“Beautiful things,” Lejo said, his eyes dreamy.
“The star fit right in,” Raj said. “A key in a lock.”
“Then your ring fit on top and pressed it into place.”
“Everything perfectly made for the job.”
“And once it was done, the ring came away. Its job was done.”
Raj pulled at his thick, dun hair. “Who saw that coming?”
As Fen breathed over the little pile of silver, he couldn’t help a stab of insult, as if the rings hadn’t been good enough. Then his delayed rationale caught up and he quickly shoved the bands onto their proper fingers.
“I’m going to get him,” he said, and unfurled his wings without taking his shirt off. The split garment floated to the ground as he flew up the trunk.
The lark was hopping along one of Trueblood’s arms, pecking at the ropes around his wrist and elbow. She was crying. No sound in the world was more terrible than a bird crying. Fen’s heart broke as he closed a hand around the trembling feathers and held her to his cheek.
“Shh,” he said. “It’s over. It’s all right now. I’ll get him down and we’ll go home.”
The rope had swelled with the days of rain and then tightened as it dried in the sun. Fen had no knife and he didn’t want to leave Trueblood for a single second to fetch the axe from the longboat. If Trueblood hung here nine days with nothing, Fen would get him down with nothing.
The lark tried to help. Still, Fen’s fingertips were rubbed raw as he loosened the knots. Coordinating the freeing of limbs and the management of deadweight was anxious work. He’d kill himself if he let Trueblood fall.
“You told me once that in the whole history of the world, anywhere, ever, no one ever fell off the mast of a giantship. I’m not changing history today.”
Fen brought him safely to earth. He knelt heartbroken in the roots of Nydirsil, not looking up at his love in the branches but down in the circle of his arms. He didn’t cry. It wasn’t the time. Later was for weeping. Now was for holding still, cradling Trueblood close. Smoothing his brow, letting his plaits trail through Fen’s hands and nursing the tiniest flame of hope he’d wake up. As silver rings peeked through the long black braids, the hope kindled higher.
I got these back. Maybe it means I’ll get him back.
“Fen, your father’s here,” Lejo said softly.
Fen looked up and the flame snuffed out. Il-Kheir spiraled in the sky above the inlet, here to collect Trueblood’s soul. An honor bestowed on only the most righteous of men.
As the Horselord touched down, hair and coat wet with salt spray, Fen felt his eyes widen.
Holy Helos, he got old.
Silver hooves sank into the damp earth where Fen kneeled. Blue eyes ringed with shadows gazed down from a gaunt, lined face. The stare didn’t pierce, nor did it comfort.
“It’s time, Fen,” he said.
“Can you take me with him?” Fen asked.
A single drop of water fell from the moonstone around the Horselord’s neck. His expression softened the tiniest bit and he said, “I can’t.” A beat and then, as if pulling his teeth or breaking his heart apart to say the words, he added, “I’m sorry.”
The tone was gentle but non-negotiable. Il-Kheir took a step forward but Lejo put a hand on his arm. “When Fen’s ready, mysire,” he said.
“And not a moment before,” Raj said.
We all have jobs to do, Fen thought. Finish this one the way Trueblood would. You said you’d be there until the end and you were.
Fen kissed the mariner’s head and held it to his heart for one last breath.
Now be excellent at letting him go.
“You can take him now.”
The Horselord held out his hands. Up from Trueblood’s scarred heart rose an orb of light, swirling in black and white and blue and gold.
“Be careful with him,” Fen said.
Sevri nodded. “As if he were one of my own.”
The words were glass in Fen’s throat but he pushed them out. “Thank you.”
The Horselord stumbled backward as if spooked. He shifted into equos and reared a little, giving a pained neigh. He came back to kheiros, shaking his head hard.
Fen had instinctively moved back a little. “Father?”
“It’s time,” il-Kheir mumbled. “By gods, it’s time to end this once and for all.”
His wings unfurled and he flew away with Trueblood’s soul, leaving Fen and the twins staring helplessly after.
