I don’t like how this gesture makes my heart rate accelerate. Aware of my brother and friends watching me I stand up and adjust the torn silk dress.
“And now, for our archery contest,” the king announces, jumping to my side. He opens a large leather sack and produces a bow and a quiver of arrows. “The winner will receive this. Venice?”
My brother takes the bow and examines it. “I’ve never done this before.”
“But you have good hand-eye coordination, I’m sure. From all the sports you’ve done. Just focus, breathe, and pull. Also don’t forget the tension in the arm that’s not pulling, the bow arm.”
“What are we shooting?”
The king points up into the sky. A flock of white doves. Perhaps the same twelve Hex and I saw when we first arrived on the island. They hover just above us as if waiting to be taken down.
“I can’t kill them,” Venice says.
The king accepts the bow back and addresses Ez and Ash. “I don’t suppose you two will shoot at birds either.”
They exchange a glance, shrug, and shake their heads no.
The king turns to me. “Pen? They aren’t like the birds we once had. They won’t die. They only transform.”
I squint at him in the crocus-yellow sunlight. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I’ll show you.” He strings the bow with an arrow from the quiver, aims, and pulls the bowstring. The shaft pierces one bird.
I take in a sharp breath of air, remembering the dove in the dream about my mother.
But when the creature stonefalls to the ground she is no longer a bird but a white rose pierced through by an arrow and still miraculously intact. The other doves, unstartled, reconfigure in the sky just above our heads.
“It would be good for you to have your own weapon to fight off danger,” the king says, fitting another arrow into the bow. “That is, if your aim is true, which is debatable.” He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. It falls perfectly back into place. I think of yellow petals.
Challenged, I take the bow from him. I’ve never done this before but for some reason, right now, it doesn’t seem that difficult. Still, I don’t really want to shoot at a bird when I haven’t seen one in so long.
They won’t die. They only transform.
Do I believe him? I want to believe him. This is a way to test his veracity. By putting a small, precious life at stake …
I point the arrow at a dove. Equal tension in both arms. Remembering what Hex once told me about sword fighting: When you strike, it is not a thought. It is pure action. You embody the result.
Keeping my eye on the white bird—it will fall to earth a rose, Pen—I pull back the bow and release.
We all stand transfixed as my arrow ascends into the sky and catches fire, blazing into the clouds like a comet until the flame burns out. The birds scatter, unharmed.
“What was that?” Venice asks.
“I have no idea,” I say. At least I didn’t kill any doves.
“Another sign of your nobility,” the king intones. “The bow and quiver are yours, Queen Penelope. May you use them well as you reign at my side.”
Reign at his side? The flame of the afternoon’s fantasy sizzles out like my burning arrow. I am no queen. Just a girl without the best aim and an arrow that turned to fire. Although I’m not sure what this means, I know it happened to Acestes, a Sicilian king who provided a brief reprieve for Aeneas and his men before they set off on their journey once more. The Aeneid again. Hex’s maddening book. Our book. I have to find Hex.
As if on cue, the dark-haired bird woman approaches across the meadow. “The boy is with Swift at the waterfall,” she says. She’s bare breasted and I notice Venice blush and look away. He hasn’t seen any women besides me in a long time, let alone a half-naked one with wings.
The king thanks her and turns to me. “Queen Penelope?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s just a short ways away. It’s a little paradise and we can swim. You can all come. Then we’ll be back here for supper.”
Ez jumps up, grabs Ash’s hand, and dances around with Argos nipping at their ankles.
Even Ash seems happy now, like we’re vacationing rather than stranded on an island with a spell-wielding antlered person who seems to have infatuated Ez. We just need Hex to make it okay.
So we agree to go.
The waterfall is across the meadow, beyond an outcropping of the quartz rock and among a cluster of palm trees. We make our way along the trail toward the sound and smell of water. When we emerge from the trees the air is misty and a waterfall cascades over high rocks into a pool. The king dives in, followed by Ez and then Venice. Dark perches on a rock, watching them, her distracting breasts on display. I turn to Ash.
