The Island of Excess Love Page 7

  He ushers us into another room and there they are.

  * * *

  Argos skids across the smooth inlaid floor and I pick him up in my arms, letting him shnuzzle my neck and kiss my face. He’s shaking all over with excitement.

  Venice, Ez, and Ash sit on cushions at a long low table with a shallow pool of water down the center. Pink lotus flowers grow in the water and koi fish swim there. Six-foot-tall candles light the room and crystals that are almost that tall stand in each corner. My beloved boys are bathed and groomed, wearing linen shirts and trousers, but they could be covered in mud for all I care.

  “Pen!” Venice runs to me, followed by Ez and Ash. I bury my face in the nest their shoulders make for me. They smell like olives, honey, and fresh but slightly acrid herbs. My muscles feel as if they’re going to collapse with relief.

  Venice grabs my arm. “Your eye.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I whisper, not wanting to admit to our host how indebted I already feel to him. He’s watching me now, his own eyes as multifaceted as the crystals in the room. “But tell me about you guys,” I say louder.

  “We woke up here. There must have been a shipwreck.” Ez hugs me again and our sharp clavicles bump. “Ow, you’re too skinny.”

  “You should talk,” I say.

  “At least I’m eating now, thanks to our host.” He gives the king a shy half smile. “And you’re going to, too. Look!” He drags me to the table. There are platters of fresh fish, rice, and vegetables wrapped in grape leaves.

  My brother is still clinging to my arm. “We were scared you were…”

  “I know. Same here.”

  I brush his hair off his forehead. “What about Merk?”

  Venice shakes his head, Ash scowls, and Ez says, “We don’t know.”

  Now that I have my boys I’m able to think about my father. I need him, too, I realize. We were all under that spell, not just him. Where is he? But I know I can’t ask the king about this now. Not yet.

  “Ezra is right. You must eat,” he says, still staring at me.

  I guess they’re pretty close already; Ez never let anyone call him Ezra except his twin brother. Not even Ash calls him that.

  On the wall over the table hangs an oil painting of a young woman with blue-ice eyes and white-ice hair crowned with black roses. A white dove is on one shoulder and she’s holding a toad in her hand. Though she’s upright and her eyes are open, there’s a deadness to her face; this and the quality of the paint remind me of John Everett Millais’s Ophelia. For some reason besides this the woman in the painting looks familiar, but I can’t place her. I’m uneasy with her watching me.

  “Who’s that?” I ask Ez.

  “Isn’t it amazing? I want to learn to paint like that. He said he’ll teach me.”

  “Who?” I say. But I know already. The king has many talents.

  I notice Ash is frowning. Is he jealous of the king? Ez seems oblivious and I still don’t know who the subject of the painting is.

  But the food is as delicious as it looks and smells, so good that as I eat I forget everything else. For dessert there are figs and tea with honey. The tea tastes of peppermint, chamomile, sage, hickory, and red raspberry, each flavor distinct as if I were eating the fresh herbs. There’s also a dark, sweet wine that tastes almost like distilled jewels. We all have some, except for Venice who says it’ll make him sleepy and Hex who frowns at me when I take a glass from the king. I take it anyway. My stomach feels satiated for the first time in forever. But I’m afraid of this man who has so much power over us, over the world.

  Still, it’s hard to resist the pleasure of the moment. When Argos jumps up and tries to lap from the long pool of water in the middle of the table, the king scoops him in his arms.

  “No you don’t, little man. You can have some drinking water that doesn’t have fish and flowers in it.”

  “That’s why he likes it, though,” Venice says.

  Argos licks the king by sticking that long dog tongue out of the side of his mouth the way he does with me. Ez gives the king an appreciative glance; he seems just as charmed by him as Argos is. I have a vague memory of telling Ez and Ash a story, describing the king to them before any of this was real.

  He sounds dreamy, Ez said.

  How much control does this king have over all of us?

  Our host puts Argos down; he balances on his hind legs and claps his front paws together. We all laugh, even Ash who is swallowing more wine. But not Hex.

