Breaking The Surface

Lukas pushed a finger through the sand, watching the grains tumble, feeling the burn through his callouses. Scooping up a hot handful, he weighed it and rubbed it into his palm. Becoming a connoisseur of sand had never been one of his goals. Of course, neither had ruling a kingdom, fleeing a coup, averting a war, or conniving with the 'enemy' against his own Grand Vizier, and those were nonetheless experiences he now had. After slogging through the deserts of Abadan with the grit of the waste burrowing between his clothing and body til he'd wondered if going naked might be more comfortable, the sensation of it had lodged in his mind, refusing to be brushed away.

It hadn't occurred to him that he would voluntarily drag the memory back. It had also been a surprise to find that the texture of one desert could be so different from another. What he held in his hand was not the same as what had been ground into his life in Abadan.

With a sigh and a wry smile he let the sand sift and fall through his fingers. Even the same desert could have different consistencies of ground up stone, but he had precious few things to go on.

He shot the horizon a determined smirk and turned back to the caravan. He actually had an official job aside from drifter and storyteller. Camp lackey was hardly his most impressive position, but it did have the distinction of being something he worked hard at. Kayim would be very disappointed. If it meant he would see the expression in person, Lukas would sweat through the hottest portions of the day with only incidental whining.

The Camp Master was an enormous man, from side to side, with a constant smile and a slow laugh. He viewed everyone in the caravan with good-natured humor, Lukas included. He also never dished Lukas more than a half ladle of whatever the camp meal was. To get anywhere near a full stomach, Lukas had to wheedle more food with highly detailed and adventurous tales.

Those in the camp had widely varying tastes, but he could find something to fit every appetite. Be it political, rollicking, pathetic, fantastic, or tender, he could relate it all with the particulars and fine points that only someone with first hand experience could give. The words on his tongue were as real as the food he was trying to get into his belly.

Shadows and chill deepened around the communal fire as the desert heat gave it up for the night. His voice threw color across the darkening gloom as he let his thoughts jump across the distance he was trying to cross. What would they have done since he toppled head over heels off the side of a cliff? Admittedly, that was a common precursor to being dead, and even if they wouldn't be finding his body they might assume that tippy boulder had accomplished what Shugdad hadn't.

On the other hand, Lukas hadn't been all that tight-lipped about how he'd ended up outside Shirazan in the first place, being the type who disliked keeping things quiet that exhibited his own cleverness, made others laugh, or simply kept their attention. He was worried about the Shirazan capital and Abadan at large. Things had been going surprisingly well before his untimely plunge into the sea. Kayim had been even more reluctant than Lukas to take an active role in the influencing of the kingdom, but he understood the politics and culture far better. The advantages of being native born.

If Kayim supposed Lukas dead, the public versifier might put some effort into enacting the changes Lukas had hoped to incorporate. If Kayim thought Lukas alive, he'd likely put a number of resources into retrieving the lost ruler so he could escape the responsibilities that would all too predictably fall to the king's most trusted adviser. Either outcome would be acceptable.

It was possible that a new king might have been found, but the usual source of that, Locman, was no longer the enthusiastic adherent of astrology he had been Lukas arrived in Abadan. The man was now more likely to recommend personal reflection and fact consideration rather than card consultation.

There was always Nur-Jehan to consider as well. The very first person he'd met as he stumbled across an unfamiliar beach after being thrown from a hostile ocean. Neither of them had made a favorable first impression, but her face with its yellow eyes had stuck with him ever since. She was among the very last that he'd seen of Abadan. Determined, unwavering eyes, racing toward him as he fell with the same defiance of logic that had her ready to stand her ground and fight an entire palace when all she had at her disposal were sofa cushions.

Lukas paused for a moment in the tale he was weaving, laughing to drive away the pain. He could imagine Nur-Jehan coming after him, but after everything they'd been through to make sure Abadan and Bishangar wouldn't be at one another's throats, he could also see her adhering to the responsibility part of being queen.

She might send Haki though. Lukas grinned and let the tone of his tale turn chuckle worthy. That boy could talk incessantly and still not let slip a single secret. He was also royally acknowledged as the best tracker in Bishangar, and even those who claimed it seemed to find the fact mildly amusing. Regardless, it could boost the chances the Lukas and Haki would run into eachother.

That was assuming that any of them were more than a conjured dream by Battisto. Lukas ended his story a touch more abruptly than was artful, but his audience seemed to enjoy it and he got enough to eat to feel comfortable in his midsection.

The traders spread out amongst the tents or rolled up in blankets. Cleaning up after the meal and tending the fire through the night were among Lukas' many duties. Allowing the flames to burn low let him see the brightness scattered across the sky. He could remember Nur-Jehan saying that the people of Bishangar were very close to the stars. It was a statement he hadn't put much stock in upon first hearing. However, on the high crags and cliffs, when the sky seemed as full of twinkling points of light as its gem studded caverns, and looked to be as easy to pluck as the jewels in the mountains, Lukas had understood. Nur-Jehan could name off the stars like members of her family. Considering the size of her family, the numbers were more comparable than Lukas might have originally guessed.

The stars above him tonight were not the ones he'd seen beside Nur-Jehan in Bishangar. He wondered how far he would have to travel before the sky would change. Wherever he traveled he asked the names of his friends; Kayim, Namash, Osman, Haki, Locman, Nur-Jehan. He searched for any recognition of the land and its cities; Bishangar, Abadan, Shirazan, Jannat. He asked after Battisto, perhaps the only one he could guarantee as real, and traveling magicians often went by pseudonyms or were at least novices of disguise.

Lukas was used to charlatans masquerading as what they were not. He had personal experience in it. Battisto was an oddity, a genuine master, or whatever he was, that disguised himself as a hack. The vividness of what Lukas had spent months living at Battisto's instigation, left the once King of Abadan with two possible conclusions. Either Lukas had been thrown into an existing reality that he was willing to uproot his entire existence to get back to, or everything had been pulled forth from Battisto's own imagination.

Despite the skill involved in whatever Battisto had done to him, Lukas didn't believe the fellow was anything more than a man. If that world and those people came only from Battisto's mind, a mere and limited mortal, no matter how talented, the people and places of the actual world would blaze even brighter than those from the conjurer's head.

Now that Lukas was actually looking for it, the joys, the sorrows, and the triumphs of those around him were like unveiled lights. The life he'd had before, stretching out before him in lazy naps and begged or pilfered meals had been shattered. It may have taken a slap of water to the face, but now he was awake.

A/N: I think it's funny that the Prydain Chronicles are what Lloyd Alexander is best known for when it was completed so early in his career and he wrote scads of books afterwards, and, in my opinion, he was a better author in his later works. Anywho, I don't think this piece contains any particular insight, I just kind of reiterated some themes of the ending. The title may not make any sense unless you've read the book, and even then it might be too vague.

This piece was written for The Twelve Shots of Summer Challenge, and wasn't posted anywhere near on time.