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“Do we really need to do this?” Mars asked, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, but it’s such a nice idea, isn’t it?” Usagi, who by some weird reason still went by her human name while all of her friends had outgrown theirs, replied, her face aglow and warmed by the roaring fire in front of them. She was dressed in a fluffy pink cape and had her dress prettily draped around her. Her crown was sitting on the floor, forgotten.
“I wouldn’t call sitting outside in November in the middle of the night a nice idea,” Neptune said archly, and buried herself deeper in her floor-length mink coat. As per usual, she refused to sit down until the very last minute.
“And in the company of traitors,” Uranus burst out, her face contorted with rage and contempt. “I mean what, are we all supposed to pretend that these people aren’t just one fucking minute away from murdering us all? AGAIN!”
“Here we go,” Zoisite said softly, sighing, while Jadeite leaned back, arms crossed and eyes gleaming. They were dressed, as always since their return and readmission into the Moon Court’s ranks, in their new uniforms, not a hair out of place, not a button unpolished, not a shoe unshined. “I wasn’t aware we’d done you in, too, Uranus. Come to think of it, where exactly were you when the Dark Kingdom played the game of thrones with your Princess all across Tokyo? Or, in fact, thousands of years ago, when we fucked things up the first time?”
“Jadeite,” Endymion warned, sounding weary, while Uranus shot up from her seat and looked for something to club him to death with. Pluto caught her hand and pulled her down again, exasperated.
As they had done once a month for many months, the Moon Court met in secret in the newly grown woods behind the Crystal Palace. Jupiter had stumbled across the clearing soon after they had guided Crystal Tokyo into being and had marvelled at the perfect circle, the old oaks around it (even though it was a bit of a mystery how they could actually be old, given that this world of theirs was all shiny and new) and of course, the round table with its embedded fire bowl already prepared. There were some tree stumps for sitting, fourteen, to be exact. It should have already told them that their ranks were not yet complete, but the shitennou’s return had nevertheless taken them by surprise, except for possibly Pluto, but you really never knew with her. It was the Queen who had insisted that they should do some sort of team building exercise when it became apparent that the senshi and shitennou would not seamlessly form a functioning court. Since all activities that included a physical component invariably ended with someone getting hurt, Usagi had decreed that once a month, at the time of the full moon, they would hold a story hour, where two speakers could tell a tale of their choosing and everyone else had to listen. And smile and say please and thank you, but that part of the Queen’s decree had somehow failed to catch on.
“Let’s start, shall we,” offered Mercury, checking a small tablet in her gloved hands. “Last time, Jupiter went first and chose Jadeite to follow, so today Jadeite gets to choose who begins our Night of Tales.”
“Oooh, Night of Tales, I like that. Is that the official name now? It sounds so atmospheric,” Usagi smiled, and leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. As per usual, Endymion sat very straight and looked completely out of place.
Mercury looked up and returned the smile. “It’s how Venus put it in the calendar after I told her that ‘fake state function’ wasn’t an option.”
Venus, who had eschewed a gown or uniform in favour of simple and warm hunter’s gear, laughed. “The first name I suggested was ‘Battle of the Bards’, but Mercury vetoed that one, too. She said she didn’t want to induce more fighting, even in name only.”
“Can we please get this over with?” Neptune asked. “Last time, we had to listen for three hours while Jadeite told some cock and bull story about mermaids and sea urchins and we all know that it was just a thinly veiled exploration of how love hurts .” She gave a pointed look in Mars’ direction, who met it with a regal, if somewhat icy stare.
Art by the amazing Lyrhia, "You're 'Piking' My Curiosity", 2019.
Neptune looked away first, and Mars’ lips twitched with the barest hint of satisfaction as she straightened the folds of her red long-sleeved dress. As the fire senshi and a priestess of the light, she didn’t need to bother with warming outerwear. Since their world had changed for good, she hadn’t felt the cold once. And looking at Jadeite across from her, with colour in his cheeks and his jacket unbuttoned, she knew she wasn’t the only one.
“It’s called an extended metaphor, you heathen, ” he quipped, grinned, and then went on to chuck tiny balls of flame into the air before they were prettily subsumed by the campfire.
He looked up once, met Mars’ eyes, and looked at the flames again as if they were the most captivating thing in the world. His cheeks had reddened even more, and this time it wasn’t because of the innate heat of the magical wielder.
