“This is a better way to come in,” Trueblood said. “I left the door open once and got thrashed for it.”
You never make the same mistake twice.
Two babies lay on the bed. Little hands holding each other’s heads. The space between their bodies twinkled.
The triumph of a mystery solved crowed in Trueblood’s veins. “This is the ship in the story. This is where Da found the Ĝemelos.”
Yes.
“You left them here.”
I never left. Not until Ikharus arrived. What kind of mother do you take me for?
“I’m sorry.”
You must learn to think before you speak. Do you understand?
“Aye, Kep.” It was out of his mouth before he thought.
Gods, what am I going to do with you? Ele-Kheir’s hand moved in the space between Raj and Lejo, drawing up gold and silver and letting it sift through her fingers. Aren’t they remarkable?
“You did a good job.”
Thank you, Pé.
He hesitated. “Do you miss them?”
To my bones.
“Do they know they’re kheirons? And you’re their mother?”
No. And when you wake up, you won’t remember you know. Some things aren’t for you to have in the waking world, Pé. Knowing the truth when others don’t puts certain destinies at a disadvantage.
Questions piling up on questions now. “Why are they always in humos? Where are their rings? And why do they have eleven fingers, not nine?”
Ele-Kheir cleared her throat. In the dim light emanating from the twins, her smile was arch. The only question I’m addressing on this voyage is why the twins shine. Have you guessed yet?
“Because they have Nydirsil’s stars inside them?”
Yes. Raj has four. Lejo has four.
“Did you use their rings and stones to hold the stars inside them?”
Yes, but don’t ask me to explain how. It was terribly complicated. I honestly didn’t know if it would work.
Worry flickered across her luminous face, compelling Trueblood to repeat, “You did a good job.”
Thank you, she said with a sigh. Your father had the ninth star. Estelos. The star of Os.
“What did you use to hold it inside him?”
She reached up and held Trueblood’s face in her soft hands. Nothing, she whispered. His love and goodness were enough. His bravery and honesty and skill. His heart was beautiful enough to hold the power of Estelos. So is yours, Pelippé. You hold the star in your heart now. You are the bond between Raj and Lejo.
“The three of us are the threefold love in the Truviad?”
Raj and Lejo together are one fold. You are another. We’re waiting on the third.
“Who?”
My nephew. He already senses he’s part of this. Unfortunately, his heart likes to look at where it came from, not where it’s going. He won’t be happy about his part in the story. But that’s his problem, not yours. Come along now, Pé.
“Where are we going?”
Back to your story. The twins need you.
The pain of separation had crouched in a corner all this time, fascinated by what was going on. Now it loomed up over him, jabbing on one side, straining on the other, demanding his attention.
“It hurts.”
Love often does, my one.
The need to go back and the dread of going back made him frantic. “The ship is too big for me. I’m not ready.”
You have your crew. You have your pilot and your boatswain. You have your notebooks where you wrote down everything your father taught you, in your especial beautiful penmanship. It’s time, Pé.
“It hurts.”
I know. I’m sorry. Os’s branch of the tree bears the greatest weight of the sky.
“I’m not ready.”
You need to be strong, Pelippé Trueblood. Estelos, the ninth star, binds the other eight. Estelos is heaviest and only you can hold it.
“It hurts.”
Hold the bond, Pé. You’re the only one who can do this. You and no other.
“It hurts…”
He woke, moaning through waves of pain breaking and cresting in his heart, “It hurts.”
Jabbering voices and then a cup held to his mouth. Sweet and bitter swallows down his throat. A cold bubble of water chasing after. He broke free of the pain and floated away.
He woke again, crying, “It hurts.”
It burns. Burns hotter than the sun. Burns like a star in my heart but isn’t it wonderful and remarkable though it burns…
Sweet and bitter again. Then cold. Followed by nothing.
Sometimes voices broke through the void. Familiar friends giving advice which he wrote down under his eyelids, in his especial beautiful penmanship.
“Live a good life,” Rafil said. “Because when Truvos took Nydirsil away, it was the end of second chances.”
The Sisters spoke as one: “Every copy of the Truviad is printed with its last page torn in half.”
Beniv said, “Whatever job you’re given, Troubled, be excellent at it. Even if you’re the only one who knows. Especially if you’re the only one who knows.”
Abrakam tilted his wise head. “A kheiron giving you his ring would be a great honor indeed. It would mean he trusted you. Or even loved you.”
The world is a ship, ele-Kheir said. Nydirsil is her mast. The yard rigged across her trunk is the future. And Estelos is the heaviest star.
The pen fell from Trueblood’s fingers and he opened his eyes.
He lay on his side between the twins. Raj curled against his aching back, his light like a knife blade at the edge of Trueblood’s sight. His arms were full of Lejo’s twinkling aura and the pain—it burns so bright—was too much. He couldn’t get on top of it, he couldn’t slip beneath it. He had to lie here and figure out how to hold it.
Hold the bond, said a voice from a long-ago. Or maybe it was a line from a story.
His heart burned and he was so tired. It had been a long voyage. Land was in sight and this was the time some men became careless. They assumed the job was done and started strutting or bragging.
