by J. Levi
Nothing has evolved between us, given our first night together since we joined the caravan. I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep so swiftly before. Cas was still nestled close to me when I awoke, my arms wrapped tightly around his peaceful body. I basked in his warmth until he began to stir. Of course, I pretended to be asleep, so he crawled from my arms and retreated from the tent. We haven’t shared each other’s warmth at night ever since.
I notice Cas still hasn’t answered me. I’m too close to him to see the look on his face, but my mind has no trouble conjuring devious thoughts. I teasingly breathe against his neck before I whisper again.
“Well?” I say.
“Huh? Oh…uh—oh him? I think he’s an elmmen,” Cas says nervously.
“It’s been a while since I saw an elmmen,” I admit. “Probably why I didn’t recognize it.” Cas preens at the opportunity to delve into an accolade, whispering his erudite upbringing.
“I’m not surprised. elmmen’s are woodland fae. There haven’t been many clans in Edonia since before the Seventy Winter War. Scholars believe they migrated to Ljosgard to dwell with their cousins, the sylphian.
The sylphe is a fable to many, given that no one alive had seen a sylphian with their own eyes, at least since before the war that ended a century ago. I’ve read texts that describe them as angelic beings, rumored to be immortal with unparalleled beauty. Masters of the sky, the sylphian have wings that carry them against the gales of the wind.
I recall my mother telling me stories of the flying fae of Ljosgard, the kingdom of Thrones—tales of grandeur. I loved her stories.
She described the five regions of Ljosgard, heavily influenced by magic, freezing time. The day court, forever in the cusps of sunlight. The night court blanketed in the umbral light—the courts of dawn and dusk, frozen and unchanging. I’ve wondered how much is truth and how much is simply fable concocted by a loving mother.
My thoughts become traitorous as the memories I so longingly try to suppress begging to surface. An internal tirade of grief and sadness swim through my veins. The white roses on my forearm wither slightly and turn a dull cream color against the campfire light. I can feel the thorns twisting against my skin, but it doesn’t bother me.
A raspy voice pulls me from my trance. I peer back at the elmmen boy and vylorian girl. The old bat Kezia is speaking to them. Kezia has gentleness in her eyes as she looks at the girl, almost fondly.
Lan plops beside me, his ale sloshing over the brim of his mug and onto my trousers. Lan doesn’t apologize. He never apologizes. It’s something I’ve come to expect and appreciate from the man.
“Lan,” I say gruffly. Lan tilts his head in response. A man of many words, I think ironically. He shoves a second mug into my lap, sloshing more ale.
Ass.
“Here, drink this. That dragon wine is shyte compared to sage ale,” he says, determined. I set my wooden goblet of wine on the ground, silently praising Lan for giving me something else to drink. Wine has a taste of eloquence that doesn’t quench my thirst.
“Lan! Are you going to gift us with a tale tonight?” a voice carries over the campfire. I don’t recognize the voice, but I’m sure Cas does.
“Ah, I dunno,” Lan begins to say until the rest of the campers protest. They break into a chant, calling his name repeatedly. I force the urge to roll my eyes away and stare into my mug of ale. I take a swig, wincing at the bitter pucker that offends my tastebuds. I hear Lan laughing under his breath next to me. I take another swig, some sort of machismo response to Lan’s reaction. Am I searching for his approval? I don’t know why, but I yearn for his respect. Is that the same as approval?
Lan clears his throat, yielding to the demands of his audience.
“Alright, simmer down… How about a tale of Banne and his wife?” Lan asks. The audience murmurs in acquiescence.
“Lemme see. I think it goes somethin’ like: In the beginnin’, the nameless god and his wife Thela the Mother gave birth to their first of many children: Azael the Healer, Elach the Mountain, Eridh the Punisher, Ulir the Maiden, Banne the Warmonger, and the Banished One. The Sacred Six, as the northerners call ‘em, created Harheim, Midheim, Undheim, and Sinheim. You get the point. Now, Banne was a jealous bloke, spiteful of his brother Elach who created our realm Midheim. Resentful, Banne invaded our realm and settled in the deep oceans.”
