by J. Levi
The roses have withered and decayed into rotten nubs. The thorns are shriveled and lifeless. The sheer pain raking across my skin is blinding.
I stop when the camp is a faint glint in the far horizon behind me. I stop when I know I’m far enough from the caravan they won’t hear me. I fall to my knees and scream. It’s broken and pitched. I scream, so I don’t cry. My voice flows into the twilight—the softest hints of dawn peaking in the east. My scream slowly transforms into a song in my ears: a song full of anguish, anger, sadness, and promise. A promise to myself or the heavens above, I don’t know. I sing until my voice carries like a hollowed howl. I sing until my voice falters, my throat straining to be soothed.
24
Casaell
“Of the Sacred Six, Ulir is far too under represented. She is the goddess of creation and fertility. Without her, we could not thrive. I heard of an island off the northern coast close to the frozen lands, and there live only women. No man may set foot on their land without being taken, used, and then killed. I’m nearing my thirtieth birth year, and still no husband. If only I knew how to find this mysterious island. Could you imagine? The Gesilda ladies would lose their heads.…”
– from the personal letter of Wenda Thomassen 723 B.M.
The salty air is the first thing I notice. I’m not unfamiliar with the ocean and the beach. The Edonian capital is built on oceanfront land. The castle has a private beach, fenced off from the public with towering stone walls. I recall running fervently through the sand, kicking at the receding tide—the caws of seagulls that glided against the ocean breeze. Seaweed and shells litter the pastel white sands.
My favorite memory of my mother before she died was of us on the beach. She and my father interlocked in each other’s arms as they watched me parade across the beach. That memory is the last one of us all together, happy. My mother got sick soon after and then died shortly after that. I didn’t return to the beach after that. It hurt too much.
Andeil is unlike anything I imagined. I envisioned a small podunk fishing port with rickety piers and disheveled dwellings. Instead, I gaze at architecturally profound chateaus. Townhouses entwined with commercial markets—towering chalets of brick and shell stone along the outer city perimeter. Near the coast, summerhouse cottages and exquisite mansions embrace the ocean horizon. I’m surprised the city doesn’t have an outer wall, a defense line in case of invasion. The citizens are as diverse as Oriand, with humans and fae living together. I overheard Lan mentioning the city was built by dwarves, just like Hjornholm in Edonia.
Amongst the complexity of the city, the smell is what draws my attention the most. It’s unlike the ocean scent that deeply engrained my entire life.
The city smells like salty foam but sweeter like the dew that forms in the morning mist—a subtle sharpness like freshly cut horseradish, the peppery tones of onion—the distinct odor of fresh fish. There must be a fish market nearby, I think.
We arrived in Andeil three days before. Only now have we finished erecting the carnival tents and pavilion. Lan led the caravan to the edge of the city, onlooking the ocean over a seaside cliff.
As Nova likes to call them, the carnies work tirelessly to empty the wagons and carts and set up booths. I’ve come to learn over the weeks we’ve traveled with the caravan that it’s full of amazing people: firebreathers, knife jugglers, contortionists, and even an oracle. The day is full of hard labor, my blisters of blisters, which only seems to please Nova and Lan. It’s worth it, though, because when the caravan stops to make camp, the bonfires are built, and the food is dished, and everyone settles together, laughing and singing. I’ve never felt so…accepted?
The pavilion has a high wire where acrobats swing, fly, and twirl intricate movements high in the air. I find myself mesmerized as they practice their routine.
I’ve been inside the main pavilion for hours, partly enjoying the free show but mostly avoiding Nova. I’ve been avoiding him for a few days now. He makes it easy by requesting separate duties. Lan obliges. Even in the evenings, he never comes to our tent. I’m not sure where he sleeps. I imagine somewhere outside.
I still can’t wrap my head around what happened that night. I was terrified, practically shaking with nerves. I wanted to kiss him desperately. I almost didn’t…until he kissed me. Oh, and how he kissed me. It was saccharine, epic, and perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
I’m attracted to Nova. There’s no doubt about it. Even his prickly personality has softened over the weeks. But when he straddled my hips, I felt overwhelmed. I tried to tell him I needed him to slow down, that it was too much too fast. Then he wasn’t Nova anymore. He was aggressive and overpowering. His touch went from attentive to brutal. I asked him to stop, and he wouldn’t listen. It terrified me. It still terrifies me.
