Those who early loved in vain
Five places that remind Roald of Kalasin.
i. The lake
The one near the palace, frozen in winter; the one where Alanna the Lioness nearly drowned. But they hadn't known that then- they were just children, and the lake was just a new place to play. Every day, they snuck out in the early morning when the sky was still dark, bundled in coats and scarves, skates heavy in their hands.
Roald had been the one to teach Kalasin to skate; the one to hold her hand as she wobbled uncertainly across the ice, the one to catch her as she slipped, the one to pull her to her feet, again and again until the two of them were shivering and exhausted.
Years later, he marvels at his own carelessness, his own stupidity- he was only ten then, and never checked the ice. They could have died a thousand times over.
But they didn't.
-
ii. His room, in the mornings.
Their room, really, and it had been until he'd turned twelve and their parents exchanged uneasy looks and told Kalasin it was time she slept in her own room.
But even then it was Kalasin who would wake him in the morning, who would come tearing into his room still in her nightgown, rip open the curtains, batter him with pillows until at last he rolled out of bed.
After breakfast, she'd come to his room and they would study together. Or, rather, Roald would study. While he lay on the floor memorising correct terms of address, she would sit at his desk with her books, gazing at the sparrows outside, inspecting the painting on the wall, drawing pictures in the margins of her pages.
Once, hearing the musicians warming up for the evening ball, she hummed with them, off tune. He should have told her to stop, to concentrate, he knew his parents and his teachers expected him to, but he didn't. To this day, he thinks it's still the sweetest sound he knows.
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iii. Balor's needle
The Needle is a place of discomfort or terror for most; a place visited out of necessity, not of choice. Here, astronomers mapped the stars, mages scryed the future(, martyrs leapt to their death– but that was Thayet's voice speaking. She had never been comfortable with towers).
Kalasin, on the other hand, loved them. She would stand by the railing, point out landmarks, interestingly-shaped clouds, a flock of geese flying south. He leaned against the wall, away from the edge, and let her voice wash over him.
One afternoon, watching a group of hunters drag a deer back to the palace, she says suddenly, 'Roald? What's going to happen to us?'
'What?'
She turns to look at him. 'It's been too good,' she says. Her eyes are anxious. 'Most people spend a lifetime looking. But we were together from the start.'
He puts his arms around her, says nothing. Our punishment is separation, he thinks. And our knowledge of it, from the start.
-
iv. The book room
He usually didn't like parties but he didn't mind the alternate post-Progress midwinter parties that Kel arranged. Despite his invitations, Kalasin refuses to accompany him- except for once.
The whole time, she is bright and witty and charming. The others are captivated. He is utterly confused.
Afterwards, when everyone has left, she is more subdued, sitting quietly next to him, toying with her glass, not looking at him.
Finally, he says, 'Just say what you have to.'
'You are too similar,' she murmurs, still not looking at him. 'She's not good for you. Not right.'
His heart falls at that but he tries anyway. 'You didn't even talk to her today,' he argues.
'Roald, I've been watching her. I know.' More quietly: 'You aren't going to change like this.'
She is re-opening old, private wounds. Their shared history will always give her power over him, he realises, bitterly. Anger is his instinctive reaction.
'So what do you want me to do about it?'
'Nothing. But you told me to say it-'
It's the first time he's ever walked away from her.
Also, the last.
(There was no sense of satisfaction; only of the weight of his own betrayal and of everything being wrong; of his universe, unravelling.)
-
v. The beach at Pirate's Swoop
Because even though it belonged to Aunt Alanna and Uncle George, this was their place, really, a place where foreign lands were only a distant future, where Alan and Aly were just troublesome toddlers and Thom was just a boy fascinated with rock pools.
In summer, he lived with sand in his clothes and salt on his skin, but the salt was from the wind and not the sea (he didn't really like swimming, and anyway, they couldn't both swim, because otherwise who would look out for her?). So she swam in the waves and he watched from the shore.
In the evening Uncle George showed off his new fireworks to Thom and Kally and him. The three of them stood, transfixed, as the fireworks launched themselves skyward and exploded- lighting up the night sky, staining it red and blue and gold, over and over.
When it was over Uncle George went to search for the remains of the fireworks. Kalasin and Thom ran to help him. Roald, on the other hand, continued to stare at the sky, long after the sound of the explosions had stopped ringing in his ears and the last of the smoke had dissipated into the night. Later, he will realise that he was already trying to stretch the seconds, ingrain them into his memories. Already wanting time to stop forever.