The Boy from Ilysies

by Pearl North

  The red wax seal on the document bore the imprint of the bull of Ilysies. Haly broke it and handed it to Selene. By now, Clauda had taken a seat next to her. “You two read it. I’ll just listen.”

  Dear Exalted One, or whatever it is your people call you,

  Since you have seen fit to refuse my generous offer of aid, and since you persist in keeping my flying machine despite the fact that you also retain what is left of my army, I must reconsider my offer of friendship to you and your community.

  Though it pains me as it would any mother whose children remain obstinate in their errors, I must accept that the Ilysians among you have chosen their course. I send this merely to inform them that they are Ilysians no longer. Should they attempt to repatriate to the fertile land of their birth, they shall be declared traitors and dealt with accordingly.

  I rely upon your honest nature to share this information freely with those affected by it.

  Yours,

  Queen Thela Tadamos of Ilysies

  They all stared at one another for a moment. Then Selene said, “If we had any doubt whether she was angry that we refused her offer of aid, this settles it.”

  “I’m sorry, Selene,” said Haly.

  Selene gave a little shake of her head, her brow knit in puzzlement.

  “This means you can’t go home again,” Haly explained.

  Selene’s jaw was firm. “I am home.”

  Clauda frowned. “Why is she making it necessary for Ilysians to stay? I mean, this actually helps us, doesn’t it?”

  Haly nodded. “Not as much as it would have if Ymin Ykobos were still among us, but yes, I think it does.”

  “There’s a reason,” said Selene. “She always has a reason.”

  “Making it impossible for you to go back and challenge her assigned heir, Jolaz, would be reason enough,” said Clauda.

  Selene inclined her head to one side. “She needn’t go to such trouble. I never intended to do any such thing.”

  Haly exchanged a look with Selene. “It also means there will be no banishment for Po, no matter how problematic he may be.”

  “Maybe that’s her reason,” said Selene.

  “Oh, come now,” said Haly. “You don’t believe he can single-handedly destroy the community, do you?”

  “Wait, what? Who’s talking about banishing Po?” said Clauda.

  “I don’t think either of you understand how disruptive an unattached Ilysian male can be,” said Selene. “We’re supposed to be nonviolent, and he’s going around attacking other males right and left. He’s out of control, and he’s just fifteen. He’s only going to get worse.”

  “But we don’t banish people,” said Clauda. She looked at Haly. “Do we?”

  Haly shook her head.

  “You said yourself he’s been in another fight with Baris,” Selene told Clauda.

  “And Selene and Po had a misunderstanding this afternoon,” said Haly.

  Clauda leaned forward. “What happened?”

  Selene told her the story.

  “So, what did he say when you explained it to him?” asked Clauda.

  “What?” said Selene.

  “When you told him it was a misunderstanding. What did he say?”

  Haly knew there was a reason she’d wanted Selene to talk to Clauda about this.

  “He didn’t—I didn’t—I told him to leave!”

  Clauda raised her eyebrows. “And then what did he do?”

  “He left!”

  Clauda nodded. “That must have been humiliating.”

  “It was!”

  “No, I meant for Po.”

  Selene was taken aback for a moment, but soon rallied with, “Well, what would you have me do? Take advantage of him?”

  Clauda drew her brows together. “No, of course not. But, I mean, you could have tried to explain about the misunderstanding.”

  Selene stared at her, openmouthed and mute.

  “You yelled at him, didn’t you?”

  Selene sighed and stared at a corner of the room.

  Clauda nodded. “And then he ran into Baris and they fought.”

  “So that makes it all right, then.”

  “I didn’t say that. It just puts things in context, is all. I know the fighting is a problem but Baris fought, too, and he’s not exactly adapting seamlessly to life around here, either. I notice we’re not talking about banishing him.”

  Selene sighed. “True.”

  Clauda nodded. She was on a roll, now. “And don’t forget how helpful Po was to me when I was ill and under guard in Ilysies. He could have prevented me from stealing the wing and escaping, but he didn’t. He helped me and that’s why he’s here now. He never asked for any of this.”

