VANGUARD
Death and life,
each a span of the tongue,
two halves of a whole:
split as the land from the sea,
as the day from the night,
as the mother from her child,
as she weeps by his corpse,
as head rolls from torso,
her fingers desperate to sew
the gash back whole
so she may hold him by his shoulders,
look down,
and see not a spouting stump
but the face of her boy,
dressed for winter,
smiling,
eyes wide open,
breath held,
waiting for fireworks.
- from “The Knife that Twists” by Omer Sal
ALICE
The tide broke against the shore, gentle sighs at steady intervals. It was cold, bitterly so, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in my rug and blanket and go back to sleep. Still, I was wrapped in something—arms thick like barrels, bulky, muscles and veins and not an ounce of fat. They rocked me like a mother soothes her child, but where there should have been a sweet lullaby, there was only faint murmuring. The sound of the sea grew sharper, crunchier—but the sea was the sea! Nothing less, nothing more. So what if it sounded a bit different today?
“Is she alive?” A woman. I saw only the shore and the waters beyond. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear and sunny.
“Barely.” The voice rumbled deep against my body. A man.
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“Be gentle with her. We need her alive. You didn’t have to stab so deep, you know.”
“She’ll live.” He sounds bored. He must find the sea more interesting. The waves sighed, the interval between each crash oddly precise.
“...Are you not going to ask me anything?”
“Why would I?”
“Nevermind. Do your men have the cross ready?”
“Yes, in the fairgrounds.” I always wanted to go to a fair. I counted the bubbles on each wave.
“Good.” She hesitated. The waves grew as the tide rose, reaching towards us. “You should retire after this.”
“Why?”
“Hang up your sword while you still can claim this glory. It will not last.”
“No. I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
His large arms weakened slightly around me. “I haven’t seen the sea yet.”
“The sea?”
“The Pink Sea.” The waves before me were blue, however. I did not know of a pink sea. My mind painted over the water, pink water now, rushing past us. His feet are wet. His ankles are stained pink. He remained still, however, even as the waves recoiled, preparing to gush in once more.
“So?”
“The Guard goes on expeditions often. We go further than anyone else. To the sea, however—not yet. But we will, soon.”
“Why? What’s so special about it?”
“Nothing, really. Not to you.”
“And to you?” She sounded genuinely curious. I continued to eavesdrop, invisible to them. The pink water crashed against the shore once more, its hue shifting to red under the light, the sand rolling deceptively below us.
“My parents aren’t native to Garder. They sailed the Pink Sea to get here. I want to see it too. And perhaps, if the Guard permits, sail it.”
“Where to?”
“Wherever it takes me, just as it once bore them here. There, I shall spread their ashes in the tide, so they may drift free.”
The waves crashed louder, more incessantly, the tide rising past his knees. The water below sprung like a fountain and flowed into my abdomen. I felt full, bloated, yet it kept surging, red and thick. Bile rose in my throat. Take me away from the Pink Sea. Take me away, back to the cave. Back to Mobius.