The little boy let out a battle cry so loud and fierce Ectris thought for a moment it had come from a much stronger figure.
A burst of white light flew from the child’s palm and collided with the dummy.
For one brief fraction of a moment, Ectris believed nothing had happened—that this light, as surreal and mystical as it happened to be, was simply a trick of the sun playing off the little boy’s sword.
I didn’t,
he began.
Before he could finish, the dummy exploded into a plume of white.
It took him seeral long moments to realize just what had happened. His heart dead within his chest, his breath caught within his lungs, he watched as, slowly, the remnants of the construct began to fall around them—first the pole, which had shot straight into the air upon being struck, landed in the clearing, splintering and cracking in two whilst burning from the center, while the sand that had made up the torso and head showered down around them like hail from a thunderstorm. Some struck Ectris, momentarily stunning and throwing him back a few steps, while the rest fell around Odin as if he were some holy figure being blessed in the light of God Himself.
Shining in the clearing, as if he had just committed an act so saintly it deserved immediate recognition, Odin simply watched as, slowly, one of the two potato sacks fluttered to the ground and landed at his feet, the tail end burning and its companion all but ash in the wind.
No,
Ectris thought.
It can’t—
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. There was no way in Heaven, Hell, the earth or even the cosmos beyond their world that this could be happening to him—that this thing, regardless of its merit or severity, had happened to
his son,
the child whom he had raised himself. But how, he wondered, if such a thing had not happened, had the dummy exploded, then shot into the air before returning back to the earth?
Horrified beyond belief and unable to believe his eyes, Ectris pulled his son back and away from the splintered, burning stalk of wood, which lay in the clearing before them in almost two completely different places.
“Father,” Odin whispered. “I—”
“Go to your room,” Ectris said, tightening his hands around the boy’s shoulders.
“But—”
“I said go, dammit!
Go!
Odin turned and disappeared into the house almost immediately, casting his sword to the ground in the process.
Ectris closed his eyes, bowed his head, then began to tremble.
After all these years—in which he had believed his son no different than the other boys and girls—his son had been blessed with the Gift.
In the aftermath of the terrific explosion, Ectris turned his head up and looked at the remnants of the practice dummy before him.
His heart began to pound in his chest.
A brief thought occurred to him when he stepped forward and began to gather sand into his palms.
How would he raise a child whom could destroy him at any moment?
With no answers currently set before him, Ectris stepped forward and prepared to extinguish the fire burning in the clearing, all the while wondering just how he would continue throughout everyday life without ever knowing if he would be safe again.
In but one brief moment, he came to a conclusion.
His son, as Gifted as he seemed to be, could not use his magic. If he did, he might not only destroy his father, but himself as well.
Chapter 1
A god struck his anvil in the sky.
The horses protested. Some bucked, knocking their masters off their saddles, while others whinnied and screamed. As if being lashed with burning whips and forced to do bidding they did not wish to do, they tossed their heads to and fro and bared their teeth to the world like monsters from an ethereal plane. Most of the men and boys, however, managed to coach their mounts down with kicks and a simple tug of their reins, but some struggled even more, raging and screaming as the storm overhead began to grow even more ferocious.
Throughout all this activity, in which the world seemed to have been turned upside and they were meant to stand on their own two feet, one young man whispered to his mount in soft, almost inaudible words. He said to be calm and still—that regardless of the situation around them, there was no need to be afraid, for he would let nothing happen to her even if it appeared as though others were being mistreated.
Be calm,
this young man said.
There is nothing wrong.
When the horse finally calmed to the point where she remained placid and nondescript, the young man turned his eyes up and surveyed the caravan before him.
A pair of red pupils dilated.
Odin focused on the men and boys currently tending to their mounts before him.
At his side, his father’s horse snorted and kicked up the mud, feigning disinterest despite the fact that all around them, his equine companions seemed not in the least bit cooperative with their situation or their masters.
“Stay by me,” Ectris Karussa said, drawing close to Odin’s side while tugging at his horse’s reins with a single hand. “I don’t want you getting lost.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Odin whispered, trailing his eyes to the forest beyond.
It would be foolish to stray away from the group. With bandits, wild animals and other, lesser-known creatures stalking the countryside and surrounding woods, there was any guess as to what would happen were even a grown man to wander away on his own. Here, so far south of any civilization, one was bound to be attacked if they separated themselves from the group.
Before them, the men whose horses had bucked or caused them any significant amount of distress remounted and secured their harnesses to the cart pulling supplies. Odin’s father, whom had been tasked to lead the group, bellowed for them to continue down the path in spite of the storm that was brewing overhead.
“It’s cold,” Odin whispered, brushing his arms and drawing his cloak tighter around his body.
“We won’t be going much longer.”
Of course we won’t,
Odin sighed.
That’s why we’ve been going for the past four hours.
“I’m sorry,” he said, readjusting his hood across his head. “I—”
“Don’t be sorry.”
After a moment, Odin chose to relinquish himself to silence and instead concentrated on the path in front of him. None of the other boys had complained—had not, in the least, spoken up to admit their discomfort to the fathers or men who tended them. Did that make him weaker than the others, despite the fact that he had persevered for far too long?
When a hand strayed to his back, Odin jumped in his saddle, but relaxed after realizing it was only his father.
Just him.
