by Adam Burch
“Wrong.” She stands and lifts me up from the ground. “If I’ve taught you anything when we practice climbing, it’s that you don’t give up when you’re slipping. You hold fast and think it through. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
She’s so resilient. Like my mother. Every challenge placed before her, she meets with strength. It occurs to me—
Girls are stronger than boys. They have to be.
“Alberich got what he deserved. They’ll have to leave you alone now,” she reassures me.
I lean on her, and we hobble up the path. We sneak into the manse, where the shades are pulled low for the midday nap. I direct her down the hallway. She pauses by the doorway to my room.
“Is this it?” she asks hesitantly. “I’ve been to the Eventide feast a few times, but I’ve never seen where you sleep.”
“That room isn’t mine anymore.” I point toward the guest room a few doors down, and she drags me to it.
“Bed,” I call out.
The platform ejects from the wall. She stares wide-eyed at the unfamiliar technology, but lays me gently on the gel mattress.
“Why did you let him take your room from you?” she asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Nadia,” I groan. “I just want to sleep and never wake up.”
“Talk about what?”
We turn to see Phaestion’s pale, lithe form framed in the doorway.
“Go away,” Nadia snaps, her dark eyes burning. “He doesn’t want you here.”
Phaestion ignores her and steps into the room anyway. He approaches the bed. Nadia bars his way. His gray eyes hold her gaze as he calmly hands a jar of something to her.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Tissue regenerative. Rub it on his wounds.”
Nadia looks at him distrustfully but takes the jar. She kneels by the bed and peels the shirt from my torso. My entire left side is discolored, black and blue. She rubs the salve on me. I wince. The ointment is cold then extraordinarily hot on my skin.
“It burns,” I say.
Phaestion nods. “The engineered bacteria absorbed by the skin help repair damaged cells. You’ll be less afraid of getting hurt from now on because you know the pain is only temporary.”
“The best of Tao’s scientists don’t have this kind of medicine!” Nadia exclaims with wonder.
Phaestion smiles enigmatically. “My father’s hired many off-worlders. This salve comes from Nonthera. If we want to be a strong house, a strong nation, a strong people, we have to learn the strongest ways. Even if they aren’t our own.”
“Even if those ways come from the Daysiders?” Nadia scowls. She massages the ointment into my skin.
I feel better. A lot better. I sit up in the bed.
“Don’t forget his ribs,” Phaestion says.
Nadia purses her lips. She doesn’t like taking orders, especially from this highborn know-it-all, but she follows his instruction. The stinging subsides, and then all I feel are Nadia’s hands. We haven’t touched like this before. I feel a stirring below, and I don’t want her to stop. I blush.
“That’s enough,” I say more harshly than I intend.
She backs away and folds her arms across her chest.
“Feel better?” Phaestion asks.
I nod.
He pauses. “You’ve never held a weapon before.” It’s a statement, not a question. I look away, ashamed. “I already knew,” he says simply. “Your father never entered you into competitions. If you were worth anything as a fighter, he would have.”
“Then why come here to train with me?”
“I remember the day of your brother’s christening, as do all in Meridian. They played the aquagraphics of you telling off Old Wusong for days and days. You’re famous. Probably the only scion almost as famous as me.” He shrugs.
I’m famous? The camglobes recorded everything that day, I realize. Still, if he knew I couldn’t fight, why request this fosterage?
“People think you’re strong. You’re to marry the emperor’s daughter one day. They think you could be emperor. A strong emperor, maybe even like the Great Song. I suppose I thought having you as a companion might be fun.”
“Glad I could amuse,” I respond acidly.
Nadia smirks at my sarcasm.
“You may have no value as a training partner, but that doesn’t mean you have no value at all.” Phaestion arcs an eyebrow knowingly. “Just don’t hinder my progress,” he says as he heads for the door.
“Considering Alberich’s dead, I don’t think that will be a problem,” I mutter.
