Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  She was left like this on purpose. She was left like this for me to see.

  “No,” I whisper. I run to her. “Mother, it’s me, Edmon! What’s happened to you? What’s happened?” I hold her in my arms, but she’s so frail. She groans like an unthinking animal. I pull away in horror as spittle runs down her chin.

  “What happened?” I ask over and over. My heart threatens to pound through my chest. The servant looks away, unable to meet my gaze.

  Alberich steps forward. “It was your father who did this, Edmon. I’m sorry, young lord.”

  Nausea envelops my stomach. My world spins.

  “You knew,” I whisper. “You knew and never told me—” Bile chokes the rest of the words before they reach my lips.

  “When you left, she threatened revolt. She gathered a group of islanders to travel to Meridian to protest your ‘abduction,’ as she called it publicly,” the seneschal explains.

  “You promised you would protect her.” I try to hold back the grief and sickness. I ball my fists as tightly as I can to fight the shock. My palms feel cold and clammy.

  I should’ve been here to protect her. This shouldn’t have happened. I collapse to my knees and vomit onto the marble floor. The retching continues until I repeatedly heave and nothing comes out.

  “You promised you would protect her,” I moan.

  “I’m sorry, Edmon,” Alberich says softly. “The Isle of Bone is a vassal state of House Wusong-Leontes. She threatened open, armed rebellion. The punishment for treason is execution, or worse, the Wendigo.”

  “This is better?” Rage boils in my veins. “She’s lobotomized!”

  “She lives,” Alberich says. “She’s here at home with her people to care for her.”

  “I could’ve stopped this. I would’ve told her to call off the revolt. You never told me!”

  “Edmon, you had already tried. There was nothing more you could have done. You needed to focus on your studies,” Phaestion adds gently. “We have training, preparation, a commitment to shut out the outside world in order to be ready . . .”

  I turn on him, daggers in my eyes.

  All those letters I wrote. He told me that I had done a great service for my people and for the Pantheon. He led me to believe that I had averted the crisis. He made me think that my mother was not able to respond because of her treason. The truth was that treason’s punishment took away her words forever.

  “You’re a liar,” I say with cold finality.

  The tension between us is severed by laughter.

  Sigurd guffaws from his belly. “Look at you, little snail guppy! You ask for her to be saved. And the very thing you want turns her into this. Priceless.”

  He’s right. This is my fault. Alberich was trying to protect her life because of what I said. Phaestion was trying to protect me from the truth. This is my fault.

  Hanschen smirks uneasily. Perdiccus grins. Only Phaestion doesn’t join. “Sigurd, shut up,” he says.

  “Phaestion, it’s just too good,” the giant continues.

  My fists clench. Hot blood rushes to my face.

  “His own mother? She’s just a Daysider.”

  I scream with rage and plunge forward. Sigurd looks up in momentary shock, then he readies himself. He cocks a fist and lets it fly. I duck the blow and plow my shoulder into his gut, pushing him against the wall. He brings a knee up under me. My forearms shield the strike. I hurl my right fist under his chin and feel his mandible crack. He swings a wild hook at my head. I block and snag his wrist with a claw technique. I yank his arm and twist, hearing it pop from his shoulder socket. He stifles a scream, but I’m not done. I don’t even see a person in front of me; I see a monster. I see my father. I want him to suffer. I slam my forearm against his elbow hyperextending the joint. There is a wet breaking sound. His bones spike out of his flesh. He falls to the floor. I smash my knee into his face destroying his nose as he goes down.

  “Edmon!” Phaestion yells.

  I stand over Sigurd, panting as the red clears from my vision. He tries to stand and falls back down in pain.

  “Stay down, monster,” I hiss. “Never mock me or my family again.”

  I walk out the door, leaving them to clean up the mess.

