The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  "Was that taking a side?" asked Pol. "May, would you please talk to her?"

  "Yes May," echoed Rane. "Please talk to her."

  "Rane," said Pol, "Not helping. But I am glad we have a moment to talk."

  Rane was on his feet in an instant. "Dinner was lovely! I am expected—"

  "Sit."

  Rane sat.

  Pol cleared his throat. Took a sip of coffee. Stirred in a bit more sugar. Took another sip. Templed his fingers. Sighed. Finally he said, "This is going to sound a bit unorthodox, but I think you'll agree that you feel yourself to be above convention."

  "I am the man this family made me," Rane smirked.

  "Yes. Well. I have wonderful news," Pol said.

  "Yes," agreed May, "you are going to love this."

  Rane’s smirk faltered. "Are you increasing my allowance and sending Lelet to live in the stables?"

  "Ha. No." Pol glanced at May, who nodded encouragingly. "We have talked with Father and his duties increase daily. You know how you’re always looking for new things to do? Going to work with Father at the farms—won't that be exciting? A turn in the fresh air?"

  "Work? Me, work? On a farm?" He had turned a bit pale.

  "Well," said Pol, "of course the choice is yours. As a Third, no one expects you to join Father out on the farms. So as long as a certain equilibrium is maintained here at home, things can remain as tradition demands. If, however, you two cannot behave like the proper children of the Fifty Families instead of dogs in the street, we both think—we all think—working with Father will be the best course of action."

  Rane was white with rage. "And what does she have to do? What is her unorthodox remedy?"

  May said, "I have already spoken with her and she is more than willing to behave herself."

  Rane looked from Pol to May with sheer disbelief. "And you believe her?"

  May said, "After the poisoned wine incident, she's ready to wave a white flag. Really, Rane, you could have killed her."

  Rane looked wounded. "I had nothing to do with that. And I don't think anyone ever died from a hangover. But if my choices are working on the farm or accepting victory, I'll be delighted to leave her alone. She said it herself. We aren't seven years old anymore. Now if you'll excuse me...."

  After he'd left, Pol and May sat with their coffee.

  "Do you believe him?" asked Pol.

  "Do you believe her?" replied May.

  "Can we send them both to the farms?"

  May sighed and sat back in her chair. "What a beautiful dream."

  Moth left them at the table and followed Rane down the street until he hailed a cab. The horse sensed him and snorted and shook its head until he backed away, so he turned and headed for Lelet's little terrace. He would spend the night watching the stars through the trees. Watching the slow rotation of the sky had turned into his favorite thing (except water—that was still the best). This world was almost unbearably busy during the day, but night was better. He could focus on one thing at a time.

  Tonight Lelet had lit a few candles and taken care to pick up her clothing. The room looked almost neat. That was new. He found himself nearly stepped on as a young man climbed over the low rail and knocked on the glass door.

  He recognized the boy as his rival in match lighting from the party. He was pleased with himself—he could tell them apart after all.

  "Billah! Shhhh, you shouldn't be here!" She grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him through the door. He followed her happily enough, looking perhaps a bit confused.

  "But you invited me! Here, I brought you this." He thrust a bottle of wine into her hands. She handed it right back to him, laughing and shushing as she rummaged for some glasses.

  As they drank and teased, Moth made himself comfortable outside on the balcony. This was much closer than he'd gotten to the couple on the riverbank. With the doors shut he couldn't hear them, but he didn't care, he had yet to hear a human person say anything interesting. The boy—Billah—blew out all but one of the candles. Now, that was annoying. Still, in the wavering candle light he got a fairly good look as they threw their clothes on the floor. He squinted through the glass at their bodies. He'd been correct. No ink. Not a single piercing. He thought of Aelle's jet beads piercing her skin, his own golden ornamentations. What was wrong with these people? Billah, having fortified himself with half the bottle of wine, eventually followed the girl from the floor to the bed, climbed on top of her, and they rubbed against each other for a few minutes. He seemed to be doing most of the work. Moth waited for cries, marks, smoke—any sign that they'd even accomplished anything. After a while, the boy threw his head back. Then he slumped down on top of her and—could it be? The boy was asleep.

