Seven months and I'm free. One month and I might get to go to the city. No fights, no backtalk, no curfew violations. Kym has kept clean, too. Max, on the other hand, did not last long; as he predicted, a poor choice of words in the presence of the wrong person removed him from the lottery. A surprising number of kids are still in the running, among them Wassim, Telarria, and Pinnow. The Bludgeoning Brothers were caught shaking a girl down for her pocket change within the first few days.
Countless legends play out before us in the clear night sky. Conquerors, mages, philosophers, humble heroes. They tell us their stories as we rest on the still-warm sand of the shore, the tales accompanied by the gentle in and out of the tide. The salt of the sea fills our noses, enhanced by the remaining yet waning heat. Our rolled coats act as pillows, my hand intertwined with hers in a comfortable and casual embrace. We don't speak of the gesture. To do so would bring it to life, and for now it must remain in this pleasant purgatory. The thought remains, the want, the hope. But the words stay locked away, and I am without a key.
"There!" Kym points at a cluster of stars. "Neqinerei's raven, Sisateniun."
"Ah," I say when the bird's form takes shape, "the sneaky little murderer."
"It's not her fault people might die when she's up to her master's trickery," Kym suggests. "You gotta crack some eggs to make an omelet, right?"
"Careful, don't want Sister Signe hearing you say that," I warn with a gentle smirk. "She might think you're a Neqinerei worshiper."
"And if I was?" she asks. "What would you think?"
The swell and recession of the tide fills my brief silence.
"As long as I'm in on the mischief, and not the target, it doesn't bother me," I answer, turning my head to look at her.
"What if I killed someone?" The question comes quieter, more cautious. Her eyes stay on the stars, but even in the dying light the dark orbs scream with fear.
"Have you killed someone?" I ask, my tone light to avoid sincerity.
"No." Her lips pull into a humored smile, the tension gone. Her eyes meet mine, her tight tiny curls resting on her cheekbones. "It's only hypothetical."
"Just don't kill me," I tell her, my own smirk growing. "I'd be really upset if you killed me."
"I would be, too," she says with a soft chuckle.
The calm oceanic rhythm plays in the background as we lie still, connected at the eyes in a sweet comfortable silence. She's so close. It would be so easy to just lean over, to make that first move, to press my lips to hers. Instinct implores me, screams at me. Just get closer. She's right there. You can do this. Her eyes wait for it, beg for it, I'm sure of it. The courage in me roars to life, a purposeful fire lighting the night. I inch toward her, my mouth beginning to form the proper shape to accept hers. My eyelids come to a close, and before a brief darkness takes over she mirrors my advance.
A bell, large and loud, beckons. We jolt up, our hands still clasped but our gaze shooting back to the Tower. The sound comes again, the chilling toll of doom bringing us to our feet.
"Shit, curfew!" the realization comes in a panic.
We release each other quick, collect our rolled-up coats, and climb the dune. Silhouetted on the western horizon stands the Tower of Lost Children. Its tall slender stature rests on a ridge. Its spire spikes high into the sky, the lantern below burning bright like a devil's eye. Though the belfry is dark, the bell within rings out. Jutting out from the side of the tower is a smaller construction, only one story tall. At the base of the rocks, a rectangular building of light grey bricks judges us for being out too late. Behind the main tower is another, this one built on the flat earth. It stretches to meet its brother halfway. Several yards in front of it, out in the open, stalks the last building: ten feet tall, round, its stones charred and smooth and windowless, only a solid wooden door breaking its surface. Baltevmt's Maw, reserved only for the worst offenders, watches as we pass. With summer coming to a close, so does its name. After autumn passes and we slip into winter, it will don its other moniker: The Frozen Chamber.
YOU ARE READING
The Rokkoh Adventures
פנטזיהFrom growing up as an orphan to becoming a mighty paladin, Rokkoh has gone through many things in his life. He has witnessed magical wonders, the depths of human depravity, and the strength of love throughout trials and time. Follow along in these f...