Yet, I still yearn for his touch. I lay at night alone, craving his warmth. I even miss his cynicism, his disdain for the carnies because I know deep down, he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean a lot of things he says, I believe. I also think he means a lot of things he doesn’t say.
“Pretty amazing, right?” A cheerful voice startles me from my trance. I look up, and I’m greeted by the elmmen from the campfire nights before.
“Huh?” I reply.
“The acrobats.” He says while pointing to the flying dancers swinging in the air.
“Oh. Yeah, really amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I admit. The boy sits beside be on the wooden bleacher the carnies assembled the day before. His features are brighter now that I can see him up close in daylight. His eyes remind me of the fresh spring foliage of the Ceribhan forest that blankets the perimeter of my home. Home…do I consider that place home? Or is a home somewhere else now…someone else… No. I shake my head, casting my thoughts to the depths of my mind.
“I’m Casaell,” I say, outstretching my hand. I may be endless miles away from my kingdom, but I haven’t forgotten my manners.
“Casaell? Not Cas? I swear I’ve heard that other guy you’re always with call you Cas,” He chirps.
“Yeah, I wish he’d stop calling me that. I’ve asked him to stop, but he doesn’t,” I say peevishly. The boy takes my hand firmly and shakes twice before releasing it.
“Well, Casaell, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Duck.”
“Um, is that elmmen or something?” I ask—Duck giggles.
“Oh, no, it’s not—just Duck, like the fowl. It’s a funny story, actually. It all started when I—” Duck starts to explain until Lan stomps into the tent.
“Duck! Get your arse out there and rebind the rhinoxen straps. Found two of them frayed. Don’t need no stampede upendin’ our reputation on opening night,” Lan barks. Duck rocks his head to the side and hums, a smile never leaving his lips.
“Sure thing, mister boss man!” Duck chimes and sways a finger from his brow to the ground in a salute. He leaves the tent, and now I’m alone again.
Lan clears his throat. Oh, well, I guess I’m not alone.
“Where’s your shadow?” Lan asks. He’s still standing near the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest.
“My what?” I reply. I know what he’s asking, but it’s easier to play glib.
Lan doesn’t buy it. He shakes his head slowly while he trails closer. His manly musk from a day full of labor clings to him like an aura.
“Wanna try that again?” He says tersely. It’s not unkind. It’s just how he comes across sometimes, I find. I concede, slouching my shoulders and bow my head.
“I… don’t know,” I confess. If I had to guess, I’d say Nova is in the sparring ring near the campgrounds. That’s where I’ve noticed him the last few days since we arrived in Andeil.
“Now, why don’t I believe that?” Lan hums.
Can he read minds? Are there magical mind readers in Orgard?
“Don’t give me that look. I ain’t no mind reader. You’re just too damn easy to read. So… what’s the problem, lovers�
� quarrel?”
I stiffen at his proclamation. Did he see what happened the other night? Did Nova tell him? No…Nova wouldn’t do that. He’s too paranoid about entrusting anything personal with strangers. Sadly, even after weeks of living, laughing, eating, and working with these people, Nova still considers them strangers. I wonder if he still considers me a stranger.
“Easy, easy,” Lan placates. I still don’t release the tension in my shoulders, but I focus on my breathing. “Y’know in Orgard, preferences are even laxer compared to the North.”
“It… it’s not that,” I say. At first, the thought of being with Nova bothered me. I was perturbed. But spending this time with the carnies has opened my eyes. I’ve met couples of the same gender, devoutly promised to each other. I’ve observed their affection for each other and the acceptance the caravan so quickly gives. However, I’m the crowned prince of Edonia. One day I’ll be on the throne, entrusted to protect the kingdom. Part of my duty will be providing an heir, and I can’t do that with Nov—a man.