“Come on,” Raj finally said. “Let’s take him back to the ship where he belongs.”
“Héjo,” Lejo cried, pointing up. “Look.”
Down from the tree drifted a single flower, tilting this way and that on the breeze and settling on Trueblood’s motionless chest. Its nine white petals fell away, leaving a pale brown pod dusted with yellow-gold powder.
“Godsdamn,” Raj said slowly. “We’re the first to see one of those in a long time, lads.”
Fen held the pod to his nose and inhaled the familiar fragrance before putting it in his pocket. He’d put it in the nyellem when they got onboard. He could see it already, resting neatly on the bed’s pillow. Safe for the voyage home.
Because it’s both my reward and Belmiro’s cure.
Il-Kheir’s journey to the moon with Pelippé Trueblood’s soul isn’t a tale that will ever be told aloud or read in books. But, my legantos, it’s a truth you must know even if no one else does.
For the second time in his life, Sevri il-Kheir came to make a bargain for his son. This time, he had a partner in trade. Ele-Kheir came with him and she offered the moon Sevri’s soul in exchange for Trueblood’s.
Where did you get that? The moon’s voice was everywhere and nowhere. Soundless yet filled with all the sound of the universe.
“He sold it to me,” ele-Kheir said. “Which makes it mine to do with as I please.”
I see. This for that.
“As is the way of the world,” the Horsedam said.
In the mere presence of his soul, the Horselord was sucked back into his full experience, remembering everything. Love for his son buckled his legs and flayed his chest open. The immense weight of everything Fen suffered stabbed him like a hundred arrows, each tipped with the poison made by twenty years of apathy.
“Give Trueblood back his life,” he said. “Take mine instead.”
Your life is already mine to take, the moon said. I don’t negotiate for what belongs to me.
“It’s a fair trade,” ele-Kheir said. “A soul for a soul.”
A long silvery silence.
I have my reputation to think of, children of Khe. I don’t make bargains or barter. Tehvan must pay a price as well.
Il-Kheir stomped a silver hoof on the cold dead surface. It rattled his bones but made no sound. “It’s time to end this,” he cried.
It’s time when I say it is and not a moment before.
Trueblood’s soul rose from Sevri’s hand into the immobile air, defying the laws of gravity and nature as it turned in a slow dervish of gold, white, blue and black. A voice within the spirals spoke a khenom, so perfectly that both the Horselord and Horsedam gasped.
“Please,” the kepten’s soul said. “Take us into your merciful heart.”
The feathers of both kheirons ruffled, as if the celestial body beneath them were sighing.
Pelippé Trueblood, you are indeed an especial monster.
“Isn’t he, though?” ele-Kheir murmured.
Very well, Sevri il-Kheir. This for that. Fly home. Take Trueblood’s soul and bind it to Tehvan’s ringos. Pass your reign to your son and return to me.
“Bind the soul to the ringos?”
Trueblood must wear it always to live. It will be Tehvan’s price to pay.
“My soul plus Tehvan’s wings for Trueblood’s lif
e,” the Horselord said slowly.
This for that.
“It’s fair, little brother,” ele-Kheir said. Always so poised and confident, her hooves shuffled backward in the dust, eager to go.
The Horselord stood his ground. “Is it? After what Fen’s suffered?”
“Loving Trueblood the way he does, I don’t think he’ll view being grounded as a sacrifice. Take the bargain while she’s still in a good mood.”
The Horselord closed his eyes and raised his voice. “What if I give Fen my ringos to wear?”
The ensuing silence was confused.
“Does the power transfer?” il-Kheir asked. “Or is it like a khenom? It can only fit its owner’s finger?”
More silence, and when the moon spoke, the tiniest grudge was in her voice. It might work.
“It might?”
It’s never been done.
“It’s never wanted to be done,” ele-Kheir said thoughtfully.
“Which isn’t to say it can’t be done.”
The sighing wind made feathers ripple and ele-Kheir’s hair blow back.
