by Rose Lemberg
The sheriff’s eyes widen. Sainet sucks in a ragged breath.
“Beyond the Dust,” I say, “and beyond the mountains and beyond the forests and farther still, there’s the sea. So vast and so powerful that the waters of it know no fear. And we’ll tell the sea of what’s happening here, and it will feel the pain of its children and it will rise and flow across the land. Over the forests and the mountains and the Dust and it will tear down the dams and the dikes and the locks and the citadel. And the Dust will be green again, and the Luteans will drown and...”
I realize that I’m breathing heavy, that I’m leaning over the table toward the sheriff, that there’s a storm inside me. It’s my prayer, my hope. I look up, see Sainet staring at me. He’s breathing hard too, pupils large.
“Excuse me, I think I need to lie down,” I say. I stand, flee the table and the pounding in my veins and the ghosts of the dead and the hope of the sea. I find the room the sheriff has left us and fall inside, everything in me shaking. I sink to my knees, feel part of myself leaking away. I’m crying.
I feel a presence behind me, turn to see Sainet standing there, his face a mask of hunger and despair. He closes the door. I rise to meet him.
What ever made me think I could forget this? Sainet’s mouth on mine, his hands tearing at clothing. What made me think this was something I had forgotten how to do? Was it the running? The death? Was all I needed this short respite without Dowsers on our heels to remember? This refuge in Abbotsville?
I react, curving myself against his body, fitting myself to him. Mouth, neck, chest, stomach, hips—we’re touching at every point, our bodies liquid and solid and pulling. Somewhere else Mor is sitting with Sheriff Yates and Deputy Owens, and ey has to know what is happening. We aren’t human, can’t ignore the signs, the way the earth seems to hold its breath, the way the dry night air is suddenly humid, hot.
There is a creak of the door opening, and I know it’s Verdan without having to look to see. Peeking at the doorway. I don’t stop. She’s old enough to know, and I’m not sure I could stop now anyway. Not with the way Sainet’s hands are sliding over my ass, working at the pull of my belt.
I think of our last time. How long ago now? I remember darkness, meeting in a rush. Like this. Always like this, hidden from the sun and the Dowsers and any chance of discovery. How long since I have met with another without fear? But they are all unfair questions with Sainet tugging down my pants, pushing me to the bed, onto my back.
I don’t cry out as he enters me. I don’t whimper or moan. What releases from my lips is a sigh, short and soft, and then I’m pulling him down to kiss me again. It makes the movements awkward, inelegant, but at this moment I need the taste of him, crisp and cool and clear. He is stone and mineral and a hint of salt and perfect, like how the sea must taste. I let him go and we find our rhythm, our flow, his hand around me and him inside me, and my mind is finally free of questions.
And then I feel the rising deep within me, a well that is suddenly overflowing, moving up and up and we do cry out then, voices twined and reaching. Toward each other and toward something else, somewhere else that we’re not even sure of except in the hope that lives and dies in the pleasure spreading through us, our skins disappearing and reappearing in a thunderclap of climax. And slowly we come back to each other. To the bed, the room. To Verdan breathing heavy at the door and Mor sitting flushed talking to the sheriff and deputy.
And, somewhere beyond that, another presence as well, an echo of someone we hadn’t noticed before. And they’re crying for our help.
* * *
A truth about rivers: There’s water nearly everywhere. In the air and in the ground and in the morning songs of the birds who no longer fly here. Too small, to diffused to speak on its own, we can still use it to speak to each other, and to see what humans hope is concealed.
* * *
It’s early when we slide from the old inn and make our way across town. The sheriff is hopefully still sleeping, but even if she’s not, we can’t put this off. The call is clearer now, and only we can hear it. The town is silent as we follow the voice to its source. Of course it’s the well. Was there any doubt it would be? I look at Sainet, but he won’t meet my gaze, keeps his head on a pivot, watching for signs the town knows what we’re up to.
“What is it?” Verdan asks, but even she knows the answer. None of us speak, and she doesn’t ask again as we examine the well, a shaft of stone piercing the earth. Ever since the Dust has been the Dust, the wells have been dry, but we can all feel the water below.
“Look around for some gear box,” I say. The well has been modified since its original construction, augmented with gears and piping, a faint clicking that belies Lutean technology. It feels like there’s a storm inside me, a tempest. I clench my jaw and Mor grunts as ey pulls up a wooden board covered by the sand. Underneath, the clicking intensifies.
“So they’re working for the Empire, then?” Sainet asks.
