by Jen Minkman
I peripherally notice a few kids running toward the beach holding metal buckets. They’ll be hunting for small crabs. I used to do the same in the early summer months with Dani and Alke. For just a second, I’m worried they will see me and Royce together, but I know they’ll be focused on scanning the sand for shellfish. Sooner or later, they’ll start walking sideways just like those animals. We used to get dizzy from hunting them too.
I turn my eyes toward the road once more. My step falters when I see him – Royce is standing by the signpost I told him to meet me at, his arms crossed and his lean body turned toward the sea. He’s squinting against the sun hitting his face, but it doesn’t make him look awkward or weird. In that moment, he is so much like the out-of-my-league crown prince of Brandaris that I always admired from afar that I want to turn around and run far, far away. He’s not for me.
But when our eyes collide and his mouth turns up in an endeared little smile at the sight of me clutching the gramophone, I forget all that. I deserve to be with someone who gets me and who sets my heart alight.
“Hi,” he greets me, his voice soft and melodic. “You want me to carry some of that?”
“Sure.” I try not to look too smitten when he grabs the handle of the record player like a real gentleman. “It’s quite heavy.”
“You’re right.” He looks surprised. “Why is that?”
“The mechanism inside is sort of clunky, I guess. It needs a steel spring and a protective case around it.”
“Is that how it runs?” He sounds fascinated. “By winding up a spring?”
“Well, yeah. How does your turntable work, then?”
“It runs on electricity. The power from the Grid keeps it spinning indefinitely if I don’t turn it off.”
He makes it sound like magic. I’ve always believed it is magic, or at the very least, something sacred. If St. Brandan’s Fire needs an entire club of priests and priestesses like the Baeles-Weards to protect it and tend to it, it must be special.
“Shall we walk?” I say, gesturing to the east.
He just nods and falls into step next to me when I saunter down the path following the line of the Stortumer Dyke. Overhead, the seagulls shriek, diving down and swooping back up, always in sync with the wind tormenting our shores. I imagine high waves beating down on the beach in the summer sun while Royce and I stand in the surf, the legs of our pants rolled up to dip our feet in the water.
“Did you know that people go swimming in the sea near Harns?” I say softly. “In summertime? They go out for days on the beach to cool off.”
Royce shoots me an incredulous look. “You mean they’re not scared of the water?”
“No.” I can still summon up the image of a crowded beach in my mind. Sytse once brought me a black-and-white postcard from the mainland depicting the beach at Harns, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. “The Sirens don’t come there.”
He smiles faintly. “That must be wonderful.”
“Have you ever been to the mainland?” I want to know.
“No. Have you?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I just like listening to my brother’s stories, I guess. Traveling there is way too dangerous.”
“Why does he do it? Your brother, I mean?”
“Sytse told me he needs more space,” I say. “He wants to see the world, and he doesn’t mind risking his life in order to expand his horizon.” Plus, the pay is really good. Dad and I would have starved to death a long time ago if Sytse didn’t bring in the money to support us, but I’m not telling him that. My Skylger friends don’t even know that.
“I guess he longs for a different life,” Royce mumbles. “I’d feel trapped here too.”
“If you weren’t part of the Current elite, you mean?” My voice sounds a bit accusatory.
He smiles wistfully. “Yeah. Some of us belonging to Current society feel trapped, even.”
“Then why don’t you leave?”
“Our ferries are also attacked by Sirens. You know that. Even more frequently.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” I stare at him. “If your people feel trapped here, why don’t you pack up and live somewhere else? Like I said – the mainland is outside Nixen territory. Why did St. Brandan ever decide to sail to Skylge and make his home here?”
“To safeguard the Fire,” he promptly replies, as though he’s dredging up the explanation from a textbook.
“Well, couldn’t he have safeguarded the Fire somewhere else? In Fryslan? Nethersaxony? Back in Anglia?”
