The Voyages of Trueblood Cay

by Suanne Laqueur

  “Good idea,” Tehvan says immediately. “New names for our new life.”

  And this isn’t me anyway.

  “I sold myself to buy that little boy,” Fen said to the Altyn witch. “Then I sold him to get my freedom. Everything that was done to me, I did to him. It let us escape but it doesn’t make it right. Nothing will ever make it right.

  “Night after night, I baited a trap with my xeromo. My mouth watered while waiting for it to spring, not caring that each night was killing Jindo. He was the price of freedom and he paid for everything in the end. He was still trapped when we escaped. He was still inside that cage of shame, believing no one would ever want him again.

  “I tried,” Fen said. “I talked to him. On the ground and in the air. I gave us new names. I told him he was the lark bringing his own soul. I told him all kinds of stories, trying to erase all the shit I said and did in Arcodolori. I thought I got through to his heart. It seemed he was free, but the trap had him by one last finger. Being out in the world again was too much for him, he didn’t know who he was or if anyone would want him. His alternatives were to stay trapped or die.”

  He extended the thumb of his fivehand. “He let go. So I took his place in the cage and I’ve been imprisoned inside for twenty years. The door’s been open but I chose to stay within. It was easier. But now…”

  A log on the fire belched out a pocket of air, scattering sparks around the circle of attentive ears. All listening to learn and learning to tell.

  “Once,” Fen said, “I told my father nothing in this world is bigger than my hate for him. But that’s not true. Not anymore. What I feel in my heart now is bigger than hate. It’s a secret that’s bigger than the sun.”

  Sorĉi’s sightless eyes closed. Her ear tilted. Her palms rose, hungry and ready to eat.

  “I love Pelippé Trueblood,” Fen said. “I love him more than I hate everything that happened to me. Because now I know it happened so I could be with him. Knowing doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t make it go away. It doesn’t make me forget it or forgive my captors. But it gives me a place to put it. Loving Trueblood gives me both peace and purpose. I survived so I could be with him. I want to keep surviving so I can keep being with him.”

  The witch was glowing now, her people clutching each other, awed and weeping as Fen poured every last secret he owned into the old woman’s hands.

  “I’ve spent my life looking backward and hating my father for not finding me. I spit my name into the dirt and left a trail for him to follow. He didn’t come. I cried for him while men and minotaurs raped me, hoping the wind would carry my khenom to his ears. He didn’t come.

  “I did things in Arcodolori I can never take back. I killed a boy in the desert. I killed a mother’s son and felt nothing. I sold myself so I could buy another mother’s son and groom him for my purposes. I gained his trust by treating him like shit. I convinced him I was both enemy and ally. He got me my freedom and I got him killed.”

  A shiver crossed the old woman’s shoulders. The air around her crackled in a hundred shades of red.

  “My father buried Alon next to my mother and let me forswear humos, but he never listened to the things I needed to tell him. Then he took my charm hostage and gave me no choice but to take the form of what I hated most in the world. He took my moonstone. He took my wings. I went onboard the Kaleuche on two unwilling legs and with my mind made up. I closed my heart and vowed I wanted no part of the voyage. I wanted nothing and no one. But I do. I want Pelippé Trueblood.”

  The tears streamed down his proud face. “Please. You took pity on me when I landed broken in your trees. Show me that kindness again. I’ve found my gelangos. I love Pelippé Trueblood. Loving him helps me stop hating. Loving him lets me be myself. For the first time in twenty years, I believe I’m worthy of love. Please, Sorĉi, take my secrets into your merciful heart and let me keep Trueblood in my hands.”

  The old woman settled back on her cushions, eyes still closed. “A fair trade,” she whispered. “Such beautiful secrets, Tehvan il-Kheir. I’ll keep them forever. They’ll never be sold. They’ll be buried with me in the earth when I die.”

  She took her hands in his and ran her thumbs over his palms for a long time.

  “Your father loves you,” she said.

