The Voyages of Trueblood Cay

by Suanne Laqueur

  And here I am.

  Glad we got this cleared up.

  “I have work to do,” he said. “Hold the baby?”

  Fen snorted. “Gods, you’re weird.” But he reached out his hand and set his finger next to Trueblood’s, smiling as the bird came to him.

  Faint lines etched the corners of Raj’s eyes, products of his constant squint toward the horizon, following the smudge of the pegasos flight. It often disappeared, making the pilot’s shoulders rise up around his ears, but it always appeared again. The flying herd backtracked a little, hovering as the Kaleuche caught up, then they raced toward the earth’s curved finish line.

  “They want us to follow,” Raj said.

  The lark whistled, and from her perch on Lejo’s shoulder she took to the air, little wings pumping vigorously as she followed the steeds.

  As they sailed further north, hugging the coast of Minosaros, the days lengthened. Aybar was far behind them and the land changed from scrub to the stark red rocks of Arcodolori.

  One warm night, they moved the story hour on deck, gathering under the last of the long day’s light and watching the stars emerge. Fen told the story of Minos the Bull, the beloved bovine dope who was slain by the one who loved him most.

  “Love does nothing but get you killed,” Eleven said over his woodcarving.

  “Don’t be a bitch,” Dhar said.

  Eleven laughed as he spun his knife in clever fingers. “Well?”

  “Love gets you laid,” the sail maker said.

  “What’s laid?” Melki asked.

  Silence on deck. Trueblood chuckled in his chest. “Do tell, Dhar.”

  Dhar turned a hand in the air, looking for divine intervention. Finally he said, “Laid is another word for happiness.”

  “Like Nye?” Melki said. “Love gets you Nye?”

  “The feeling you would get from Nye. You make that by being with someone you love. That’s why it’s called making love.”

  “You make the goodness in the world that the Nye trees used to make,” Trueblood said.

  Melki looked around the crew, sitting or leaning against bulkheads and barrels and masts. Beniv with his head in Calvo’s lap. Trueblood’s legs stretched out long and stacked like logs with the Ĝemelos’ legs.

  “So are we all making love right now?”

  Throats cleared and adult mouths folded around stifled laughter.

  “In a manner of speaking, lad,” Abrakam said.

  “Will we ever have a new goddess of love?” Melki asked, looking up at the constellation of Nyos.

  “I don’t think Nyos is really dead,” Trueblood said.

  “The stories say Truvos killed her.”

  “How do you kill a god, though? I think he just killed the thing that let her walk around on earth. Now she’s up in the stars but her spirit, her presence…” Trueblood stretched his arms to encompass the ship, the ocean and the world. “Is still here. I don’t think Truvos could destroy that without destroying himself in the process. That’s what I believe, anyway.”

  “She just shoots him,” Fen said absently. “Over and over, every night, Nyos shoots an arrow into the thing she loves most. Whoever put her in the stars that way was cruel.”

  All eyes turned up, contemplating the drama playing out in the constellations, except for Trueblood. His eyes were fixed on Fen’s throat, stretched long and tender from the V of his shirt.

  “Arrow of sadness,” Fen said. “They say Nyos fletched her arrows with peacock feathers, because they contained the eyes of the stars and gave her impeccable aim. She never missed a shot. Her perfect vision ended up being her undoing.”

  Melki got up and put arms around Fen from behind, laying his head on the kheiron’s shoulder. Fen looked back, startled, then patted the boy’s crossed wrists.

  You’re so beautiful, Trueblood thought.

  “The arrow of sadness wounded Minos so badly, his blood splashed all over the land, coloring the rock formations red.”

  “Really?” Melki said.

  “Well. No. The rocks are red because they have a lot of iron in them.”

  “Don’t ruin it, Fen,” Seven said. “If I wanted scientific explanations, I would’ve become a scholar. The face value of stories is enough for me.”

  “You’ve been saying that since you were a minoro at old Rafil’s feet,” Abrakam said.

  “Gods, I miss him,” the cook said.

  Hands thumped horizontal surfaces in appreciation.

  “The Cult of the Bull believes the red soil has ears to hear and secrets to tell,” Fen said.

  “The what of the bull?” Melki said.

  The kheiron sighed. “Long ago, a small group of people in Minosaros started twisting the legends around. Instead of Minos being simple-minded, they believed he possessed unparalleled wisdom. Instead of his death being an accident, they interpreted it as intentional. Nyos wanted his power for herself so she killed him, and all the wisdom and secrets and magic in Minos’s blood went into the soil of Arcodolori.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “The small group got bigger. The belief in the bull’s superiority became a religion. The religion infiltrated the government. And then…” Fen trailed off and looked at Abrakam. “I’m not too good converting that into history,” he said.

  “The Cult of the Bull’s foundation was hatred for Nyos,” the centaur said. “She was gone, so the hatred was directed at her children, who tended the trees. Nyland became the enemy. The minotaurs felt the trees belonged to them. And for a long time, lads, the world saw nothing but war between the nations.”

  “Is that the war named after you, Fen?” Melki asked.