“And who shall follow in your literary footsteps, great master?” Zoisite asked and reached for his mug of ale. Jupiter and Nephrite were in charge of refreshments, which meant warming beverages packed by Jupiter, and highly alcoholic ones provided by Nephrite. There were usually some cookies and sandwiches thrown in the mix, too.
Jadeite grinned at his friend. “Well, if some here didn’t much care for my joyous exploration of the human condition, perhaps something more dour would do the trick.”
“Jadeite.” Endymion warned again, this time with more feeling. “You’re so bad,” Usagi scolded him and send an apologetic look in the direction of the next storyteller. “He doesn’t mean it.”
“I am sure that he does,” Kunzite replied, sitting up straighter. “Very well.” He cleared his throat. “I have prepared a tale I recently remembered from the time of Endymion I.”
“Oh, so the SilMil?” Jupiter asked, refilling Nephrite’s mug, who looked halfway asleep after a hard day’s work with the agricultural unit.
Kunzite smiled at her. “No. Our Endymion, even at the time of the Silver Millennium, wasn’t the first. He was, or strictly speaking, still is, Endymion the XII.”
“Don’t I feel special,” the king offered, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Oh look, he can joke!” Jadeite exclaimed, taking what was clearly the last swig from a silver flask he had hidden in his boots.
“You really are the worst,” Usagi chided him. “Good one, love,” she said to Endymion, and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Will they be this lovey-dovey for all eternity?” Jadeite asked Pluto, but for once without any bite. His devotion to Usagi was absolute and had prompted Venus to joke more times than one that he would never have turned traitor if he’d been in the Moon princess’ envoy rather than that of her Terran counterpart. The only people who could laugh about this were Jadeite, Zoisite, Usagi and herself, while Kunzite had gotten up and left the room the first time she’d said it and Uranus had shattered the glass she was holding.
Pluto smiled down at her wine. “I don’t prophesy and as you well know, I do not reveal that which is hidden by the mists of time.”
“I take that as a yes,” Jadeite stated, and Usagi preened. Pluto shrugged. “Take it how you may.”
“I really hate to repeat myself,” Neptune said once again, “but can we please, please get started? Oh, how I envy Saturn. To be perennially excused from this nonsense…”
“That’s because she ends worlds,” Zoisite said in a cautious tone, “and that’s not to be taken too lightly.”
“She’s my daughter,” Neptune shot back, ire in her aquamarine eyes. “Do not speak of her burden to me, you reborn---”
“Easy there,” Nephrite interjected, his brown hair warmed by the fire. “Let’s not say something we all might regret, alright?” He yawned. “So, commander, story time. Let’s get this thing on the road.”
Kunzite nodded and began. He didn’t much care for full assemblies of the Moon Court, since tempers tended to run a little hot, but he had a soft spot for the monthly storytelling. He liked to read, especially about art and history, yet had such little time for it that Usagi’s literary initiative was an unexpected treat for him. Four times, he had been called to tell a story, and he was always prepared, always hoping to find something that would unify this unusual group and appeal to even the most diverging characters. This time, he was sure to have found the right thing.
“As I said, this is a tale from the time of Endymion I., and even then it was believed to be old. A man wen--- ”
“Once upon a time,” Venus interrupted, stretching like a cat.
Kunzite turned to her. “Excuse me?”
“Fairy tales begin with ‘once upon a time,’” she repeated, and turned her collar up against the cold, mischief in her eyes. “Isn’t that what you’re going for?”
He gave her a level look. “I specified the time. I do not need to say that it was once upon a generic time, when I have informed you precisely what time we are talking about.”
“Wasn’t really all that precise,” Jadeite joined in. “When you say that ‘it was believed to be old’. That’s far from precise and---”
Not bothering with Jadeite, Kunzite kept looking at Venus. “Can I proceed?”
She shrugged. “Sure. It’s your story, isn’t it?”
Staring at the fire, Kunzite paused for a second before returning to his tale. “ A man went to the sea. He had lived in the desert at the center of the world all his life, and in his heart, he knew he should live somewhere else. Surrounded by golden sand and blinding blue skies, he yearned for the unknowable blue-green of the ocean, for the grey clouds and the great winds that moved them across the sky like figures on a playing field. But wherever he looked, all he saw was sand. So, when still a young boy, barely away from his mother’s warm embrace, he set off east and walked and walked and walked, but after years of steady progress, he realised that the sea wasn’t to the East, so he made his way back, leaving lush green fields and enchanted meadows behind. When he returned to his village, he was a boy no longer.