The audience is quiet, eyes intently focused on Lan. I’ve heard variations of this tale over the years. Drunken sailors reciting the tale as if they recounted their own lives—bards singing the fable in melodic verse. I’ve even suffered a pirate bellowing a gregarious monologue about Banne in Nebach. The pirate never finished his tale since the man couldn’t hold his spirits.
“Centuries pass and Banne built his kingdom in secret. The bloke called it Lsongard. But the poor bastard was lonely, so he created his queen, Sirene. Oh, she was a sight to behold. A beautiful thing she truly was, but Banne was a still jealous fool. He refused to share his wife’s beauty with the world. He kept her in Lsongard, a home as much as a prison. Sirene grew lonely and yearned for somethin’ more. She secretly communed with Banne’s sister Uril the Maiden, the goddess of life and fertility. Banne didn’ want no youngin’ runnin’ a muck in Lsongard. He wanted Sirene’s attention all for himself.”
“Sounds like Banne was a typical man,” a woman catcalls. The audience chuckles. Even Lan lets out a hefty breath before continuing.
“Right he was, right he was. Lemme see, where was I? Oh right—Ulir granted Sirene’s wishes and made her fertile. Sirene seduced her husband and became pregnant. Banne was outraged, his temper wagin’ hurricanes across the seas of Midheim. He cursed his wife, stripping her beauty and reshaping her. Half woman, and half sea, a tail with iridescent scales. Then he cast her from Lsongard, cursing her to be alone with their child as punishment.”
Sirene gladly accepted her punishment and went deeper into the depths of the oceans until she gave birth to a daughter, Perysene. The oceans wept in grief, and waves torrented the coastal lands. Banne, in a tirade of revenge, stole Perysene from Sirene and kept her within Lsongard. Sirene became bitter by the loss and grief she felt for her stolen child. From this, she learned to prey upon the human sailors navigating the seas. Sirene sang her songs so beautiful that the men on ships would be entranced by her melody, coaxed from the safety of the ship deck, seducing them to make love to her. When the poor sailors finished, she’d wage the anger she bore for Banne unto ‘em and drag them deep below the waters to their watery grave.”
“Undheim hath no fury as a woman scorned,” the same woman who called out earlier says. More chuckles from the audience.
I glance over to Cas, who’s leaned so far forward he’s about to topple over.
“So, Sirene would corral poor sailors and rape ‘em until she was pregnant again. She bore more children. Centuries later, Banne’s sea became overrun by the melodic huntresses. Yet, the god did nothing to quell the plague that ravished his oceans. He still loved his wife like the bastard that he was.” Lan tosses back his mug of ale, brushing the back of his hand across his face to wipe away the foam stuck on his beard.
“What about their daughter?” Cas asks, his eyes glossy by the firelight.
“Perysene, devoted to her father, became a herald of Banne and bestowed wisdom and guidance to the continents. She inspired them to erect temples of worship where the devout could pray for mercy and taught acolytes, teachin’ them the ways of magic. Over time, the acolytes became sages. The sages used their knowledge to reinforce and protect the sailor’s vessels and repel against the sirens of the sea.”
“Is that why it’s called the sirens reef?” someone in the audience asks.
“Yeah,” Lan says. “They named it as a warnin’ to sailors and a reminder of what lurks below. Those sirens still dwell deep beneath the surface today. However, sailors in Orgard are protected by the magics still invoked by the sages.”
A question
festers in my mind. I mull it over in my thoughts, resisting the urge to blurt it out. Lan spoke of the sages as if they still exist. They were indoctrinated by a demigod. I’m still trying to make sense of what that can mean when Cas speaks.
“What happened to Sirene?” Cas asks. I didn’t consider the question before he asked it.
“Stories say she still swims the depths of sirens reef, always searching for her next victim,” Lan responds.
“And her children? The sirens, I mean.”
“The sages safeguarded the oceans, but it wasn’t foolproof. Over centuries, sirens mated with enough fae and birthed the sirenian’s, children of both land and sea. They converge with elementals, so I’m told.”
