Take You Wonder By Wonder
Of the things Ceska had found fascinating in the human world, the smells were by far the strongest. Their first experience had been just twenty paces from the shore, trembling like a limbless octopus on their new-formed feet, and the torrent of smells had bowled them over until their nose finally acclimatised enough that they could feel the gravel cutting into their fresh knees. They had not known, then, where or why they came from; now, four months in, stepping off from the merchant ship they’d paid to ferry them to this market town, Ceska could identify rich topsoil, the sea-salt of dye, and on top of it all the irreplicable rank of humans living atop each other in an era that had forgotten aqueducts.
Along with this new sense came certain liabilities; Ceska sorely regretted leaving the ornate perfume bottles they’d deemed too impractical to bring with them, as apparently they were rarely exported here, and they were forced to use bitter herbs in alcohol in the local fashion to keep themselves from choking underneath the urban stench. Perhaps inevitably, their appetite had shifted as well — Ceska couldn’t recall particularly caring about what their food tasted like before (and in fact they were beginning to suspect that their old body’s capabilities barely stretched to distinguishing blood from brine) and yet each time they bit into another flamboyantly decorated dish and the taste and smell of spices flooded their palate they couldn’t imagine ever having lived without, for the novelty if nothing else.
Everything was so vivid here. When Ceska had slid towards the shore for the very first time, the moonlight bathed everything in shades of muted color, different again from how they had seen it as a vetehi, but the changes didn’t stop there. Bright metals and gleaming jewelry shone brighter under the blinding light of the sun than they ever had in the pale sunlit water of the Celebration, which was one thing; the kaleidoscopic fabric hung up across the brick-red walls during a village festival, providing a violently clashing backdrop for the sweating and laughing villagers hurling fistfuls of pigmented powder at each other until their twisting bodies disappeared in a riot of color, was something else entirely, something that Ceska thought could take them a thousand years to name. It made them think that humans, for all their unselfconscious and foolish pride, had created something worth preserving.
It was both easy and inconceivable to believe their twin was here. In their place, armed with ancient jewelry enough to live a hundred years in luxury, Ceska thought they could have been content enough to settle down and build their reputation, to hone their new experiences as they had their treasures. But their twin had grown fractious and unsettled with each passing season long before the Queen had announced Ceska’s impending coronation, and no blade nor metal nor challenge from their various suitors had ever slowed it down; each passing day brought new dismay over how little they had known their sibling, if they ever had at all, and the ever-present pang of guilt hung heavy in their chest when they thought wistfully of home.
When the waters grew warm the Celebration hosted hundreds of vetehi. The Queen valued value itself, in others as herself, and so the dancers would gyrate and dance in the courtyard and the marred warriors would smear oil over their scars so the marks of their success would shine, Ceska there to observe at their mother’s right hand. It was tradition for the strongest to duel at the height of the midsummer season, invigorated under the warming rays of the sun, and their twin had begged the Consort to let them join since they were old enough to be shown to the masses. They had watched their twin practice coiling their unhardened scales outwards in the jousting stance, visibly checking themselves before exploding out towards their practice opponent for the day. And Ceska had been there in the courtyard when the Queen called out for challengers, once, twice, for any willing whose gems were set, and met no reply. There was no fighting that year, nor the next nor the one after, until their twin did not appear even as the tide of competitors came in.
Was that where they had gone wrong? If Ceska had convinced their mother to take action then, had encouraged their twin to fight harder, would they never have turned to land to find what they were looking for? They would never know, now, and as they paid the price for their ignorance the chance of finding their twin was drifting further and further away. And yet, when they had lain entwined as hatchlings after a long day of polishing weapons and poring over ancient legends, smooth coils pressed together for comfort, their twin had spoken of faraway lands with such wonder, and said that they would go there one day and show them all what they were made of. The last thing before Ceska closed their eyes had been their smile, pointy baby fangs glinting like stars in the dark.
Remembering the wonder and wanting in their tone kept Ceska’s despair, which flowed with the moonlight that shone through the window of their quarters and ebbed with the light of dawn, finally at bay. As they pushed old regrets aside, they recalled that they had an invitation at a noble house tomorrow to the wedding of one Lord and Lady Adelgard — the area was just far enough from the city that all of the surrounding aristocracy would surely be invited to showcase their wealth and social standing, and Ceska’s collar itched in anticipation at the opportunity to question them all. If there was the slightest possibility that it would help them find their twin, they had to go; they had to trust that their long work would surely pay dividends.
One way or another, they would find them. Ceska had to hold onto that, if nothing else, and the thought stayed with them until they finally slipped into sleep.