  “True, but he could have left when Ymin did,” said Selene.

  “But have you considered what he’d be going back to?” said Haly.

  Selene stared at her.

  “If you deplore the Ilysian standards and expectations for males, how can you send him back to a place where he must conform to them?”

  Selene’s eyes seemed even darker than usual. “I do deplore them, but he…I think he wants to be treated that way. He’s always trailing after me, calling me princess and trying to wait on me hand and foot. Maybe he can’t understand anything else.”

  “Are you saying he’s unfit for equality?” said Clauda.

  Selene stood. “What difference does it make what I think? He’s here. He’s not going anywhere.” She turned toward the door but stopped and looked back at Clauda. “And you’re right. He helped you and I should be grateful for that. I just wish he’d remember that he’s more than a breeding stud.”

  “Well, maybe his work in the infirmary will help with that,” said Haly.

  “Let’s hope,” said Clauda. “If his kinesthetic sense manifests, that could make a big difference. In the meantime, try to be more patient with him, Selene.”

  Selene nodded. “I’ll try.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but all she added was, “I have to go now.”

  “So do I,” said Haly, standing. “My exalted self is on kitchen duty tonight. I have to go or I’ll be late.”

  3

  Hilloa

  The dining hall in the Libyrinth was crowded and noisy. Po stood in line, watching all the different people milling about the long rows of tables, talking, eating, laughing. The noise echoed off the large room’s low, arched ceiling and stone floors. The line moved and Po reached the serving counter. Jan, an Ayorite boy who had the cot next to him in the boys’ dorm, was on kitchen duty that night, and next to him, the Redeemer herself ladled out portions of barley porridge. This had happened before. Everybody took shifts. Still, he couldn’t get used to it. The queen of Ilysies would never lower herself so. What did Halcyon the Redeemer think it gained her to do this? As he stepped forward and took a bowl from the stack on the counter, she smiled at him.

  She was part Thesian, with dark eyes and dusky skin and long wavy hair. A white scar ran from her temple to just below her eye in a single, graceful curve. She had a smile that was like the Song itself. It went right into him. For a moment, Po looked right back at her, directly into her eyes. What did she see? Could she tell about his mistake with Pri—Libyrarian Selene, or his fight with Baris? Quickly he lowered his gaze. Embarrassment at being served by a woman, and not just any woman but their beloved leader, forced him to bend his head as she ladled porridge into his bowl.

  Po took a seat at one of the less crowded tables and looked with sadness at the contents of his bowl. It was the same thing every night: barley porridge, pickled eggs, and preserved greens. The blandness of their diet and its monotony boggled Po’s mind. Three dishes. At home, even a simple meal would have four or five different things—fresh vegetables and fruit, not to mention fish, and everything spiced and flavorful. How he missed fish. That salted, dried stuff they sometimes tried to revive by soaking in milk did not count.

  It would be better when the harvest came in. Still, Po didn�
��t understand why the Redeemer had refused Queen Thela’s generous offer of aid. Cartloads of luscious vegetables and fruits could have been theirs for the asking, but the refusal had been firm, and most everyone supported it. The one time Po had ventured to question the decision, that old Singer, Siblea, told him that their independence was more important than the kind of food they ate. Po’s jaw tightened at the memory of the old man’s sharp tone. He hadn’t hit Siblea. He knew he was supposed to be glad about that.

  A group of three young women sat down near Po. As he dutifully consumed his porridge, he cast covert glances in their direction. Their names were Hilloa, Jaen, and Bethe. They were all Libyrarians, all his own age, all without consorts. Bethe was Thesian, dark-skinned, with a halo of tightly curled brown hair and luminous sable eyes. Jaen was obviously of Ilysian extraction, willowy and tall, with pale skin and long, wavy black hair. Hilloa was olive-skinned and green-eyed, with honey brown hair and an intoxicatingly curvy build. At home, his hungry looks would be considered a tribute, but not here. Po pretended to find the contents of his bowl fascinating and contented himself with listening in on their conversation.