“So sirens reef is safe?” Cas persists.
“Any poor sucker who risks sailing that sea risks colliding into the jagged reefs, sinking their ships. The sage’s protection only prevents the lure of a siren’s song.”
Cas shudders in his seat beside me. Probably not the answer he was hoping for.
“Didn’t you know that story?” I ask Cas. “I mean, from your education.”
“No, actually. There are stories about most gods, but for the sacred six, it’s scarce or nonexistent.”
His admission sits heavily between us. There’s still so much we don’t know. So much, I don’t know. Finally, I turn to Lan.
“You speak as if sages are still around,” I ask Lan, the words cascading from my lips. I feel hope swelling in my chest as I recall the sage stone fae assassin used against me.
“Yeah, rightly so. Not so many now. The sages take in fewer acolytes every decade,” Lan responds.
“Sages still exist?” Cas chimes dumbfoundedly. I’ve never seen him so aghast before. It’s almost charming, it’s cute—No, I won’t go there. I can’t go there, I chide myself.
The elmmen boy across the campfire practically sings, “Sure do. In fact, Andeil was built around one of the temples Perysene inspired to build. It’s called The Temple of Rivers. But it was destroyed and a library took its place in the city center. No one knows where they rebuilt the temple.” The vylorian girl beside him looks uneasy, shifting in her seat. Kezia sits beside her, hands resting peacefully upon her lap as she observes the conversation carrying over the fire. I look to Cas, whose eyes seem to shimmer, casting a perfect reflection of the flames that dance at our feet. He nods, barely noticeable but enough for me to see. We share the same thought. The sages might have the answers we desperately need. Answers that I desperately need. If they know how to reverse the magic the fae assassin invoked into these runic tattoos on my wrists, maybe I can get Cas back home.
***
Long after Lan’s fable and the campfires snuff their last embers, I find myself wide awake in our tent. Cas, long asleep, softly snores beside me tangled in bedrolls. I turn to face him, perusing the outlines of his face—the contours of his jawline, the subtle pulse in that soft spot in his neck. I want to run my fingers along his skin, memorizing the feeling of stubble on his chin. He’s grown a beard in recent weeks. Apparently, only a classically trained barber is allowed to shave his face. I offered to do it for him once. It was casual, with no agenda. He nearly blacked out as he assayed my offer for subterfuge. He looks good with a beard.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Cas stirs from his sleep. He blinks carelessly until his gaze falls to mine. He stiffens, only for a moment before he relaxes. A reflex I’ve observed countless times since we’ve been practically stuck at the hip.
“Can’t sleep?” Cas asks. I shake my head softly.
“Thinking about the—” he stops himself, lifting his head and peering at the tent opening. I’ve been lying here for hours, listening to the sounds of twilight. I’m sure we’re the only ones awake, at least nearby.
“Yeah,” I say.
Cas sighs. His gale of breath caresses my face. Gooseflesh perk along my arms and neck.
“I think we should find them,” I confess. Cas’s face contorts.
“The sages?” he asks.
“Yeah…the sages. I think they can help with—” I wave a hand over myself. A silent gesture that only Cas can understand. Even while alone, we don’t mention our magic. Even in a territory where magic seems accepted and practical.
“Yeah…maybe,” Cas whispers. A mixture of emotions slowly takes form across his face, excitement, sadness, maybe grief?
“You…still want to get home, right?” I ask because I have to.
“What? Of—of course, I want to go home. Why would you—” Cas starts to raise his voice until I reach over and place my hand against his cheek. His skin is warm, his beard is rough. That surprises me. I imagined it would be soft, much like his features, but even those have toughened over the weeks. He no longer bears uncalloused hands, and his fair skin is darkened by days in the sun.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I finally say. I know I should lift my hand from Cas’s face, but I can’t. Cas leans into my touch, his lips nearly kissing the palm of my hand.
“How will we find the sages?” Cas asks after a long beat of silence.
“I don’t know,” I confess. “We’ll figure that out. We’ll figure it all out, and the sages will help, and I’ll get you home.”
