Sleeping Wildflowers

6. Swimming

It was very warm. Asellan had his face in Ispan's jacket and it was ringing with memories, and dreams shaped like memories. It was an old jacket. Asellan was not sleeping.

⁂

"Can I go with you to Eonvhé?" Asellan asked.

Ispan looked over at him from the counter. "Why would you want to go there when you can stay nice and warm here in your bed?"

This wasn't Asellan's bed. But he didn't know how to say that. He shrugged.

"It's cold in Eonvhé this time of year," Ispan said.

"I'm okay with that," Asellan said.

"Maybe next time," Ispan said. Maybe when Asellan was out of bed. Maybe when Asellan was all right. But Asellan didn't know what that meant. "I'm going. See you, Asellan."

Asellan couldn't get up. Asellan couldn't go over to Ispan. "Are you going to miss me?"

Ispan smiled at that. "Of course. I'll bring you something back."

"Something warm?" said Asellan. He didn't want to say that. He didn't know why he said that. He didn't need something warm. Not something else.

"Of course," said Ispan. And then he was leaving. Asellan just watched him leave. He couldn't do anything else.

⁂

"I'm going with you to Eonvhé," said Asellan.

"Okay," said Ispan, and they went.

It was hot in Eonvhé, but the heat was dry, and as soon as the sun was gone, it was cold. The air itself was drying, so they dressed up in all long sleeves and long pants, even though it was hot. Ispan dressed Asellan, as he did every morning, but now Asellan got to wear fun clothes and colorful clothes and clothes from Eonvhé.

Ispan took Asellan out. Asellan could walk by himself, and he never felt tired or had to sit down or fall over. They went around the city, which was bright and friendly and only crowded enough so that it was lively and not loud. And there was people, but Asellan didn't have to talk to any of them and none of them tried to talk to him or about him. At the end of the day, Asellan went out into the field by himself and he sat there for a while, just looking up. It was wide and clear, but not empty.

⁂

In the end it had been very mundane. Asellan had woken up one day and Ispan had been dead. And no one had said goodbye, except maybe the person who had killed him. Asellan wasn't ever going to see him again. But Asellan didn't know what that meant, because he was twelve and no one had ever thought he would have to know.

It was easier not to think about it. There was no point; it couldn't be seen or smelt or held or heard. Just an indomitable void in which all possibilities came to die.

People came and went. Some people were meant to leave. No one was meant to stay. Death was not meant to be mourned, life was meant to be celebrated. It was a tragedy. Nothing was fair but Death, with her even hand. Get over it. Forget about it. In loving memory. It's all right to cry. Don't cry, Asellan. What was there to cry about? Who? Who are you?

None of it made sense. Asellan was twelve and nothing made sense. Asellan was alive and nothing made sense.

⁂

"How did you find me?" asked Ispan's nephew, wide-eyed behind the window.

"I'm a prince," said Asellan. "I can do anything." But he didn't know anything. He didn't know how he had gotten there.