Esar, Age 22

16 Years Ago

Esar’s mind kept trying to return to Norana. He dreamed of the fountain where he and his mother dug up the symbic device, the grand cathedral with its statues in alcoves, the garden blooming so bright it hurt to look at. Just around the corner he might see Kelsam—Esar always felt like Kelsam was close by, in those dreams, but he never caught a glimpse of him.

Yanset was getting frustrated with the dreams of Norana. She still jotted down the data dutifully, but Esar could tell that she wanted to hear more about Bhadrat, not the Sanctuary far to the south. She was just finishing recording his latest dream when Kelsam walked into the laboratory.

Now Esar knew he was losing his mind. He’d never seen Kelsam in a dream. He would never see Kelsam again. Thady looked so much like Kelsam, maybe he was starting to conflate them in his mind.

“Esar?” Kelsam said. Esar tried to answer him, but he was wrapped in such a deep fog that no words would come to his lips.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Yanset asked.

“I’m Kelsam Bauricta. My sister Thady wrote to me about what you are doing to him. It has to stop.”

“We’ve gathered valuable data—”

“What more do you think you can gain from him? Is it worth killing him for another glimpse?”

“His vital signs are within acceptable parameters—”

“Have you even looked at him? At him, instead of your damn data?” Kelsam’s voice thundered like a distant storm. “He can’t even see what’s right in front of him. He doesn’t hear what people say to him. And you want to push him even further?”

“He entered the study willingly. It was Esar’s wish to be of service, and he has yielded greater results than any of us could have anticipated. The price of that information has been steep, to be sure, but it has not been too great a price for knowledge of this magnitude.”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s dead,” Kelsam said.

“Don’t be foolish. A thousand years in a sarcophagus—how could I be anything but dead?” Esar said aloud.

“Esar!” Kelsam said, leaning close to Esar’s face. Esar saw through the clouds that there were tears in his eyes. “Esar, can you hear me . . . I should have come sooner. I didn’t know . . .”

Esar reached up to touch Kelsam’s face. “Are you real?”

“Yes, of course I’m real, I’m here—”

“Am . . . I real?” Esar asked.

Kelsam tore the symbic device from Esar’s head. He’d forgotten that he had it on, still. The fog around him remained, but he thought he heard Kelsam’s voice a little more clearly, now.

“Esar, you don’t have to let them do this to you anymore. You’ve done enough.”

Esar shook his head. “I’ve . . . never done enough.”

“You’ve done. Enough,” Kelsam repeated. “Come back to Norana with me. Please.”

“We do seem to be getting diminishing returns of late. Maybe Dacrine was right about irreversible damage . . .” Yanset said.

“No one was talking to you!” Kelsam snapped at her. Was Kelsam angry? Esar didn’t remember ever seeing Kelsam get angry. But Esar couldn’t remember a lot of things.

“Have I done . . . enough?” Esar asked.

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“More than enough,” Kelsam said. “Come back to Norana with me. You can rest. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“I don’t have to be a Tresuan anymore?” It sounded too good to be true.

“You don’t have to be a Tresuan anymore!” Kelsam burst out. “All you have to be is you, Esar. That’s enough.”

Three terrible dark whirlwinds rose from the Ocean.

“But they’re coming. I destroyed it and they’re still coming…” Esar looked up and saw Kelsam’s dark brown eyes staring into his. Then he blinked and all he could see was the fountain in Norana. “The fountain . . . I have to go to the fountain . . .”

“It’s like he doesn’t even see me,” Kelsam said, turning to Yanset. “What have you done to him?”

“You don’t understand,” Yanset said, seemingly unbothered by his accusation.

“Will you take me there?” Esar asked weakly.

“Yes, I will. Will you come with me?” Kelsam asked, taking both Esar’s hands in his.

It took forever for Esar’s answer to make it through the fog and out of his mouth. “Yes.”

Time passed, Esar wasn’t sure how long, as he remained immersed in the same fog. He didn’t remember the linecar ride to Norana. Night and day blurred together in a cycle of darkness, dreamless sleep and sightless waking. Kelsam was an impression of a concerned face, cajoling him to eat, helping him to dress and bathe as Esar existed listlessly. Almost every day, Esar asked Kelsam to take him to the fountain, and Kelsam did, and Esar stared and said nothing, not sure why he was there.

Slowly the fog dissipated. His mother sent chili oil from Thaliron, and it made his food taste like something again. Esar’s appetite came back, and he didn’t need to be told to eat. He dressed himself. He walked to the fountain by himself.

Kelsam found him there some time later.

“How long have I been here?” Esar asked.

“About three months,” said Kelsam.

“You brought me here?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You didn’t have to.”

“I saw you hurting, and I wanted to help,” Kelsam said.

“But I thought . . . there’s nothing . . .”

“Why did you help me, seven years ago?” Kelsam asked.

Esar couldn’t speak. Coming back to reality meant he could feel real pain again. Kelsam embraced him, but even the wonderful sensation of being held couldn’t drive that pain away.

“It’s the same,” Kelsam went on, his voice soft, close to Esar’s ear. “You saw I was hurting. You saw me, when no one else was looking, when I was trying to hide and pretend everything was all right, trying to live up to the expectations of everyone else. You told me it was all right to do what I wanted. And you didn’t need a vision, or fate, or whatever to do that. That was you. I realized after you told me there hadn’t been a vision, nothing had really changed. I still felt the same. But it wasn’t because there was some thread of fate tying us together. It was because I wanted to be with you. Because I love you.”

Esar was grateful to Kelsam for saying the words, because he still couldn’t speak. All he could do was cry, which was so much better than the numbness and the darkness, and he had someone to hold onto.

Some days after that, they went for a walk in the woods together.

“What if someone comes to find me and take me back?” Esar asked

“They probably think your mind was completely destroyed. Yanset was talking about irreversible damage.”

“I am damaged,” Esar said. “My mind may not be all gone, but . . . it’s not all there, either.”

“Yeah, but you’ve always been a little different. Not sure how much of that we can blame on the experiments.”

“Different?”

“Special. Amazing. And just a little odd.” Kelsam smiled—the smile warmed Esar more than the afternoon sun—and tapped Esar on the nose.

Esar tried to return his smile, but that was more than he could manage. “But now I’m not even who I used to be. I’m broken, and I don’t know if there’s anything that can fix me. What if I’m always broken?”

“The important parts of you aren’t broken. And no, that’s not what I meant,” Kelsam said, as Esar blushed, thinking of how they’d spent the previous evening . . . and a good part of that morning. “I mean your heart. Your spirit. Who you are.” He pressed his finger against the center of Esar’s chest to emphasize each point. “And I love who you are.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Would you stop that already? You don’t deserve someone’s love or not. You just receive it.”

Esar couldn’t stop himself. “But you deserve—”

“I deserve someone who doesn’t put himself down all the time, maybe. But I want you.”

“I don’t understand,” Esar said.

“You don’t have to. But maybe I’ll find a way to make you understand, someday.”

“I . . . if you really want me, I’ll do my best for you. But if you get sick of me, you have to tell me, all right? I don’t ever want to be a burden—”

Kelsam stopped Esar’s mouth with his own, and Esar felt the first glimmer of understanding. If Kelsam really did want him—if Kelsam really did care so much about him—Esar would just have to find some way to be worthy of that love.

“I love you,” Esar said, after they broke apart.

“I know,” Kelsam said. “I just want you to love yourself, too.”

“That sounds difficult.” Loving Kelsam was easy—he was Kelsam, and just by virtue of being Kelsam, he was worthy of being loved. The same couldn’t be true of Esar . . . could it?