Phaestion looks back over his shoulder. “He’s not dead. You ran off, so I dragged his body from the beach myself. He’s really heavy, you know. My family shuttled in a healing tank from Meridian when I arrived. He’s recovering in your servants’ quarters. He should be fine in an hour or so. I was careful when I stabbed him.”
“You stabbed him?” I ask, shocked.
“He was choking you.” He shrugs. “He might not have killed you, but I wasn’t ready to take the chance. So, I stabbed him.”
I bite the inside of my cheek in anger. “This whole time I thought I had—”
“You ran off.” He shrugs again.
Nadia shakes her head in disgust, but when Phaestion smiles at her, something changes in her expression. My stomach turns. Does she like him? This boy stole my room, saved my life, and now steals Nadia?
Suddenly, my mother is in the doorway. She pushes past Phaestion and kneels by the bed. “Edmon!” She clutches me. “What happened? Did they hurt you? My baby, are you all right?”
I want to cry into her arms, but over her shoulder, I see Phaestion staring curiously. He tilts his head as if calculating what this embrace between mother and son could mean.
It may be a weakness, I realize. I must no longer be a child if I’m to protect her and be his equal.
I gently but firmly push my mother away from me. “Mother, I’m fine.”
“Edmon—”
“I’m fine,” I say more forcefully. “You should go. The Eventide feast will start soon. They’ll need you to help prepare.” I try to sound as adult as I can.
Her face registers shock and hurt, but I push my guilt aside. A firmness sets over her features. I think she understands.
I must no longer be a baby. I must be Edmon of House Leontes.
“You’re right, Edmon. I’m down the hall if you need me.” She turns quickly, her hands rubbing her eyes as she leaves.
I stand to face Phaestion. I feel different, not afraid anymore. We stare each other down, each waiting for the other to make a move.
“You’re lucky,” he says. “You have a mother.”
I don’t know what he means by this, but before I can ask, a drum beats.
“The Eventide feast,” Nadia says, diffusing the tension. She grabs my hand. “Join us, Nightsider. You might learn a thing or two about what it means to be an islander.”
She pulls me toward the music. Phaestion follows.
The music is in full rhythm when Nadia pulls me into the room. Gorham catches my eye with a gap-toothed grin. He plucks out a twangy rhythm on his sampo guitar. Without missing a chord, he reaches into a basket and tosses me a small wooden flute. I catch it midair. Nadia gives me a little shove into the center of the ring. “Show them what you got, Edmon!”
I look back toward the doorway. Phaestion leans against the frame.
He came here with all of his weapons, all of his haughtiness. He thinks his people’s ways are superior and that my gifts are worthless. This is my arena, I think. Let’s see how he feels when he’s not always winning!
I bring the flute to my lips. The other instruments pick up my cue. I lose myself in the beat. I play a riff. Gorham mimics on the guitar. The drums punctuate our call. Then I pull the flute away, and I do something I’ve never done in the center of the circle. I sing.
I call out a line, “We, the islanders, have a home!”
The circle respon
ds, picking up my call. “We, the islanders, have a home!”
“Yes, we call it the Isle of Bone!”
“Yes, we call it the Isle of Bone!”
“You can’t take me across the sea!” I shout.
“You can’t take me across the sea!”
“’Cause I be where I be!”
“’Cause we be where we be!”
The guests burst into an exultant cheer. They clap with celebration. Someone lifts me up on top of their shoulders. I’m floating on a wave of hands that pass me overhead. I see my mother standing, her smile broadening on her lips as I am carried. I find myself placed down on the edge of the circle where Nadia stands. She cracks a crooked grin. I beam back at her.
She gave me the courage for this, I think. She and my mother.
I glance at the doorway, but Phaestion has vanished.
Later. It’s dark in the hallway and the noise of the last guests echoes through the corridors. I’m near the servants’ rooms in the basement levels. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, but I want to see if Alberich is really alive. I hear his gruff voice coming from a door at the end of the hall.