He stayed for a while, but the call was too strong, and off he went again, this time to the South. The world became even hotter, more golden still, and the animals larger than any he had ever seen. As the relentless sun turned his skin a deep bronze and burned years into the corners of his eyes, he realised once more that he had walked into the wrong direction. With an aching heart, he returned home only to find that in the years he had been gone, his parents had died, a war had ravaged the lands, and his old acquaintances were beginning to rebuild the place he’d been born. Feeling that it would be both folly and treason to try his luck a third time, he stayed. He helped rebuild, regrow what little grew in his desert home, and even married. And yet, in his heart, he heard it. The siren song of the sea, loud like the crashing waves during a storm, sweet like the tea his wife made him, and strong like the monsters he had felt roaming underneath the sand torrents all the way south. But he stayed. And stayed. And stayed.
Until he did not not.
Stealing away like a thief in the night, he set off west, hoping to find his heart’s desire at last.
The West was wild, and dark, and green, oh so green. The tallest trees grew spindly and lush into the sky, leaving little light on the narrow forest trails underneath. The animals he saw were small and fast, looking both friendly and clever as they darted around him with curious speed. The animals he heard were anything but, looming large and threatening in the shadows, slow in their movement and wary in his presence. The man breathed deeper here, and felt the burden of guilt and being born in the wrong place lift ever so slightly. As he made his way deeper into the forest, following little rivulets of water sneaking their way alongside mossy stones, finding a river so wide he could not cross it, he was sure that at last, he was on the right track.
He was not.
Now a man far beyond his best years, his hair turning grey, then white, he realised that the sea was out of his reach. Knowing that his remaining years were now far fewer than the fingers on his hands, he stood still. What was he to do? Go back, retrace his steps, and try to head north from the center? Or veer off his path, leave the oh so promising river behind and try to find north and the sea it would hold from where he was now?
It was a fool’s errand, but then his whole life had been one, chasing after something he would probably never have and foregoing many a good thing along the way. Squaring his shoulders, he began his final march.
And as he came closer to his final year, knowing in his old bones that death had begun to walk in his shadow, he could smell it. Tangy, salty, and wild; the sea calling to its greatest lover from across the mountains behind which it lay hidden. He came to a halt, surveying the steep ridges ahead of him, and feeling the thousands of miles behind him. And even though his will was strong, his body wasn’t any longer. Gone were the wild years of his childhood and youth, spent wandering the East, gone were his adult years, burning in the South, and gone too were his last years, when he was greying in the West and finally, stepping into the North.
His legs gave out, and the man fell to his knees. A hand came to rest on his shoulders, skeletal, but kind. “Breathe, friend. Breathe that which you love so dearly.”
And the man took a breath, a final, deep breath that tasted of the sea. ”
Kunzite stopped. The fire had burned down, leaving them sitting in the darkness, embers glowing like cat’s eyes in the night. It was the silver moon, pale and full in the dark sky above them, that now illuminated their faces.
“Well told, my friend,” Endymion said quietly and put a bracing hand on his commander’s shoulder.
Usagi sniffed, and Kunzite thought he saw Mars of all people wipe a tear from her eyes. His fellow shitennou looked sunken in thought, and Pluto was nodding to herself. Venus however tilted her head and gave him a shrewd look, the moonlight catching in her eyes.
“A story from the times of Endymion I, huh?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Kunzite said simply, and reached for his cup, only to find it almost empty. Jadeite produced a second silver flask from somewhere and filled it up, mumbling something under his breath that sounded like praise.
“Of course, there’s a big mistake in there.”
“Uh oh,” Jadeite murmured, and Zoisite elbowed him in the ribs.
“Oh, is there?” Kunzite replied, and took a sip from his cup. It was some sort of moonshine and tasted like acid going down. He kept his face as neutral as if he had been drinking water.
“Of course,” Venus repeated. “You started with, ‘A man went to the sea,’ but he didn’t really get there, now did he? The sea was behind the mountains, and he was in front of them. As I said, mistake.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her deep blue-green eyes. Eyes like the sea. A shiver ran down his spine. “But it’s a nice story anyway.” She examined her nails and from her expression, found her manicure lacking. “Thanks for sharing.” Venus gave him a careless look as if he were dirt under her shoes. He took another sip, but the taste didn’t improve.
