by Alia Hess
He clutched his chest and took a measured breath. How long was his implant supposed to last? At the time, he’d assumed indefinitely, but had anyone thought to ask? It had only been a couple years since the surgery.
Frowning, he headed back for the table, then dropped into his chair and took a drink of his smoothie.
Corvin leaned back and sighed. “This was delicious. You ladies help make the food?”
The women at the table smiled and shook their heads. “Clearwater and his wife.”
Sasha popped a shrimp in his mouth, chewing slowly and straining for the rapid thud of his heart. My pulse isn’t fast. I’m not sweating or breathing shallow. But my head is swimming. Am I drunk?
“Hey, your smoothie got moonshine in it?” Sasha asked.
Corvin stared at his half-empty glass. “It does?”
“No. I am asking you if it got it… You feel drunk?”
“I do feel a little funny. Not drunk, but…” Corvin rubbed his face. “I took this divine stuff in Hammerlink once. You drip it in your eyes.” He laughed. “I was tripping so hard.”
Sasha ran his tingling fingers along the table’s rough surface. “Can’t drink. Not supposed to.” He took another swallow of his virgin smoothie.
The ladies at the table chuckled and Sasha grinned. “What is so funny?”
“You two. Silly Mainlanders.”
“Hey, don’t call me that. I am not… oh. Nevermind.”
Corvin pulled a shrimp off Sasha’s plate and ate it. “I didn’t see these up there.” He stood with his empty plate, then immediately dropped it and gripped the back of his seat. “Think I stood up too fast.”
“Something is wrong.” Something’s been wrong this whole time. Sasha pulled in a deep breath and shook his head. “What is wrong with our drinks?”
Clearwater sat in a chair across the table, eyebrows raised. “You don’t like ‘em? Oh, shit, you’re not allergic to strawberries, are you?”
Sasha scowled. “You put something in our drinks, and I am not talking about strawberries! I mean, look at my friend.”
Corvin stared at the table, his dark eyes distant and glazed. He whispered something inaudible.
Rocksalt walked over. “What’s wrong?”
Sasha jabbed a finger at Clearwater. “Your friend did something to our drinks!”
Rocksalt leaned in, staring into Sasha’s eyes. “I, uh, think you may have drunk one of the smoothies with naal bark in it. Sorry about that.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s just something people like to use here to take the edge off. It’s not alcohol—”
“So drugs is better?” What the hell have I done? Coming here was so stupid.
Clearwater cringed. “Sorry, brother. Honest mistake. I thought I gave you guys virgin drinks. It’s not a big deal, though. Everyone here likes a little in their smoothies. Right, ladies?”
The woman next to Sasha raised her glass and took a sip. She thumbed at his drink. “Finish it. It’s not going to kill you or anything. Have some fun! This is a party, stud. Enjoy it.”
Sasha stood with difficulty, bumping his plate and sending shrimp across the table. “You did on purpose! Why? What did I do to you?”
Rocksalt shook his head. “Nothing. It was a mistake, really. Although, if one of you wants to apologize for something, Melonvine brand clothing is really garish and tacky.”
Corvin’s head snapped up. “How dare you!” He balled a fist, then opened his hand and flexed it. “I—I can’t feel my fingers.”
Clearwater waved his hands and chuckled. “Don’t listen to Rocksalt. He’s had some naal bark too. You make wonderful clothing, brother.”
Sasha’s face contorted. “I don’t know what we do to you guys, but we are getting the hell out of here. Come on, Corvin.”
“Ooh. I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Clearwater said. “It’s just kicking in. You two have a hell of a ride to go on yet.”
Corvin whispered. “I feel fabulous.”
Sasha scowled, his head threatening to float away. “I can’t believe this. All I wanted to do is have a little fun with my friend.”
Rocksalt shrugged. “No one is stopping you from having fun.”
“Not like this!” Sasha’s lip trembled. “I have been good! Whole year I have been good. Not drinking. Not getting into trouble. And you guys ruin it!”