  I head to the beach, to the place where Alberich trained us. I stand at the shore, looking out at the vast Southern Sea as the water laps my toes. They sink into the wet sand. The waters splash the rock of Bone and over time will break it down, eventually swallowing it whole. The sun will explode. The universe will freeze. I’ve lost another piece of myself; I can never have it back.

  How many pieces can be chipped away? What will remain when there is nothing left to carve?

  I almost killed a person today, and I don’t even care. I remember what my mother told me about killing. I remember what she said the first day I saw my father:

  You will forget what you saw here today.

  I’m becoming like the others because I feel no remorse. I feel only the desire for more violence to somehow fill the hole inside of me.

  “Edmon, I’m sorry.”

  I turn, and he’s there. His molten hair blows across his eyes in the summer wind.

  How long have I been standing here?

  “Alberich was trying to keep her alive. He was trying to save you the pain of her death.”

  “What do you know?” I cut him off. “I asked him to make sure no harm came to her. I should’ve known my father would discard her. I should have known.”

  “Here’s what I know,” he says gently. “There was nothing else you could have done to save her.”

  “You knew the whole time,” I say.

  His silence is all the answer I need. I stalk past him. He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

  “Edmon.”

  I belt him with my fist as hard as I can. He falls to the sand, blood streaming from his mouth. He looks at me with utter confusion. No one has ever struck him with such disdain before. Phaestion, the beautiful boy-king, the godlike prince of House Julii, has never even seen his own blood. He’s so bewildered, he almost cries but doesn’t. He stands and wipes the red from his chin with the back of his hand.

  “If that’s how you want it.”

  Yes. This is the violence I need.

  His fists barrel into my face before I can respond. It’s all I can do to cover up. I kick my leg out trying to back him off me. He’s much too quick. He steps aside easily and counters with another fist. I reel but manage to grab him. I spin, hurling him into a boulder. He lands with a thud, and I jump back to gain distance. We circle, sizing each other up.

  It has been years since we tried to tussle truly. There was the Arms of Agony, but this is him for real. He’s as fast as ever, but I’m no longer the clumsy boy who had never wielded a sword before.

  I kick, and he barely blocks. I’m on him with a flurry of my own. He moves away. I corner him against the boulder, not letting him escape. All of my training, my skills learned through losing again and again, all my capabilities come together with a blind rage.

  I hit him. He bleeds. He hits me back. I bleed more. The smack of our fists becomes a rhythm. Then suddenly, he breaks it. He sweeps my feet from under me. He pins me to the earth.

  “You’ve lost!” he says. “This is my arena, don’t you understand?”

  He looks down at me, panting. The strange look comes over his face.

  “You’ll always be my friend, won’t you, Edmon?” he asks quietly, echoing our younger days.

  “You lied to me.” My voice cracks with pain.

  He rolls off me, lies on his back, and looks up at the sky. His skin glistens from the exertion.

  “Your mother demanded you leave House Julii and have your father return you. He refused. She threatened insurrection. Your father came to Bone to quell the rebellion. She was to be publicly executed. Alberich dissuaded him, but he couldn’t keep her from punishment completely. The seneschal reasoned that leaving her impaired would deliver a much more powerful
message.”

  “To whom?” My eyes burn with the salted tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Edmon.” His hand reaches out. He brushes the tears away gently with his thumb. “It wasn’t my place to tell you. You wanted to contact your mother and let her know how you were doing. You wanted to comfort and be comforted, but she was already gone. I thought at least letting you keep writing would make you feel better. I didn’t want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you. I love you.”

  He leans in and gently touches his lips to mine.

  I shove him away. I scramble to my feet, wiping my mouth.

  “I’m sorry!” he blurts. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

  I don’t let him finish. I run.

  CHAPTER 13

  ARIA

  I need to get away from everything, but I’m trapped between past and future. Everyone wants to control me, use me. There isn’t anywhere I can escape.

  Maybe there’s one place. One place I could always go and be safe. I remember . . .