  “Of course, I told him it was only for fun, you know,” said Hilloa, “but Leck is so sentimental, I’m afraid he’s fallen for me after all.”

  “Never mind that,” said Bethe. “Help me figure out how I’m going to get Neith to notice me. He’s all wrapped up in his unrequited feelings for Arche.”

  “I don’t know why you waste your time with him,” said Hilloa. “If a boy treated me like that I’d stay away from him. The next thing you know, you’re going to be dating Singers.”

  “Ewwwww,” said the other two.

  Hilloa shushed them. “They’ll hear you.”

  “So what? They’re a bunch of jerks,” said Jaen.

  “They think they’re making progress,” said Hilloa.

  “They think they are,” countered Jaen, “but they still treat us like we’re second best. Yesterday I had kitchen duty with Rossiter and we had to light the fire. He goes and gets the flint and tinder, leaving me to fetch the fuel. Without a word. He just assumed I’d be the one to do the dirty job. And he’s one of the good ones. He switched with me right away when I pointed out what he’d done, but still.”

  Po snuck a glance in time to see Bethe grinning. “You like Rossiter, right?”

  Jaen glared at her. “He’s okay, but it’s not like that.”

  Bethe and Hilloa shared a look and Jaen caught it. “What?” she said. “Sure, he’s cute, but it’s not like I’m daydreaming about him and awaiting the day we get married so I can start popping babies like a Citadel girl.”

  “Jaen, stop,” said Hilloa. “That’s not nice.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but as long as those Citadel girls keep acting as if getting a partner was the end-all and be-all of their existence, those stupid Singer boys are never going to get over themselves.”

  Hilloa and Bethe nodded. “And I don’t even think it’s because they like sex so much,” said Bethe. “They just seem to feel that it’s what they’re supposed to do.”

  “Like it’s a mark of status,” noted Hilloa.

  “Wait till they all start getting pregnant. You know they’re having sex with Singers and Ayorites. Boys who haven’t had initiation. What are we going to do with all those babies?” said Jaen.

  “Well, I’m not taking care of them,” said Bethe.

  There was a pause as the three women ate their barley porridge. Then Jaen said, “Do you think Libyrinth boys will stop taking the initiation?”

  “I hope not,” said Bethe.

  “No,” said Hilloa.

  Bethe said, “I’m so glad I was raised Libyrarian.”

  Jaen nodded and Hilloa said, “Yeah, me too. Imagine having to be something extra, just because of your sex. Either a servant, among the Singers, or a mother, among the Ayorites….”

  “Same difference,” said Bethe.

  “No, it’s not, not really,” said Hilloa. “I’ve seen those Ayorite households in operation. The men work just as hard as the women, they just have everything divided up. And I’ve not seen much in the way of men telling women what to do there, either.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Jaen. “They have a lot of stupid ideas about what men are naturally suited for and what women are naturally suited for but you don’t get the whole ‘women’s roles are inferior’ piece that you do with the Singers.”

  “Well, if I had my druthers, I’d be an Ilysian, and let the men wait on me hand and foot,” said Bethe, lowering her eyelids and extending her hand as if she were a regal court lady.

  “Really? You’d want that? Someone who didn’t consider himself your equal? You think that’s hot?” said Hilloa.

  Bethe flushed. “Well okay, maybe not in the long run, but still, for one night? Especially if he’d rub my feet. These field work days are killing me.”

  “I heard the Ilysian men are like billy goats,” said Hilloa. “Always fighting with one another, and not good for much except scr—” She stopped as she saw Po, who had forgotten himself and was now openly watching them, listening to their conversation with rapt attention.

  Hilloa’s face fell. She blushed and looked at Jaen and Bethe, who had noticed him, too, and were glaring at her. “Oh, um…I’m sure that’s just hearsay. Nothing to it at all, I expect.”

