\nMy brother\u2019s eyes are the easiest words to read, and the truest.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTell me about the sea,\u201d he says. His eyes are amber pools, calm, unruffled.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe are sitting in his favorite gallery, the one that abuts the sea. From here, we can\u2019t see the blue expanse, but we hear the waves lapping against the rock wall.\n<\/p>\n
\nI smile. \u201cThe sea is a sky full of water.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes lighten into yellow, like butter, soft, melting. \u201cTell me about the sky.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cVast. Immense. Endless,\u201d I chant.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMassive. Enormous. Gigantic,\u201d he intones.\n<\/p>\n
\nI invented that game, moons ago. Whenever he asks a question I can\u2019t answer, I unleash a litany of adjectives. He responds with a string of synonyms.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt is my way of keeping him out of that other labyrinth, the worse one.\n<\/p>\n
\nSome days it works. Not today.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI hear the sea,\u201d he says. His voice is empty. \u201cWhen the sea croons it reminds me of you, Ari. Then I sit, close my eyes, and listen until sleep comes. Other times the sea roars, a monster to terrify every other monster. I flee then, from gallery to gallery.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nGrief stills my tongue. I take his hand. His fingers are like our mother\u2019s, slim, long, deceptive, human.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes waver between earth and amber. \u201cHow can the same sea be so terrifying and so tender?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI know the answer. Like our parents; so loving to me, so monstrous to him. But I can never say it.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTell me a story,\u201d I say instead.\n<\/p>\n
\nInventing stories diverts him. They are set not in palaces or cities, but in plains and deserts, unbounded spaces where a bull-man can be free because he will not be judged. They are places of light, but dark things lurk just beyond the horizon, misshapen trees with branches like tortured limbs, distorted hills from which rocks jut out as sharp as fangs.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe stories make him happy, almost.\n<\/p>\n
\nNot today.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe shakes his head. \u201cYou should go. It is late. There is no time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThere\u2019s time. But he wants me gone.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhat does he do after I leave and he is alone? Does he wander through the physical labyrinth? Or does he vanish into the invisible one, the one inside him?\n<\/p>\n
\nIs that when he roars louder than the sea at its angriest, bellows that pierce the marble walls of the palace that spurned him and echo across the city that fears him?\n<\/p>\n
\nHe never stops telling me it wasn\u2019t my fault. But guilt assails me every time I see the sun and the moon, every time I feel the wind and the rain, every time our parents embrace me, every time my normal human face stares at me from the mirror.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe walk slowly, hand in hand. He knows the galleries, every inch, every stone, every crevice. He never gets lost in this labyrinth.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe other maze is different. It can never be known fully; it grows and changes. I fear that someday he will lose his way there, that he will be lost to himself, lost to me.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe embrace at the door. He breaks free first.\n<\/p>\n
\nI tap on the door. It opens. I step out.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis voice follows me. \u201cTake care, Ari.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI wailed the day they took him away, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nOr so my nurse told me, as she lay dying.\n<\/p>\n
\nNecha and I were alone, in her room. It had been her refuge, since she was abducted from her faraway home, brought to this island, and sold to my father. That room became her universe when oncos, the crablike growth that begins as a dot and spreads into every nook and cranny of a body, consumed her.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe had nothing from her home except memories. I could never hear enough of her tales of a land that was a sea of trees, a place of dancing, music, and flowers, where the unnatural was not condemned but worshipped.\n<\/p>\n
\nNow she lay, eyes closed, waiting for death, for release.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe windows were shut against the noonday heat. The smells of human detritus clogged the airless air. I sat by her pallet and held her hand.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nShe opened her eyes and wheezed the words on the wings of a noxious breath. \u201cYou didn\u2019t come alone.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI turned around to see if anyone has followed me. But there was just she and me.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe smiled, a pain edged grimace. \u201cNo, my love, my Ari, he came before you, the bull-boy… Twins. Teeny little thing. Bull-head, bull-tail, the rest a baby boy.\u201d She paused to cough, spraying spittle on me, smelling like dead fish left too long in the sun.\n<\/p>\n
\nI bent closer, face to face, ear to mouth.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou were demanding, never satisfied with anything. He just wanted to be held. You wailed when they took him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI grabbed her other hand, my fingers turned claws digging into her withered skin, feeling the brittle bones through the dissipated flesh. \u201cWhere did they take him?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nA real smile spread across her place. \u201cSea, like a sky full of water,\u201d she said and died.\n<\/p>\n
\nI told no one. I was young, just turned ten, but old enough to know that I needed not the clear light of the day, but the shadows of a moonless night.\n<\/p>\n
\nI listened to other people\u2019s conversations. From words not meant for my ears, I learnt much, about Father, about Mother, but nothing about him, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nI traversed every inch of the palace. I found not a trace of him.\n<\/p>\n