He set his cup down. “It is not my story, Venus, it belongs to our forefathers.”
“Or foremothers,” she shot back sweetly, crossing her arms.
“Or those,” he conceded. “I can only recount the tale as I heard it thousands of years ago. Forgive me if I don’t edit it to fit your taste.”
“Do something,” Endymion pleaded with Usagi, who blinked, a look of slow recognition on her beautiful face. “Oh wait,” she said, and looked at Venus. “Wait a minute, I have heard that story before.”
Kunzite broke his stare away from Venus and turned to the Queen. “Perhaps Endymion told it to you all those years ago, my Queen. It is one of the foundational texts of his kingdom.” He offered her a small, but genuine smile. “You do have a rather exceptional memory then.”
Usagi shook her head. “No, no, that’s not it.”
Venus snorted. “Nope, that’s not it in the slightest. Usagi is love and goodness incarnate, but her memory is shoddy at best. She wouldn’t remember a story some boy told her once in another life.”
“Some boy?” Endymion repeated and shot Venus a dark look she completely ignored.
Panicked, Mercury reached for her tablet and typed something in. Venus glared at her. “Don’t you write Tale of the Sea next to Kunzite’s name, Mercury. It’s not his.” Kunzite kept his eyes on Venus, trying to anticipate her next move while figuring out the source of her ire.
“I think I’ve missed some of the plot here,” Nephrite said, looking more awake than he had all evening. “Do you know what this is about?” he turned to Jupiter, who looked equally astounded. “Not a clue.”
It was Neptune who spoke next, her voice clear and ringing amidst the kerfuffle.
“Kunzite, nominate Venus for the next round.”
“I’d rather not,” Kunzite replied, his temper finally snapping. “And I don’t take orders from you, Neptune,” he added more evenly. He felt Endymion glance at him.
Venus took an angry breath, looked like she was about to say something, and got up instead. “I’m done for the night. Enjoy your next round of storytelling.” And turning on her heel, she stalked from the circle and disappeared into the woods.
“What the everlasting hell?” Nephrite wondered, looking at her retreating form as she was swallowed by the trees. “She’s got a bit of temper,” Jupiter said, staring after her friend. “She doesn’t mean to hurt,” she offered to Kunzite.
Kunzite looked ready to disagree, but instead inclined his head to Jupiter and remained silent. Venus always meant to hurt. Despite her seemingly joyful disposition, the senshi of love was the sharpest knife in the Queen’s arsenal and the one most likely to cut.
“You really should have chosen her,” Neptune insisted. She sat with her legs daintily crossed, one foot twirling circles and showing her very expensive hand-made shoes that were clearly designed with a ballroom and not a nighttime meeting in the wilderness in mind. Jadeite had once grumbled that he sometimes felt like choking the superiority out of the violinist’s slim neck, and while Kunzite had severely reprimanded him, at this particular point, he couldn’t help but agree.
“And why is that?” he instead asked, managing to look only minimally interested.
Neptune shrugged. “Nominate me, and perhaps I’ll tell you.”
He smiled tersely and looked down. “I don’t much enjoy those games you like to play.”
As always, it was Usagi who brokered peace at times of war.
“I loved the story, Kunzite. Oh, it’ll keep me up at night, not knowing where I’ve heard it before.” She sighed and reached for her husband’s wrist, checking the time on his watch. “It’s getting rather late. Who shall tell tonight’s second story?”
“Mercury, would you do us the honour?” Kunzite asked respectfully.
Everyone except Kunzite, Zoisite and Mercury looked pained. Mercury, while an avid reader, hated being a storyteller herself. She had offered to act as their recordkeeper in a bid to get out of storytelling duty, but Usagi had vetoed that suggestion emphatically. Feeling overwhelmed, Mercury had done what Mercury did best: prepare. So she had learned several novels by heart, verbatim, a feat that would have impressed all of them, had she not chosen only the most reputable novels in a bid to disguise her actual reading preferences, which were a wide array of slightly dirty romance novels. So far, she had treated them to the complete Moby Dick, narrated over several long nights, which had put even Pluto’s perfect poker face in jeopardy, and the beginning of Proust’s Swann’s Way, whose reception had been so abysmal that Usagi had let her cop out of finishing it. Mercury, to her own relief, hadn’t been chosen since.