“Jeez, between both of you, I may just add a dramatic skit to our nightly routine. It’ll bring the audience to tears before making them laugh again with the jesters,” he jokes, nudging an elbow into my ribs. I appreciate what he’s trying to do, but I still can’t find myself smiling.
“Well, I need you to head to the sparrin’ ring. The swords need to be polished. After you’re finished, take the day. Explore the city. The carnival show starts tomorrow, and we’ll be busy. Andeil always attracts a large crowd.”
Without another word, Lan turns tail and leaves the pavilion. I loosen a heavy sigh before standing and leave the pavilion as well.
***
Nova is there like I assumed he would be. I’m sure Lan knew that too when he charged me with the task of polishing practice swords. Nova is standing at the launching platform, a bullseye painted disc in the distance. He hurls dagger stars through the air, pelting the center every time. The whistling steel sings in the air until it meets its mark. Sweat coats his brow as he grunts with every throw. He doesn’t notice me until after he’s flown all of his stars into the target and goes to retrieve them. He stops midstep, foot hovering over the ground. He reminds me of a startled buck in the Ceribhan forest during hunting raids hosted by the royal family.
Slowly his foot drops to the dirt, and he stands straighter.
“Hi,” he says. His voice is small, unsure. Nothing like the Nova I’ve come to know. I want to scream at him and tell him not to act like a wounded animal, but did I want that? Only three nights before, he acted more animal than man, and I still get shivers.
I notice the moving tattoos on his forearm twist and turn. The roses are nearly black and frail. The thorns appear sharp and jagged. I’ve noticed the petals have begun to change colors over the previous weeks. His hair is also shorter, even though it’s still tied in a knot. He must have asked someone in the caravan to cut it.
“Hello,” I say because it’s all I can muster. We stand awkwardly. Only an arm’s length separates us. Nova’s breathing heavily, and his lips twitch as if he’s trying to force himself to speak.
“Lan asked—”
“I wanted to—” we both try to say at the same time, interrupting each other. We both let out a breathless laugh and shake our heads.
“You first,” Nova offers. He waves a hand toward me, and I oblige.
“Lan asked me to polish the sparring swords,” I say. Nova furrows his brows.
“Those sparring swords?” He asks while jerking a thumb at the chest full of dented and scuffed steal. I nod. “Gods above, why would he want those dainty things polished?”
“I don’t think he really wants them polished,” I say slowly.
“Then why would he—” Nova starts and then stop abruptly. He meets my gaze, and the tension in his brow eases. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Lan wasn’t subtle about it either,” I say. I mean to sound casual, but Nova winces and looks at the ground shamefully. “Shit, no—Nova, I didn’t—” I try to explain, but Nova holds up a hand.
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that,” Nova’s voice has a vicious bite as he pronounces each word. “Don’t act like my behavior the other night is excusable. It’s not…I—I’m… I’m not like that. I don’t do that.”
I can hear the sincerity in his voice, so I say, “I believe you.”
Nova looks up, a glint of relief in his eyes. It soothes me to know my words offer him some semblance of solace.
“Thanks,” Nova says finally. His voice cracks a little. I pretend not to notice.
“Well…I guess I should get to polishing,” I say as I step past him. Nova gently grips my arm, stopping me. I flinch, and he pulls his hand away quickly.
“Sorry,” he sighs and then, “I was going to explore around. I heard there’s a library in the center of the city. Maybe we could find something on the sages.”
“Sure,” I say.
Before I step away to start my tasks, I watch as the roses on Nova’s arm flourish into violet and navy hues and blossom rapidly. I’m mesmerized by the beauty in its magic.
After I polish the swords that have never been polished before, just in case Lan was serious. We set out into the city. Before we reach the outer blocks of buildings, I hear my name being called.
“Hey, Casaell! Wait up!” I turn to see Duck is sprinting after us. When he reaches us, he leans forward with his hands braced on his knees, panting.
“You guys—are going—into—the city?” He asks between breaths.
“Uh, yeah. We’re going to check out the city library,” I say, a modicum of apprehension. Duck doesn’t seem to notice my tone.
