by Joseph Burgo
Savino undressed, settled onto the garderobe, and shivered while he relieved himself. As he slipped into the tub’s tepid water, tears filled his eyes – he hadn’t bathed in months. He allowed himself a few minutes to relish this feeling of luxury before beginning to prepare for his oration. Beyond chance encounters with the strangers he might touch, strangers like Devianna, he had but one purpose in life: to bring memory to forgetfulness, to revive the past for people who thought only of today, and most of all, to inspire the very few who yearned for more.
He closed his eyes and began to ready himself. The water had not yet chilled enough to make him uncomfortable.
Like his fellow bards, he’d spent years during apprenticeship learning different versions of the Annalia, committing each one to memory, mastering the vocal tones and inflections needed to wield influence. Each version emphasized something different, and he often had to choose quickly between them based on hasty first impressions in a foreign place. Where communal life had nearly broken down, Savino performed the Annalia that dwelt on family life, on mothers and how they felt about their babies before the Indifference – clearly not suited to Sudana. Here castle life continued; there was still a king, and Savino suspected that the last one had cared enough about his children to engage a Placekeeper.
What about trade?
The cobblestone road that led up to the castle had been lined with shops, many of them long abandoned but some open for custom. From chance encounters along the road, he’d heard of Estnevan furs and how they were coveted in foreign places. The people here in Sudana were already expanding trade routes, so Savino rejected that particular version of the Annalia. Also the one that evoked the mystical unity of the Corrado, when athletes used to come from throughout Messano every year to compete.
At last he made his choice, one he rarely had the opportunity to perform. Soon he would recite and sing and inspire his audience with tales of the first Soltan, the long-ago king who unified Messano under a single crown. Passing through Sudana, Savino had felt a sleeping spirit, as if the people of Estneva were waiting for a king who might unite them with stronger ties, a leader to ignite loyalty in their solitary hearts. How had the Captain of the Guard named their liege?
If Savino could plant deep the seeds of ambition, this Nicallo might one day become a true and worthy king.
Chapter Five
The first time Tavi saw the sea panther, he was wandering alone on the shore near Castle Inario. She lay upon an outcropping of rock that jutted into the water a hundred yards or so away from him, gazing out to sea. Waves were crashing about her on all sides. Holding very still, Tavi studied the sea panther for a full minute until she seemed to feel his presence and turned to look at him.
Tavi often fled the castle and came down to the shore when other people overwhelmed him. His brothers thought he heard and felt nothing – they’d said so often enough, even in his presence, believing that words meant nothing to him – but they were wrong. He heard and understood everything, except in those moments when he managed to shut out the world completely. Sometimes it came flooding back upon him all at once – sights, sounds, smells – and he was powerless to stop them. Then he went running for the shore.
The breaking of waves, sand between his toes, salty breeze against his skin – these sensations brought him calm. Here at the shore, the dread of existence subsided for a time. Here at the shore, he felt alone and glad to be that way. Most of the time other people, even Arn and Nical, were a torment.
When he spotted the sea panther stretched upon the outcropping of rock, gazing out to sea, he knew she felt the same way – at peace because she was alone. No one hunting her. It was the first time in 24 years of life that Tavi had understood what went on inside another being, human or animal. From that first moment when she turned to look at him, she was never far from his thoughts.
He somehow knew she was female. In his thoughts, he instantly named her – Mina. Eventually he managed to say it aloud. Getting sounds to move from inside his head and out of his mouth when he wanted had always been a challenge. Sometimes they spewed forth with a will of their own and he couldn’t stop them.
Tavi came down to the shore almost every day after that but didn’t spot the sea panther again for weeks. Near the outcropping of rock, he found paw prints in the sand; he followed them along the beach and into the lowland woods. Then he tracked her in the loamy soil beneath the trees until he lost her trail. He learned to tell the difference between her prints and those of other large animals. He recognized three distinct patterns she left behind in the sand – three different gaits reflected in the depth of her paw prints and the space between them. Before his mind’s eye, he envisioned Mina at the walk, beginning to canter, and finally at a full gallop.
Patterns had always stood out for Tavi, like the wind-blown ripples on a sand dune – even rows undulating in nearly identical curves – or wave rhythms beating on the shore. Sometimes finding a pattern brought him calm; sometimes, when he felt the pattern contained a message he didn’t understand, it agitated him. He’d studied the symbols on book pages in the shelving room, certain that their patterns meant something, but he could never decipher them. Counting was simpler and more straightforward. When unsettled, he could always tally the broken panes within the great hall windows, the crenels in a battlement, or the number of birds in a flock. Counting almost always calmed him.
One day, Tavi picked up Mina’s trail further along the shore, a mile or so from Castle Inario. Her prints ended at another outcropping of rock that jutted into the sea. She’d already left this place and moved on. The track resumed down the beach and Tavi studied it. A slow walk – she was unhurried, unafraid. It occurred to him for the first time that she might see him as a hunter if she caught sight of him following her tracks. Sea panthers were rare and elusive; their blue-black pelts commanded a high price in the fur trade, though they almost never came up for sale.