Pelippé Trueblood knew better.
He hooked a leg around Raj’s calf and pulled him close behind. His arm tightened around Lejo’s waist and drew him in. He stopped fighting their light and let it become one with his. Let it fill him until he billowed out round above an endless ocean.
My father was a flower on the Tree of Life, but I am a sail on her yard.
It took close to a month for Trueblood and the twins to recover.
Their suite in the palace had two bedrooms but they continued to sleep together. Even in the light of day, Trueblood found he couldn’t bear being away from the Ĝemelos. This wasn’t mere poetry—separation filled him with a choking panic, coiling around his chest until he thought his heart would literally shatter.
Raj slept and slept. When he was awake, his gaze went dead and empty, his sunny, handsome presence diminished. One moment his aura hovered quietly at the edge of Trueblood’s vision, the next it jumped out with a blinding scream, upsetting both of them.
Lejo had arms locked around Trueblood’s other side, his spiritual deadweight dangling and dragging. His gaze bulged into next week, taking in everyone and everything and making it his. No amount of kyrrh could get his mind to turn off and he was nearly psychotic from lack of sleep. He got so bad, some of the healers discussed offering Lejo a bead of fadara, just to get him one decent night’s rest.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Raj cried, snapping out of his lethargy.
“We’d fully supervise the—”
“He’d be addicted in one dose. Don’t let them do it, Pé.”
“Not happening,” Trueblood said to the healers, making no move to check his friend or gentle him down.
&n
bsp; “You come anywhere near him with that shit, you say the word fadara around him and I’ll fucking kill you,” Raj said.
That night, neither twin slept. On either side of Trueblood the brothers tossed and turned, tormented by the inability to drift off as a pair, yet finding no comfort in being awake together.
“Lélé, I can’t find you,” Raj said, the baby name dire in his deep, hoarse voice. “You’re here but I don’t know where you are.”
Lejo didn’t even answer. It was a terrible night and Trueblood didn’t know whether to rejoice or despair when the sun came up.
“Gently, lads,” Abrakam said. “You’re in shock. You can’t rush these things. It’ll be like learning to walk again.”
“Gently,” Raj said, like a mantra. His eyes were dilated to black pearls, staring wide and deep as his hand stroked Lejo’s head and repeated, “Gently, gently.”
I need to hold the bond, became Trueblood’s thought. He breathed to the words and timed them to his footsteps. The little phrase soothed his nerves like a familiar prayer, or a mother’s platitude. Was it something Noë used to say? The words felt very female in his head. Soft and cool, like an expert, competent hand feeling your brow for fever.
Hold the bond.
Every day, the three men practiced going out of each other’s sight. Stepping onto the balcony alone for a count to fifty felt ridiculous, until it started to hurt like a bitch around thirty-five. Day after day, they added seconds and feet. Building up their resistance. Stretching the bond like a muscle and then resting it.
One brave morning, after a decent night’s sleep, they parted ways after breakfast to attempt an afternoon apart. The twins wanted to go into town, while Trueblood was more interested in a good scrub-down at the palace’s bathing pool.
Abrakam offered to show him the way. “Will you honor me by riding, Troubled?”
Swaying on his thin, weak legs, Trueblood smiled gratefully. “The honor is mine.”
“Well I only offer because you’re down ten pounds.”
This Trueblood couldn’t deny. His ribs showed. He tired easily. Gripping Abrakam’s body with his thighs seemed a monumental effort that had him thinking about a nap before they were even to the beach.
The grotto was built to be shared by the palace and the kheiron pavilion. Separated from the public beach by a rocky outcropping, it had a grassy knoll leading down to an enclosed manmade pool, which fed into the sea at its far end. Amid the natural boulders were chunks of quarried marble, making places to sit. They’d been piled high at one side, allowing water to cascade from above.
The sun burned on the scars around Trueblood’s heart but felt good on his shoulders. The day was clear as water, the air sweet through his nose and into his chest.
A rhythmic rumbling startled him. He turned to see…
Are those birds?
He blinked. A dozen kheirons were galloping down the grassy slope. The human half of each was dyed red, their hair and wings black.
“Who are they?”
“The Finches,” Abrakam said.
“Oh.”
“So-called because they deliver souls of the damned.” The centaur pointed. “See the biggest one there? That’s Fen il-Kheir.”
Trueblood said nothing.
Worry crossed Abrakam’s gaze. “The Horselord’s son?”
“I know who he is,” Trueblood said shortly.
“Forgive me. You looked confused.”
“I’m fine, Abe. Just slow.” His eyes followed the kheirons as they waded into the pool. The water immediately turned crimson and black around their bodies and the current pulled the dye toward the sea outlet. Attendants splashed in with soap and strigils. From the uniform flock emerged individuality. Hair streamed blond and black and gray, long and short, straight, curled, braided. The kheirons shouted and laughed, ducking and splashing and strutting.
Except Fen.
He bathed away from the herd, and while all the other attendants were young human boys, his were two older centaurides. Both of them white-haired with equine bodies of the palest gray.
“Those are the White Mares,” Abrakam said. “They’ve been attending Fen since he was a foalboy.”
