Tristan of Steelbend arrives in the famous city of Hosanna with nothing but his beloved harp and a pocket full of dreams. In this beautiful Kingdom By The Sea, mysterious angelic beings known as the Seraphim rule and protect mankind from the insidio...
"Waves tremble and weep with the secrets they keep,
In a kingdom by the sea;
'Neath the moon wan and pale, the wind moans the tale
Of a maiden named Annabel Lee."
~~*~~
It was the first time I beheld the sea. Waves crashed into inspiration, gray upon gray. My fingers glided over the strings of my lap harp. I sang to the wild spray, the circling gulls, and my past rolled out with the tide.
Pattering applause startled me. I looked up, almost dropping the harp. A girl about my age approached on horseback. Her dappled gelding tossed its mane, rattling the bit.
"So sorry to interrupt you." She dismounted, the horse plodding behind her. "I heard your music up the shore. That was beautiful."
"Thank you." I smoothed my black undercut, hoping it wasn't windblown.
A smile dimpled her cheeks, and she sat beside me on the damp rocks. "What's your name?"
"Tristan of Steelbend." I was of the workers' caste, possessing no surname. Only birthplace identified us.
"I'm Annabel Lee. Do you live here in Hosanna?" She shook my hand, her kid leather glove soft as down. The emblem of the Seraphim glistened on the breast of her riding jacket--a pair of arched silver wings, worn by society's elite.
"I hope to. I just stepped off the train."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Brunette locks fringed about her ears like a mischievous halo. "You'll pass the examination easily. You have far more talent than the Sacred Chorus."
Pretty girls rarely paid attention to me. I forced myself to stare at the sand instead of her. "That's a high compliment."
"It's true. I'm an artist, too. I ride along this beach every sunset for inspiration, but my brother doesn't approve."
"Does he disapprove of your art, or you riding here?"
She giggled. "Both, but I do them anyway."
I cleared my throat, feeling braver. "My parents wanted me to work in the foundries, but that sort of life isn't for me. Not many in Steelbend consider music a profession. So, here I am, where people appreciate refinement. What sort of artist are you, Miss Lee?"
"I'm a poet. At least, I try to be." Her azure eyes implored, haunting as the sea. "Sing another song for me. Your favorite this time."
I set the harp between my knees and dared to grin. "Only if you promise to recite one of your poems afterward."
"Agreed." She leaned forward, tapping her riding crop against a tall boot.
"I wrote this one," I said. "It's about a man who drowns in a shipwreck, and his beloved searches the shores for him every night after."
Sorrow, rage, and dreams drove my voice. I closed my eyes, sea air circling through my lungs.
"Not a sound did her foot make,
"Upon the breakers tossed;
"She watched and she waited,
"Many years and a day,
"For the love she had known and lost."
When I finished, her tears glistened.
"There you are." I shrugged, though her reaction pleased me. "Let's hear yours, now."
She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, then withdrew a small device from her pocket. It resembled a compact mirror case, glossy black bakelite with a chromed geometric inlay of an angel. She flipped the lid open.
"Most of my work is stored within the Sanctum," she said. With a cheerful beep, her interface nexus extended its miniature sensors. "Are you 'faced?"
I blinked. "No. In Steelbend, only administrators have such access."
"How is that possible? Everyone in Hosanna is 'faced."
She was so far above me in status. Would she understand? "Think of it this way," I said. "You don't need access to the Sanctum when all you do is pour and pound steel twelve hours a day."
"Oh. I see." She closed the device and set it aside with no condescension. "Luckily, I've memorized a few. Here's one called, 'Awake, The Stars Do Fade':
"Lift to the sky, ye slumbering eye,
"The hour of dawn awaits us;
"The stars above, the moon on high,
"And every dream berates us."
Her words compelled me. I plucked an intricate accompaniment, and harmony soon flowed between us.
She seized my hand. "I've never experienced anything like that. Your music, and my poetry...they're meant for each other."
Her nexus device trilled, a dismal interruption. She checked the caller's identity and hung her head. "It's my brother. I have to go, now. I hope to see you again sometime."
"I hope so, too."
She winked. "Goodbye, Tristan of Steelbend. And good luck."
As the night emerged, she cantered over the dunes. What a strange, charming, beautiful girl. Perhaps I'd find her here tomorrow.
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