What would Dusty think now? Things were already shaky with her, and now he’d fallen off the wagon too. What if he went home and all his belongings were in the street? Would she take him back? If she wouldn’t, he wasn’t sure there was a point to anything. He didn’t want anything but her love. He’d been through so much, and she’d helped him come out the other side as his best self. Now all of that was unravelling.
Corvin has been trying hard to be a better person too. God, and now he’s on drugs.
Sasha’s stomach clenched. He grabbed all the visible knives on the table and threw them into a bush behind him. He tugged on Corvin’s sleeve. “Hey, let’s get out of here before something get ugly.”
Corvin gripped Sasha’s arm like he might fall over. He stared at the bush of knives and giggled. “What are you doing?”
What was he doing? It was hard to concentrate. And why was everyone staring at him?
Clearwater walked around the table, arms outstretched as if approaching a wild animal. “Okay, brother. Just relax. Listen, there’s this real nice garden not too far from here. Maybe we should take a walk.”
Sasha backed into Corvin, close enough to inhale his sandalwood cologne. Though his mind was foggy, and his face numb, he still remembered Clearwater and the other guy were out to get him. He took a step, then stumbled and fell into a fence, breaking through the posts and landing in the dirt. He groaned, pulling a broken spear of wood out from under his back. “I think I am prokalyvat’. Like vampire.”
Corvin rubbed his eye, his speech slurred. “Lemme help you up.” He bent toward Sasha, then fell too.
An Islander approached, offering his hand.
“Get away from me,” Sasha mumbled and batted the hand away. He pushed himself up, brushing gravel and wood splinters away from his clothes, then helped Corvin to his feet. They clung to each other, stumbling down a steep path toward a blurry beach. Voices called from behind them, but Sasha offered his middle finger in response, not looking back.
Corvin said, “You’re my best friend, Shash—Sasha. You’re a good friend.”
“You are drunk.”
“No. Drugged. Remember?”
“What?”
“Drugged.”
“What?”
Corvin giggled.
Sasha laughed, then slipped on loose gravel and rolled his ankle, pulling Corvin down with him. “Blyat!”
“Where am I?” Corvin murmured. “I feel fabulous.”
“I don’t remember, but world is spinning too fast. I think I drink too much moonshine. You want to just lay here for minute?”
“Yes.”
Sasha blinked, palm tree fronds rocking slowly above. This is not Russia. …Russia is dead. Everywhere is dead. But I am alive.
“I’m alive.”
Corvin opened his eyes with effort. “What?”
“I’m alive, Corvin. You know how ‘mazing that is?” Sasha hopped up, wincing. “What is wrong with my ankle?” He slapped his hands together. “Who cares? Let’s party! I am ready for good time. Somebody around here got to have moonshine. I got big nose. I will smell it out.”
Corvin chuckled and pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. “I like wine… And whatever the hell I’m on right now. Damn. You know what this feels like?”
“Drunk.”
“No. It feels like Dewbell. You know what I mean? She’s this… this guardian angel… with her long blonde hair and beautiful smile and freckles… Her soft kisses and warm arms around me.”
Sasha nodded slowly, his head heavy. “I would agree with you, but then you would punch me.”
“But it’s not just that. She’s—she’s amazing. It’s like she looks right into my soul, and she can see all the dirty, awful parts of me. All my anxieties and urges, and she doesn’t care. She tells me it’s okay and that she loves me.” He shut his eyes and hugged himself. “I have nightmares sometimes. Because of the stuff the highwaymen did to me, you know. And I just go crawl into Dewbell’s bed and she strokes my hair and kisses my face, and… have you ever heard her talk?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t like to—prefers to sign—because the words don’t come out right and she knows it, but her voice is heavenly.” Corvin rubbed his cheek and looked around. “What are we doing?”
“You were talking about Dewbell.”
“No, I mean, what are we doing here? Where are we?”
Sasha strained to remember. “We were going to go to party. I think maybe we got lost.”
“My party?”
“Don’t know. If it is your party, we are in wrong place for sure. Should go find Dusty and Dewbell.”
“Dewbell… Yes, let’s go find them.” Corvin took a step, then frowned and stuck a finger through a bloody rip in the elbow of his button-up shirt.