  The cliffs are the same. The white, smooth limestone still stands over a cerulean sea that blends seamlessly with the azure sky.

  She’s not anything like what I remember, though.

  “I thought I might find you here eventually,” she says. Nadia waits where I left her, on the edge of the world. She sits facing the blue on blue of the distance, her back to me.

  Perhaps she’s afraid to turn and look at who I’ve become?

  Long, dark hair cascades down her shoulders. The outline of her body is no longer straight lines, but smooth curves begging for a hand to caress the contours.

  “Nadia?” My voice catches in my throat. “I—” I sound not quite a boy, not yet a man.

  “Shut up, Little Lord. Before you hurt yourself.” She glances over her shoulder with a wry smile. She pats the ground next to her.

  “I’d rather be alone,” I respond.

  She shrugs as if to say suit yourself, but she makes no attempt to move. I shuffle forward. I clumsily sit next to her. My thigh touches hers. The contact against her smooth skin floods my thoughts.

  “You’ve seen your mother,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” I choke back tears. I wish I was stronger. I wish she wasn’t here to see me like this. I’m glad she’s here at the same time.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks pointedly.

  “I don’t know” is all I can muster.

  She stands.

  “You’d better decide,” she says, her voice hard. “You are Edmon of House Leontes. Your father may be given the deed by the High Synod, but he’s an absentee landlord. Your mother may still be alive, but she can no longer fight for us. You are the lord of Bone. These are your people.” She indicates the island. “We need you.”

  I’ve come back after years only to find my mother a walking corpse, made so by my father; my best friend knew about it and didn’t tell me. Then he just . . . tried to kiss me? Now Nadia admonishes me.

  “You can’t leave us again,” she says.

  “I had to go!” I fire back.

  She sighs. “You’re more than what they want you to be.”

  “And what is that?” I ask.

  “You’re more than someone’s companion. At least that’s what I always thought.” She leans down. She touches her lips to my forehead. Then she’s gone, as if she were a dream.

  I wander the winding streets of the town. The hot sun beats down. I wipe the sweat from my brow. My head throbs with every step. Fishermen take the fish from their lines and close their shops for the Eventide. Life goes on here as it always has. The people endure. The nobles of the Pantheon and their games make no difference here. People live; they get by, day to day. They’re better off without us, without me.

  “Water, m’lord?” An old woman huddled in the shadow of an awning motions to her pitchers. She pours the spring water into a pottery cup and holds it out with gnarled fingers.

  I take the cup and sip the cool water of the isle. I reach into my pockets for a coin, but remember I no longer carry tokens for island bartering. Companions have no need of money. Everything in Meridian is paid by subdermal credit scans.

  “No coins?” The woman clucks her tongue. “I used to give water to your mother, too, when she was a little girl.” The crone smiles.

  I smile back; her warmth almost makes me forget my troubles.

  “You knew my mother?” I ask.

  “Feisty girl, that one.” The old woman clucks again. “Beautiful, too. She was born here, the daughter of a fish merchant like the rest of us. Her father was a wise man, her mother even wiser. They looked to your grandmother at council meetings, called her a chief. It was clear, with your mother’s beauty, she’d follow, a chieftain’s daughter. She was marked with inner fire, that she was.”

  “Instead she was taken by a Meridian lord,” I remark bitterly.

  “Taken?” The old woman’s smile wrinkles with consternation.

  “She became my father’s concubine,” I explain.

  “She did, young Leontes, because she was desirable. That was unavoidable, but he couldn’t claim her fierceness. Her mind has always been her own. Her heart was always on the isle. It couldn’t have been otherwise. She’s one of us. She couldn’t be taken from here any more than your voice could be taken from you without you losing what makes you Edmon Leontes. Your father had the sense to realize she should stay. She served us until she passed.”

  “She’s not passed,” I say harshly. “She’s a mindless vegetable.”