“I… erm, I don’t think I still remember the rest of Swann’s Way,” she murmured, and checked something on her device. “But… ah yes, here it is, I just need the first sentence and then I’m good, one moment, please.” Jadeite and Nephrite exchanged wary looks, but remained quiet. When Endymion had attempted to retell them a classic, one of Dickens’ most preachy works, they had hackled him mercilessly. Mercury however was too kind to insult and definitely too shy to bully.
“When Jadeite told us the story about the mermaids, I thought perhaps we could continue with the ocean and the sea.” She looked up from her tablet, colour rising in her cheek. “I’m quite partial to it.” Neptune gave her a friendly, but suffering smile. “More Moby Dick?”
“Oh no, we finished that one. Something a little more daring. And shorter.”
“Oh good,” Jupiter said with feeling and blushed. “Sorry. It’s just---”
“I know,” Mercury said, “I know, I’m sorry! So for tonight, just in case, I have prepared Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.”
Jadeite sat up. “Good choice. My kind of man, Hemingway.”
“Wasn’t he an alcoholic with severe depression who ended his own life?” Mars asked pointedly from her place across the fire and stretched out her hand, calling the flames back to life.
Jadeite shrugged. “But one hell of a writer. Hit it, Mercury.”
Mercury closed her eyes, something she always did when reciting by heart, and began: “He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.”
***
They finished in the early hours of the morning, and headed for their various rooms and apartments within the palace. Holding hands, Endymion and Usagi ambled into the center of the palace, with Uranus and Neptune, who were on guard duty for the day, trailing behind. Pluto disappeared into swirls of mist, prompting a colourful curse from Jadeite, who then headed for the apartment in the East Tower that he shared with Zoisite. The youngest shitennou lagged behind, softly speaking to Mercury, who looked rather proud at her successful turn as storyteller. Nephrite and Jupiter likewise made their way from the clearing together, heads bent towards one another, arms linked.
That left Kunzite and Mars. “Shall I escort you to your rooms?” he offered, and she accepted with a shrug.
They walked down the path, now illuminated by the first rays of the morning sun. Birds began their daily concert, and as they walked, flowers turned their heads towards the light.
“Beautiful”, Kunzite muttered, taking it all in. It was in moments like this that he couldn’t help breathing a little more easily.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to enjoy these things,” Mars mused, and looked at him curiously.
Kunzite continued to look around and there was a smile on his face. “I am grateful that we received another chance to do our duty. And grateful also that we get to live in a world as beautiful as this.” After a pause, he added, “it reminds me of Elysion.”
“I’ve never been. You don’t go there anymore, do you? None of you.”
Kunzite met her eyes. “We cannot. It is a place for the pure of heart. It will not open to us, not after all that we have done.” The path narrowed, and he stopped and motioned for Mars to go ahead. From behind her, she heard his grave voice. “Unlike Endymion, Elysion does not forgive.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mars muttered and carefully stepped over the roots of a large elm tree that had certainly not been there last night when they’d made their way to the fire.
“Do you believe in forgiveness then?” Kunzite asked and stepped to her side again as the path widened once more and the palace came into view.
“I believe in regret, which is almost as good,” Mars answered and stepped onto the first tile of pink marble that led straight to the main gate.
They walked for a few more minutes, and while their steps had been muffled by the soft forest grounds, now the sound of her heels and his boots rang loudly across the tiles, announcing their return. Mars quickened her step as the wide gates came into view. The tears she’d shed at his story seemed all but forgotten. The world was almost back to business.
“Can you tell me where I might find Venus?” he asked before their paths would diverge for good. It was a question both knew had been building for a while and was now forced into the bright morning light and stripped from its forest secrecy. He hated to ask, and she wasn’t keen to answer.
“Do you want to go looking for the sea, desert dweller?” she asked and turned to him one last time. “Remember how your tale ended.”
“I would appreciate any clue you might be able to provide.”
Mars looked at the sky, trying to mask her growing impatience. “I have just given you one.”
“I do not have the time to scout east, south, west, and north, Mars.”
“Men are such foolish creatures,” she muttered and turned away from him. “Remember the story, Kunzite. Those who seek shall find.”