  Fen’s smile was edged with sadness. “More like the last battle in a centuries-old conflict.”

  “So it’s over now?”

  “Not quite,” Fen said. “Still some fighting left to do.”

  The days lengthened. The pegasos beckoned, turning them away from the coast. The ship sailed. Stories were told.

  And Trueblood longed.

  Fen lived in his head now, morning, noon and night. He looked through Trueblood’s eyes, experiencing the world with him. Sometimes offering his thoughts and counsel, other times just his presence.

  What is happening to me?

  Outwardly, Trueblood was composed, quiet, confident and in command. Within, he was thirteen and monstrous. His skin ached, his heart stretched in all directions until it turned transparent. All of him was a window to the howling need inside, until he was sure it was written across his forehead in sloppy penmanship.

  “What’s troubling Trueblood?” Fen said during ripozo.

  You, Trueblood thought. “Nothing.”

  “I know the feeling.” Fen raised his telescope to the last visible scrap of Arcodolori, lips moving faintly under his breath. Even at this safe distance, his posture was tense. Braced to run at the slightest provocation.

  “Will you feel better when it’s out of sight?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better about it.”

  “Still some fighting left to do.”

  The scope came down and Fen gave a tight smile. “You know, I really love how the crew comes together to tell stories at night.”

  “The lads like the ones you tell.”

  “Do they?”

  “Mm.”

  “I have so many tales about Arcodolori, but they’re not… I can’t tell them in front of the young ones.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You don’t want to hear.”

  “If you can live it, I can hear it.”

  Fen shrugged and leaned his crossed arms on the railing.

  “Talk to me,” Trueblood said softly.

  Saying it felt like the biggest gamble of his life. But his ears were the only thing he could offer the kheir
on. As he waited in the quiet, listening to the creak of the ship and the lap of the waves against her hull, he ached with hope and longing.

  I want to know you. I want to hear all your stories.

  “When I got sold to a second master,” Fen said. “I was force-marched from Aybar to a region called Danysh. It’s one of the few green places in the north of Minosaros. They grow a little food and a lot of fadara. Fadara and slaves, that’s Danysh’s economy. Slaves are either laborers on plantations, or they’re whores at the brothels. I was the latter.”

  He glanced at Trueblood, who kept a placid, attentive face and nodded.

  I’m listening.

  “Fifteen slaves left Aybar. I was the only one who reached Danysh alive.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The fadara addicts were the first to go. They went mad from withdrawal.” He shuddered. “Gods, the way they would scream. Think of a baby having a fit, how their voice builds and builds until it cracks open and rattles. That’s what it was like. They’d beg the minotaurs to kill them. Cut their throats and end it. But those bastards were either deaf or had hearts of stone. The screaming didn’t phase them, but we were all clawing our ears off to get away from the sound.”

  He steepled his hands over his mouth and nose and drew a long, deep breath. “One night,” he said, muffled, “I saw a slave smother one of the addicts to death.”

  “Gods.”

  “Instead of being horrified, I was grateful.”

  “He probably was, too,” Trueblood said quietly.

  Fen took his hands down from his face. “Once the addicts were gone, slaves started dropping dead of dehydration. The arid environment literally drinks you and they didn’t bring water for us on the march. We’d only drink when we made camp for the night. I learned to save my spit. Talking was a waste of moisture. All day long I kept my mouth shut and let the saliva pool up in my mouth and I’d swallow it a little at a time. I basically survived by drinking myself.

  “At night, the minotaurs would chain us up and eat around the fire, then throw us the scraps.”

  “What did they eat?”

  “Rabbits, squirrels, birds. Sometimes a big lizard. Whatever they could skin and roast over the fire.”

  Trueblood’s brow knitted. “You’re vegetarian, though. What did you eat?”

  “I had to eat what was there, which was meat. It made me sick as shit, but I had no choice.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Once, when it was down to me and two other slaves, the minotaurs spitted these giant grasshoppers and put them in the fire. We each got one. A whole grasshopper each. It was a feast.”

  “Would it be stupid to ask if they were tasty?”

  “I don’t really remember the taste, but I ate all of it. Antenna. Feelers. The charred exoskeleton. Everything. The desert is no place for picky eaters.”

  “Gods.”

  “After eating, the minotaurs would sit around and drink and tell their own stories. That’s how I heard about the red soil having ears to hear and secrets to tell. The ancient people would mix the soil with water and whisper wishes into the clay. Then make the clay into little statues which they’d pray to. I thought maybe if it worked for wishes, it could work for names.”

  “Names?”

  “Remember I told you, the other day, when I was separated from my father, I’d call my khenom to help him find me?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I… Gods, I never told this to anyone.”

  Trueblood sat still. He could barely breathe, he wanted to be told so badly.

  “At night I’d spit in the ground until it made a clay,” Fen said. “I said my khenom into the clay and rolled it into little balls. They dried overnight and as we marched the next day, I’d drop them along the way. Leaving a trail of my name for the gods to hear and my father to follow. But it didn’t work.”

  His shoulders rose up high, then he exhaled slowly. “My stories don’t have happy endings,” he said. “Another reason I don’t tell them.”