  Fen, exhausted, could only shake his head.

  “Not a word exists in any language for how much your father loves you. He’s written all over you. I can feel him in your fingers.”

  She leaned and kissed his scarred eyebrow. “Rest here a while, kheiron. Eat and drink. You’ll need all your strength for the mariner.”

  Fen practically crash-landed on the deck of the Kaleuche. Delirious with exhaustion, he gave the kyrrh to Abrakam, then collapsed into Lejo and Raj’s arms.

  The flight of pegasos reared back from the Kaleuche, their wings thundering. The limp sails stirred, shook themselves out and filled up with the breeze. They stayed full when the winged steeds retreated.

  They were sailing again.

  That night Fen slept between the twins in their cabin. Raj was a solid and immutable presence to lean on, while Lejo rested soft and pliant against Fen’s back. The kheiron’s sleep was deep and dreamless, filled only with shades of red, shadows of purple, and the occasional flash of copper or gold.

  He woke alone the next morning, aching in every major muscle group. He was touched when Calvo brought him breakfast, but sad news came with the meal.

  “While you were gone, we lost Seven,” the quartermaster said.

  The fork paused midway to Fen’s mouth, then he set it down. His mind ran a gamut of illness and freak accidents, while his heart knew the cook had taken his own life.

  “What did he do?”

  “Waited until Lejo was asleep and lifted his key to the kepten’s safe.”

  “What’s in the…” Fen’s eyes closed as he raised a finger. “The fadara.”

  “He took all three beads of it. Abrakam said it would’ve been quick. Painless.”

  “Gods.”

  Calvo ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Tell you, lad, their poor mother. It won’t be painless for her.”

  Fen folded his napkin and pushed the plate away. “Thanks for bringing it, Cal, but I’m not hungry now.”

  “Don’t give it a thought. Let’s go see Trueblood.” Calvo patted Fen’s back. “He called for you while you were gone.”

  “He did?”

  “Aye, lad. He wanted you awful.”

  Fen followed Calvo down the stairs to the nyellem. Last night, Abrakam had packed Trueblood’s wounds with kyrrh and pressed a clean linen cloth on top. Now he peeled the fabric back, drawing out the hard, jagged molds of the resin and the yellow-green poison clinging to the edges. Trueblood moaned as the misery tore free from his flesh. Fen crouched down and held both his hands tight.

  “I’m here, valentos,” he said softly.

  The smell was appalling. Calvo pressed his face into the crook of an elbow and Fen buried mouth and nose against the mattress, swallowing hard. The old centaur’s face was an impervious mask as he dropped the soiled linen into a canvas bag.

  “Burn it on deck,” he said to Calvo. “Far from the others. Keep the minoros below.”

  “Aye, Abe.”

  “Be careful,” the centaur said. “Burn it off the lee side, sack and all. Judge the wind and do not breathe the smoke.”

  Fen rested his cheek lightly on Trueblood’s temple. The fingers twined in his fluttered, squeezed once, then went still.

  “He’s not running as hot as I remember,” Fen said.

  “Fever’s definitely breaking.” With a knife, Abrakam cut generous, decadent chunks from the block of kyrrh to pack the wounds again. “This is several lifetimes worth,” he said. “It must have cost a pretty price.”

  “From where I stand, I got the better bargain,” Fen s
aid. “But Sorĉi seemed content.”

  “One day you’ll understand the value of secrets.”

  Fen gathered Trueblood’s plaits into a neat rope. He knew what miseries he’d relive over and over if their places were switched, but wondered what secrets Trueblood might trade to save him.

  “Abrakam.”

  “Aye, lad?”

  “What would be your misery?”

  The centaur laid clean linen on Trueblood’s glistening back and his large hands smoothed it from shoulders to waist. “Watching your father lose his mind after your mother died. Then lose it again after you were taken.”