  “I’m going to bed,” he says when we’re done eating.

  I lean into him, speaking into his ear. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t trust this place, this person. It’s all some kind of spell and we need to leave.”

  “Maybe he can help us find Merk,” I say. What I don’t say is the king gave us food and baths and beds and clothes and he gave me my eyesight.

  Hex knows me well; he probably can tell what I’m thinking. He stands and turns away from me, his face shrouded in thoughts. “I’m going to bed,” he repeats. “I suggest you and Ez and Ash stop drinking. Your eyes look crazy.”

  Why would he say that? I remember how he spoke to me on the ship, thinking I was his mother. I know he’s sensitive about alcohol since he’s sober. The only time he’s seen me drunk was at the Lotus Hotel where we met. We both got high on the juice from the lotus flowers. But this is different. This time the wine’s being provided by a man with antlers who just gave me back my eye—crazy or not.

  “Tell us a bedtime story, Pen!” Ez shouts as Hex leaves the room. He turns to the king. “Pen is a storyteller.”

  “I’ve sensed as much,” the king says, smiling with so much unexpected warmth that I feel it beaming into me. “I’d love to hear a bedtime story, Penelope.”

  Ash hands me another glass of wine. “Come on, Pen, show us what you got.”

  “Yes, please do,” says the king.

  “We have to convince her that it’s a gift,” Ez tells him. “She tends to undervalue herself.”

  “Ezra, I think you’re right. That Penelope doesn’t see her true worth. She’s a remarkable woman.”

  Now the warmth is overt and I flit my eyes away from his. How can he make me react so strongly with just a word and a glance?

  “Go on, Pen,” Venice encourages.

  So I stare at the painting on the wall for inspiration. Those blue eyes. Just like the king’s.

  That’s who she is! The girl. The sister. She was in my vision, the one I had when I met him.

  “I need Ash to sing to help me,” I say, hoping to engage him; he’s getting really drunk.

  Ash shrugs and takes another swallow of wine. His eyes gaze upward at the quartz ceiling as he sings. Even drunk he sounds like an angel.

  I start to speak.

  I don’t mean to upset the king. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to distance myself from him. Maybe it’s Ash’s drunken song. But this is the story I tell.

  * * *

  It was almost exactly a year later on the eve of the event that she had seen coming.

  The boy was the one who broke the window of her room with his bare hands. He put his fist through the glass and blood dripped down his wrist like he was the one who had tried to take his life.

  She was lying on the floor with her near-albino hair spread out around her and an empty vial of pills by her hand. The three black hounds lay on their sides as if asleep. Even the snake, freed from its cage, did not move when he entered.

  His sister’s cold blue eyes were open. When he gathered her in his arms her calla-lily skin was cold. Her limbs were stiff. He thought he was supposed to breathe into her mouth but he didn’t know how. He opened her mouth. He screamed into it.

  She hadn’t opened the door for him when he knocked that day and the dogs were missing. He had known something was wrong. He’d tried to call his mother but she didn’t answer. That was when he decided to break the window.

  When the paramedics came he
crouched in a corner, holding one of her books. They tried to take it from him but he wouldn’t let them. He rode in the ambulance to the hospital, gripping it to his chest.

  His mother met him there. She couldn’t walk and they put her in a wheelchair. She kept saying, “No, no, no” over and over. He wanted to scream at her to shut up.

  His sister had left a video on her computer. It wasn’t for anyone except him. It said, “I’m sorry about Sir, Burr, and Uzi. I needed them on my journey because I kept dreaming of being alone on this road that went on forever. I needed Caduceus, too, although I know you won’t miss him that much so I guess I don’t have to apologize for that. Snakes rule the afterlife. I really love you, little brother. But this world sucks, you’re right. There’s nothing I can do from here. Maybe you can.

  “Oh yeah. Start by making them cut my hair and bury some smokes with me.”

  She had taken the dogs and her snake and requested the cigarettes; she had left him her books.

