After a moment’s hesitation, he stopped and stared at Odin with wary eyes. “What happened to your hand?”

“No!” he cried, grimacing soon after. A wary glance at both Miko and Parfour’s beds showed that neither of them had been disturbed, or at least appeared not to have been. “It’s ok, Nova—I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Nova offered nothing more than a nod before he reached out, turned the doorknob, and left the room.

A short sigh escaped Odin’s lips.

He doesn’t know,
he thought, sinking back into the chair.

Odin woke to the silence of a still room.

Unsure of his surroundings, he opened his eyes to find himself in a chair, nearly folded over with half of his body in the seat and his legs over the armrest.

How did I get here?
he thought, pulling his legs free of the chair’s awkward bulge.
And how the hell did I end up sleeping like this?

Straightening his posture, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths as he tried to regain his composure. Outside, evening began to make its appearance known as the sun slowly fell from the sky. As it did every night, it threw itself from the world it knew and into the strange, bizarre unknown, undoubtedly and without despair. It took little to commend the sacrifice it made for the world each night. It never looked back before throwing itself from the cliff that would surely seal its fate, nor did it mumble a silent prayer in the hopes that everything would be well. It didn’t wonder whether or not its mission would be accomplished, nor did it doubt or dwell on any fault that could come from its decisions. In a way, the sun showed courage that most men could only dream of having.

It took a lot to throw oneself to the wind, toward the unknown and away from all one knew. Some died while trying. Some never tried at all. Some failed to realize their reason and turned away, while others simply refused to do so, arrogantly proclaiming that all they knew was all they should know and needed nothing more. The few that tried to do such a thing should be commended.

The sight of the heavenly star falling toward a strange and bizarre future forced tremors through Odin’s chest.

Could he throw himself away from everything he knew when they docked at the mainland? Could he really,
truly
trust himself to stand tall and proud from the moment he touched down on Ornalan soil to the moment he was graced with the presence of his king? Could he, when the time came, don his armor or bear his sword and shield? Could he free those that should be free or kill those that should be killed? Could he murder his enemies, save his friends, and give his life to a king admired and enamored across all the land? It took little to realize the cause, but to accept the consequence? What did that entail? What could happen in the span of a day, a month, a year or even a lifetime?

After all this time, could he kneel before the king, bow his head, and be touched by a sword far greater than anything his life could ever mean?

Can I?

Shit.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Odin started to rise, but stopped himself before he could. The thought that followed forced him back into his seat before he could even fully stand.

How long had it been since Parfour had last seen his reflection?

Afraid and unwilling to drwell on the obvious, Odin pushed himself out of his chair and began to take slow, calculated steps across the room. Not wanting to startle the boy, but not wanting to wake his knight master either, he paused in midstride.

Hidden in the shadows of the dark, nearly-blackeneed room, Odin could barely make out Parfour’s features. Right eye swollen over, it protruded from his face just enough to shield his good, injured eye from view.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” the boy mumbled, turning his head up to face Odin’s reflection. “You know… I never imagined that I’d look in the mirror one day and see someone other than myself.”

“This
is
you, Parfour.”

“No it isn’t, Odin. This isn’t me… this isn’t something someone would want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My mother used to tell me how handsome I looked when I was younger,” the boy said, turning his head down when he was unable to look at himself any longer. “She used to tell me that all the girls would giggle whenever I walked by because they thought I was cute. This…
this…
this isn’t something anyone would ever want.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m not normal anymore,” Parfour sobbed. “Because they don’t want someone who looks like a freak.”

“You are
not
a freak,” Odin said, taking Parfour’s shoulders and turning the boy around so he could face him. “Look at me, Parfour—if anyone’s a freak, it’s me.”

“You’re not a freak.”

“
Look
at me,” Odin said. “What do you think people think when they see that I have red eyes? Huh? What do you think it’s like to walk up to someone and have to worry about what they think just because of the color of your eyes? Or how about this—what do you think it’s like to be seven years old and not have any friends because they think you’re a monster?”

“I—”

“
Parfour,”
Odin said, tightening his grip on the boy’s shoulders. “You are
not
a freak.”