  The old woman slaps me across the face. She points a gnarled finger at me. “Your mother’s a symbol of freedom. They may take everything from us, our bodies, our minds, our lives, but they do not take our spirits,” she says emphatically. “Cleopatra’s spirit is with the great Mother Ocean. She was true to her people. She was fulfilled at the end knowing she fought for us and for you. Don’t shame her by thinking otherwise.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur and hold my cheek.

  “You’re young. Lapses are forgivable.” She waves me off. “Bone will endure. The universe will go on. Symbols give us hope, something to strive for, and that is something worth fighting for.”

  The faint sound of drums echoes from on high. The Eventide feast is beginning. When I turn back, the old woman is gone, her water jugs disappeared from the streets.

  Was she ever there at all?

  The sun blazes ceaseless, but I stride up the hill toward the manse to enter the night.

  I turn the corner that leads to the front courtyard, and a shadow catches me. I start at the sudden appearance of the hairless, robed Talousla Karr, barring my way like some demonic phantasm. The pupils of his cat eyes dilate.

  “Boy,” his voice says, slithering. “Did you fight with Lord Phaestion?”

  This strange foreigner has watched everything that’s transpired in the years I have been at House Julii, but this is the first time we’ve spoken words since my arrival at House Julii in Meridian.

  “Tell me,” he commands.

  “Yes.” I control my fear. I stand in place and face him.

  “Who was stronger?” he asks. His forehead folds where his eyebrows should be.

  “He was,” I admit. “This time,” I add.

  “Interesting.” The spypsy’s voice lingers on the last syllable. He makes some sort of calculation in his head. Of what, I’m not sure. “You think you could have won?”

  I shrug carelessly as if the question doesn’t matter.

  “Are you afraid of my appearance, boy?” His slitted eyes bore into me. I force myself to gaze back.

  “No,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel.

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’ve saved your life.” His bluish lips curve upward.

  Sometimes I wish he hadn’t saved me with his strange surgery.

  “Did you kiss him?” he asks. There’s a lasciviousness to his tone that makes my skin crawl.

  I force myself to walk past him.<
br />
  “Did you kiss him?” he asks again.

  “He kissed me,” I spit back.

  The man considers this pensively.

  “Is that what you wanted?” I say acidly. “Does it make your blood hot to think of two young boys pressing lips in the sand, spypsy?”

  “You resisted him. That is also interesting,” he comments.

  “I’m leaving now,” I say flatly. I walk away.

  He bows and calls after me, “You continue to surprise and impress, Lord Leontes. I look forward to more.”

  I enter to the rhythm of the music. The shades have been drawn, and the villagers have gathered to celebrate in faux darkness. No one notes my entrance. Phaestion sits on a makeshift throne that rests atop a dining table, the king of the proceedings as always, a glass of wine in his hand. Hanschen sits on the table at his side, doting on him.

  Sigurd is in the corner, brooding. His arm is encased in a glass cast filled with fluid. He holds it close to his chest in a sling. His face is bruised but healing. I’m not sorry.

  A woman dances in the center of the circle, the crowd around her shouting and unruly. The men catcall. She tries to leave the circle, but they push her back into the center.

  Disrespectful. This isn’t how nighttime festivals used to be. They are behaving as if this were the orgy after the Pavaka.

  I look for any familiar face in the crowd. Toothless Gorham is not at his drum. He’s trying to fight his way past several Julii Academy members into the circle. They shove him back. Maestro Bertinelli is shouting something to Teacher Croack and Alberich in the corner. Croack laughs in his face and pushes The Maestro to the ground. Alberich grabs Croack and holds him back from a further beating.

  My mother, attended by her nurse, sits in her chair on the outskirts of the crowd. The waxy scar on her head shines in the fireglobe light. Her eyes stare, glassy and vacant, but I feel like she wants to stand and shout, only she’s locked inside a paralyzed body, unable to act. Perhaps I’m just imagining her intention.