The Spear Cuts Through Water

by Simon Jimenez

“What would you have me tell this Shan?” There were tears in Araya’s eyes. “I do not know, Keema of the Daware Tribe. What would you tell someone whose forgiveness you sought? Think on that, and when you get there, tell her something kind.”

Moving on was the great desire in this body, no wish to be witness to more pain, but I gave my eyes to the battle anyway. I smoked, and I gave my eyes in hope, hope that this come-together would not end in stopped breath.

“He was not the first bad man to build his checkpoints, and he will not be the last. Your come-together with that one over there this morning proves only how little his death means. More fighting will come. Another emperor will soon be standing in his place, by another name.

He cleared his mind and left it but a temple for his vengeance.

Fathers leave in all sorts of ways. Some of them leave in the dark. Some leave only in their heads, while their bodies remain, staring at the world around them forever distantly. Others fade out over time, like an old photo rubbed raw. Many, gone in an instant.

But the truth of the matter was they fought because Jun was grieving and Keema was terrified and Jun was exhilarated and Keema was joyful and Jun was exhausted and Keema was repulsed. They fought because it was the easiest language they spoke.

Nothing in this world will ever meet me and not want to slit my throat, because I wear the mark of death on my face. Because I had served death proudly.” He looked at Keema. “I envy anyone who can still trust nature. But I am beyond nature’s grace. That bird knows what I am. It can no doubt smell the blood that stains my body.

If only there were a way to prolong the inevitable. If only there were a way to hold a moment in your hands and keep it alive forever.

So I gave him sons, and I gave those sons the power to not only survive in this world, but to take it for themselves. And in this dynasty, I lost myself. I forgot about the Weaver and the Stars and even the Water—the Burn above my head all but a small reminder of how far I had come. All that mattered was my family and throne.

I’d ask myself if things would have been different, had one gotten through; if there had been an empress to answer for all the emperors. If the earth would drown in so much blood had she been there to stop the swinging of the blades.

You can fault the dancer, but more often than not, it is the dance itself that has to change.

I heard him call the Daware man’s name. The Daware man was on a skiff he had cut free from Luubu’s disintegrating ship. The Daware man called his name back. If one listened, one could hear it in their voices. One can tell a lot, even in such a state, by the way someone speaks another’s name.

I asked them if they knew a lullaby. I missed the old songs. But my protectors had lived their lives as warriors in this bloody land, and they confessed to me that they knew no lullabies. The Daware man and Jun, all they knew were war songs. They knew the battle chants. The victory cries. The bloody verse of mercenaries over strong drinks, a lover on their lap. I told them that was fine. A war song would do. Just sing.

But you know as well as any guilty party that no one thought stands alone. That there is a city within you, populated by both high- and lowborn beliefs, interjections, prayers, rantings.

This bath had become a performance, with an audience of one. It was an audience he was glad to perform for.

a hope for a return to normalcy, even if that normalcy was fear and distrust and hunger, for at least the fear, the distrust, the hunger were familiar.

Because otherwise I’m just…me. Some man of poor fortune.

Redemption was out of our reach, but we could at least step toward it, and if we died on that long road, then all the better, for everyone. She said we did more harm than good, sharing this earth with those who deserved it.

has been witness to and has told the tales of crimes of far greater magnitude than that of a boy who decided to live for himself.”

“Judge not the parent who keeps silent to their child’s cry. There are too many reasons in heaven and earth to disappoint the ones we care for.”

“The child did everything he could to help them on their way.

when Keema looked upon the creature’s purple feathers on the creature’s snout, at his fur and tufted ears, he felt pity. Pity for the body of a full-grown man, hunched and apelike. Knuckles pawing at the floor. Sniffing Keema’s feet for acceptance. But that pity curdled when the creature rose to his shaking legs.

Somewhere, long ago, a young boy clawed at the windows to play with his brothers. He whimpered to be included. And now, at the Daware man’s unexpected invitation, he could not help but pant with delight.

With little else to hold on to, we watched the man of poor fortune face the Demon of Joyrock. We were soon to die, but at least, we thought, we would see one more duel before our untimely end.

The two boys, who once wanted nothing more than someone to fight, now faced each other.

he wondered if this was what it was like, to be held, and how sorry he was that this was how he found out, and how glad he was that it was over.

“I do not know if this is a reward,” Keema said. “Or if it is a punishment. But maybe it is neither.” He pressed his forehead against Jun’s. The heat immense. Alive. “Maybe you are just here.”