The next time he returned to the beach, Tavi brought two dead rabbits from the kitchen and left them on the stone outcropping where he’d first seen her, then he went back to the castle. He knew that if she smelled him nearby, she’d keep her distance. His scent would have penetrated the rabbit flesh where he’d touched it but at least she wouldn’t smell him on the breeze.
The following day, all that remained were some bones and shredded bits of fur. For a few weeks, he continued to bring meat down to the shore, leaving it for her in the same spot. Not every day but most. Sometimes the castle cooks yelled at him but in the end, they always let him take some joint or carcass. He meant for Mina to grow accustomed to his scent. She’d begin to link them together – the fullness of her belly and the smell of Tavi on the meat.
One day, he brought the meat and then retreated to a distant spot where he could watch, atop a bluff far enough away so that she could see him but still feel safe. Huddling in his furs, unbothered by the cold, he waited all morning for her to come. As she finally made her away onto the beach, her gaze shifted back and forth between Tavi and the wild boar haunch. She must have smelled him long before she emerged into the clear. It took nearly an hour for her to approach the meat. At last, with the haunch balanced between her enormous paws, she tore into it. She kept her gaze fixed on Tavi in the distance.
Every day he moved a few yards closer. He felt in no hurry. When she began to relish her meat without keeping such a vigilant eye upon him, he moved down from the bluff to the edge of the beach.
Then onto the sand a few days later.
Two weeks as he gradually moved closer to the outcropping.
A full month before he climbed onto the rocks and only a few yards away from the meat.
And one day, he at last sat cross-legged next to her while she devoured her meal. As he watched her chewing, he tensed his jaws and pulled back his lips, baring his teeth.
The moment when he touched her, the feel of his palm against her glossy fur stirred such intense feeling he thought he might lose consciousness. Like th
e wax of a candle, he might melt. He left his hand there against her fur, heat passing between them. He couldn’t tell in which direction the heat passed – from his body into hers or the other way around.
During the next few weeks, he learned where she liked to be scratched. When she purred, the sound brought him the greatest peace he had ever known, even greater than those few times when he’d climbed into the old suit of armor in the throne room and stood motionless within it for hours. He’d long ago grown too large for the suit of armor. Now he had Mina. Even when they weren’t together, he felt more at ease in his own skin.
Nical noticed the difference. One night when he was having one of those conversations where he pretended to speak for Tavi, he broke off and said, “A change has come over you. You’re much calmer these days. Whatever has happened to you?”
Tavi closed his eyes, gathering his energies to make one massive effort. “Mina,” he finally managed to say. Once the word was out of his mouth, he felt exhausted.
“Mina?” Nical echoed. “What in wide Messano does that mean?” He made a sound in his nose that Tavi didn’t understand. “Lucky for me you’re an idiot or I wouldn’t be sitting here on the throne today. The very idea of you as king ...!” Then he laughed.
Tavi had never before laughed, not until the day when Mina licked him. The scratchy moist feel of her tongue against his hand filled him with such joy that he was afraid it might overwhelm him. He was afraid he might fall apart. With time, he grew used to it.
The inner workings of other people had always been a mystery to Tavi, but he understood Mina completely. Other people’s feelings were too complicated and confusing, alien from his own, but Mina made sense to him. She felt hungry. She felt afraid. She felt tired. She felt contented. Sometimes when she purred, she felt a joy akin to what he felt when he laughed. Not exactly the same but something like it.
Often when he came down to the shore, she would already be waiting for him at the bluffs. Sometimes she would follow him halfway back to the castle, but for many weeks, she wouldn’t approach the gates when he beckoned to her. She trusted Tavi but feared everyone else – this he could feel.
Tavi had been finding the separations harder to bear; he wanted to bring her more fully into his life so their hours apart would be few. As her trust in him grew, he eventually coaxed her through the gates and into the courtyard. Then he sat cross-legged on the cobblestones with her head cradled in his lap. He would ask no more of her that day. She didn’t purr when he scratched her. The tension in her body made his own muscles tighten up. Her fear was his fear.
None of the watching guards would step foot outside the guardroom. Tavi and Mina sat there for nearly an hour until Pamina finally brought him two sheepshanks from the kitchen. He’d never understood what went on inside of Pamina, but sometimes she seemed to know exactly what he needed.
“I’m glad you have found some peace,” she told him. She didn’t keep her distance like the guards but stood nearby, smiling at the two of them. He didn’t understand why she smiled.
Word must have reached Nical for he came down to the courtyard. Arn came too, with dark circles under his eyes and a sickly cast to his skin. He always looked that way when he first woke up. The brothers watched him from an archway near the guardhouse. Nical was scowling.
“Do you any idea what is happening?” he called to Pamina. “I know my brother is a halfwit but bringing that beast into the castle seemed deranged, even for him.”
Pamina joined Tavi’s brothers in the archway and spoke to them in a lowered voice. He could make out little of what was said, though he did hear Nical say quite clearly, “Are you mad? It might kill someone.”
Tavi felt Mina’s agitation growing. She’d had enough for one day. He led her back through the gates and down to the shore, where she galloped to release the tension in her body. Tavi ran after her though he was no match for her speed. Eventually he stopped, out of breath, and watched her accelerating down the beach. On and on she ran then took a sharp turn to the left and disappeared within the lowland forest.
