Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  Daytime belongs to combat, but the Eventide is mine. Phaestion and I practice the notes of songs. We try the flute first, then the sampo guitar. We try singing. I use an aquagraphic tablet to write notation for him. He studies with intensity, but it doesn’t come. He plays the flute with too much force, piping a shrill tone. Or he’ll try too softly, and no sound emerges at all.

  He throws the instrument across the room, shattering it against the wall, his usual calm demeanor devolved to frenzy. “I’ll never learn!” he paces, arms gesticulating violently.

  “Give it time. You weren’t always good at fighting.”

  “Yes, I was!” he insists. “Like I can see a man’s movement and know what he will do before he thinks it. I don’t know why.”

  “You still had to be taught.”

  “But it wasn’t like this!” He pounds a fist against the wall. “Even if I learn it, I’ll never be great. What’s the point? It won’t help me win or conquer anything. It won’t help me lead.”

  “How is fighting supposed to help you do that?” I ask sullenly.

  I’m reminded of my audience before Old Wusong. The one thing I’m good at is considered useless. I put my flute in its case now that the lesson is finished.

  “Humanity’s savageness is what makes it civilized,” he answers.

  Do all people from Meridian think this way? I wonder.

  “Technology, trade, computers, space travel,” he goes on. “All are products of competition and conflict.”

  “So art and music and learning—all those things don’t make civilization, too? The sand between your toes, the sun on your face. Don’t those things make you happy? Isn’t being happy what makes things worth it?” I ask.

  “Stretching my physical capabilities, pitting myself against a worthy opponent, and defeating the challenge—that’s what makes me happy.”

  “I wasn’t the one who wanted to learn this,” I say bitterly. “Just remember to keep your end of the bargain, even if you can’t learn.”

  “You think I can’t?” he challenges.

  “I know you can’t,” I say slyly, baiting him.

  “Give me your flute,” he demands.

  “No!” I whisk the case away from his grasp.

  “Give it here.” He reaches. I pull it away again. The game is on.

  “It’s mine, and you can’t have it!”

  Finally, he lunges with a speed I can’t match. The flute case skitters across the floor. We wrestle until he bests me. I struggle furiously. “Get off me, Nightsider!”

  Calmness comes over him. I try to knock him off, but his skill at positioning is too good.

  “You’ll always be my friend, won’t you, Edmon?” His voice sounds far-off, though his eyes hold me in their grasp.

  “Yes,” I say confusedly.

  He seems somewhere else. His panting breath suddenly calms, and his face flushes.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he whispers.

  I feel my heart beating in my chest. He slowly leans down.

  What is this feeling?

  He presses his forehead to mine.

  The gesture of brothers.

  More than a kiss, this is the symbol of a bond greater than blood. A bond between warriors. For a moment, it feels like I’m him and he’s me and we’ll be this way forever. Then he pulls back with a haunted look in his eyes.

  “Phaestion?” I ask.

  The sound of his name snaps him back to reality. He smiles, carefree again, and helps me off the ground.

  Out in the main hall, drumbeats reverberate. Phaestion grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  The feast brings the dance. I look for my mother, but she does not attend. She comes less and less to the festivities, always locking herself in her chambers with the village elders. They are discussing something secret. She knows the days are running short until the sondi will arrive to take me to Meridian and House Julii. I don’t think my mother plans on letting me go.

  How can she think to fight them? I wonder. Do I even want her to succeed in preventing me from leaving if she tries? That is the greater question that hangs in my mind. There must be more to life than the simplicity Bone has to offer.

  I watch Phaestion mingling among the islanders, observing. I wonder if my mother keeps me from her plans because she sees the heir of House Julii and I have become friends? Or is it so that if she fails, my father cannot hold me accountable? The music pulls me from my dark thoughts.