“My Lord, he’s not without talent. He’s your son, after all.”
I hear my father’s voice in response. “Don’t honey your words, Alberich. Had the Julii boy not been there . . . But for the emperor, I could still send him to the Pavaka.”
I peek through the doorway. Alberich, a bandage wrapped around his abdomen, converses with my father via aquagraphic. A large tank full of yellow gel like Phaestion’s healing ointment sits in the corner.
“I’ve no need to flatter, my lord,” Alberich replies. “It was your son who injured me. A child of twelve, who has never fought before. Considering his lack of experience—”
“This fosterage was a mistake,” my father interrupts. “That bitch, Cleopatra, no doubt objected?”
“She still claims Bone does not recognize the deed granted you by the Synod.”
“But she recognizes I could send in my soldiers and declare martial law.” My father laughs. “It’s by my grace that they live free as they have.” His voice softens for a moment. “Tell me, is she still beautiful, Alberich?”
“She is still beautiful, my lord. And strong.”
“Good,” he says almost kindly. “That is very good . . .” His voice trails off. Then Edric returns to his hard self. “Train the Julii boy. Teach him well, and he may remember the debt when he claims the title of Patriarch.”
“And of Edmon?” Alberich asks.
“You know what’s intended. If he’s not strong enough to complete the ritual . . .”
The screen winks out. I back from the doorway, intending to sneak off unnoticed.
“I know what he intends, Edmon.” Alberich’s graveled voice catches me. “But what do you intend?”
“You tried to kill me” is all I can say.
“And you survived.” He seems pleased. “Every creature has within him the will to fight, from the fiercest shark to the meekest minnow. Conflict is in the nature of all things. You can be strong, but only if you use the violence within. And you did.”
I stare, not knowing what to make of this.
“I’m commanded to train Phaestion. If you choose, I’ll see that you receive equal attention.”
I say nothing because I truly don’t know if that’s what I want.
“Edmon, I can’t replace the years you haven’t trained. More importantly, I can’t replace desire. Your father anticipates your failure. He’s made your brother his heir, but beware: you’re the elder. Others may use your status to weaken House Leontes. You’d be wise to become strong enough to make your own choices whether that means fighting or not.”
Others may use my status . . .
With the arrival of Phaestion on Bone, I’m beginning to understand who he means.
I think on his words and say, “The meekest minnow does not choose to fight the mako who hunts him. He has to because that’s the way it is. Still, he will lose. Does struggling gain him anything?”
After returning to my new room, I find Phaestion waiting for me.
“What do you want?” I accuse more than ask.
“How do you do it?” he fires back.
“Do what?”
“The music?” He looks almost desperate.
I lie down on the gel mattress. “It’s music. It’s nothing special.”
“How can you say that!” He leaps at me and pulls me to my feet. His strong, sculpted hands wrap around my arms. I struggle, but he’s too strong. His gray eyes bore into me. “They love you!”
“Let me go!” I say.
He releases me. I rub my arms as blood flows back into my limbs.
“I have to know how. How do you make them love you?” He paces the room frantically.
“I’m told you’re the best fighter of this generation. Even the emperor said you were competing when you were only five. Surely, the cheers of an arena are enough. They love you plenty. Leave me alone.”
He looks at me dead in the eye. “They love me like an idol, but not as one of them. You sing with their voice. Do you understand the difference?”
“No,” I say. “You’re in my room. Get out.”
“Teach me to play like you play.”
“I can’t.” I lie back down and roll over, turning my back to him.
Then something occurs to me . . .
Two can play.
“What if I teach you? Will you teach me?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I teach you to play. You teach me to fight,” I propose.
“You want to fight?” The mask of innocence is stripped from his face. I see him for real now: shrewd, tactical, competitive, calculating.
“You need me. I need you,” I say. “And you’ll give me back my room.”
“Don’t press your luck.” He grins.
“If you want my help . . .”