I hear Cas’s breath catch. My palm slips down the curve of his jaw until my fingers are pressed against that soft spot in Cas’s neck. I can feel his pulse. It’s beating as fast as my own. A galloping patter in my chest promises to reveal how scared I am to anyone who listens close enough. Can Cas hear my heartbeat? Does he know what he does to me?
“Why?” Cas whispers. “Because of the reward?”
That cursed reward. I wish I could return to that dead forest when our bargain stuck and take those cursed words from my tongue. I don’t care for a reward, surely Cas know’s that by now.
“No. To Eridh’s hell with the reward. It’s because…” I try, but words fail me. I lay here, mulling through the words in my mind. I try to make sense of the thoughts rambling endlessly. Cas can sense it because he doesn’t say anything. He waits for me to sort it out.
“Because I want you safe,” I finally say—an omission not easily given. “I wish I was cunning or fast enough to stop that fae assassin. But…”
I trail off, unable to say the words aloud, but Cas says them for me.
“But then we’d never have been stuck with eachother,” Cas interjects.
A long silence passes.
“I don’t regret it, you know,” he says. The look on my face must reveal my confusion because now Cas’s hand caresses my cheek. The gentle warmth of his fingers seeps into my skin. I want to chase his warmth. I want to crawl closer into his arms and submerge myself in his heat and scent, but I don’t. I’m too afraid, I realize. So instead of moving, I ask, “Regret what?”
“Meeting you,” Cas says so profoundly, confidence behind his words. It’s so unlike the little prince I met merely weeks before.
“Neither do I,” I say because it’s all I can say.
Then Cas does something that surprises me. He leans over, propping himself on an elbow, so he’s above me. His hand never leaves my face. His gaze dances from my eyes to my lips. The delicate glimpse of his tongue quickly dressing his bottom lip. I know what he wants because I want it to. Before he can change his mind, I lift my head and bring my lips to his. At first, it’s soft. My fingers move from his face and comb through his hair, pulling him closer. He opens his mouth to me, and I chase his tongue with mine. Our mouths tangle and collide with passion. I’m breathless, but I don’t care. I can’t care. Not when his body is pressed so close to mine.
The roses on my skin thrum at the closeness to Cas, and even though I can’t see them, I can feel them bloom and blossom larger than they’ve ever been.
I’m not sure when it happens, but I end up on top of him—both of my hands exploring his face, his neck, his chest. I occasionally bite his bottom lip, reveling in the soft gasps that escape Cas’s
mouth. I shift between consuming his mouth to nibbling his chin and biting his neck. That soft spot in his neck calls for me to sink my teeth. I feel hot and primal. Something else is begging to take over. A growl resonates in my throat as my kisses become harder, more intense. I bruise my lips as I crash into Cas’s. His moans and sighs only fuel my hunger for more.
I grind my hips against him, shivering. Cas pushes his hands against my chest lightly, but I don’t stop. I instinctively grab his wrists and pin his arms high above his head. Cas squirms beneath as he calls my name. His voice is muffled against my lips. I lose myself in heat, sweat, and the taste of him.
“S—st—stop,” Cas begs against my lips and teeth. “P—please st—stop.” I don’t, I can’t. I’m no longer in control. Heat overcomes my skin, and red fills my vision.
Cas’s knee slips between my legs and slams into my groin. I keel over, desperately chasing a breath. Cas scurries away from me, panting heavily. He draws his knees close to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. His face is flushed, his lips are red and bruised. His hair is wild, sticking every which way. I see the faint marks my lips and teeth left along his neck. Part of me preens at how disheveled he looks. The other part shrivels in shame at how unhinged I am. I feel out of control like a wild animal.
Cas opens his mouth and then closes it. His eyes dart left and right. He’s searching for something to say.
I don’t give him a chance. Without hesitation, I slip from the tent and flee into the night. Running as hard as I can, breathy clouds expelling from my lips. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to rage, tear, and destroy.
What was I thinking? What would have happened if Cas didn’t stop me? My stomach twists at the thought. The cold, bitter air seeps into my skin. It feels like ice in my veins. I didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if I wasn’t stopped.