“Cool, I’ve never seen it. Been to Andeil a few times now, but I never venture far enough into the city to explore anything cool. Well, there was that one time I walked into a tavern. Come to think of it now, I don’t think it was a tavern. There were a lot of underdressed people in there. I asked how everyone lost their clothes, but everyone just laughed at the question and walked away.” Duck barely breathes in between words during the loquacious rant.
“Who are you?” Nova says sharply. I can already feel the metaphorical hackles rise in his back as he assesses Duck as friend or foe.
“This is Duck,” I chime. “We met earlier. He’s been with the caravan for a while.”
“Duck?” Nova asks. He sounds skeptical. Duck, however, does not seem to catch on…at all.
“Yeah! Like the waterfowl. It’s a funny story, actually. You see, it all started when I was—”
“We should keep going, I don’t know when the library closes, and we only have a few hours of daylight left,” Nova interrupts. I want to scold him for being rude, but Duck simply hums and falls into step next to Nova, completely unperturbed.
Venturing through the city took more effort than I anticipated. The streets are busy with the hustle of residents, vendors, fishermen, and exotic creatures. After a few blocks, we cross through a park tucked in the middle of city townhomes. A paved path weaves through trees, shrubs, and flowers. If it weren’t for the steady murmur of city noises, I could pretend we were in the middle of a bizarre wild. The paved road leads to a wooden bridge that spans across a small pond. The water so clear I can see the white sandy bed with schools of vibrant colored fish swimming languidly.
Nova places a gentle hand against my elbow. At first, I think it’s Duck, which confuses me. When I turn, I’m both surprised and happy it’s Nova instead. I don’t flinch at his touch, which merits its own triumph. He notices, and a soft smile edges the corner of his lips. We continue past the park, leisurely surveying the scape. I know we have priorities, but I can’t help but be mesmerized in the light of this beautiful and foreign place.
Duck doesn’t stop talking as we weave through the streets. Literally doesn’t stop. I find it charming in a way. He seems to jump and pivot between topics without any rhyme or reason, let alone any finesse. A few street corners
ago, he was in the middle of recanting a story about how he discovered that fire salamanders are indeed on fire. Before he can finish his story, he became sidetracked by debating the metaphysical implications of an amphibious creature being able to produce fire.
I can tell Nova is on the edge of shoving Duck into an oncoming unicorn trotting along the busy streets. His forehead is creased, eyes pinched, and jaw clenched—the telltale signs that he’s annoyed and on the verge of becoming homicidal. I laugh to myself, catching Nova’s attention, who shares a brief simper.
The sun drops below the roofline of the multilevel apartments. A balmy orange and magenta paint the sky with a fusion of other colors. Duck insists we ask for directions several times, but Nova ignores him each time. He gutturally curses under his breath, faint enough that only I can hear. Before long, Duck stops a dwarven woman and asks for directions to the city library. She’s burly and tepid but points us in the right direction. A few turns and an hour later, we are standing before a colossal of a library.
The structure towers stories above any other building nearby. It’s cylindrical with pillars every few feet, tall glass-paned windows stretch across each tier of stone columns, and stone gargoyle-like statues guard the brim roofline. We approach towering double doors of solid sea glass, at least three times our height.
Duck leads the way as we file into the behemoth edifice. Past the doors is a crescent-shaped desk littered with stacks of books. Barely over the wall of tomes, a pair of spectacles rest atop a messy tangle of brown hair. Behind the desk, soft dribbles of words and giggles stream in utter nonsense. Duck is hopping along the checkered tile floor, skipping between white tiles and landing on the beige ones, all the while humming.
I witness a feather of muscle twitch in Nova’s neck. He moves forward intently, but I grab his arm while trying not to laugh. He lets out a long sigh before his shoulders relax. I let my hand linger until Duck starts to sing.
“Oh gods, he sings now?” Nova mutters. Now I can’t stop the laughter. “I don’t believe in murder unless it’s in self-defense, but I can make an exception for him,” he says monotone, though I know he’s contemptuous.