Boys Should Fear Water

by Lakyn Farris

Dontin was four when he learned the way of his world. “Most worlds are born in dark; ours was born in light. The light came from lone sparks which danced, holding back the blackness. But those sparks grew rampant and became a raging inferno, destroying everything in its path. So, while the world was aglow with light, it was also dying. “Hence formed water and its nymphs who wielded it. They separated the flame from its holders - the Oheň. The nymphs divided creature from fire, allowing them to create in manually, but never forge it from nothing. Oheň became humans and created a peace with the nymphs, agreeing to keep a balance, and the nymphs would do the same. And so, that’s how the world ran for almost two centuries, until a great king was born. “He decided that they would no longer be limited by the nymphs and began to weaponize his man-made fire. He captured dozens of lands before the nymphs dubbed his conquering a violation of their agreement. And so, war broke out. But the foolish nymphs had been docile for so long that the new generation had not a clue how to wage a battle with their powers and so war became a massacre. Only a few dozen nymphs escaped, retreating into the forests, who had yet to be controlled by any man. “The victory had crowned the king unstoppable, and so he and his kingdom grew. Fire was granted its rightful place in power again, and the kingdom of Neboh was born and has lived on until this very day and will continue, too, with your rule Prince.” Dontin tilted his head in intrigue as his handmaid finished her tale. He hadn’t a clue if he should believe it; after all, his father had told him countless times that magic- of any kind- was a hoax. And who was to deny the words of a king? “Why?” “Why, what?” his handmaid asked in turn. “Why must we have no balance?” he asked, the question fumbling off his newly worded tongue. She took him by the hand and led him out onto the stone balcony which overlooked the Noble district of Neboh where the sun had just crested over the mountains. “Dear Prince, you must understand our place in the world if you ever wish to fill your father’s chair. Without power, what is there to protect us? We have no magic like nymphs. We must take our place in power if we wish to survive. Power has its place on the highest throne; we are to be its crown.”

Dontin was eight when his father’s death was prophesized: to be killed by the very thing they thought dead, the thing that some of them didn’t even believe existed, for no one had a record of the nymphs for centuries.

Only his advisors, his war council, and his son who was now a part of it knew about it. Having just started his classes on war, he was rising in the ranks: preparing for his crowning. After all, kingsmanship didn’t start when he took the crown. They had all laughed it off. Dontin had been too young to understand and while he did know war, he couldn’t comprehend that of the world didn’t understand its truths, so he laughed along with them, jokingly stabbing at his father saying that’s what the nymphs would do to him: stab him in the back, right through the heart. The king, though he laughed, had a slight glint in his eye, not one of humor, one of fear. It was something that startled the young prince, having never seen his father afraid in his life. He’d always seen the victorious warrior. And so, he stopped and stared and tilted his head as he always had - like a lost dog, looking for home, looking for answers. For he didn’t really know the way of the world, but unlike the others, he longed to understand it. So, he continued to tilt his head, staring into his father’s confusing black eyes wondering, had he done something wrong? The war council had ended, and Dontin had returned to his quarters to practice sword fighting against the window, thunking his little wooden sword against the bricks of the windowsill. Thunks from the door replied in turn, where the handmaid knocked. It was not his normal handmaid, not the one who told him the story of their world all those years ago. Standing in the doorway was a much younger-looking handmaid, with hair as white as snow, in contrast to her youthful face. Her eyes were the brightest ocean blue, a color he wasn’t quite sure how he knew considering he’d never seen a drop of water in his life aside from the supply which came from the only well in Neboh. Her skin was an odd hue, white, almost tinted blue. He moved aside to let her in, and she carried the tray she was holding to his bed and turned. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice soft as the rains which were said to be cursed despite how beautiful Dontin found their sound. “Practicing my swordplay. I’m preparing for the nymphs, for the oracle says that my father will be killed by one. I cannot have that happen; I am not near old enough to take the throne nor prepared,” Dontin replied, laughing. The handmaid looked warily at him but laughed, like his father had. How strange. “What do you mean? The nymphs are long dead and if they aren’t, they were not violent people. The reason they lost the war was because they had no idea how to use their powers to fight.” Dontin thought about it for a moment and agreed. “But I still have to be prepared,” he rebuked, “No one knows where or what they’ve been doing for centuries, if they’re even still alive.” “As I said prince, they are not. But I might have something to help you understand. Would you like to hear a story my mother once told me?” He tilted his head in confusion, in wonder - the little pup. Handmaids never asked to tell him stories. He usually requested them. They would oblige and if they wouldn’t, he’d throw a tantrum. So, he was eager to hear what she had to say. He took his place on the bed beside her. She began humming a soft song, something he couldn’t make out as it was in a language he hadn’t a clue about. She finished her singing, but the tune kept going, low in her voice as she spoke, “Long ago, before the war, there lived a young nymph. She was blessed by the water