  He opened the book he had carried to the hospital and brought back again, never letting go. It was filled with drawings of symbols he didn’t understand—suns, moons, triangles, hands, serpents, naked figures, doves, toads, angels, dragons, skeletons, swords, eyes. Somewhere in the distance an owl scree-ed like a prophetess of doom, warning of death by poison and death by fire.

  Was there a spell, the boy wondered, to bring back the dead?

  * * *

  So he was a regular boy once? If you can call what I saw “regular.” He had a sister who killed herself and her three dogs and snake? That doesn’t explain much. But my stomach contracts and the bones of my chest ache from the vision as if I lived it.

  But you didn’t. You’re you. He’s a stranger. Remember this.

  The king stands. “Very powerful, my queen,” he says. He flicks a speck of dirt, or maybe a tear, off his cheek with his sleeve. “You know many things.”

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I don’t know where it came from.” The wine is making my head pulse now, the purple blood of grapes engorging my bloodstream, and I need to sleep.

  “Storytelling helps determine action,” says the king with a prophet’s enigmatic smile. “Who knows where this journey will take you. But for now I would like to escort you to your bed.”

  At the word “bed” my body stirs of its own volition and I clench my thighs together to try to make the sensation stop.

  * * *

  It’s afternoon when I wake. As I come back to myself the first thing I do is close my right eye to check. Yes, I can still see out of my left eye.

  I go to look for Hex in his room. It’s exactly like mine except that it doesn’t have the dresses or my portrait. And the pattern on the floor—it’s an image of a skeleton standing in a cauldron and holding a sword.

  No sign of Hex anywhere.

  I go into the dining room, the front room with the throne. No one. I walk outside. Hearing laughter, I cross the courtyard and head under another archway into a grove of fruit trees. Beyond it is a meadow.

  Among the wildflowers I see two figures racing each other, followed by a small odd-looking dog, while two other people sit by and watch. The playful gait of the racers makes sense when I realize one of them is Venice but not when I see that the person he’s racing has antlers on his head. Aren’t those hard to run with? Venice and the king are laughing like little kids and it surprises me; the king didn’t strike me as someone who would engage in games with my little brother.

  The king calls my name and runs over to me. He’s barefoot and bare chested, more muscular than I realized, and his face is flushed. “You slept a long time. Are you rested?”

  “Where’s Hex?” I demand.

  “What? Your friend? He’s not in his room? Maybe he went to explore. I’m sure he didn’t go far. We’ve been racing. Your brother is fast.”

  “Penelope is faster,” Venice says, running up, followed by Ez and Ash and Argos. My dog never looked so happy. His tongue is practically touching the ground and his eyes are a-shine. When the king bends down to pat his head Argos jumps up and licks his face, which doesn’t seem to bother our host at all.

  Ez puts his arms around me and kisses my cheeks. I may never let go of him, Ash, or Venice again.

  “So you’re faster than your brother?” The king cocks an eyebrow at me. “Care to race and prove it? To that rock and back.”

  I ignore him and turn to the others. “Have you seen Hex?”

  “We checked his room when we woke up,” Ez says. “I thought he was with you and we didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  I’m aware of something dark passing beneath the surface brightness of the king’s sunlit face.

  “I don’t get why he was upset last night,” Ez goes on. “The food is so good here! Everything’s perfect! Right, Ash?”

  Ash doesn’t answer; he collapses onto a picnic cloth and uncorks a bottle of wine to drink. I wonder if he really is jealous of Ez’s relationship with the king. He’s never been jealous of anyone before. But we really haven’t had any other handsome young men around until now.

  “I’ll send someone to look for Hexane,” the king says. “Now have some food and then let’s race.”

  “See?” says Ez, pulling me over to the picnic. “The food is amazing! We can never leave here.” Figs, apples, pears, small cheeses wrapped in fig leaves, a loaf of bread with honey.

  We can never leave.

  This worries me but it doesn’t seem to bother my companions. Even Ash is now gnawing away blissfully at his lunch.