  Once, such words would pierce Fen’s pride like arrows, making him volley his entire arsenal in rabid defense. Now they thudded on him like a soft rain, sliding down his skin to rest thoughtfully in his lap.

  “Did you know my mother?” he asked.

  “Gods, lad, of course. I mean, as well as any creature can know a pegaso.”

  “What do you remember?”

  The centaur carefully wrapped up the kyrrh in its paper. “When she and your father were together, they wanted for nothing. They walked in their own little world, Fen. Their love was something extraordinary. No one had ever seen anything like it. Except in stories.”

  Abrakam pulled the sheet and blanket up around Trueblood’s lower body and smoothed the linen bandage one more time. “Keep an eye out for fever,” he said. “And don’t let him get cold.”

  He left, closing the door carefully.

  Fen sat, turning Trueblood’s large hand over and back. Contemplating how the skin was dustier over the knuckles. The rich rose-brown of his palms and the delicate pink half-moons at the base of his nails.

  The scent of the nyellem made time slide out of meaning. He had no idea how long had passed before he heard a rustle of bedclothes and a long sigh. Trueblood blinked his eyes open. Slowly they focused on Fen.

  “You look different,” he murmured.

  “Do I?”

  “Mm.”

  Fen set his thumb between the smooth, black brows. “Thinner, maybe?”

  “A little.”

  “I went on a small trip. A side quest. I left some shit behind.”

  “Left what?”

  “Things I didn’t need anymore.”

  Trueblood closed his eyes, turning his face into Fen’s palm. “I missed you.”

  Fen went on stroking his head, feeling it was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him.

  “Don’t think this little stunt has gotten you out of the conversation we’re having later,” he finally said.

  Trueblood’s eyes didn’t open but the corners crinkled. “Told you I’d meet you back here.”

  “You’re late.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Horseshit, you are.”

  Trueblood lifted his chin a bit. “Come here.”

  Fen leaned and they kissed. Just once. Soft and quick.

  “Later?” the mariner said.

  “Later.”

  Great was the day when Kepten Trueblood rose from his sickbed. He was thin. He walked on shaky legs, pausing frequently to regain his balance or his breath. Or to lose his stomach over the leeward rail.

  “Well this is an odd role-reversal,” Fen said.

  Even Trueblood’s laugh was weak. He took a bath in the galley, then sat in the sunshine of the afterdeck to shave his beard and rebraid his plaits. The simple tasks exhausted him and he went back to the nyellem to lie down, claiming the bright light hurt his eyes.

  Fen went with him. In the dark hold, his head resting on the mariner’s chest, he told Trueblood everything. He thought the secrets would be easier to divulge, now that they were sold to Sorĉi. He was wrong. He didn’t care what the witch thought of his deeds, but he gave a frighteningly large damn what Trueblood thought.

  “I smothered that boy in the desert,” he said, the words like boulders in his mouth. “It was me.”

  “All right,” the kepten said softly.

  “I killed him.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t feel horror or relief. I felt nothing.”

  Fen’s muscles seized, terrified, ready to bolt and flee, but Trueblood’s arms tightened around him.

  “I got you,” he said. “No, stay here. Tell me all of it.”

  Fen’s fist clutched the back of the kepten’s shirt. “Sometimes, Haize would make me rape Jindo.” Then he was shaking so bad, the bedstead rattled against the walls. “Let me go.”

  “No, you stay with me,” Trueblood said. “If you can live it, I can hear it.”

  “After a while… When we were…on the same page. I mean…”

  “When you were working together?”

  “Right. We figured out how to kind of fake it. Stage it. Make it look convincing. But the first couple times… Shit.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, don’t,” Fen said. “Don’t say it’s all right because it isn’t.”

  Trueblood’s hand moved soft and steady through Fen’s hair. “No,” he finally said. “No, it wasn’t right. But nothing about Arcodolori was right. And you weren’t at an age where it was your job to make things right. You were trying to survive. It was your job.”