  For the thousandth time, Moth considered his book. This nonsense with the horrible child had prevented, or at least postponed, his search for dos Capeheart. But he absolutely had to find a new copy in a human library—one that had an intact final chapter. If he thought all human joining ended in snores and dissatisfaction—and even he at this distance could tell the girl had not found her pleasure—what then? He thought about Gwenyth and the Duke—all those charged glances, the sparks (not the actual burning kind, the sweetly thrilling kind) that jumped from one hand to another when they were close, all those fast heartbeats and various overheated body parts. The thought that joining among the humans was even less satisfying than back on Eriis was inconceivable. In his heart, he knew that finding out how it was with the humans in bed was what started him on this journey. If it turned out to be a scant few moments of rubs followed by snores... no. There had to be more to it. While his people felt less, these humans did less. So far it had been the one thing—really, the only thing—he'd found horribly disappointing.

  Research beyond reading and spying had not occurred to him.

  ***

  The moons rose, the small Demon moon chasing the bigger orb of the Order (as the humans called them, he came to learn), and the girl woke her sleeping friend. She appeared to be apologizing for something, her hands held up in a way he knew meant 'sorry.' The young man wasn't pleased, and Moth could hear snatches of their conversation as their voices rose.

  "...when were you going to tell me? ...using me for all these months?"

  "...had to be sure... just not working... please don't..." and finally, "you should go."

  The young man didn't look like he was ready to leave and shook his finger quite close to Lelet's nose. "...no one else...."

  Moth opened the big glass door by just a fraction, in case things escalated. The young man was of a decent size and appeared fit, but Moth was bigger and if it came to it, he was stronger as well.

  But the young blond man quickly dressed, his handsome coat unbuttoned, his elegant tie hanging loose, and brushed past Moth without seeing him. He smelled like old wine and sweat. Billah paused on the balcony, one hand on the trellis. "You're making a mistake. You'll see." He swung over the low rail and out of sight.

  Lelet shrugged on a cream silk robe decorated with a beautiful pattern of pink and red roses, her hem barely missing the candles she'd set on the floor. She watched Billah creep across the lawn and out to the street. As Moth watched her, the robe fell open. Her breasts were small but to him they appeared perfect. It almost looked like the roses were blooming on her pale skin. It was the longest he’d seen her awake without hearing her speak. She lit a cigarette and stood in the open doorway. He could see her eyes reflecting the tiny spark. She stood there for a long time before closing the door and going back to her bed.

  Once he could see the gentle rise and fall of the bed covers, Moth slipped through Lelet's room and lifted her hairbrush from her vanity. He coiled himself back in his corner of the terrace. He felt it unseemly to watch her sleep—it seemed somehow more intimate than watching her with her young man—but he was comforted by her presence nearby.

  He watched the sky and presently he also slept.

  He hoped she wouldn't be too sad about the hairbrush.

/>   ***

  "It's Rane's turn," said Scilla. She had a new notebook out and was consulting what she'd written. "We need the blame to fall on Lelet next."

  Moth was so bored with the whole thing he didn't even respond. Here he was, in the human place, surrounded by the magical, mysterious creatures he'd spent much of his life wondering about, and he was trapped in one house at the whim of one child.

  "Can I take a day off and visit the art museum? It's near the student's district and the university and I want to go there as well," he finally asked. "I have to get out of this house."

  She smiled thinly. "You should have thought of that before I caught you. Maybe packed a book."

  "The study in this house is nothing but ledgers and the biology of the silkworm. Not a single thing to read. How is that even possible? How about you let me go to Mistra's big library for a day or two, and then I'll get back to breaking dishes and whatever else you have written there."

  "I'll think about it. For tomorrow, though, I want to you go through Rane's things and find me something interesting." Scilla had gotten less and less specific in her assignments, having also almost run out of ways for Moth to make trouble.

  "How should I know what you think is interesting? No, never mind. I'll show you something tomorrow. I'm sincerely hoping you'll let me out of here when I do."