And she strode through the gates, every step a queen of a long forgotten kingdom.
***
In the story, the man only found the sea in the least likely location, the very last place he visited. Following this logic, Kunzite rationalised, Venus would be in the least likely place, too. Knowing she had meetings in a few hours, he doubted she would leave the palace grounds.
The least likely place…
Frowning, he set off.
***
There was the smell of something burned.
“Fuck,” someone cursed, and Kunzite pushed open the door to the large palace kitchens.
Venus, having shed her jacket, stood in front of what might have been a cake, but now looked like a creature someone had tortured and then set on fire.
“I would advise against eating that,” Kunzite offered and stepped into the room. Carefully, he unbuttoned his cape and draped it over one of the barstools in the corner, repeating the process with his jacket. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he walked towards her and leaned over to examine the result of her rage. His shoulder brushed against hers.
“What were you trying to make?”
“Happy cake.”
He frowned. “Happy cake?”
She rolled her eyes. “Happy cake, Kunzite. Cake that makes people happy. It’s supposed to be pink and light and fluffy and should taste of strawberries and marshmallows.”
“Ah. Yes.” They both looked down at the misbegotten heap of burnt dough.
“I actually know a fairly failsafe recipe for dark chocolate cake. Would you like me to teach you?”
“No,” she said with feeling. “I would absolutely not.”
“I do not recall you ever saying no to cake before.”
“You do not recall quite a few things,” Venus replied with a bite and Kunzite gave her a brief once over before deciding on a temporary retreat.
He stepped away from the counter and began to methodically tidy up the kitchen Venus had wrecked. He put the remaining milk and eggs back into the large fridge, loaded up the dishwasher, tossed a handful of badly burned marshmallows and smashed strawberries, and finally wiped down all counters. When he had polished them to a shine, he looked around.
“What are you looking for?” Venus asked, who still stared at her cake with a sullen expression. It was the lone sign of carnage in the now pristine kitchen.
“Coffee machine,” he replied tersely. The lack of sleep and the brewing battle had begun to affect even his mood at last. With Uranus and Neptune and their neverending pettiness and rage, he knew how to cope. He was able to call Jadeite to order, at least sometimes, knew which way to tackle Nephrite’s rare but dangerous moods, and how to lure Zoisite out of his academic shell and into action. Mars was best treated with a combination of calculated honesty and careful politeness, as was Pluto. Jupiter and Mercury usually responded well to reminders of their shared goals, but with Venus, especially when she was in a mood, there was just no winning, no planning, no manipulating. She was like a tempest and he was never sure whether the foundations of his house were strong enough to withstand her onslaught once she really got going or if the whole thing was going to tumble into the sea.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Venus finally sighed.
“Where the machine is or why you are mad at me?” he asked with his last remains of patience.
“The latter.”
“I really do not.” He met her eyes and felt something give.
She walked away from the counter, opened a cabinet, and produced a small and battered moka pot and a small metal tin. “Strong?”
“Very much so.”
Venus carefully prepared the pot and set it on the stove, turning the gas on and adding a small spark from her fingertips to light it. “Made with love,” she said, smiling grimly at her own joke. Wisely, he remained silent.
Kunzite sat down at the counter of the kitchen isle, and Venus soon placed two small espresso cups in front of them and sat down opposite him. She pushed a sugar bowl towards him. “I know you like your beverages disgustingly sweet. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
Snorting, he added three spoonfuls of sugar to his espresso and took a sip. “It really is strong,” he said with appreciation. Their eyes met and it was she who looked away first, gazing around the kitchen.
“After the night we had, I thought that might be a good idea.”
“So. There’s something you want to tell me?” He took another sip, feeling the sharpness return to his mind.
“Not particularly, no, but I think there’s something you should know before you keep making a fool of yourself.”
“You’re bordering on rude, Venus. It’s the kind of comment I’d expect from Neptune or Uranus, but not from you.”
“That should teach you to think that you can correctly anticipate my behaviour, oh great general.”
Venus drank her espresso in one unsweetened gulp. “It really is strong. Good god.” She closed her eyes and screwed up her nose. When she opened them again, there was a gleam to them that he had been missing before.
“Now, once upon a time ,” she began apropos of nothing and Kunzite felt a smile creep onto his face.
“Is it storytime again?”