Royce pulls up short and I stop in my tracks right next to him. As he searches my face, I can feel a tingle of fear shooting across my shoulders. Does he think I’m a blasphemer?
“You should probably not question St. Brandan’s motives or wisdom in my presence,” he says at last. “Or in front of other Currents.”
“You just don’t know why your people are here, do you?” I mutter crabbily, even though I know he means well. He’s warning me where he could be reporting me to the Baeles-Weards right this minute.
And then, to my surprise, he shakes his head. “No, I don’t,” he admits softly. “And I wish I did. I’ve been wondering the same thing, but the priests aren’t exactly forthcoming with their clarifications.”
“Well...” My voice falters. “Maybe you should find out.”
“Who am I to question the way things are?” he says bitterly. “I’m rich. My family is important. I go home to a safe house filled with warmth and light and music, all thanks to St. Brandan’s Fire.”
“You should question it because your mother walked away from all that,” I point out. “All that warmth and light and luxury couldn’t keep her away from the Sirens on our shores. If only you lived somewhere else, that never would have happened.”
“Same goes for you,” he shoots back. “Why are your people still here?”
“Because this is our island.” I clench my fists. “We were here before you, and we built our lives on Skylge even before Brandan and his Holy Fire showed up.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “That’s true.” Without another word, he slowly resumes walking, and while we bridge the rest of the distance separating us from my secret cave, he doesn’t speak anymore. Actually, my very own response makes my mind reel a bit. I never consciously thought about it, but the pride of the Skylger people is related to this place. This is our home, and no matter how dangerous things get, this is where we belong. It doesn’t make sense for the Currents to feel the same way, though. And Royce seems to realize that all too well. No one has ever fully explained to him why the Anglians insist on living on this island. I’ve sowed a small seed of doubt in his mind, and I have no idea what it will blossom into.
By the time we get to the grotto, my hands ache from carrying my shopping bag. I should have used my backpack. The stairs leading down to the man-made cave are hidden by a cluster of trees and a hatch that I instruct Royce to lift up. With wide eyes, he stares down into the darkness. “I’m really supposed to go in there like this?” he says. “No lights?”
“You think my hide-away is connected to the Grid?” I counter with a little eye roll.
He chuckles. “Okay, fine. I won’t wimp out. But if I trip, I might drop your phonograph.”
That gives me pause. “You have a point. Let’s swap.” With a little grin, I take the player from him and hand him my bag of food, drinks, and books. Royce grins back. His lopsided smile suddenly makes me blush, and very much aware of the cramped space we’ll be sitting in all afternoon.
We stumble down the stairs and I can hear him gasp when I close the hatch and plunge the corridor into complete darkness. “Just put your hand against the left wall and feel your way forward,” I suggest. “It’s an even floor.”
His footsteps hesitantly shuffle down the passageway. I put my hand on his shoulder, both to comfort him and to let him guide me. The tunnel curves to the left, and after about ten seconds of darkness, we see light at the end. I blink my eyes against the sunl
ight once we end up in the cave. It’s low tide, so the water doesn’t come all the way to the entrance. We have enough room to both sit down.
“Wow,” Royce exclaims next to me. He’s looking around, taking in the grotto with curious eyes. “This looks like some kind of pagan temple. Those decorations are beautiful.”
“Funny you should say that,” I mumble. “That’s what I thought when I first discovered it.”
He puts down the bag and I do the same with my gramophone.
“Well, why not?” he continues. “It’s in honor of the sea. At low tide, people can come in and leave offerings for the sea to take away when the water rises.”
“Offerings?” I gulp down a little lump in my throat. “You mean – people?” After all, that is what the Nixen want from us. Living souls, untainted by the cold and dimness of the sea.
“Maybe that is how they kept the Sirens at bay before we came here,” Royce theorizes. “Human sacrifice.”
“I don’t think so,” I protest. “Our history doesn’t mention that.” Nor did the book I inadvertently stole from the Skelta.