  A glance passed between the three of them. Po was adept at picking up nuances, when they weren’t so alien as to be incomprehensible. He knew very well what that glance meant. That from what they’d heard of his behavior, he was single-handedly upholding the stereotype of the overly emotional, sometimes violent, and always childish Ilysian male. His heart sank. And it was true. That was exactly the way he was behaving. And he was trying so hard not to, but…It was like blinking. You had to think about it every second in order not to do it.

  He looked down at his half-eaten meal. But wasn’t that true for most everyone here? Weren’t they all trying to overcome their own cultural conditioning? Why was everyone else doing so much better at it than he was? Because you’re a boy, the automatic answer came, but no, that wasn’t the reason. The Singers were all boys, and though they might not be perfect, they weren’t creating daily spectacles like he was. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just exceptionally stupid and he couldn’t change.

  He glanced up to find the three Libyrarians still looking at him, though they were pretending not to. A whispered exchange passed among them. At last, Hilloa turned and addressed him. “Excuse me. Po, isn’t it?”

  Surprised, pleased to be noticed, Po nodded and smiled.

  “I just want to say that I’m sorry for the comments I made. You must think I’m very narrow-minded. Maybe I am. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to get to know any Ilysian men. It’s hard for all of us to overcome the narrow viewpoints we’ve been raised with.”

  She was apologizing to him? Po blinked. He remembered to speak. “That’s okay.”

  Hilloa inched closer. “Do you mind if we ask you some questions? You’re the only Ilysian man here. And…your culture is quite a bit different from ours.”

  Yes, it was. That one simple statement made him feel so much better. Just to have that acknowledged did something for him that he couldn’t quite define. Say something, he reminded himself. They’re Libyrarians, they expect you to talk. “Yes. They are different,” he agreed. He wanted to say that he was finding it next to impossible to adjust. “I’m not very good at not being Ilysian.”

  “Why do you fight with other guys so much?”

  “Hilloa!” said Bethe. “Don’t be rude.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hilloa said to him. Two apologies in as many minutes. Wow. “If I’m being rude, I don’t mean to be.”

  “But she’ll keep on being rude anyway, until her curiosity is satisfied,” noted Jaen, who elbowed Hilloa in the ribs and shook her head at her. “He’s not a social experiment who exists just for your exploration.”

  Po wasn’t entir
ely sure what that meant but it sounded exciting. Hilloa leaned on the table in a way that accentuated her ample…He forced himself to focus on her question, and her eyes. Direct eye-to-eye contact and lots of conversation—that was what these Libyrarian women expected. “It’s okay. Um.” Po shook his head, trying to explain. “We fight to prove ourselves worthy,” he said.

  They all stared at him. “Worthy of what?” said Jaen.

  “Of, you know…” His voice dropped off. Of a woman’s regard, were the words that came most readily, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter them. It all sounded so ridiculous here. “It’s…we’re very competitive with each other for…for the attention of women,” he managed at last. “It’s part of that.”

  “But I thought that there are relatively fewer men than women among Ilysians,” said Hilloa. “Is that not true?”

  “No, it’s true,” said Po. “Only about one in every three babies born is male.”

  “Then aren’t you guys in pretty high demand?”

  He stared at her. She had a point. “I guess so.”

  “So why do you have to prove yourselves to be worthy?”

  Bewildered, he shook his head. It went without question that a man must earn his place as a consort. That he must do everything in his power to make himself appealing and that everything in his life depended on attracting the right woman and siring daughters to provide for him in his old age.

  He knew that many women had no consort. He knew that many more shared a consort, but they did not vie over men. Why? “I…um…I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess it’s just…how things are done.”

  “So the men in Ilysies really think they’re only good for sex and reproduction?” said Hilloa. Jaen and Bethe looked on, awaiting his answer with great interest.

  He stared at them, suddenly angry, and he looked down lest they see it in his eyes. “It’s not as if we set everything up according to our own wishes.”