“What’s going on? Do you have any idea?”
He shrugs. “I just want some more of that wine.”
I ignore this. “Where do you think Hex is? He wouldn’t just leave, would he?”
I’m not so sure. The way he’s been acting toward me lately—so cold last night and almost cruel when we were on the boat. Maybe he’s still under that spell. But where would he have gone?
“Maybe he’s looking for Merk?” Ash suggests. He pulls off his linen shirt and squats on a rock in the sun.
“He would have told me, though.”
Ash squints across the water at the king, splashing with Ez and Venice, tiny rainbow droplets flying in the air around them. “Who knows? That guy’s up to something. At least he has good wine.”
“Come on, Pen, join us!” Ez shouts.
“Where’s Hex?” I look over at the one called Dark. “You said your friend brought him here.”
“That’s what Storm told me.” Her eyes are more golden in the sun.
“We’ll find him, I promise,” the king says. “Come in the water now, Penelope. It’s your element. You must become as deeply acquainted with it as possible for when you need it most.”
Could he be more cryptic? He seems to be full of these statements. Maybe he knows what happened after the Earth Shaker when that wave came at our house. How would he know this, though, unless he can see things the way I can, which I wouldn’t put past him.
But no matter what he means or how he knows what he does, he’s right; I may have shot a burning arrow but water is my element. And I need as much fresh water as possible, it seems, to make up for the months without it. We all do.
Venice climbs out of the pool, then jumps off a rock back in, and Ez follows him. Ash closes his eyes as if trying to shut us all out and lies back on the rock to sunbathe.
I remember swimming with Hex, just a day ago. Was it? It seems like forever. Where is he?
But despite the nagging question, I let myself slide into the pool as if putting on a warm silk dress. The actual silk dress I’m wearing provides no significant cover so I try to stay under the water to keep the king from seeing the contours and shadows of my body. He is watching me from a slight distance, smiling. Then he disappears under the water, only the tips of his antlers skimming the surface.
When I’m turned away watching Venice dive I feel hands lifting me up and I scream like the type of girl I never want to be. I can’t afford to act silly and weak.
It’s the king, holding me by the waist from behind. He grins at me and the predatory look is gone from his face; he’s just a playful young man now—well, one with antlers, but still. His muscled arms gleam with water and sunlight. I feel my body giving in, like a plant in need of nourishment.
He owns you, I think. You are his.
No, I’m Hex’s if anyone’s. Where is Hex?
But Hex isn’t here and I splash and swim with the king—aware that I’m slipping deeper under the spell of his skin and eyes and smile and not able to fight it, not sure I want to fight it—until the air gets cooler and we decide to hike back.
* * *
In my room I change out of the ruined silk dress and into a fresh gown in an ivory color with blush pink
lace, and a pair of crimson suede boots that lace up my leg. I fasten a necklace of irregularly shaped rose-tinged baroque pearls around my neck and set a wreath of gold and silver leaves on my head. My stomach rumbles and I put my hand there, feeling the muscles under the thin fabric. I’m still uncomfortable about not having any underclothes. I could ask our host for some but of course I won’t give him that satisfaction. He’s already proprietary enough.
And you are letting him own you, I chastise myself. You are wearing his collar. But I don’t remove the pearls.
“Queen Penelope,” I say to the woman in the mirror, meaning to sound angry and ironic but it comes out almost proud. Strange. And stranger still is the countenance that looks back at me as if breathed upon by the goddess of beauty herself. I hardly recognize my own reflection.
When I return to the dining room to meet the others for an evening meal the candles are lit, violet twilight glowing through the windows. On the table is more tea and a meal of seafood stew with rice and a salad of fresh greens, berries, nuts, crumbled goat cheese, and nasturtium flowers. And wine. While we eat, the king talks to Ez about painting.