\nI was still searching when the day sacred to the Sea God arrived.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe palace turned into a hive of activity. Everyone was distracted with a thousand duties. Sounds and smells filled the world, bells ringing in unison, voices raised in prayer, wails of animals, scent of flowers, incense, blood…\n<\/p>\n
\nMother and Father left early to join the chief priest and other priests, on the white-sanded beach by the harbor.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was easy to give my maid the slip. I assured her I\u2019d be occupied with a new book, knowing that she\u2019d then occupy herself with the new guard, the one with stony eyes, quick hands, and oozing smiles.\n<\/p>\n
\nNo one saw me leaving through a side door.\n<\/p>\n
\nI walked and walked until I came to a place I\u2019ve never been before, a treeless cliff-top. The sea murmured below. The wind pulled at my hair, my robe. Wild grasses caressed and scraped my sandaled feet.\n<\/p>\n
\nI crouched on the cliff top and stared down at the ireful sea. And remembered Necha\u2019s last words, a sky full of water.\n<\/p>\n
\nThat was when I heard his bellow.\n<\/p>\n
\nSince then I\u2019ve seen what his cry does to people. They shiver; they cower; they run.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis cry made my heart dance.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nThat evening I went to my parents and demanded to see him, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nAt first they said he never lived.\n<\/p>\n
\nThen they said he died.\n<\/p>\n
\nFinally they said they\u2019d never let him get me.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey locked me in my room.\n<\/p>\n
\nI turned my face to the wall.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey said he\u2019ll kill me.\n<\/p>\n
\nI said I won\u2019t live without him.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey took me to the door of his home and gave me a lantern and a skein of linen.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe bellowed. They shrank away.\n<\/p>\n
\nI opened the door and went in.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe door slammed, shrouding me in shadows.\n<\/p>\n
\nI closed my eyes, my mind seeking his.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe bellows stopped.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe sound of running feet grew until they filled my ears. When sound ceased I opened my eyes and saw him.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe gazed at each other, a moment, an eternity.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe held out a surprisingly human hand and said in a surprisingly human voice, \u201cWelcome, Sister.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTell me about bulls,\u201d he said on that first day, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe next day I brought him a statuette of a cloud-white bull I stole from Mother.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe knelt by a pool of water, staring at his reflection. Then he picked up the bull with a white hand and dashed it against the rocks.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey said he loved human flesh, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe first time seven young men and seven young women were brought to our island from Athens my parents locked me up in the tower-room.\n<\/p>\n
\nFrom my temporary prison, I watched the white-clad figures being prodded and pushed up the road. I shouted that there was no bull-headed monster who eats human flesh, that it was a tale to terrify people into obedience and cities into subjection.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy voice was lost in the distance, in the wind, in the babble.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I was freed from the tower, I ran to the house where my father\u2019s victims were being held. The guards barred my way. I was their princess, but they had orders from the king, the queen, and the high priest.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhy did they do it?\u201d he asked me the next day, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe sat slumped on the stones, his adamantine horns scraping the floor.\n<\/p>\n
\nI muttered, \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe lifted his head, catching my eyes. \u201cThere must never be lies between us, Sister. No half-truths either.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI didn\u2019t try to break from his mud-gaze. \u201cEveryone believes you feast on human flesh.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe didn\u2019t ask whether \u2018everyone\u2019 included Father and Mother. I sensed the question in the weight of his silence.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe high-priest says the Sea God came to him in a vision and told him,\u201d I muttered, excuse and explanation. \u201cSo everyone must believe.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe said nothing. Outside, the waves murmured a soft melody.\n<\/p>\n
\nLater he took me to where they lay, faces contorted into monstrosities.\n<\/p>\n
\nOne man had a piece of his arm missing, a single mouthful. I found the missing flesh a foot away, in a pile of dried vomit.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMy human-part liked the taste,\u201d he said. \u201cThe bull-part didn\u2019t.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI wanted to set him free, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nI wove plans. We\u2019d escape, cross the sea, and find a refuge. A place where no one would know us, no one would mind us.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes would glitter amber and dull into earth. \u201cThere is no place in the human world I can be free. I will take the maze with me, wherever I go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe days go by, one like the other, until the morning Mother summons me.\n<\/p>\n
\nShe points to a low chair close to hers.\n<\/p>\n