  I play and sing while Nadia teaches Phaestion to dance. He’s actually much better at dancing than playing music, almost as graceful as when he’s fighting. They smile at each other. I see Nadia laugh as he tells her some joke I cannot hear. The villagers call for him to take center stage. They clap and sing for him to move his fancy feet as Nadia watches with admiration. My chest burns.

  Now he takes the thing that I’m best at from me, too.

  “You’re as good as him,” the old, worn voice says, catching me. Gorham smiles his kindly gap-toothed smile. “In your own way, young lord. You play beautifully. He can’t do that.”

  “But look at him dance. He’s so good in so little time. Everyone loves him. Even Nadia,” I say venomously. “It’s not fair.”

  “Does the star of Tao burn any less brightly than the star of Lyria?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  He knows I’ve mentioned Lyria often. He knows I’ve dreamed of it, the people, the capital city of Prospera with its libraries and schools and opera houses. Now, though, I’m in no mood for his old-man riddles.

  “Loving Phaestion doesn’t mean they do not love you,” he answers.

  I’m not about to give up self-pity so easily. “I’ve never seen the star of Lyria. How should I know which is brighter?”

  “Someday you will, I think, young lord.” Gorham grins sadly. “And you’ll understand the light from one star does not eclipse that of another. Each star has its own to give.”

  I try to understand his wisdom but don’t allow myself to see it. “If each star shines equally as bright, how do we measure them? There is an objective truth, old man.” I turn on my heel and leave, shoving the guilt of my insult aside.

  Phaestion and I lose ourselves in the darkness of the shaded house when the feast is over. We skirt through the halls or sometimes we just sit and talk.

  One night, he steals some fruit from a kitchen table. We return to his room. He takes three golden sea peaches and hands me six more.

  “Watch,” he says. He juggles them. His perfect, white hands move with practiced ease.

  “Toss another!”

  I throw one, and the new peach becomes part of the mesmerizing loop.

  “Another!” he calls out.

  I do it again, laughing at his preternatural skill.

  “Another!”

  I stare, incredulous, but I toss it in anyway. It is too many for anyone’s hands to manage. A peach drops to the floor, but he doesn’t let it touch the ground. He traps it in the crook of his ankle, then tosses it seamlessly back into the loop, creating a new pattern with hands and now feet.

  “Another!” he says.

  Is he serious?

  “Another!” he insists.

  I toss it into the mix. He deftly includes it. “I should try this blindfolded next time. Now you!” he says.

  “What? No!” I shout.

  He throws the peaches at me. One. Two. Three. I manage for a few seconds, and then they all tumble to the floor, rolling everywhere.

  He bursts into laughter. “Bed!” he calls and falls on the gel mattress, which slides from the wall. “You should have seen your face!”

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I chase down rolling fruit. “I’ve never juggled before.”

  “Neither have I.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. He gazes back innocently.

  “How were you able to do that then?” I ask.

  “It probably has something to do with the way I was born.” He lies back on the bed.
/>   What does that mean?

  “My mother was a sea goddess,” he says very seriously.

  There is a moment of deadly silence before he bursts into laughter. Then we’re interrupted by a musical hoot from the sea.

  He sits up, alert. “What was that?”

  “A siren calling for a mate,” I respond, annoyed by the interruption. “Don’t you know anything?”

  Phaestion cocks his head to the side. “Have you seen one before?”

  “I’ve caught glimpses. They usually stay in the depths.”

  “Let’s go.” He springs from the bed.

  “What?”

  “To see a siren.”

  “It’s past Eventide!” I protest.

  He grabs my arm. “Gotta train for the unexpected!”

  We sneak through the darkness of the house, then out into the light of the never-setting sun.

  “Come on!” he hollers as he takes off at a clip down the path.

  “Phaestion!” I shout, but all I can see are the soles of his feet licking the air like tongues as he sprints down the path.

  A distant rumble sounds. Bloated, cottony clouds bloom on the horizon. A storm is brewing, not far off. If we are quick about it, we might not get caught in it. Then, again . . . I sigh and take off after my rash friend.