  Fen’s entire life sat in a wadded-up ball in his throat. He lay still and let it go however it wanted to. A little through tears. Some in sighs. A bit of shaking. The rest in silence.

  “I’ll never pretend to know half the horrible shit you went through,” Trueblood said. “I’m not going to dwell on the horrible because I think you have that covered. You’re with me now and it’s my job to point out the excellent things you did.”

  “Good luck.”

  “For starters, you took Jindo with you. You gave him your word and you kept it. You didn’t leave him behind.” His heartbeat kicked up beneath Fen’s ear. “You were with him until the end and he died free.”

  “He died alone,” Fen said, his mouth thick with anguish. “The fall didn’t kill him. That’s how tough he was. He suffered alone at the roots of the tree. He was still alive when the vultures came to feed. I heard him crying while they…”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “The Altyns found him with my ringos still clutched in his hand.”

  “You did everything you could.”

  “I wanted to bring him home. Rescuing him would’ve been like rescuing myself.”

  “I know. You rescued him. He died free. And you did bring him home. You brought him back to Nyland and buried him next to your mother. He’s your little brother. You visit his grave and you kept the name he gave you. You made rescuing boys like him your life’s work.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s forgiven.” He held Fen tight. “It all happened so you could be with me. Which means I need to be fucking worth it.”

  Everything was pouring out of Fen’s eyes and he couldn’t answer.

  Trueblood went on talking. “It also means what happened is mine to protect. You have a door inside you that reads Arcodolori. I stand in front of it now. I forgive you everything that happened inside and if anyone else wants to go in there and judge, they have to come through me first.”

  Fen cried hard. A short but violent storm that left a damp patch on the kepten’s shirt.

  “Do something for me,” Trueblood said after.

  “What?”

  “The room where Arcodolori lives? Try to make it a nyellem. A special place. A sacred place. A memorial to when you had to be at your worst so you could live to be your best. All right?”

  “I’ll try.”

  His lips grazed Fen’s head. “But keep the door closed.”

  Fen laughed against where his tears had soaked. “Gods, I hate your guts.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trueblood said, rocking him. “I
’m so sorry about everything that happened, valentos.”

  Fen chose silence as a reply, allowing the sympathy to cloak him. Letting Trueblood witness how deeply he hurt.

  “It wasn’t right then but it’s right now,” the mariner said. “You’re with me and this is now.”

  “Right now,” Fen whispered, exhausted. “This.”

  “Right now. Only this.”

  That evening, the Ĝemelos moved all Trueblood’s things out of their cabin and into the great bedroom.

  “It’s time,” Lejo said.

  “Are you sure?”

  With an exasperated sigh, Lejo’s eyes circled the ceiling. “Honestly, Pé, if you’re this reluctant, maybe I’ll just bed Fen myself.”

  “Queue up, Lélé,” Raj said.

  Trueblood drew his aching body up tall. “I’ll keel-haul the both of you.”

  “You wouldn’t even know how.”

  “I’m a smart lad, I can figure it out.”

  Laughing, they left him to arrange his new accommodations. His old journals were lined up on a shelf, shades of brown leather from dun to dirt. The remnant of his mother’s skirt was folded under a pillow, then after a second thought, moved to the top of the handsome dresser. He took his time, contemplating all the possessions, objects and treasures that made up a life story.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” Fen said from the doorway.

  “Thanks.”

  They stared a long moment.

  “Holy horses, you two.” Raj pushed Fen into the cabin. “See you at breakfast,” he said before closing the door.

  Moonlight trickled through the windows, pouring over Fen’s body, stark against the door with his tow hair and white clothes.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said.

  Trueblood nodded.

  “When in your life were you most afraid?”

  “Right now.”

  “Me too.”

  Trueblood’s heart thudded in his ears while Fen rubbed a slow circle on his chest.

  “Gods, I can barely breathe here.”

  “Tell me something,” Trueblood said. “All these years. Was there anyone who came even close to being gelang with you?”