\nI sit.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe sea is too quiet.\u201d Her voice is the first tentative beginning of a long road.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYour father has sent word.\u201d Her voice is flat ground.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYour brothers are dead. He needs an heir. \u201cHe has decided on a husband for you.\u201d Her voice is a gentle rise.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAriadne, Ariadne…\u201d Her voice is hills.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen my head is not spinning, when my vision is clear, I ask, \u201cWho?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe strokes my cheek. \u201cA king who\u2019ll make you a queen. A man who\u2019ll give you sons.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWho?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAegeus. The king of Athens.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe\u2019s older than Father.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNot too old to give you sons.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHe has a son. Theseus.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cKings have bastards. That is the way of the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe bastard is a grown man. He is not going to allow a son of mine to displace him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe will ensure you and your sons are safe.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhen Athens sends the next batch of sacrifices, Theseus will head them.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo Aegeus agreed to the murder of his only son?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWith a young wife in his bed, he can beget other sons.\u201d Mother smiles. \u201cGet ready for the wedding.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe listens in silence as I spill my tale, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDeath is freedom,\u201d he says.\n<\/p>\n
\nLater he tells me a story, about the fearless hero who kills a monster with the help of a beautiful princess. When he comes to the end, I know it for what it is: a plan.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnother group of sacrifices arrives for him, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nI watch the men and women being prodded up the road.\n<\/p>\n
\nOne man strides ahead, head held high.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I\u2019m free from the tower I run to him, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe listens to my story in silence.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhen I\u2019m done, he says, \u201cYou will do it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI cling to him. Without him, the aching emptiness will return. It will grow and grow, until someday, it consumes me.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis fingers weave in and out of my hair. \u201cI have only you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI gaze into his eyes. They hover between mud and amber.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe has only me. I nod.\n<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes shine purest amber. His fingers dance through my curls.\n<\/p>\n
\nOutside his door I allow my tears to flow.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe night has no light. The sea has no voice.\n<\/p>\n
\nI creep out of the palace and head to the hall housing tomorrow\u2019s sacrifices. My pockets bulge with gold to bribe the guards. The sacrificial knife nestles next to my heart. In my hand is the skein of linen which I never needed.\n<\/p>\n
\nMy brother\u2019s parting words echo in my ears.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTell him where to strike.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMy reply was a kiss, the last one.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt was my pledge.\n<\/p>\n
\nI will set him free, into this sky, this sea, into a time before time, my brother.\n<\/p>\n
\nI will.\n<\/p>\n
\nI finger the knife, its blade cold against my naked flesh. The formless dark of the night whirls and forms into a face, Necha\u2019s. The rustling of olive leaves in a sudden breeze turns into Necha\u2019s words in my ear, the way she would begin one of her stories,\n<\/p>\n
\nA long time ago in a sea of trees…\n<\/p>\n
\nMy hand falls from the knife.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhat if I tell Theseus about the agreement between his father and my parents? What if I offer him a bargain, a life for a life, his life for my brother\u2019s? Will he, the duped son of the man I will never marry, accept it?\n<\/p>\n
\nThis story can have a different ending. An ending no poet, no dramatist, no painter would immortalize. An ending with no heroic murder. An ending without victors or victims, just survivors.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nBefore us is a sea of water, behind us a sea of trees, like the ones in Necha\u2019s stories. The music of the waves and of the leaves lift my heart.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe ship no longer has a shape. It\u2019s just a dark blob gliding across the smooth waters to where the blue sea meets the blue sky. But I know it well, know that it is bearing white sails, that it contains a man who is probably standing at the stern watching the vanishing land. A man who might have been my enemy, but became instead something else, savior, and for a few brief starlit nights, lover.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe ship reaches the horizon and is gone.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe fingers, laced through mine, tighten, fingers that are long, white, gentle and deceptively human.\n<\/p>\n
\nI turn around to see the rays of a new sun shine on a pair of adamantine horns, to meet an amber gaze.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAri, the sea is a sky-full of water,\u201d says my brother.\n<\/p>\n
Sam Muller loves dogs and books and spends much time trying to save one from the other. Her first novel, I will paint the sky, will be published by Fractured Mirror Publishers in July.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My brother\u2019s eyes are the easiest words to read, and the truest. \u201cTell me about the sea,\u201d he says. His eyes are amber pools, calm, unruffled. We are sitting in his favorite gallery, the one that abuts the sea. From here, we can\u2019t see the blue expanse, but we hear the waves lapping against the …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107939,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20129],"tags":[20130],"class_list":["post-140283","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-48-summer-2023","tag-the-colored-lens-48-summer-2023","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140283","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107939"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140283"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140283\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140284,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140283\/revisions\/140284"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140283"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140283"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140283"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}