  I find Phaestion near the shore, not another soul in sight. I’m panting, out of breath. Rivulets of sweat glide down my forehead.

  “What took you so long?” He smiles, not even winded from the sprint. “Come on!”

  He skips along the sand bar that forms a rudimentary dock and untethers a small canoe from its moorings.

  “That doesn’t belong to you!”

  “Why does that matter?”

  I start to protest, but he interrupts me. “Edmon.” He puts his hand on my arms. “Your father’s Patriarch of House Leontes. Bone is his. As his son, it’s yours. By the rights of fosterage, I have the rights and privileges that you do. So it’s mine, too. The whole world could be ours between your family and mine and the friends we make with other scions. If you don’t start acting like you are worth it, then you never will be.”

  Nadia wouldn’t see things that way, I think. I wish she were here.

  “What if—?”

  “Enough talk.” He shakes his head. The puffy clouds in the sky seem much closer now. A siren calls, her mellifluous sound beckoning. “I’m not missing this because you’re afraid, Edmon!” He hops into the canoe. “You coming or not?”

  I scowl, but I get into the boat just the same.

  We paddle out of the harbor on choppy waves. Phaestion’s face is beaming. He seems ready to conquer anything. All I feel is the sickening twist of fear. I rev the blast engine, and the sonic pulse propels us through the high waves of the open sea. Phaestion leaps onto the bow. He holds his stance with superhuman balance even as the boat crashes into the breaks. We’re quickly drenched with sea foam. Phaestion howls with delight.

  “I’ll take us around to the north side of the isle!” I shout over the engine. “Once we get within earshot, I’ll have to cut the power or risk scaring them off.”

  We round the island underneath the great cliffs. I spot the nook high up where Nadia and I have spent so much time. I turn off the engine.

  “Are they here?” Phaestion asks. “I don’t see them.”

  I hold my finger to my lips, indicating the need for quiet. We slowly paddle to an outcropping of rocks a few kilometers from the isle. A cloud passes overhead and swaths us in shadow.

  “Phaestion?”

  “What?”

  “The weather’s shifting,” I say with trepidation.

  He fires me a look of annoyance.

  The boat slides closer to the rocks. We can see them now—three sirens. Their pearlescent bodies shimmer against the green of the sea. One of them throws her hair back in a rainbow shower of anemone tendrils. The filaments dance with an array of color. They’re beautiful. Remarkably human and alien all at once. The sound of their call feels magnetic, pulling us toward the rocks.

  “Wow!” Phaestion exhales.

  The sirens’ heads snap up. Their hair flares with violent bursts of color. Their slitted eyes narrow, and their calls turn to shrieks as they spot us. They dive into the water, their shimmering bodies visible just below the waves.

  “They’re getting away!” Phaestion cries.

  He grabs an oar and snaps it like a twig against his knee, creating a sharp wooden stave from one fragment. Thunder crashes, and the sky spills forth a deluge.

  “By the twisted star, what are you doing?” I shout above the maelstrom.

  He poises the stave above his head.

  No! Something inside me screams. I hurl myself at him, tackling him just as he throws the spear. It torpedoes into the water wide of its target.

  “What did you do that for?” He throws me off him.

  “Why would you try to kill it?” I fire back.

  The argument is cut short as the water beneath us roils. The boat rocks like a seesaw, water overflowing everywhere.

  “We’re tipping!” I shout.

  Phaestion presses his limbs to the sides of the boat for stability. “Just hang on!”

  It’s no use. I’m flung into the air.

  “Edmon!”

  It’s the last thing I hear before I smash into a curling wave. Through darkness, I struggle for the surface. Brine fills my nose and mouth. I flail my limbs, then realize I’m swimming in the wrong direction, down rather than up.

  Idiot!

  My lungs are on fire. Something whooshes nearby. I risk opening my eyes. It’s a siren, her iridescent scales glowing. The filaments of her hair flare out like the snakes of a medusa’s mane. She opens her mouth, revealing row upon row of vicious needle teeth. I scream, stupidly releasing all the oxygen from my lungs. Her webbed hands outstretch to grab me.