I shake my head, examining the materials used. It’s Lutean made, definitely, but it’s cobbled together from bits and pieces. Probably the town had managed to ambush a patrol or a caravan. Or maybe raid one of the small Lutean outposts that separate the Dust from the Empire. Probably the sheriff had been telling the truth about just how much they hated the Luteans. This was...
“We need to break it,” I say. There’s a wrench left next to the gear box, no doubt in case they need to make repairs. I pick it up and bring it down as hard as I can against the metal case. Once, twice, each strike a bell letting the town know what we’re doing. But it needs to be done. After three strikes something clangs inside, and the clicking stops.
“Get them up,” I say, and instantly Sainet and Mor are sliding down the well, bodies liquifying. I’m almost afraid to see who they bring up.
“Why did they do it?” Verdan asks from beside me. The wrench feels hot in my hand. I can’t answer. Only the sheriff will be able to answer for this.
When Mar and Sainet return they’re pulling another with them. Verdan and I step forward, place our hands upon them, and share what water we can spare. The moment our waters mingle we know them. Druun. From the borders of the Dust. I see their journey, their flight from the Dowsers. I see them walk into Abbotsville and see Sheriff Yates welcome them with open arms.
A bell begins to ring. A warning. A promise.
“We’re getting out of here,” I say.
Sheriff Yates is waiting for us in the street.
“You should of just left well enough alone,” she shouts as we keep to the shadows. I can feel more people around us. More than the five from before. Did she call them as soon as she knew what we were? Had she been hoping to profit from our visit in more ways than just sending riders out to loot the Dowsers’ bodies? Druun doesn’t look so good, though they seem much better now that they’re out under the open sky. What they’ve been through—I shudder. It’s no worse than the Luteans and so much worse.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” I shout back, knowing that it’s too late for that. Too late for so much. I adjust my grip on the wrench in my hand.
I motion to Sainet to separate, enter the dilapidated buildings. The dark is his home, and I know no one is a match for him there. What to do about the sheriff is another matter entirely. I look at Mor, who is helping Druun but is hardly recovered emself. Which leaves me and Verdan.
“Well I’m bringing it,” Sheriff Yates says, taking aim at us with her rifle. “You put them back in the well or this is going to end in blood.”
“I thought you were better than this,” I say. “Better than the Luteans.”
“I am better than the Luteans!” she nearly screams at me, the barrel of her rifle wavering. “You think we want it this way? We’re just making the best of a bad situation, and not one that we caused. What were we supposed to do? Die? Wait for you to show up with your magic sea and save us? What good would that have done anyone? With the power that river gives us, at least we can fight. We can fig
ht to keep the Lutean bastards from taking anything more.”
“The citadel’s a long way from here,” I say. “And it’s not a Lutean you’ve been torturing.” My fingernails dig into my palms from where my fists are clenching. I look at Verdan. Her face is set, her body rigid. I can hear something in her, the rage of rapids pounding over rock. She’s old enough for this, too.
“What do you expect?” Yates calls. “Their power, their weapons...how are we supposed to fight them without using what they use? It’s not like you lot were out here volunteering to help.”
“So this is our fault?” I ask. I nod to Verdan, who starts inching forward along the side of the building. We need to separate, to give the sheriff multiple targets, to draw her attention away from Mor and Druun.
“I don’t care whose fault it is,” the sheriff says, “as long as me and mine survive it.”
“Then you’re no better than the Luteans,” I say. “Only different.”
And then I charge her.
I feel the shot but it doesn’t stop me. In the shadows Sainet is killing and in the light I am swinging the wrench in my hand. It’s fitting, the sharp shock of impact, the wet thud. The wrench isn’t mine and it’s not theirs, but it has doomed us both. I keep hitting until my arm is numb and the wrench slips free into the sand. I’m on my knees again, leaking.
No. No, this is not how it ends. I push myself to my feet. This is not the end. Around me there is a new chaos, and I can smell something burning. Abbotsville. The town is burning. Good. I put one foot in front of the other, and then Sainet is there, face spotted with ash.
“We have to go,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, a ragged hurt and desperation. Not cold at all.
Pain causes me to groan, nearly collapse, but I manage a nod. We’ll run, run until we are free.
* * *
A truth about rivers: There’s so much gone now. Not just our dead but all that we held. The fish and the plants—the life. What remains is only dry earth and memories, and maybe there will come a day when not even those are left.
* * *
I keep my mind on Sainet’s voice and the feeling of putting one foot in front of the other. I’m leaking. Fucking sea I’m leaking, ripe wet droplets of me sinking into the sand. Gut shot. That’s what I am. That’s what— I stumble and cry out and Sainet’s arms catch me, keep me from falling.