  “Mm.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” Fen said. “Arcodolori is so impossibly beautiful. And violent and ugly and terrible at the same time. Horrible days when I’d look out on this breathtaking scenery and wonder how I could be living such a miserable life in such a gorgeous place. How such inhumane cruelty could be sustained in a land that looked like the gods’ nursery. All those rock formations looked like forgotten playthings to me. Toys the gods left behind after they grew up. It was literally a gods-forsaken place.”

  Trueblood got up and went to stand by Fen at the railing. “One day,” he said. “I don’t know, one idealistic, happily-ever-after day when that part of the world is a better place, would you ever go back?”

  Fen thought a long time. “Maybe. Someday when I’m in a better place. And when I have someone who could go with me.”

  “Who do you see that being?”

  A faint smile lifted a corner of the kheiron’s mouth. “Once, when I was little, I asked my father how he knew my dam was the one for him. He said she came the closest to saying his khenom perfectly. It made sense to me. Still does. I guess if I ever went back to Arcodolori, it would be with someone who can call me by name.” He glanced at Trueblood. “Let the record show I’ll follow my father’s lead on something.”

  “That’s a good story,” Trueblood said.

  “Still no happy ending.”

  “Because it’s still being written.”

  Fen’s elbow dug in Trueblood’s side. “You’ve got a soft spot for an asshole.”

  “Shut up.” He hipped back and after their sides bumped once, then again, they settled a whisper apart. “You don’t have to answer this, but who was the boy the Altyns found with you?” He moved a hair, enough to close the gap and feel Fen’s body through his clothes.

  Fen’s touch moved away. Then it came back. “His name was Alon,” he said.

  Trueblood nodded.

  Fen wiggled one of his rings, turning it round and round. “He was another slave. We escaped together. But he fell off my back and…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s buried next to my mother. I asked Father and he did it for me.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” His body moved a little closer.

  “You’re talking about it now.”

  “Because it’s easy to tell you things.”

  “My listening doesn’t come at a price,” Trueblood said.

  And I want to kiss you.

  Telling Trueblood his stories, Fen felt utterly naked. Shedding not only his clothes but his skin, leaving all of his bones on display. A roasted grasshopper ready to be eaten. Antenna, feelers and all.

  “My listening doesn’t come at a price,” Trueblood said.

  Fen stared at him. For a stunned moment, he wondered how the kepten could possibly know how transactional Fen’s life was. How he learned at a painfully young age never to do anything without getting something in return. This for that. He learned to be wary of kindness, sympathy and compassion because they always seemed to have a hidden cost.

  Only a moment he wondered.

  Because in the next moment, he saw it was no wonder at all.

  “I don’t know a lot about gelang,” he said slowly. “But I imagine listening is one of the best parts about it.”

  That and kissing.

  Gods, Pelippé Trueblood, I want to kiss you. I want to tell all my stories into your open mouth and ask for nothing in return.

  His legs swayed a little and he swallowed hard. “I still hate your guts but right now, I’m rather glad to be onboard.”

  Trueblood drew a long, deep breath. “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “Your cabin?”

  “You wish. Come o
n.”

  Fen followed down the great stairwell, then down littler, winding ones to the holds. “What, you mean I still haven’t seen everything there is to see on this boat?”

  “No. And still no place you can hide where I can’t find you.”

  Fuck, I love when you say that, Fen thought.

  Trueblood paused outside a door. You had to look hard to discern it was a door. It lay flush with the interior wall of the ship, only the knob and the latch giving away its function.

  “It’s a step up,” Trueblood said. “And the lintel is low. Watch your head.”

  Fen ducked as he entered the room, while Trueblood snapped a match on his heel and lit the lantern.

  A scent not of this world embraced Fen like a surprise. It flung arms around him and held him close, weeping, You’re here. Here you are. You’re back.

  “Khe l’khe,” he whispered, his eyes and nose and throat full of that smell, holy horses, what was it? It seeped into his pores, filled his veins and danced over the roof of his mouth until he could taste the air because he was the air. He was life and youth and purity and truth and love and it was all, everything was so beautiful and could he stay here forever, could it all be his, please let it all stay this way, just like this so perfect and smelling so good…

  “Where’s it coming from?” he said hoarsely. His words sparkled as they left his tongue and he was so sad to see them go, yet they hung in the air like soap bubbles and wasn’t it beautiful, wasn’t it all just splendid…

  “The walls,” Trueblood said, his face dreamy. “Decades and centuries of transporting Nye. The scent got into the walls and it never leaves. To me, this is the most especial place on the ship.”

  Fen carefully and happily gathered the edges of his blown mind together, pulling them back into some kind of order. He inhaled to the tips of his ribs. “I’ve never smelled it so intense.”

  “Growing up, I’d always watch when new crew members went down to the Cay’s nyellem for the first time. They’d only heard stories about spice. It was nothing but legend to them. They never saw it. Or smelled it. They’d walk in the first time and Gods… They’d cry. Say it was the best thing to ever happen to them in their lives. It was magic.”