She came back the next day; once again, Tavi led her into the courtyard but no further. After many more visits, he finally brought her inside the castle itself. Nical allowed it. Sometimes Mina slept with him in his chamber. Sometimes, she sat with him on the throne dais. Many nights, she let him know she needed to hunt under cover of darkness. Tavi always knew what she wanted and gave it to her.
* * *
Mina was with him on the night the bard came to tell his story. She’d been purring with contentment on the throne dais, but the moment the old man began to speak, she stopped. After a few minutes, she climbed halfway onto Tavi’s lap, settling herself upon his crossed legs. She knew that her weight upon his body brought him calm.
The old man’s voice had unsettled Tavi as soon as he began to speak. Terror slowly took hold, as if the bard’s story might shake the ground beneath him and even bring down the castle walls. Tavi wanted to close himself off but felt compelled to listen, as if he had no choice. He didn’t understand large parts of the story, about how people felt and why they did what they did, but he took in the facts. He knew he would never forget them.
For thousands of years, the kingdoms of Messano had made war against each other – Muldina, Salicia, Andor, and other names Tavi had never heard before. Each country had its own army and they did battle one with the other. They made shifting alliances that never held. All the kings sounded alike to Tavi: each one wanted to enlarge the boundaries of his own kingdom. For reasons he could not grasp, these kings expected everyone else to do their bidding. They forced their sons and daughters to pair bond with the offspring of other kings. Marriage, they called it.
Then a new king named Vilan came to power in Salicia. Vilan was supposedly better than all the other kings though Tavi couldn’t see how. The bard used words Tavi didn’t understand – words like honor and courage and loyalty –but Vilan just seemed to want more land like all the other kings. His army was also better than the other armies – it had something to do with the way this king’s soldiers felt about him. Vilan eventually conquered every other country. He became the first Soltan, Supreme King of all Messano.
Under Vilan and the many Soltans who followed him, peace prevailed throughout Messano for a thousand years. Trade increased. The arts “thrived,” which seemed to mean they improved. The bard went on and on about the goodness of life during this “Golden Age,” as he called it. In those glorious days, people considered themselves citizens of Messano and not merely of their separate countries.
Then came the Blight.
At first, Tavi thought the Blight must have been a person, a bad king who came from somewhere outside Messano and slaughtered people. He slowly realized the Blight was a kind of disease. Long oval lesions, brown-orange in color, would appear on a person’s skin. A savage fever would take old. Flesh would slowly melt away. The Blight afflicted nearly everyone though it killed only a few.
The ones who survived were never the same. What they had cared about before no longer mattered to them. They lived from day to day, with no thought to the future or the past. They felt nothing for other people. The bard called it the “Indifference” and it often passed from mother to child. To Tavi, the Indifference sounded somewhat like his own existence but without the terror.
Over many generations, the Blight came again and again. The unified world of Messano gradually fell apart. The arts died and were forgotten. Skills like the forging of steel or glass blowing were entirely lost. Trade between the countries broke down. Travel throughout Messano had once been common; now everyone stayed home and cared nothing for what lay beyond the borders of their own countries. Many people knew nothing but the lives of their own villages.
Three hundred years had passed since the Blight last ravaged the world. Messano was slowly beginning to recover. The bard’s voice grew louder as he reached the end of his tale; Tavi’s limbs began to twitch and vibrate. He buried his face in Mina’s fu
r but couldn’t stop listening. Messano awaited a new Soltan! cried the bard. One day, a new king would reunite all the separate countries and sit upon the high throne in Salicia.
A new Golden Age would dawn for Messano.
* * *
Mina stayed with Tavi in his chamber that night. On the bed, he held his body tightly against hers, pressing the softness of his belly into the hardness of her back. The sound of the bard’s voice had opened up a black hole inside, a black hole filled with terror. It threatened to keep growing, larger and blacker and deeper. Without Mina’s hard back and warm flesh, it might have swallowed him up.
He counted her breaths, each swelling and contraction of her chest, and finally slept. When he awoke at dawn, the terror had passed.
As Tavi walked Mina down to the gate and released her onto the beach, fragments of the bard’s tale kept repeating inside his head. The words no longer agitated him. Some had become sounds without meaning. Others remained alive and made him wonder what else the bard knew. Tavi had no idea what questions he would ask were he able to speak, but he could listen.
He searched the castle and finally found the bard alone in the shelving room. The old man was studying a scroll unfurled onto a table near the windows, early morning light streaming onto the parchment. Books taken from the shelves that lined the room propped the scroll open. There were freestanding shelves all around, each one filled with books, and other tables tucked into alcoves.
“Good day to you,” the bard said, glancing up.
At the feel of the old man’s gaze, Tavi looked down. Eye contact always unsettled him. Gaping at his feet, he shuffled closer to the table and stared at the scroll. It was a drawing of some kind, with black lines and blue lines and characters like the ones inside of books. Tavi had no idea what the drawing was meant to be. Some of the symbols looked like tiny trees.