a mile away,

but his words

reverberated

in the twenty men:

soft as a swan’s wing,

beloved as the women

whose voices he borrowed.

Kneel or burn.

Twenty throats screamed,

transfixed, transcendent,

afire with the flame

in the demon’s hand.

Twenty hands cast

that flame with him:

unbearable ecstasy,

burning, purified—

Severed.

Cords cut.

The demon gone. Gone.

Dead? They knew not.

Twenty men unmoored,

rocking on the moonless sea.

Night? Day? No meaning now.

Each man alone, separate,

sailing uncharted seas;

hourglass stopped, broken,

overboard.

A dawn came,

but they did not heed it.

A ship came,

but they did not hail it.

Voices called,

but not his voice.

Came, last, aboard their ship,

a king:

In the dark lost compass

of their souls,

a man’s hand

laid to their chest,

bare skin to bare skin;

a man’s voice—

rough, tired, hoarse,

a coarse thing,

but certain as daybreak,

sure as an anchor,

calling them home.

DEBT

On the deck of the demon’s ship,

twenty sailors, sprawled as if dead.

Left to himself,

King Donal would have finished the job,

killed them for aiding the demon.

But King Xau was determined

to try to save them,

and Donal in Xau’s debt.

So Donal shouted at a sailor,

upended a bucket of water over him.

The man stayed still as a stuffed sack,

breathing but senseless.

Xau, his burnt hand heavily bandaged,

knelt down on the planks,

touched the sailor,

spoke to him,

too soft for Donal to catch the words,

and the man stirred. Woke.

Might have been happenstance,

except that neither Donal,

nor his guards,

nor Xau’s guards,

could duplicate Xau’s feat.

In the end,

Xau the one who woke

all twenty men,

and by the end

Xau huddled on the deck,

hunched over like an old man,

haggard, harrowed, shaking.

Donal crouched beside him—

Xau a fucking noble prick

who’d been fucking easy to hate

when they were enemies,

but last night that fucking noble prick

had killed a demon,

a debt Donal couldn’t repay.

“Xau? Can I help?”

Xau shook his head.

Across the deck, commotion:

“The king! King Xau!”

the sailors, roped like prisoners,

shouted, demanding Xau.

Xau set his good hand

on one of his guards,

hauled himself upright. Went over.

The oldest sailor bowed to Xau,

“Your Majesty, what about the others?”

“Others?”

“The demon’s other servants, sir.

At his fortress. Who’ll wake them?”

“You believe there are men lying there,

insensible as you were?”

“Yes, sir. Men, women, children.”

Xau took a breath.

“If you will take us there,

we will try to help—”

“Hold up,” said Donal. “How many people?”

The man shrugged. “Two, three thousand.”

“No,” said Donal flatly.

He turned to Xau.

“You can’t save thousands.

You barely managed twenty.”

“We must try.”

Donal spat on the deck.

“I’ll go in your place, do what I can.

You saved both our fucking kingdoms.

That’s enough.”

“No,” said Xau. “Too many have died,

in battle or demon-burnt.

We will do this.”