  He blew out his candle and climbed the trellis down to his little balcony, his temporary home. Out of all the things he expected—anticipated—from his perilous trip through the Veil and The Door, all the amazing things he'd learn, he never in his wildest imagining expected boredom to be one of them. He'd mentioned to Scilla that he'd followed Rane to one of his evening haunts, and she'd promptly put the brakes on it, she wanted Moth in the house, where he could do the most damage. Stick with the property, she'd said.

  He knew every member of the family almost better than his own. Pol ran the business, but secretly dreamed of a life on the stage, collecting scripts and underlining the roles he longed to play, although the moons would fall into the sand before he'd abandon his responsibilities. Even now he was in the planning stages of leaving for the silk farms where he could keep his responsibilities and follow his dreams. The rest of them didn't even know that, yet. He'd contacted a repertory company in the small farming community and had high hopes for the next season. He favored serious, dramatic male leads, but Moth felt he'd be better served in character roles. May (still his favorite) was dragging her heels on her inevitable marriage. She was finding this and that wrong with each young man who came to call: Rynne was too abrasive, Hollis had short teeth, and so on. She preferred to spend her days with her best friend Stelle. He liked Stelle—she had nice hair, long and black, it reminded him of Aelle. Although, unlike Aelle this Stelle spoke in such a soft voice he could barely ever understand what she was saying. He could understand the way she looked at May well enough, though, although as far he knew it had gone no further than a little hand holding and heated glances. Would May respond in kind? He rather hoped so, he liked a happy ending, even if there was none in sight for him.

  Rane made him slightly uncomfortable. He did a lot of nothing, seemingly living by day inside his own head and spending his nights doing Moth didn't know what. He went through a lot of wine, though. He retired late and rose later. Once or twice Moth thought he spent a beat too long looking in his direction. And Lelet? She seemed as bored as he felt, picking up new hobbies like painting or fencing or raising her flowers and putting them down again, anything that required a large outlay of cash and a lot of equipment. Once they were no longer new and interesting, they were pushed to the side. (After discovering the greenhouse, he continued to care for her orchids, he hated to see such pretty things ignored to death. They reminded him of home, being carefully bred, exquisitely artificial, and without scent.) And despite what Scilla claimed, Lelet didn't have that many gentlemen in and out of her room at night. It was just Billah, although since she’d thrown the boy over he'd seen the groom climbing down the trellis once or twice. She smoked a lot, drank too much, and went to parties, and to his mind she seemed the unhappiest of the va’Everlys. She was currently wild about riding, spending most days out with her horse, and the rest of the time modeling her new riding clothing for the other siblings, who were enthusiastic (May), vaguely supportive (Pol), or utterly contemptuous (obviously Rane).

  Her hair was still pink, which was a source of much heated discussion when she was out of the room.

  He'd done Lelet the most damage and wished he could make it up to her, but of course she couldn't see him. She’d never find out it wasn't Rane who rummaged through her clothing, it wasn't her brother who broke her candles and hid one shoe (and occasionally left an orchid on her pillow). Moth did as he was instructed, bided his time, and had faith (diminishing, but still held dear) that Scilla would do as the law required and release him when she was done playing with him. He also listened for Ilaan calling him home, a call that so far hadn't come. He didn't know at this point which he would prefer—the freedom to wander Mistra alone, or a trip back home to an uncertain fate.

  He was stuck.

  It was late afternoon and he wandered through Rane's suite of rooms, looking for something that would satisfy the horrible child's demands, sliding from the shadowed back of a door to the fold of a curtain. At first he'd been careful to never go into one of the family's rooms when they were there, but as the days and weeks went by, he gained confidence in his invisibility. And an occupied room at least had the potential of something interesting happening. And it was easy enough to keep track of them—since being bound to Scilla and tied to her house, he'd noticed he could see them all as tiny sparks in his head, and could even close his eyes and follow their progress from room to room and on their various errands through the city. He couldn't see Scilla, though. Maybe she was too far away? One day, he thought, Ilaan is going to spell this whole thing out for me, and I'll probably realize there was an easy way out, and I'll be angry.