He turns to leave. Then over his shoulder, he says, “Perhaps this was meant to be after all, Leontes. Chilleus had Cuillan. Phaestion and Edmon.”
The Chironiad again. Cuillan was the foster brother, some said lover, to the hero, brilliant Chilleus. They were the closest of friends, but Cuillan betrayed Chilleus for a woman. They ended up on opposite sides of the civil war. In the end, Chilleus bested Cuillan in mortal combat. He held his brother’s broken body in his arms and wept after he delivered the deathblow.
“What about my room?” I ask.
“Sorry. It’s mine now.” He smiles and walks out the door.
I lay my head back against the gel.
How can I beat him? I wonder.
Slumber takes me. Chilleus had his Cuillan, but both ended up dead.
CHAPTER 5
MAGIA
Months pass. Intense months. Laborious months. Days are spent on the sands drilling—sprints on the beach, standing on one leg for hours. I sit and watch Alberich and Phaestion duel. I want to practice, too, but the techniques and moves Alberich teaches are far beyond me. Alberich sees my frustration and, as recompense, forces me to punch rocks. The pain is blinding but quickly over with use of the salves and treatments Phaestion imports from Meridian. I heal so completely I’m able to endure it all over again on the morrow.
My mother circles the confines of her room like a caged shark. She wants to lash out but can do nothing for fear of repercussions. It comforts her little that I actually begin to enjoy the training. Instead, she assures me that she’s planning something.
“The other islands—Rock, Shell, Conch, Leaf—they tire of rule by their Pantheon overlords, too. We will rally. You won’t be taken to Meridian. I promise.”
I’ve never seen her like this before, standing over maps, talking with the other villagers about trade. She’s like an ancient battle commander discussing sieges, politics, and tactics. It occurs to me that she’s more like Edric than I ever realized.
I just nod in agreement to her statements, but fear she can’t stop my leaving
. If she defies Edric, nothing will prevent his wrath. The technology of Meridian and the Pantheon is far beyond anything we have on the islands. We are not strong enough to defy my father. I’m not strong enough to defy him yet.
I will find a way to protect her if she rebels, I think. Patience. One day I will be full grown. Then . . .
Phaestion and I steal away for private sessions. He breaks down what Alberich teaches into simpler techniques I can learn. Eventually, I spar with him. He yawns, parrying the thrusts of my sword using only one arm. The second I admire his skill is the second I’m knocked onto my back in the sand.
“It’s dangerous to respect one’s opponent,” he says. “Honor and admiration may be savored only after your enemy is beaten.”
Alberich will occasionally catch me practicing a move that he knows I didn’t learn from him. He’ll correct my form before giving me some other task that will wear me out.
Nadia spies on us once. She climbs the rocks above our makeshift arena on the sands.
Phaestion admonishes her. “You break our concentration.”
“I can fight as well as anyone!” Nadia fumes.
Phaestion grins rakishly. “You can. He can’t.” He jabs his thumb at me. “Don’t distract us.”
Nadia stays away from our practice but blames me for the exile in the few moments we still meet on the cliffs.
“Little Lord can’t bear to have a girl watch him,” she taunts.
I find myself tuning out her words more and more, though. Instead, I stare at her lips and her legs. When she leans down and snickers, my eyes go to the V of her tunic and the narrow shadow created by her blossoming breasts.
When did that happen? I wonder.
I’m pulled from my reverie when her japes segue to her true topic of interest—Phaestion. She wants to know everything about him.
“Where does he come from? What things does he like? Does he talk of any girls back home?”
I tell her with hot jealousy, “Meridian, fighting, and I don’t know.”
The last is a lie. He talks of girls, but only to say he has many who love him and that seems totally natural. Sometimes I think of myself in contrast to him: my arms skinny, my knees knobby, and my hair dirty and dark. I start to feel that if I was more like Phaestion, my father would love me. Maybe Nadia would love me, too.