more than any of her brothers and sisters. Her name was Maren. She was not a princess, not a lady, nor a queen. She was just a girl, with more power than anybody should have. It was astonishing really, to even the elders in her kingdom. “She was far different than what her power demanded of her; she was wild spirit, loved to play and to run. They could never keep her in sight. “It was said that she would be the one who would finally seal peace with the humans, for the knife balancing the two was shaky. She would do so by marrying their prince. “She thought nothing of it; she only wanted wildness. But, soon the responsibilities of what she was to be caught up to her. And by the time she was sixteen, she was to meet the prince, but little did their kingdoms know that they had already met on their own terms. “It was late one night, far past the setting of the sun and the revealing of the stars. She danced under the moonlight, using her powers to make little raindrop-like stars, to make her own constellations. She laughed and sang, her voice floating through the night air. And then a voice came from behind her, and she let out a scream, one so loud she was terrified her parents had heard her from their village almost a mile away. “Out of the woods came a young boy holding a torch, a look of fear in his eyes. She held up her hands in peace and let her water droplets fall from the sky like rain, and bowed her head, a common greeting of the nymphs. He stood there, frozen for a second and then bowed his head in return, worried he was doing it wrong. “He walked over to Maren, curious as always the Prince of Neboh, just like you,” she said, nodding her head to him. “He and Maren talked through the night, man and nymph, a thing unheard of. For trade and alliances, sure, but friendship? It was almost unimaginable. The two grew fond of each other. So, when the time came for her to forge the alliance, she accepted his proposal, for the two had been in love for quite a long time. “On the day of the wedding, two centuries since the birth of the world, since the destruction of the Oheň, the clock of war ran down. And as the wedding bells chimed, as the voices of the choir sung, as his soon-to-be bride walked down the aisle, her dress caught fire. She didn’t even notice and before she could, the two knights walking her down the aisle pinned her wrist, lighting more fires along her body. So, she burned alive, unable to do anything with her water. “The other nymphs could do nothing as the first arrows were let fly. In an instant, two dozen nymphs had died. They couldn’t help; they had to protect the rest of the nymphs, and who was willing to save one of no nobility, even if she was the most important being that had possibly ever graced them. “The prince wept and so did the would-be princess, her tears turned into steam by the flames. And that was the beginning of the war. The nymphs, having nothing they could do fought as best they could until all who wanted to die, died. The few willing to live ran, promised a new life, away from the kings and princes, away from the oppression which had turned on them. They had never meant to oppress the humans; they just wanted peace, but they had gone about it all wrong, at least in the humans’ eyes.”

The handmaid finished her story, two tears rolling down her face, and Dontin’s jaw fell open. His hands pressed to his mouth. He tried to hold back a sob, for people he had never even seen, or known, or possibly never existed. The handmaid looked at him, her tears gone, almost like magic. With her hand she pushed his hair behind his ear and then held his cheek. She offered a kind smile and said, “You have power; do not use it to make others powerless.” She stood and left. Dontin stared at where she had sat. In that moment he remembered: humans do not cry.

Dontin was nine when he learned magic was real. He had gone out to play in the woods early in the afternoon. Not paying an ounce of attention, he wandered far deeper than any human had ever gone. He turned to head back realizing his mistake, when he heard a voice. It sounded like a young girl. He followed the voice until he came across a break in the trees. A girl stood in front of him, dancing and singing in the tongue his handmaid had almost a year ago. But it really wasn’t a girl, not with skin the lightest shade of blue, hair the color of stars, and water dancing around her in the air. Dontin had found the first nymph in centuries. As she danced, the water carved a path in the earth. He watched her in awe until he remembered what the nymphs meant to him. “Hey!” he shouted, drawing his blade from its sheath. The nymph whirled around, her eyes wide and clapped her hands together. The droplets collected, forming into a giant bubble which surrounded her and rushed out toward him. Terror shot through him, and he screamed, putting his hands up, dreading the feeling of water on his flesh, but the bubble stopped right in front of him, and he let his heart slow. The water retreated as the nymph approached on careful feet. Looking him in the eye, she crossed her feet and bowed. Dontin, remembering the story, did the same, his blade still in hand. She eyed it carefully but drew nearer still. “Hello,” she said, her voice reminded him of rainfall. “Hi,” he replied, tone full of suspicion. She pointed to his blade, “May I?” He tilted his head at the request. Did she plan to run him through with it? Kill him and his father? He met her eyes and something deep within him lit up. No, she would not harm him. She took the blade, decorating it with four droplets which she hardened into ice. He eyed it and smiled. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” And history began to repeat.

Dontin was twelve when Velian finished carving her river.

They had been meeting up every day since that evening, teaching each other about their worlds. Today she had told him was special. For the first time in two centuries, water flowed within a 100-mile radius of Neboh, thanks to her. From shore, he watched as she waded in and then turned a hand to him. “No. Never.” He saw her face change when the fear entered his eyes. Not wanting to disappoint her, he took her hand. The water flowed up to his waist and he shivered fearfully. Velian pulled him in, holding him tight against the flow. This was the day Dontin found love.

Dontin returned to the castle that evening when his handmaid walked in to find him grinning. “Why the smile Prince?” Not looking up, assuming it was the white-haired handmaid, he answered. “I think we should make peace with the nymphs. They’re real! I’ve seen one with my own eyes in these very woods to the north. She’s the most beautiful…” He looked up when he heard the maid rushing away, black hair flowing past the door.

Dontin had ran to Velian’s cell, held her hand between the bars and sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Velian only smiled and laid her head against the cool stone wall.

A week later, the knights had tied her up by her feet over her own river. Dontin had sobbed as she was lowered, and then drowned in her own creation.

Dontin was twenty-two when he led his first battle. Having located the last of the nymphs, they were to attack. Blade in the hand, he shot his arm out, troops charging. Hiding his eyes, Dontin then shed the first human tears in two centuries.