The cold burrowing into his skin, taking shelter up along his bones and chilling his veins almost to an unbearable temperature, he drew his cloak as tightly around him as he could, bowed his head, then closed his eyes.
Maybe,
he thought, then stopped before he could continue.
No. He couldn’t. There would be no way in the human world that he would be able to do such a thing without his father noticing.
But what if I only warm myself?
Either way, it wouldn’t matter. Even if he warmed only himself with the Gift he so recklessly knew how to control, his father would likely sense the tingle in the air that he had described so many years ago—when, upon a midafternoon sparring session, he had blown a practice dummy to the sky without even trying.
Rather than think about the situation beforehand or the white flame that occasionally tickled his hand, Odin concentrated on the road that would eventually lead them to the shining capital of their Golden Country. Ornala—centerplace of the Ornalan territory, a shining icon to the testament of human prowess and strength—would soon be rising above them within the following days. Once, as a child, his father had told him about the castle and that its impressive structure had been carved out of something many considered to be gold and silver. Then, to complete its magnificence, they had polished it in the gel of melted pearls. He’d also told of its size and how, from even so vast a distance, it could be seen rising into the sky. How such a marvel had been made Odin couldn’t be sure, but in that moment, he didn’t particularly care.
In but a few days’ time, the boy in him would be stripped away to be replaced by the man he could eventually become.
A warrior,
he thought, pride swelling in his heart.
A pure, iron-blooded warrior.
“Listen up!” his father called, immediately drawing Odin’s mind from his thoughts and signaling his return to the physical realm. Above, the sky churned overhead, growling with thunder. “We’re cutting off the path and into the forest for the rest of the night! Make camp beneath the trees!”
The men whooped and cheered.
The boys cried out in joy.
“Come, Odin,” Ectris said. “Let’s set up the tent.”
Despite the howling wind and the biting rain that showered down upon them, they managed to construct and raise their tent without much trouble.
While Odin lay beneath its folds, per his father’s request both to stay out of the way and to rest after a long day’s worth of travel, Ectris Karussa stood outside, barking orders to the men he commanded and beckoning them with mad gestures to secure the supplies in the clearing that they managed to stumble across.
While dozing in between the realms of consciousness, eyes clouded over and head ready to dwell off into sleep, Odin noticed a tiny tear in the ceiling, one of which could seriously hinder their comfort come tonight.
What would he say?
Odin thought.
The itch started in his middle finger, then extended up his hand and into his arm, where it snaked up his appendage until it met his shoulder. Once there, it blossomed within his chest into a flame of desire that beckoned to be touched, but could not ever be reached in the physical sense.
Maybe, just maybe, if he were quick enough, he could mend the fabric before his father managed to return to the tent.
Lifting his finger, he concentrated on the jagged tear and willed the tent to mend itself of its own accord.
One moment passed, then two.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, as if done by its own accord, the fabric that made up the upper flaps of the tent began to sew themselves together, each individual thread twisting and curling beneath the will of his magic to form one greater, finer instrument.
In light of his newfound discovery, Odin couldn’t help but smile.
I did it,
he thought.
I did it!
The tent flap parted.
Odin’s breath caught in his chest.
His father—whom, up until that moment, had been ignorant to his activities—stepped in, mouth agape in horror and eyes alit in rage. “NO!” he roared.
Immediately, Odin allowed his hand to fall to his side.
Maybe he didn’t notice,
his conscience whispered, begging him to play the liar’s fool and watch the adult man as he stepped forward and into the tent.
Maybe if you don’t say anything, he won’t think you did something.
That, of course, would not happen. He knew better than that, even knew that he’d been caught red-handed as if he were stealing a sweet from the cookie jar. That, however, did not lessen the fear of punishment any, so when he simply stared at his father and asked, in as calm a voice as possible, “What?” he felt the strings of unease begin to play across his heart, a choir in the greatest hall of punishment.
“I don’t want you using that,” the man said, mouth snarled in rage. “You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”
“Doing what?”
“Dammit, boy! You know what I’m talking about.”
“No I don’t.”
“Don’t lie to me, Odin.”
The growl that followed raised the hairs on the back of Odin’s neck.
Knowing that there was no point in trying to trick his father, he sighed, then bowed his head, only to have his jaw turned up within the next moment.
Within his father’s eyes, he found nothing more than rage.
“You nearly blew yourself up when you were little,” the man said, tightening his hold on Odin’s jaw to an almost-unbearable pressure. “Don’t be cocky with me, boy. I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Father—”
“
Do not
use magic
any more.
Do you hear me?”
“You can’t keep me from using it!” Odin cried, disengaging himself from the man’s grasp.
With each step back he took his father reciprocated with a forward advance of his own. Trembling, Odin knew he would be seriously punished, possibly even beaten, but in his father’s face he couldn’t help but notice that there seemed to be something more there—something that, while not overtly visible, led him to believe that a bit of fear, even unease rested in the hollows of his eyes and the curves of his snarled lips.
“Father—”
“Come here, Odin. Looks like I need to teach you another lesson in manners.”
“I thought you wanted me to fix it!”
“That damn magic is going to kill you if you keep using it. You don’t know how to control it!”
“They’re going to teach me. The castle, they have to have mages, they’ll know what to do, they—”
His father slapped him across the face.