  Suddenly, I’m swept aside. The current carries me in its clutches. Something huge circles below me. The siren shrieks and swims away faster than I ever thought possible, then disappears as if swallowed.

  A gigantic green eye opens before me. My head feels dizzy. Blackness clouds my vision. Water fills my mouth.

  Hands grab hold of me. I’m pulled up away from the eye. Next thing I know, I’m vomiting seawater into the boat. Phaestion pounds my back.

  “What happened?” I cough out.

  “I dove in to rescue you,” he says over the torrent.

  “The siren, the eye,” I sputter. “There’s something down there!”

  An explosion rips the surface of the ocean. A geyser soars into the air, flinging the boat across the waves. A hideous shriek thrums through my entire body as a colossal eel-like creature bursts from the water then dives back down.

  “By the twisted star!” My voice is hushed by the awesome sight.

  “A leviathan!” Phaestion echoes.

  He grabs an oar and paddles furiously. I jump to the blast engine and pull the rev cord. Nothing. I pull again. Damn the ancestors!

  “Hurry!” Phaestion screams.

  “It won’t turn!”

  The creature circles beneath us then bursts forth from the depths again. His dragon’s head breaks the surface, and his great green eyes open. The large pupils dilate with something more than primitive intelligence.

  Phaestion brandishes the remaining oar like a sword. His normally sure and steady hands shake wildly.

  The creature opens its maw, displaying an incredible array of enormous razorlike incisors. Its shriek knocks us from our feet to the back of the boat. The leviathan bobs and weaves its massive head, following us, a predator toying with its food.

  Phaestion stands, but I motion for him to stay back. I don’t know why, but I feel something. This creature won’t harm us, I realize.

  The monster’s eyes flash. His nostrils flare. I am sucked toward his inhalation.

  He’s smelling us!

  The creature snorts like a massive “humph.”

  I smell the odor of
a thousand fermented sea creatures in his breath. Still, I stand my ground in spite of my terror. The rain ceases. The only sounds are the creaking boat, the waves, the breathing of two boys, and a monster. I raise my hand in some sort of greeting.

  “What are you doing?” hisses Phaestion.

  I have no idea.

  I step forward, my hand centimeters from the enormous snout. Giant tendrils extend from its nostrils like the elongated mustaches of some ancient guru. Thunder crashes, and rain falls once more. The creature shrieks. I’m blown flat on my back as it dives beneath the sea. The splash is tremendous. It smashes against the deck of the boat with incredible force.

  “Hang on!” Phaestion grabs me.

  We plaster ourselves to the deck as we’re hit by a massive wave. It propels us with terrifying speed toward the cliffs.

  “We’re going to hit!” I shout.

  “What do we do?” Phaestion screams.

  “Toss me the oar!” I plunge it into the sea like a rudder, trying to turn us.

  “It’s not working!” Phaestion shouts.

  I paddle with all my might against the current, silently cursing my companion for destroying our other oar.

  “Brace for impact!” Phaestion screams, echoing dialogue from every space opera aquagraphic we’ve ever seen.

  The cliffs rush to meet us. I keep paddling furiously, my arms on fire. Here it comes! Miraculously, our pace slows, and at the last second, the wave dissipates. I reach out with the oar and stab against the rocks, jamming us away from impact as much as I can. We bump into the cliffs with nary a sound. I collapse back in the boat, angry, relieved, and exhausted.

  I hear laughter building slowly, and I look up to see Phaestion flop against the hull, giggling with delight. I stare at him as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

  Crazy bastard! This is all his fault!

  My knuckles whiten on the oar. I stand and glower at him. I raise the oar, ready to smash it on his fiery head. He looks up, points, and howls even harder.

  Lightning crashes. I slip and fall on my rear. “Ow,” I moan.