“Hush and learn, foolish man.”
He raised an eyebrow and she laughed. “Seriously. Hush now. Listen. Learn. Be a fool no longer.”
Finding that with a twinkle in her eyes, her words had lost their bite, he acquiesced. “Proceed.”
“Once upon a time,” she began again, “a man wanted to go and see the sea. But he dwelled in the very heart of Venus, in one of the highest towers of Magellan castle, and no matter where he looked, all he saw was sand.
He looked east, and saw sand.
He looked west, and saw sand.
He looked south, and saw sand.
And finally, he looked north, and saw sand.
But in his heart, he knew that somewhere on the planet, there was a sea, wild and beautiful, untamed and glorious, unknowable and all-knowing. A sea that would give life and love and all that man desired.
So he climbed down all the stairs from the highest tower to the temple hidden underneath the castle. It was forbidden to all but the royal family, the oldest temple on the planet, secret and guarded, and it was there that the man prayed to the Goddess for wisdom. For the man was the king, and the goddess, so rumour had it, was his ancestor.
And for four days, one for each direction, east, west, south, and north, he prayed. And finally, on the fifth day, the Goddess answered his prayer by whispering on the wind that smelled like the sea. And she told him to go find the waves and his heart’s desire would be fulfilled and Venus would prosper like no other planet.
And on that day, the king left the castle and headed east. He walked on foot and with each mile, he dropped some of the burdens he was carrying. He left his crown behind after the first hundred miles, his sceptre after the next, and his stately cloak after that. When he arrived at the most eastern point of his kingdom, he sank to his knees on the red sand of Venus, and prayed to the Goddess once more. And because he was her kin, and she was benevolent, she answered, and rewarded his journey with a sapling he planted in the red ground.
All at once, the East began to change and became lush and green where before, it had been barren. But the Goddess did not bring the sea to him and so the king rose and knew his journey was not over.
So he walked into the other direction, all the way to the west, leaving the vibrant greenery of the East behind, passing through the golden heart of his kingdom, barely stopping to exchange words and orders with his regent.
He walked on foot and with each mile, he added years to his life. He left his youth behind after the first hundred miles, his best years after the next, and the colour of his hair after that. When he arrived at the most western point of his kingdom, he again sank to his knees on the red sand of Venus, and prayed to the goddess, for there was no sea in sight. And because he was dedicated, and she was kind, she answered, and rewarded his second journey with a branch that he planted in the red ground.
And all at once, the West too began to change, with massive dark trees rising into the sky and mountains dusted in snow shooting from the ground. And the air was crisp and fragrant, but the king knew that he had not yet found what his heart desired.
So he walked back to his castle and arrived an old man. Another planet had threatened war, and the king had to stay, but knew in his heart that his task was yet unfinished. He ruled, and he married, and he fought, and when his kingdom was safe once more, he left his wife behind, and headed south.
He walked on foot and with each mile, he lost something that made him special. His laughter after the first hundred miles, his wit after the next, and his virility after that. And when he arrived at the most southern part of his kingdom, he fell more than sank to his knees and once more prayed to the Goddess. And because he was demanding and she was cruel, she did not answer, and the king got up again and the South remained as it had always been, burning red hot and dangerous underneath the three suns of Venus.
Almost beaten, aged, and forever changed, the king set off for his last journey. He felt death walk behind him in the long shadows that stretched out on the coppery Venusian soil as his life drew to a close. And with each step, he left something behind.
His hearing after the first hundred miles, his sense of taste after the next, and most of his eyesight after that. And yet, he persevered, for he had dreamt of the sea, and underneath his castle, in the hidden temple, the Goddess had spoken to him, and he knew she would not let him leave this world and enter the next without giving him what he needed. He would bring the sea to the barren lands of Venus and his house would prosper.
So he dragged himself north, the world before him a blur, until he reached the most northern point of his kingdom. And as he took a deep breath, he could smell it; tangy, salty, and wild.
And behind him, Death stepped closer and put a skeletal hand on his shoulders. “It is enough,” the old king rasped. “It is enough, to smell it. Someone else will find it. I fear I have no more to give.” He wheezed. “Venus will prosper. It is the Goddess’s will and so it shall be.”
And Death withdrew his hand and the Goddess appeared in his stead. She walked around and stood in front of the king, and he thought he saw waves lapping at her feet. And he thought he heard the sea crash and rage. And he thought he felt a wildness in his heart. But he was old, and saw no more, and heard no more, and felt no more.