“Well, it would explain how the Skylgers survived here without the Brandaris Tower.”
“The Tower was here before the Anglians showed up,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He cocks an eyebrow in a gesture so arrogant that it instantly puts my back up. “Right,” he draws out. “Who told you that lie?”
I can’t tell him. Suddenly, I see why Sytse wanted to keep me away from Royce. I’m way too prone to discussion and debate, but in this case I should keep my cards close to my chest. The last thing I want to do is reveal information previously only studied by the resistance. “Just – it’s an old tale,” I shrug grouchily. “Forget it.”
“Enna.” I am struck by the way my name on his lips sounds. It’s like it belongs to someone new. “I don’t want to bicker, you know. I hope that isn’t why you brought me here.”
I bite my lip. “Then what do you hope I brought you here for?” I whisper.
Royce smiles lazily, and my heart starts to race. “To spend some quality time together,” he mumbles, pulling me into his arms. “To listen to beautiful music...” His lips brush mine. “And to kiss that delicious mouth of yours...” He breathes into my ear. “And to hold you as close as you’ll let me,” he concludes, sending my pulse through the roof.
“Okay,” I stammer. “I think that sounds good.”
When he kisses me again, I open up to him like a flower hungry for the sun. I’ve wanted this since last night. To be fair, I’ve wanted this for a long time. Why waste time on discussing island history with him when I can have this? There’ll be plenty of time for that later, in all the days after this one. Royce is holding me like he never wants to let go. His hands roam my body and his tongue gently explores my mouth until we dissolve in an embrace that is no longer gentle and quivers with burning excitement.
For the first time in my life, I can shut out the Nixen’s call in this place without playing my music.
15.
“I can’t believe it.”
Dani’s voice is hoarse from shock. Her eyes blink up at me as she sags onto the nearest bench in the school yard. I cycled to school alone this morning, because I was horribly late. She decided to wait for me at the entrance, eager to tell me about her day in Osterend and to hear about my talk with Royce.
“Me neither,” I confess.
“He kissed you?” Dani whispers. “He could be arrested for that! You could be arrested for that.” She looks around, but no one is there. We both decided to skip first period so we wouldn’t have to stumble into Mrs. Atsma’s class ten minutes late.
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice rebellious.
“No, of course you don’t. That guy is sex on legs. Oh my God, Enna – you have a hot and secret boyfriend!” Suddenly, Dani is quietly squealing, and I can’t help but join in with a wide grin on my face.
“A Current boyfriend,” I say breathlessly.
“A famous boyfriend,” she adds. “He’s really your boyfriend, then? You guys are dating?”
I blush. Yesterday, he did a lot of things to me that only boyfriends are supposed to do. More than Alke ever did. And he wanted to see me again on Tuesday. Tonight’s his first performance, so he wanted to focus on that today. Fair enough. “Yeah, we are,” I nod.
Dani’s face falls. “What are you going to tell Sytse?” she suddenly worries.
“Nothing. It’s none of his business.”
“True.” She hesitates before she goes on: “But won’t it endanger him? Since he’s, you know, a spy for the Skelta and all?”
“Royce is not dating my brother, is he? I don’t see why, as long as I keep my mouth shut about it.”
“Yeah. Okay. That must be difficult, though. Ideally you’d want to share everything going on in your life with the guy you’re in love with.”
Dani’s right, but at the moment, I have so many things I can share with Royce that I don’t care. We have our love for music. We have the same sense of humor. And we have chemistry that puts St. Brandan High’s lab room to shame.
I can’t wait to see him play tonight. For the first time in my life, I won’t have to imagine what it would be like if he were playing his music for me. He did play it for me, in his cottage two nights ago. I’m a part of his life, and he’s a part of mine.
Dani rips into the waffle I brought for her to make up for my tardiness. Crumbles fall into her lap as she enthusiastically babbles about the bands she saw in Osterend yesterday. “Sytse bought me two shellacs,” she divulges. “The local bands had some for sale.”