  At the moment, Rane was nodding off in his favorite chair—dark blood-colored leather edged with tiny brass studs, and a matching footrest (one of the seams had sprung from years of lazy feet). He had a magazine open on his lap which was making its slow, but sure, way towards the floor. Moth paid him no more mind than another piece of furniture.

  He looked at Rane's bureau. The mirror that had hung over it was missing, and he could see its dark outline in the pattern of the wallpaper. The frame rested against the wall, shoved partway behind the large dresser. He noticed a brass letter opener in the shape of a long fish sitting on top, and stepping into a shaft of sunlight, reaching for it.

  "I'm actually rather fond of that thing, it was a gift from my grandmother."

  Moth froze. This wasn't possible.

  "I mean," continued Rane, "it is attractive, and I know you have a thing for jewelry and silverware. Shiny, nice things. I am guessing you were poor before you died and now in the afterlife you go around collecting them. Can you speak?"

  Moth turned. "You can see me?" That was a stupid question. He ran his hands through his hair. Now what?

  "Yes, of course," Rane agreed. "I've been watching you on and off for a few weeks. I wasn't sure at first. I have a long history of seeing things that aren't there. Ask my father, he'll tell you. The family thought I was following our proud family tradition of being completely birds and bats when I was younger. Saw faces in the trees and the dogs used to talk to me. Dogs make excellent conversation, by the way. Always trust a dog. I may be birds and bats, for all I know. But even if I am, I also know no one else can see you. At first I thought you were a sympathy hire for the kitchen, maybe you were simple or something—you never said anything and everyone ignored you. Then I saw you disappear a couple of times and I figured it out."

  Moth thought Rane looked very calm for someone communing with the spirits. Visitations by ghosts, or daeeva as they were called on Eriis, were considered very bad luck and always came with some message of disaster. He'd nev
er seen one, and didn't really believe they existed. Demons were difficult to kill, and lived generally long lives, but dead was dead. The recipient of such a visitor was always someone rather prone to drama anyway.

  He asked, "Well, how would you know? If you were, um, birds and bats, I mean. I may not really be here."

  "Oh, I'm pretty sure you're really there. If I'd invented you in my head, I would have made you a naked woman. And if it was just my things going missing, I'd have kept you to myself—that's the best way to make people think you’re not starkers, just keep your mouth shut—but it’s not just my things, is it? I think you're the ghost of someone, maybe who died in this very house, and for some reason you're attached to my sister." He laughed. "Poor bastard, you must be paying off a shit ton of spiritual penance."

  Moth decided this was perhaps not the time or place to defend Lelet. He said, "Well let's assume you are correct and I am a ghost, and not the symptom of a brain tumor. Will you try and get the house... ah... unhaunted?"

  Rane shrugged and toyed absently with a thick bandage wrapped around his left hand. "Don't know. Will you keep stealing my things?"

  Moth picked the letter opener off the desk. "What if I just borrow them? I'll return this tomorrow. And then you won't have to explain to your family that you're seeing things. Again."

  "That would be an awkward conversation. They're just looking for a reason to ship me out of here, anyway. And I want all my things back. You can keep Lel's crap." Moth nodded. Rane looked interested for the first time since they'd started talking. "What's it like? Where you are?"

  Boring. "You'll understand that, sadly, I am not at liberty to talk about the conditions of this particular haunting or why I'm here or where exactly I came from. Rules, you understand."

  Rane reached under his chair and pulled out a bottle. "Are you corporeal enough to have a drink?"

  "O Light and Wind, yes."

  Rane handed him a glass of something amber colored and foul tasting. It was fantastic.

  ***

  "Now, Scilla," Rane was saying about halfway through the bottle, "if there were any justice in this world, she'd be running the family farm and Pol could take a day off. She's the smart one, even if her head's in the clouds half the time. But sweet as pie—you know, I don't think I've ever heard Scilla raise her voice. It would do her good to be less timid, maybe they would have thought twice about locking her away in that stupid school. Can you believe it? Forever! Like she's a criminal!" He tended to gesture with his glass to the point that he was wearing a good deal of his drink. His handsome light blue shirt was speckled with dark blue flecks.