“It’s really just creating illusions, isn’t it?” the king says. “The illusion of depth, of light, of soul.”
Ez is leaning forward, hanging on his words. “But how?”
“You probably know more about that than I do.”
“I doubt that. These are masterpieces. Did you get this ability after the Earth Shaker?”
“I guess you could say that, in a way,” the king replies.
Ash rolls his eyes and sips more wine. Ez doesn’t notice; he’s too busy watching the king.
“I’d like to paint you,” Ez says.
The king shakes hair from his eyes and smiles. “That could be arranged.” He turns to me, hands me a crystal goblet, and I take a sip. This wine is black as blood.
“I’m going to bed,” Ash says coolly. Ez hardly notices him leave.
The sun and water of the day has made me drowsy. Soon I’m reclining against pillows with my friend and my brother and my host, forgetting, I’m ashamed to say, my lover. Perhaps Ez has forgotten his lover a little, too.
Hex isn’t in his bedroom when I stumble there, tracing my fingers along the quartz wall. I go to my room, fall to the bed fully clothed and sleep.
Later, I feel sweet-warm breath on my face—the exhale of jasmine flowers on a spring breeze, and open my eyes, reaching out in the darkness for Hex.
But it’s not Hex.
The king sits on my bed, his antlers branching out into the darkness and entwined with pink-white jasmine blossoms, olive branches, and grape leaves. He’s holding a large crystal goblet in one hand and a candelabra in the other. The candlelight throws shadows across his face and ignites his eyes and the gold hoops in his ears. I sit up and cover my chest with the bedsheets. I’m wearing the cream silk charmeuse gown and my hair is slicked back with oil that smells like lily of the valley. I reach to make sure my new eye is still there. It is.
“Don’t be scared,” he says. I can feel my body melting like dripping wax with the heat of his voice.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I brought you some wine to help you sleep.”
“I was asleep.” I try to sound angry but it’s hard with him this close. I smell dark roses, grapes, and honey.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes twinkle in the light of his smile. “Well, since you are awake now anyway, would you like a libation?”
“Libation? Isn’t that ceremonial?” The liquid shines darkly in the crystal goblet. I’m suddenly very thirsty. I take the cup in both hands, lower my lips, and sip.
“Ceremonial? Yes, an offering of sorts. To Sylvan.”
“Who?”
“You will know someday.”
I have no chance to ponder this name. The wine hits me right away, streaming through my blood and weakening my joints. I blink at the king. He’s standing up now, wearing a white linen shirt with shell buttons and brown leather trousers that hang low on his hips and loosely around his thighs. His feet are bare.
“Penelope, I’d like to show you something. Will you come with me?”
He takes the goblet of wine, sets it down, and holds out his hand. It’s large and smooth, and he has a gold ring on his middle finger. His nails are carefully shaped, flat, and clean. I guess I was so entranced with his face that I never noticed his hands before.
“Is it Hex? Have you found him?”
“I’m sorry, no. It’s something else.”
I find myself getting up anyway, taking his hand, walking barefoot over the chilly polished quartz floor depicting that disturbing image of an eye inside a rose. The king lets go of my hand, takes a gold brocade robe that’s hanging on some protruding crystals, and places it over my shoulders. He catches my hand in his again. I can feel our pulses mixing where the crook between my thumb and first finger presses into his. I’m not cold now.
His voice is husky. “Come with me.”
We climb up the winding staircase into the tower. Tourmaline crystals that protrude from the walls have been fitted with candles lighting our way. At the top of the tower is a large balcony overlooking a garden. I don’t remember seeing it before. Trees with silvery bark and others with draping, feathery leaves overhang pools of water that shine in the moonlight. Silver-white orchids grow everywhere and even from here their scent is so strong it’s almost like a drug. They’re the shape of the Calypso bulbosa orchid whose name is from the Greek word for concealment because they tend to grow in hidden areas of forests.