“That’s very generous of him,” I observe. Locally-pressed records are very expensive. Traditional production methods are slow and costly – the only reason we can afford shellac records from the mainland is because they are second-hand merchandise, sold by Anglians who want to get rid of their fifties music collection. All the artists I love are already long dead. A sad fact of life, but now I have at least one favorite artist who is still very much alive. All thanks to Royce and his risky offer to share Jyoti on LP.
When the bell for second period rings, we trudge into the school building. Hopefully, Mrs. Atsma won’t have noticed our absence. She’s kind of hare-brained. I step into Mr. Buma’s classroom and make a beeline for his desk to present him with all the work I did yesterday. Of course, I could have done more, but Royce was very helpful when I told him I needed to work on a history assignment. He told me all kinds of things about the village of Stortum because he heard stories from his grandparents. He even generously donated a tintype depicting three of his ancestors in front of the Stortum village hall, their faces forever frozen in time.
“They look so stiff,” I’d commented with a little giggle when Royce showed me the old photograph.
“They were supposed to hold still for half a minute as their picture was taken,” he’d explained with a smile. “So yeah, they’re sort of a rigid bunch. I’m sure people didn’t look like that all the time.”
Mr. Buma eyeballs the picture with keen interest. “How did you come across this one, Miss Buwalda?” he inquires. “I don’t believe I’ve seen any old pictures of the village hall before.”
Score. Inwardly, I thank Royce for lending it to me. “It’s been in our family for generations,” I improvise on the spot. “My great-grandmother was born in Stortum. That’s why I chose this topic. Sadly, the people in the village struggled to obey the law.” And still do, I realize with a little smirk – the only resident being a Current guy sharing his electricity and dreams with me.
“Well. Please keep working on your report. It looks very promising.”
With a relieved sigh, I walk over to my usual seat. As I slide into my chair, Alke catches my eye and smiles at me. “He liked it?” he mouths.
I nod and smile back. “Your German test?” I whisper.
He just gives me a thumbs-up before digging around in his back to get his textbook out. I wonder if h
e’s excited about tonight. After all, that Frisian band from the mainland is coming, and they must be up to something. Maybe they’re a protest band trying to get away with singing rabble-rousing lyrics in Frisian right under the Currents’ watchful eyes.
Time seems to slow down to a trickle today. Since I’m looking forward so much to tonight’s Oorol performances, it seems like I’ll never get there. Seven periods have never felt this long.
By the time Dani and I leave the building, I am beyond thrilled. The entire town is buzzing with excitement. People are milling around to set up market stalls and make some last-minute purchases for tonight’s Dinner in the Square – when Skylgers and Currents come together to watch the show and bring their own picnic baskets filled to the brim with rich food and sweet drinks. For some, it’s a valid excuse to get hammered. Last year, when I was still with Alke, he let me try a few sips of his liquor, but I didn’t like it all that much.
This year, I’d love to drink from whatever bottle Royce would give me, but I can’t. He won’t be in the audience, because he’ll be up on stage playing out of his skin.
“You want to get some bottled beer?” Dani proposes. “I was told the Botha family brewed some very nice ale this year.”
I nod absently, my eyes scanning the town center. “Alke and Sytse are over there,” I say, pointing at the entrance to the backstage area. “You reckon they’ll let us ride their coattails so we can meet some famous people?”
“It’s worth a try,” Dani replies with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
We start pushing through the crowd. By the time we get there, my brother and ex-boyfriend have disappeared, though. On our way to the other end of the square, we picked up some of our classmates, all eager to dig into their food and find a good spot to watch tonight’s show.
“I brought goodies,” Annie announces, holding up a picnic basket that, unsurprisingly, contains lots of beer from her father’s brewery. Nolan and Ynze, her younger twin brothers, are carrying more bags stuffed with sandwiches and cold cuts. I shoot Dani a quick look and she nods in agreement. We are going to stick with the Bothas.
