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| The Boy Without Stars; [closed- short story] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:15 pm (256 Views) | |
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Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:15 pm Post #1 |
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Taiaka is no friend of the sea. Though his father, a simple man in life with simple tastes, dedicated himself to the nets and currents of a fisherman's fate, his son did not follow in his footsteps. As a young child, Taiaka would sit on harbor rocks and watch his father's dhow trawl the shallows, drinking goat's milk from a stolen flask. He could not have joined his father even if he wanted to: he was born an hour too late, an hour too early, and given the stigma of being conceived as an Empty Hand, judged unworthy the moment he fell from the womb. Taiaka bore the burden with ignorance, yet his clan treated him with chilly apathy. Some wondered why his parents did not dispose of him at birth. They said it would be more merciful than allowing him to live out his days as an outcast, a disgrace to the Vin Kai name. Secretly, they feared the boy that was born without stars. And so they left him alone to his own devices, warily isolating him from his peers. Puberty came with the summer swelter, so did the spots. Taiaka, who was not yet called Taiaka but still referred to by his birth name Wairan'a, had no idea why his body was changing. Dark blotches appeared on his alabaster skin, starting at the backs of his thighs, his belly and the nape of his neck. The spots came suddenly, from one day to the next and spread like an untreated infection until only narrow gaps of white flesh remained. Panicked and naked he ran from his home, down the vine clogged spurs and out into the reed choked bayou. He splashed into the water and began scrubbing at himself with soap made from goat's fat and potash. He scrubbed and scoured until his arms and legs were raw and sore and yet the spots remained, jet black like the color of his father's skin. "What is he doing?" The voice, her voice, was sweetly melodic. Yaxia was the chief's daughter, a beautiful visage draped in sheer sky-blue silk, and she was there in the reeds with her two handmaidens. Taiaka, panting like a wounded dog and crying like a babe, barely heard her over the sound of his own splashing. He simply heard the voice, her voice, and it drew his pale eyes away from the water and up to the slight rise where she stood clean and dry. Taiaka stared and she stared back at the naked boy trying to scrub off his markings. "What are you doing, Wairan'a?" She asked, never taking her eyes from his trembling form. "Silence. You should not speak to that thing." Came the raspy advice of her handmaiden, a woman barely older than Yaxia. "How dare you speak to me as such. I am the daughter of Rewfrai, I speak to whomever I choose!" Yaxia lifted her chin disobediently, small hands tugging at the hem of her skirts. Taiaka was silent and wiped his leaky nose with the back of his hand. "I asked you a question." Yaxia's voice was soft, comforting even, and Taiaka was caught off guard. "I'm sick!" Taiaka answered in a squeaky, little voice. "Sick?" She laughed then, a tight lilting sound that Taiaka, the man ages grown upon the face of Chaon, remembers to this day. "You are not sick, Wairan'a." She lifted her arm, palm up, and tugged her sleeve up to expose her flesh. There, in the same odd patterns were similar dark spots upon her soft skin. "You are growing up." She laughed again and this time it was mocking and filled with contempt. She let the fabric fall seamlessly back in place and shook her head, tiny cornrows bouncing to and fro. Somewhere, deeply buried behind perfect sapphire hues, Taiaka thought he saw pity. Yaxia's handmaidens led her away without another word and Taiaka, wide-eyed and wracked with palsy, watched her go. Slowly, he looked down to his hands, then his wrists, up to his shoulders and back down to his belly. The salt water from the harbor made his eyes sting and caused crosshatched scratch marks on his body to swell into constellations. He liked the way they felt as he ran the tips of his fingers across them; they reminded him of his father’s tattoos, the most coveted all all ink. With the thought, Taiaka’s milky eyes shot towards the horizon. There, lit by the common sunset ochers and peach, was his father’s dhow. The boy, naked with red rimmed eyes and a leaking nose waded out into the shallows, beyond the reeds and stinking peat, into the breakers. He walked until he feet no longer found purchase, then falling and flailing, before flattening his body and pulling at the surf with long strokes of his arms. Taiaka had never swam before. Even when he bathed he made sure to stay in the shallow clearwater, fearful of the unseen things in deep water. Now, anger and embarrassment pushed him through the choppy waves with the acumen of a dolphin. Soon, it was clear that Taiaka’s body was responding to the action of swimming. He had shifted before a few times; first into the guise of a dainty black cat with saucer sized eyes, and again into a mangy dog with a beguilingly human face. Both were acceptable in both form and shape, especially coming from a child. But this transformation felt different. Taiaka did not will it to happen consciously, his body took the reigns and in order to save its host’s life, changed for him. Legs fused together into a long tail, fingers grew webbing and a thin membrane covered his eyes. Before long he was cruising through the water thoughtlessly, free and alive in the brine. And there, pulling up the patched and weather-worn nets, was the prow of his father’s boat. Taiaka dived under, twisting his newly shifted body, pumping his tail with all his strength. He burst through the surface of the water and grabbed at the netting, working hand over hand to pull himself up onto the deck. His father was there, staring at his son with pale eyes, a frown crossing his features like a scar. “I hate you!” Taiaka screamed with all the fury of a scorned child. His body shifted back to its usual form and he stood there upon the deck of his father’s ship with fists balled in rage. His father said nothing, turning away from the boy to tend to his nets. Taiaka stormed forward, reached out and roughly placed a hand on his father shoulder. “You will listen to me!” The boy yelled, eyes wild. Taiaka’s father swatted him away with a single powerful blow and sent the boy tumbling back into the roiling waves. Taiaka resurfaced, his nose bloody, to see his father standing at the gunwale peering down at him. “So, you are a man now? Then you are now Taiaka Vin’Kai.” The boy bobbed on the current, shocked. “Tomorrow you will wear your tattoos. The day after you leave for Istan.” Taiaka’s father turned away without another word. The boy swam back to shore, crawled out of the water and waited on the harbor rocks. There, he drank from his stolen flask and cursed the sea. Edited by Taiaka, Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:22 pm.
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7:33 PM Jul 11