No one truly knows the magnitude of power within rings. Or within khenoms. Tehvan spit his into the dirt of Arcodolori to no avail. He left you a trail of his name you never heard. What if he spit yours instead? Could you have heard him then?
Sevri il-Kheir’s lips moved. Only a thread of sound reached his ancestral aunt’s ears and it sounded like “Gods, my foalboy.”
Tell me, children of Khe. Is anything greater than the power of a name?
“Forgiveness,” ele-Kheir said.
Indeed. But as we know, Tehvan has little love for his sire. Which makes the premise even more intriguing. What magical, soul-saving power exchange would come to pass if Tehvan were to call his enemy by name?
“Call me by name,” the Horselord said.
It might be asking too much of him.
Her tone jeered now and the Horselord’s hooves pawed at the ground again.
“My son is capable of more than you could possibly imagine,” he said. “You’d have to take the world apart to find a braver, more resilient soul than Tehvan il-Kheir.”
His body shuddered, shrinking in on itself, as if it broke his heart to say it. Or he had to break his heart apart to say it.
The Kaleuche sailed back to Nyland, Trueblood’s body on a bier. In between their mourning, the crew raised telescopes to look back at Nydirsil.
“Do you see any flowers?”
“No.”
“None, lad?”
“Not yet.”
“Will there be?” Melki asked. “Will Nye grow again?”
“Give it time, lad,” Abrakam said. His voice was reassuring but his body was tighter than a bowstring.
“She needs to trust that she’s safe,” Lejo said, with a little more confidence.
“How long will that take?” Melki said.
“It takes as long as it takes,” Raj said.
Abrakam sighed. “Could be years before she begins to drop seeds.”
“When she’s ready and not a second before, Abe.”
Numb with grief, Fen wandered the ship. Hiding and waiting for Trueblood to find him. He went into the nyellem, rubbed his hands against the walls and held them to his face. Yelled at an imaginary Trueblood, giving him a piece of his mind before throwing him down on the narrow bed and taking a piece of his ass.
He didn’t dare sleep in their bed in the kepten’s room. He wasn’t that strong. He either slept on deck next to the bier, or in his old cabin. Waiting for Trueblood to find him.
Raj and Lejo ran the ship. They were subdued, with their moments of intense grief, but stalwart. In truth, Fen had expected the twins’ loss to be more debilitating. Their hearts were empty of stars. The space between them a vacuum. Without their ringos, they ought to have been severed, separate entities, wandering around lost.
“We’re all right, Fen,” Raj said. He was sober, but as steady and dependable as before.
Lejo smiled his agreement. He didn’t talk much, but he remained accessible and kind. All the crew treated each other gently, helping one another through.
Abrakam was Fen’s rock on the hard days. Fen spent long stretches of time sitting on the afterdeck, leaning on the centaur’s broad flank. The lark came to perch on his shoulder and nestled her soft head against Fen’s jaw. He covered her with a palm.
“Nothing in this story makes sense,” he said.
“Because it’s still being told,” the centaur said.
“I don’t like my part in it.”
“Neither do I, lad.”
Fen chewed on that, wondering if Abrakam meant he didn’t like his own part or didn’t like Fen’s.
In a delayed epiphany, he had to process all over again that Raj and Lejo were kheirons. Naturally he had three thousand questions but the twins could answer few. Some of their revelations were as recent as his, namely that their rings and moonstones were used to hold the stars in their hearts. They’d been sacrificing all their lives, living as men bound to earth.
“But it’s not like we knew any other way,” Lejo said.
“I just wonder who our father was,” Raj said, tapping the side of his big nose with a finger.
“So do I,” Lejo said. “But I’m not instigating that conversation with ele-Kheir.”
“Good point. Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth.”
“Well, on a less sensitive topic,” Fen said, “why do you each have six fingers?”
Raj shrugged. “Consolation prize?”
“Makes sex interesting,” Lejo said.