Sasha clapped him on the back. “Better get new shirt, first, huh? Good thing you got, like, million of them.” He shambled along the path, Corvin beside him.
“You’re a good friend, Sasha. My best friend.”
Sasha grinned. “You are my best friend too, weirdo. And I love you. Now let’s go party!”
Corvin raised his hand dramatically. “To the party!”
A voice came from behind them. “Hey, brothers. Party’s this way! C’mon.”
Sasha turned, staring at the grinning Islander standing in the path. He squinted. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Yeah, Sasha. It’s me, Rocksalt. I was at your wedding, remember?”
“Oh… right.”
Rocksalt slung an arm around Sasha’s shoulders and tugged Corvin by the sleeve. “Follow me, guys. We are going to have the best time together. I know the perfect spot…”
2
~ Aftermath ~
Sasha opened his eyes, staring into a bright blue sky. Gauzy clouds drifted past. His left foot was unusually cold and… wet? He sat up, groaning in pain. One of his legs dangled in an ornate fountain; both of his sandals floated in the water. Dirt smeared his shirt and soggy pant legs, and thin plant spines bristled from his bruised arms.
This feels familiar.
It was the exact kind of familiar he had avoided for a year. He’d been so good. Dusty would be furious.
A shadow loomed and Sasha looked up. A large, older Islander, arms crossed and pajamas stretched tight over his protruding stomach, stood between two muscled men in matching gray smocks. Thick wooden clubs dangled from their waistbands—hopefully that meant they were some sort of policemen… did the Islands have policemen?—and not hitmen.
Sasha groaned, struggling to recall what happened the night before. “What is happening? I am trespass?”
“That’s an understatement,” the man in pajamas said.
One of the policemen grabbed Sasha by the collar and jerked him to his feet. His head swam and stomach lurched.
Destroyed plants lay around the fountain, and clods of dirt and white roots scattered the area. Chunks of hedges were missing, and the flowerbeds were trampled. He’d wakened to some strange things after a night of heavy drinking, but this was a first.
Why was I drinking? Because I had a fight with Dusty? She’s going to be so pissed… and disappointed. I bet she expected this from me.
Behind him, a stately stucco house with high balconies overlooked the mess. Reliefs of whales, squids, and fish graced the outer walls. It looked quite a bit like the Elder house on Nis.
But where was he? This wasn’t Nis and this man wasn’t Elder Quietbird. He fought to remember: riding on a little boat with Corvin as the horizon slipped into the sea; drinking smoothies at a party; slipping on gravel and twisting his ankle…
He was on Tam and someone had drugged his drink. And now he stood in a wrecked garden surrounded by policemen.
Sasha turned his gaze back to the man in pajamas and swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “Are… are you Elder here?”
The man narrowed his eyes, lines creasing his dark face. “That’s right. I’m Elder Palesun.”
Sasha cringed. “Oh, shit. I guess I done this, huh? I am really sorry. These guys at party drugged me and my friend—Hey, you seen my friend?”
The men looked around. Sasha stepped past the fountain, peeking beyond a destroyed hedge. Corvin lay asleep in a bed of smashed roses, hugging the head of a broken stone statue. He was missing a shoe, his toes poking out of a hole in his sock. Red petals covered his messy hair, and blood ran along the sleeve of his button-up shirt in a stiff streak.
One of the men gripped Corvin by the arm and hauled him up. Corvin’s eyes snapped open and he shrieked. He swung his fist, hitting the man in the mouth. The man pressed a hand to his lip and growled. He pulled Corvin into a headlock.
Corvin mewled and squirmed. “Please, no. I’m sorry! I’m sorry—”
“Corvin!” Sasha took a step toward him and a hand pulled him back. The policeman yanked Sasha’s arms behind his back and bound his wrists with coarse rope. Corvin’s eyes grew wide and glossy, his chest heaving as his wrists were also bound. He stared at Sasha, face pleading and mouth trembling.
Sasha had done this song and dance before—Corvin, apparently not, unless being kidnapped by highwaymen counted. Sasha craned his neck toward the Islander holding his arm. “You guys taking us to some jail or something?”
“A detainment center, yes.”