“I see,” Trueblood said. Indeed his eyes were stuffing themselves, unable to look away. Fen didn’t shout or laugh as the Mares scraped the dye from his limbs. He sank below the surface and rose again, rinsing his body and wings. Free of its jet dye, his hair was pure white, startling and silver against his tanned skin.
The charm thundered out of the pool and shook themselves off, then went galloping along the path toward the pavilion, the human attendants running to catch up. The White Mares settled together under a rowan tree, leaving Fen alone in the pool.
“His has been a difficult life,” Abrakam said. “And he has little love for men. Best bathe at a distance.”
When Abrakam gave advice, Trueblood took it. After the centaur left, the mariner shed his clothes and waded into the cool water. An attendant brought him soap and a strigil. The scrubbing was brisk and thorough, his skin left smarting. Free at last from the residue of his sickbed, he found a place several yards from Fen, where water poured over a lip of granite and let the stream pound over his neck and shoulders.
All the while, Fen stayed submerged, only his head above the surface. He was fifteen when Trueblood was born, making him almost thirty-five now, yet his face was that of a man barely into his twenties. Soft with youth and hard with experience at the same time. He had a little beard growth coming in, metal gray mixed silvery white along his strong jaw.
He was beautiful. His expression far-away and thoughtful. Fingertips rubbing his chin and teeth pressed on one corner of his full bottom lip.
Trueblood sank under the water. His sore heart protested as he counted ten, then surfaced with a gasp, shaking out his braids. He counted ten again before glancing sideways.
The kheiron’s glance snagged his, just long enough for Trueblood to register a startling, impossible blue. Then Fen looked away.
Trueblood tried to do the same. To stay at a distance and mind his own business.
He couldn’t.
He crouched near the seagate, keenly aware the current reaching his body had just touched Fen’s.
I could drink you, he thought.
The sudden, intense thought made him lightheaded. He swam to shore and walked out of the pool, conscious of his body and nakedness and how he might appear in someone else’s eyes. In Fen’s eyes. He dried off, put on his clean breeches and shirt. Re-braided one of his short plaits that had come undone. Only then did he turn around.
Fen was coming out of the water. His equine half was gray, liquid and smooth like a mirror. Or a sword made of mercury. His hooves glittered silver. His tail was white, like the hair on his head.
He’s almost as tall as me, Trueblood thought. The idea of being eye-to-eye with this magnificent creature made him feel warm all over.
Fen shook himself off, head to rear feet, water scattering around him in a flurry of drops, reflecting rainbows in the last of the sunlight.
Then he shifted.
The breath stopped dead in Trueblood’s lungs as Fen’s head elongated and his shoulders drew into a tight column. His white hair rippled out, taking on length and falling to one side. Then he stood in equos, a perfect gray stallion. Mane and tale resplendent, hooves glaring and metallic, one of them posed on its edge.
He did that when I was a baby, Trueblood remembered. They said he did it because he liked me.
The horse shook off more water and shifted back to kheiros, his upper half returning to its beautiful human form. Fen turned, showing his back. From nape to waist, the outline of wings was etched in silver, lying parallel to his spine. Overlapped at the tips, making an elongated heart.
“Gods,” Trueblood whispered as the silver etchings grew brig
hter in Fen’s rippling back. He stared as the kheiron’s wings lifted out of human skin and spread wide, unfolding like a magnificent flower. Four feet. Six. Could the span be ten feet? No, more. The width was immeasurable. The white, feathered planes seemed to block out the setting sun.
Fen slowly flapped those stunning wings, letting the air ruffle through them. Then, with a last shiver from head to hooves, the wings drew back in. They folded neatly, the tiered feathers pulling tight together. They dissolved back into Fen’s skin and became silver etchings once more.
The kheiron stood still, his profile clean against the sky.
Do that again, Trueblood thought.
Fen turned and his gaze settled on the mariner. Something glittered in one of his eyebrows. Below it was that baffling blue.
It’s the blue of my father’s coat, Trueblood thought. The coat made by giants. It was dyed from ukhor stones, which were only found at the roots of Nydirsil. Ukhor-blue disappeared centuries ago. That hue literally doesn’t exist anymore. It isn’t a color of this world anymore. You can’t find that blue anywhere anymore.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Fen said, in a dangerously casual voice.
Trueblood felt his spine stiffen as his mind answered, The most splendid thing I’ve ever seen.
Which naturally left his mouth as, “Not much.”
The ukhor gaze narrowed as the kheiron walked toward him. He stopped close enough to meet the height of Trueblood’s six feet and ten inches. Close enough for Trueblood to see the fine white hairs on his forearms and want to touch them. His heart burned and the edges of the world stretched out long as he concocted the craziest idea in the whole history of the world, anywhere, ever.
We’re going to kiss each other.
Fen licked his lips, teeth catching on the bottom one and slowly letting go.
Definitely. We’re about to kiss. This is happening.
The jeweled eyebrow flicked. Then, with the tiniest jerk of his head, tossing a mane that wasn’t there, the kheiron turned his back.
He shifted into equos.
The Voyages of Trueblood Cay Page 13