Fen closed his eyes. “You know, you two…”
As the words faded out, he realized the Ĝemelos were the closest thing to brothers he’d known in his life. His throat was tight with emotion as he told them so.
Lejo laughed. “Fen, if it feels like we’re brothers, it’s because we’re first cousins.”
“A thousand times removed,” Raj said.
“Well hold my holy horses,” Fen said. “I have a family?”
The twins laughed, slung arms around his shoulders and between them was a good place to be.
“You’re one of us,” Raj said. “Cousin and crew. If you want, the Kaleuche can always be your home.”
“If you stay, it would be like having Trueblood here,” Lejo said.
Fen gave a pained glance to the ship’s wheel. “Who’s going to be the next kepten?”
Raj pulled at his hair and Lejo rubbed at his jaw. “I don’t know,” they said together.
“Does another member of House Tru have to take over? Did Trueblood have uncles or cousins?”
The same unison answer, “I don’t know,” made the miniscule flame of hope kindle in Fen’s heart again. He paced the ship that night, his ringed fingers trailing over walls and railings and masts. Touching all those godsdamned little holes the lark pecked, driving Trueblood crazy.
He stared a long time at the ship’s wheel. Imagining Trueblood’s tall form before it, his touch light on the spokes but his strength and control absolute.
His imagination morphed the mariner into a young boy.
Trueblood has no son.
Is this the end of House Tru?
How could it be?
He cupped furtive hands around the fire in his heart, both to conceal and shelter it.
Maybe he’s not really dead.
How can he be dead? It would be the end of the ships.
It can’t be the end.
It just can’t be.
His fingers started to inexplicably itch. The skin beneath his rings was cold, then it was hot. It pulsed. It throbbed. Sometimes water ran down his palms and it tasted salty, like the ocean. Or tears.
One night, his fivehand thumb started to bleed beneath the ringos
. No matter how he pulled, the silver band was stuck tight and wouldn’t come off.
What, he thought, staring at the blood. Are you looking for me? Are you trying to tell me something? I’m here, Pé. Talk to me. I’m right here. Tell me. Where are you?
Come back to me.
Rather than coming to grips with Trueblood’s death and finding peace, he grew increasingly desperate.
“Pé, come find me,” he said in the dark of his cabin.
Don’t you love me anymore?
“Gods, I miss him so bad,” he said in the light of day.
“I know, lad,” Abrakam said. “He misses you too.”
“Does he?”
“He loved you. Why else would you have shown your best self the first time you saw him?”
“And then I shit on his feet,” Fen said through his tears.
“Well, you do like to do things the hard way, Fenros.” The centaur opened his arms and gathered the kheiron close.
“Give him back to me,” Fen cried.
“I would,” Abrakam whispered in his hair. “Gods know I would do anything, my one.”
Fen was crazed with grief. Bones and cells split apart in mourning. Anger and despair and abandonment and betrayal foaming in his stomach, slashing like knives through his throat and bubbling over the centaur’s shoulder. Silent screaming that tore Fen’s ears apart, echoing in his skull and blinding him.
“Give him back to me,” he said. “Give him back…”
He woke from a smoldering dream with a ragged shout of ecstasy. Trueblood had been taking him, giving him, loving and fucking him in a vivid rush of skin and mouths and fingers and sex. The cry turned agonized as Fen’s eyes opened and Trueblood slipped from his arms.
It was over.
He hadn’t been found, it wasn’t later, they didn’t get to have that conversation, no giant was at the helm and this was the last voyage of Trueblood Cay.
Fen pulled himself from his bed and went above. It was a little past dawn and the world was quiet as prayer.
“You said you’d be with me to the end,” he said to Trueblood’s body. “Why are you hiding where I can’t find you?”
With a yell of rage, he whirled around and smashed a fist against the railing, startling the lark from her perch. He went on kicking the ship, right near the place where Misery breached. The planks, already loosened off their nails, rattled in protest, followed by a delicate spray across the deck. Like a handful of beads flung.
The Voyages of Trueblood Cay Page 42