“Can I walk next to my friend, please? He have… issues. Think he will be more calm if I am next to him, huh? He won’t try to punch people.”
The policeman frowned, then nodded. Sasha sidestepped destroyed flowers and approached Corvin, who was trembling and pale.
“Hey, man. We will be okay. Stay calm and do what they ask, alright? American jail don’t got phone for phone call, but I bet we can get message to Quietbird.”
“How can I stay calm? I don’t know what’s happening! Where am I?” Corvin said.
The Islander holding Corvin’s arm rubbed his split lip. “You’re in Elder Palesun’s backyard, and you’ve made a real mess of things.”
More snippets of the night surfaced in Sasha’s mind: following Rocksalt into the garden and traipsing over flowers; peeing in the bushes next to the house; Corvin trying to dance with a statue and knocking it onto the pavement; Sasha blubbering on Corvin’s shoulder because the honeymoon phase of his marriage was over, and all he and Dusty did was fight.
He’d succeeded in blowing off some frustration as intended, but not in the way he planned. Now he and Corvin were both going to pay for it. What did Island punishment consist of? Would it be something simple, like paying a fee? Or would they be tied to trees and flogged?
As the club-wielding Islanders dragged them both through the garden, Elder Palesun stood by the fountain with his arms folded, the warm breeze blowing his long hair across his face. A sneer crossed his lips.
“This is a frame job!” Corvin’s pleading eyes turned to Palesun. “Some guys at a party drugged our drinks! We didn’t want this to happen. We didn’t! I’m a civilized Island citizen. I would never do this of my own accord! The guys you’re looking for are Rocksalt and… and…”
“Clearwater.” Sasha frowned. “But this guys don’t care about that, Corvin. Wait ‘til we can talk to Elder Quietbird.” He looked at Palesun. “We are really sorry for messing up your garden. Maybe we can help fix and pay for damage. Can we please talk to Quietbird once we get to jail?”
Palesun didn’t look at him, addressing the policemen. “As soon as these two are detained, put in the execution order. Bump them to the front of the list.” He turned away. “And send someone to get this place cleaned up!”
Sasha’s sto
mach dropped like a brick. “Execute?”
Corvin shook, petals falling from his hair. “He didn’t mean us, right? Of course, he didn’t mean us. Some other prisoners—murderers.” He exhaled an unnerving laugh. “No one gets executed for trampling flowerbeds.”
Both policemen were stone-faced, pulling them away from the Elder house and down a hedge-lined path.
This couldn’t be happening. In all the times Sasha’d been drunk and done something stupid: broken furniture, said nasty things about the Russian government, offended bar patrons, the consequences had never been this bad. Waking up with a killer hangover and a black eye, yes. But an execution order?
Sasha turned to the guards, vomit rising in his throat. “Palesun did not mean us, right? For execute?”
The Islander glanced at him. “He meant you.”
“Oh, look at your face.” Owl laughed as Son of Owl stuffed another pearlberry in his mouth with a juice-stained hand. The purple liquid, nearly as dark as his skin, ran down his chubby chin and dripped onto his romper. Owl rubbed his silky brown hair. “Let’s go get you cleaned up and see what Daddy is doing.”
“Dada!”
Owl pushed out of the dirt and scooped him up, brushing past large squash leaves and lacy asparagus fronds. She headed toward the house and through the garden, stepping around chickens underfoot. Purple stargazers surrounded the round clay home, their palm-sized petals glittering in the afternoon sun.
Voices drifted from the entryway.
“Oh, someone is paying us a visit.” Owl smiled at her son. “Sounds like Uncle.”
Son of Owl gave her a berry-smeared grin. “Cowvin!”
“No, not Uncle Corvin.”
“Sah-sah.”
She chuckled. “Not ‘Uncle’ Sasha. Uncle Quietbird.”
“Ka-biwd!”
“That’s right.” Owl rounded the corner. “Maybe Son of Seasalt has come to play.”
Trav stood before the open door, his porcelain face creased with concern as he talked to Quietbird. His soft, lilting voice was too low to make out, but Quietbird’s mouth pulled tight in response. They looked up.
“Owl!” Quietbird gave her a pained smile.