Everything’s jumbled. I can’t keep it straight.
“Wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I say. It was supposed to be...
“It’s nothing,” Sainet says. “You’re going to be fine.” He calls for Mor and Verdan, but they have their hands full with Druun.
A merry bunch we all make. Each step I take wets the sands, causes my feet to stick in earth that’s ravenous for moisture. I would kill for a horse, but I’m afraid I’ve killed for far less, far more, far far away where rivers run free. There is blood on my hands and mingled with the water spilling from me with each step. Whatever the bullet is, inside me, I can feel it doing its work.
“Have you ever been to the sea?” I ask. To Sainet, or maybe to Druun. To anyone. What does it matter anyway?
“The sea is a myth,” Sainet says. Of course he doesn’t believe. I want to ask him why he came then, but I’m afraid of the answer. Even now.
I take another step, another. I will not die here. I will not die here. Behind me I feel the heat of the flames. It’s almost inviting. I don’t look back.
“One day the sky will take us up one final time.” It’s Mor. Ey are suddenly standing there, one of Druun’s arms draped over eir shoulder. Ey seems mostly recovered now, but there’s a slight quaver in eir voice. “And the wind will take us out to sea, and we will fall as rain into the endless waters.”
“I’d like to see it,” I say. I falter again. More hands steady me. There’s Verdan, eyes still wide. Why is it they have to learn so young to be hated?
“I’m sure you will,” she says. “Just like you said. We’ll find the sea and we’ll bring it back with us, to tear down the dams and the dikes and the locks. Just like you said.”
I smile. Just like I said.
* * *
A truth about rivers: sometimes we lie. And sometimes we tell the truth. And sometimes we hope so hard we can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
* * *
I’m on the beach, reclined, my head in Sainet’s lap, my eyes closed. He runs a hand through my hair. If I open my eyes I will see it, the endless expanse of the sea. I will hear the countless voices speaking as one and they will tell me it will be all right.
“I’m tired,” I say, and realize just how true it is. How did I ever get this tired?
“Don’t quit on me now,” Sainet says.
I smile. I’m not quitting, I want to say. Just taking a rest. A little rest. Haven’t I earned that? But words won’t rise in my throat.
“Open your eyes,” Sainet says. I hear other voices, too. Of course. Mor is here, and Verdan, and Druun too. All here. “Open your eyes.”
There’s an edge to Sainet’s voice. I want to tell him to relax. We’ve come so far. We’ve come so far. But Sainet’s right. We’re not done yet. I move my hand over the fine sand of the beach. It almost feels like dust.
I open my eyes. The sea is so very far away.
“Take me there,” I say, though it hurts to say anything. Soon I’ll be gone into the Dust, but right now I can hold together long enough to... “Take me to the sea.”
They crowd around me. Mor and Verdan each take one of my hands in theirs and Druun touches my shoulder. I will make it to the sea, even if I never see it.
“Thank you,” I say, and close my eyes. I let go. I let it all go, and I think of Viora and freedom. I am a waterfall bound for the thirsty sand, nearly gone, nearly gone.
Until they catch me.
Through them all, I am. I give, like we gave to Druun after we pulled them from the well, and all that I am they catch, my hopes and my dreams—my waters, until I am just a wave passing through them, soon to crash and fade but for this moment alive in them all, connecting them.
They—now we—all look down at the dry earth, vacant now but for my empty clothes. We stretch, bodies suddenly refreshed, wounds gone as if washed clean. We stand and look back at Abbotsville burning.
“Let’s go,” Mor says, and we turn toward the horizon, and the mountains beyond that, and the forest beyond that, and the sea beyond that, and start walking.
Copyright © 2017 Charles Payseur
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Charles Payseur is an avid reader, writer, and reviewer of all things speculative. His fiction and poetry have appeared at Strange Horizons, Lightspeed Magazine, The Book Smugglers, and many more. He runs Quick Sip Reviews, contributes as short fiction specialist at Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together, and can be found drunkenly reviewing Goosebumps on his Patreon. You can find him gushing about short fiction (and occasionally his cats) on Twitter as @ClowderofTwo..
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COVER ART
“Monument,” by Jeff Brown
Jeff Brown is a professional freelance artist from Saskatoon, SK, Canada, living in Cuernavaca, Mexico. In the world of book cover design and illustration, he has worked with over ninety book authors on more than two-hundred fifty covers. In the world of games, he has worked for companies such as Fantasy Flight Games, Pelgrane Press, and Logic Artists as a concept artist & illustrator. He currently does freelance work and long term projects. To see more of his work, visit jeffbrowngraphics.com.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
ISSN: 1946-1076
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