“Watch,” the king says, pointing at the flowers.
Dewdrops wink on the petals. That must be what accounts for the silver color, I think. As I watch, some of the blossoms lift off their stems and float around in the air. Insects? I can hear a very high, tinkling music.
“Do you like them?” he asks.
“What are they?”
In answer he holds out his hand and one of the flowers flies toward us and lights on his fingers. Up close I can see that it’s not a flower at all but a humanoid creature dressed in petals.
“I thought you should have something like this,” the king says.
The winged creature flutters into the air near my face, pointing its toes and flapping its wings. Its eyes, the glitter I mistook for dewdrops, are on delicate stalks poking out of its head and it has very sharp tiny teeth.
“It will help us learn more about each other.”
“What does that mean? I thought you already knew all about me.”
He holds out his hand and the wing-thing alights there again. “Yes, and you seem to know a great deal about me as well. I recall you recounting a tale of a boy and his sister.”
So that was real, the vision I had? He was the boy in the vision. His sister died. That explains only some of the strangeness. I consider asking him to explain but he speaks again, nodding to the tiny humanoid flower perched on his hand.
“When it touches me you’ll be able to see even more into my past and vice versa. Eventually, you may be able to see into the future as well.”
I don’t tell him that I’m afraid to see more of his past, let alone the future, especially if my other visions were correct. But it’s too late. When I look into his eyes again I see …
* * *
He lived on an island off the California coast, in a small cottage on the grounds of a botanical garden. The walls were painted with the symbols from his sister’s book. Large pieces of quartz everywhere, birds in cages, hanging plants, and on the stove a large cauldron filled with purified water and flowers and semiprecious stones. He hoped to cast spells with these things but so far nothing had worked. When he wasn’t caring for the plants in the garden he cleaned falcons whose feathers were coated in slick black ooze from an oil spill, helped pelicans whose eggshells had been thinned by exposure to poisons incubate their eggs, rescued fox kits from the talons of golden eagles and ancient, precious plants from marauding wild sheep and pig
s.
He had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, high on psychotropic plants, meditating on the fate of his beloved flora and fauna, when the Earth Shaker struck. Everything flew and fell apart around him but he was not afraid. He could envision the destruction of the world and he could envision its rebirth. He knew he was changing and that anything was possible. He would receive a mysterious gift to make everything appear as he wished it. The world would be fresh and free and clean and safe. The world would belong to him and his queen.
* * *
The vision fades and I shake myself back to reality, if you can call it that. The startled orchid creature takes off and lands on the king’s outstretched hand. Except for the antlers he looks just like he did in the vision. I might have seen glimpses of his past but it’s all still a mystery. Who is he? What happened to him?
He’s speaking softly like he’s in a trance. “You live in a three-story house, painted a pinkish color. There’s art everywhere and old books. You had a mother once, very lovely, and a father. Wait … I see two men. There was some kind of betrayal.
“You’ve been through a lot. There is someone I’d have liked to kill for you, but you already did that for yourself. You think you have found the love that you need but there’s been something missing. I want to show you what’s been missing.”
“How are you doing this?” I ask him.
He frowns. “Doing what?”
“All of this.”
“There’s no need to question anything on the Island of Love. It just is. Enjoy it.”
There’s a maelstrom in my belly. “It’s not just what you know. It’s this world you have here. The castle, the paintings, the food. I need more of an explanation than that.”
The king studies me for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been studying magic and alchemy for a long time. When the disaster struck my powers seemed to be awakened. You may know something about this phenomenon?”
Yes. My “powers,” if you can call them that, and those of my friends, manifested after the Earth Shaker. That still doesn’t explain everything.
“But why?” I ask. “Why did you give me the eye and the dresses and now this?” I gesture to the creature on his hand and its lips part in what might be called a smile. But a weird smile, as if a flower had a mouth. And teeth.
The Island of Excess Love Page 8