  “How come you have all this food?” I ask the king. “Do you know what it’s like out there?” I gesture to the horizon, in the direction of the sea that brought us.

  “I grow fruits, vegetables, and grains, keep bees, goats, chickens. We fish in the rivers. It’s all very simple cuisine but I hope you enjoy it.”

  “But how? Where is this place?”

  “The Flower Cradle. Just a little something I dreamed up. Now eat. I’ll go tell one of the girls to look for your friend.”

  Once again, I’m too hungry to question much. Venice, Ez, Ash, Argos, and I eat our fill and rest on the grass while the king is gone. We don’t speak, lulled by the ambrosial smells in the warm air, the blue of the sky full of small white clouds, the sway of flowers against our skin. I pick some blossoms and weave them into Ash’s dreadlocks. He seems too drunk to notice. When the king returns, promising he’s sent the bird woman Dark to look for Hex, I agree to race him. “But I don’t have the right clothes,” I say, gesturing to the apricot silk dress I slept in last night.

  He flashes his teeth at me. “You look lovely. But if you’d like you can tear off the hem so it’s easier to run in. There are lots more dresses.”

  I ask him how come there are so many and why he’s given them to me.

  “We have silkworms here, and master weavers. And I told you why. I don’t want to upset you but I’ve known about you for a long time and I know you are my queen.”

  I realize there’s no way to have a logical conversation with him, but then, most things aren’t logical anymore.

  “I’ll style you,” Ash says. “Never fear. You won’t even remember what Lycra was when I’m done with you.” This causes him and Ez to burst into a fit of giggles. I guess the wine eased whatever tension there was between them.

  “Are you guys drunk?” I ask, thinking of Hex. Your eyes look crazy.

  “We’re drunk on love,” Ez says.

  “The Island of Love,” says Ash. “Get it? We’re drunk, on the Island of Love.” He gets down on his knees and rips the hem off the dress so it stops just above my knee with enough extra fabric left to knot between my legs. We use the torn-off fabric to bind my breasts since I still don’t have any undergarments. I notice the king watching me as Ash ties the material over my bust and I look down, hoping I’m not blushing too obviously.

  I didn’t used to be a very fast runner—I was too awkward. Venice was the athlete in the family. But since the Earth Sh
aker I’ve gotten stronger from working out with Hex and Venice, in spite of our meager diet.

  Where is Hex? I don’t like that he hasn’t shown up yet; it makes me jittery. Maybe the run will do me good.

  “Ready, set, go!” Venice calls out and the king and I take off across the meadow.

  The long grasses tickle my shins and the sun shines in my eyes. Eyes! My heart booms blood to my eardrums as I try to keep pace with this man’s long legs. He’s ahead of me and I don’t want him to beat me. I want to show him how strong I am, that he can’t win me over so easily with all his praise and trickery. I move my arms quicker, keeping them close to my sides, my head up, shoulders back.

  Maybe he lets me, I’m not sure, but I catch up with him as we each touch one of Venice’s outstretched hands.

  I collapse to the ground, gasping for breath. The king falls down next to me. His chest is heaving, too, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the smooth indentations of his biceps and pectorals. He rolls over on one elbow and smiles. The disconcerting antlers throw a shadow across my face.

  * * *

  The boy stared down at his sister lying in her pink satin–lined coffin with white lilies all around. Even with her shorn hair she looked like an angel. An angel who had poisoned her three black dogs and killed her snake to keep her company. Her white hands were folded like wings and he managed to slip the pack of cigarettes under them. And then to discreetly snip a lock of her hair and hide it in his pocket. He imagined climbing into the casket with her. It would be dark. They would be there in the dark forever together.

  But no, he was going to be strong. He was going to change things for himself and for his beloved when he finally found her. He was going to learn to use magic and change the world.

  * * *

  “Are you all right?” the king asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to let him know what I’ve just seen or how hard the race was, especially if he let me win.

  “You have something…” He reaches over and brushes a blade of grass off my cheek, cupping my face in his hand, briefly, his eyes on mine.