And then the Goddess kissed his head and said clearly, “breathe, my friend, breathe” and the king took a deep breath and found himself young again, found himself seeing again, and found himself hearing again. And the Goddess in front of him rose from the waves and beckoned him to stand. He took her hand and looked in her eyes, blue-green as the water that had suddenly sprung from the red ground.
And the North of Venus turned into a wild sea, untamed, unowned, and everloved and it is there that all children of Venus are blessed after birth, and it is there all children of Venus go at their lives’ end. It is where she calls and where she answers, and only the worthy find her.
And as the sea rose and raged, the king fell in love, his wife forgotten. And loving the look of love etched onto the king’s face, the Goddess too felt her heart stir.
And the king returned to Magellan with a new queen by his side, and his house did prosper, for she had chosen to bless it once more. And from that day onwards, all her royal children were daughters, with waves lapping at their feet, and the sea in their blue-green eyes, while all of the old queen’s children were sons, with eyes the colour of the red sands of Venus. And they called the Goddess Venus, for she was the planet and the planet was she, an everlasting raging and loving bond, and all Venusian temples held, at their heart, a wide pool filled to the brim and beyond with sea water.
And only when the Goddess has left the world for good will the Venusian sea be swallowed into the red ground again, and the three suns will burn the world into nothing. So pray to the barren sands and the wild waters, children, and be thankful for the king who dared and the Goddess who answered.”
Silence fell between them as Venus ended her story and Kunzite looked into her blue-green eyes.
The kitchen had fallen eerily quiet. The fridge had stopped its low buzz, the clock had stopped ticking, and the dishwaver had stopped pumping water. All was silent. “So yes. It is a foundational text. But not from the realm of Endymion the fucking first.”
He held her gaze. “I apologize.”
Venus drew in a haughty breath. She seemed taller than she had been before, her hair more golden, her eyes a deeper blue. Kunzite had to fight the urge to look down at her feet to check for traces of waves lapping at them.
“I accept.”
After a while, as if she were a teacher and he her student, she asked: “Questions?”
He chuckled. “You may think me foolish, but I am not. I have nothing to say.”
“I think you brave, not cowardly, so come on, say your piece. I can tell that there’s something on the tip of the your tongue.”
“So you can presume to read my mood, but I cannot do the same with you?”
“Of course,” Venus said, genuinely surprised. “So?”
He thought for a moment. “Your tale is crueler than mine. And do I recall correctly that the king returns home and now has two queens and two lines of royal offspring?”
Her mouth twitched. “Oh, you old prude, of course you would focus on that. You should know that Venusians don’t believe in monogamy.”
He arched a brow. “I also recall that this is a conversation we had before. A very long time ago. Do you care to revisit it?”
“God, no,” Venus emphatically said. “It was tedious the first time around. And I disagree: it is not more cruel. He is awarded his heart’s desire, Venus prospers, and there is a little more love and a lot more water in the world. Always a good thing.”
“Is there still?” he asked quietly and Venus looked down. “No. The Venusian sea is gone, as is its civilization. It died alongside Serenity’s mother and is not to be reborn.” She toyed with her cup and its saucer before pushing them away. “The three suns however still burn brightly. I suppose they always will.”
It seemed that there was little to say after that. A semblance of peace had been restored, albeit a melancholic one. They would meet to fight another day, as they always did. He got up and picked up his jacket and cape. Venus got up too, leaving their two cups on the table. She grabbed her jacket from the chair she’d thrown it onto earlier this morning, or perhaps late last night. Time was always hard to tell during the Night of Tales.
He held open the door for her and she breezed through. “Here’s your homework, general,” she called over his shoulder with a hard voice, not bothering to wait for him as she strode away. “One, find a foundational text that wasn’t stolen from a planet yours later went to war with, and two,” she stopped before turning into the next passage, seemingly making some decision, not turning around. There was a moment of absolute stillness and the man wondered whether he should go north to find his heart’s desire at last. Somewhere in the distance, waves lapped against a shore, and the air began to smell of salt and sea foam.
Venus squared her shoulders. “Two,” she repeated, “bring me some of that cake you mentioned.”
And blowing him a kiss over her shoulder, she walked away.
***
The End