Other Lives(14)

The boy chewed his lower lip for a moment, then threw his head back defiantly.

“A mercenary doesn’t have a weapon like that. That’s a noble man’s weapon, it’s got an inscription. Mercenaries are not allowed to inscribe them. I know that. You’re a thief and a liar.”

“Then I’d better bash your head against a rock and get rid of you.”

“You’d have to catch me first, and I’m fast,” Endric did not move but his body was tense as a wire. “You’ve got to be fast when you’re a fish-boy. You’d know that.”

Lysander let out his breath slowly. “I know that.”

They looked at each other, the kid flexible as a deer and the older man a mass of iron, a sculpted giant. Finally, he reached between the fold of his cloak, pulling out a small bag.

“Five coppers,” he said, handing him the coins. “Get lost.”

The kid took them, sticking his hands in his pockets and shifting restlessly. He continued to look at him, finally turning around and walking away.

Something itched inside, something he didn’t understand and he wasn’t sure why. But the words were slipping out quickly, too quickly for him to stop.

“You’re right, it’s a nobleman’s sword,” Lysander said. “But I didn’t steal it.”

The boy stopped, and blinking started walking back.

“It was a gift. From the sea if you can believe that,” Lysander muttered. “I used to come here. Pretend there were sirens and monsters in the water. Just at the edge of my vision, just waiting, hiding beneath the waves. I told myself they were real, not just tall tales fishermen tell.”

Lysander let the waves lick his boots and crushed a sea shell as he moved towards the water, the tide pushing brown seaweed in his direction.

“I ran around making up stories about heroes and monsters. I always expected something to happen. I knew I was destined to be a hero. It must have been like that. All the heroes must have felt what I felt, must have known they were destined for greatness. I knew.”

Now the boy was at his side and the wind in his face. The ocean like a mirror, gulls above in a cacophony.

“And one day, I must have been younger than you, there it was. On the beach. A sword. Meant just for me. A magic sword. I knew it. Clear as water, a magic sword. I took off my shirt and wrapped it around the sword and I left. I didn’t doubt my destiny for a minute. I knew it must have always been like this.”

There was only the gulls and the splash of the water. The boy opened his mouth weakly, like a fish, words finally pouring out.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Life happened and it turns out it is seldom a fairy tale. Killing men for a living and following a nobleman for some cause you can’t recall, that happened. Scars upon scars and restless nightmares and an empty feeling in your gut. Blood, your own and blood of others, the dead buried or sometimes left to rot in the open. All of this and more and suddenly too much had happened. Forgotten wounds ached and the sword was too heavy to carry and he was old.

This he thought and might have tried to explain to the boy. Only it was too difficult to explain how it is to feel caged and lost and crumbling.

“There are no krakens and no mermaids, and certainly no magic swords, and fisher-boys never become heroes,” muttered Lysander, placing his palm on the hilt of the weapon.

Endric rubbed his hands, eyes fixed on the sea. “There are krakens. My grandfather almost killed one once.”

“So did my father after some drinks,” Lysander snickered. “So did everyone.”

“There are krakens,” repeated Endric defensively. “I don’t know about magic swords or knights, but there are krakens.”

An uncomfortable silence wrapped them. It would be getting dark soon and Lysander wanted to leave. He’d spent enough time in this place. It was clear there was nothing left, whatever magic he’d once imagined erased by the tide.

He unsheathed the sword.

“Are you really throwing it away?” asked Endric.

“I’m giving it back,” he answered. “Giving it all back.”

Lysander flung the weapon as hard he could. The sword shone like a star, catching the light of the sinking sun, then splashed loudly into the water. Endric just stared. The boy was frozen, watching the place where the sword had disappeared.

“I’m sorry about your shoes,” Lysander said.

He produced two more coins and placed them in the boy’s hand, then walked away.

Perhaps beneath the sea a kraken coiled a tentacle around the sword. Perhaps one day the tide would carry the weapon towards a deserving hero. Perhaps there were still mysteries hidden within the waves.

But if the sea had any secrets Lysander did not care for them.





SALT




The edge of the arid salt plain was dotted with shadscale and black sage, but once you stepped into the playa there was nothing but a white, shiny emptiness. They said the salt plain had once been a lake. Squinting against the fierce sun, Leocadia could not imagine all that water.

She wished there was a lake again. Then there wouldn’t be any need for rain-priestesses, and the recrimination in her mother’s eyes would disappear.

Leocadia shook her head, then grabbed her pick and shovel.

There had been no need for this when she cast rain spells. She could stay inside her room and watch as the miners went to harvest the salt.