-2-
The years flew by, as swiftly as a ship on the waves of a supernova. Dad and I continued to travel to Mirandus every year; and Marko and I continued to grow.
When we were five, Marko and his father, Tito Leandro, made me a necklace with some strong cord and a stone pendant, blue violet as the sea at night. As soon as the Javelin docked and I'd scrambled down the tree it was tethered to, Marko pulled me aside and fastened it around my neck. "I picked the stone myself," he'd said proudly, "'cause Dada said it looks like your eyes. See?"
Summer ended, and I had to take off and forget the necklace because they didn't allow jewelry in my school. So, when we were six, I returned to Mirandus without it, and Marko got mad. He bullied and teased me whenever we tried to play, and it made my summer miserable. When I got home to Montressor, I searched my room for that necklace, screamed at B.E.N. and everybody else to help me find it, and threw the biggest tantrum in my life. As I kicked and pounded at the walls in frustration, the necklace was shaken off a shelf and into my lap.
When we were seven, I came back to Mirandus with that blasted necklace on. But by then, Marko had forgotten the whole incident, and we played as if nothing in the world was wrong. Still, Tita Felix gave me a small box covered with white shells to keep my necklace in when I was away at school.
At school I longed for summer, for that was when I could be with my best friend again. I'd imagine shinnying down the tree to where Marko waited at the roots. He'd grab my hand and pull me toward the market, where some local entertainers were putting on a show, or to the palace, to show me some wondrous new creation the artisans had finished, or to one of the secret lagoons, to look at the baby fish that came out at the beginning of the first summer month.
Then, during the day, we'd run around the city playing tag. Often his cousin Lakan was there to show us some new magic trick. And we'd go to the back of the kitchens, where Marko could charm cookies and sweets out of the scullery maids. I didn't feel the least bit jealous - I knew that at night, while our parents talked and laughed in a lean-to not far off, Marko and I would be sitting on a mat by the shore, whispering and laughing between us and those cookies, and we'd make up stories about the constellations as they rose...
When we were eleven, however, when I jumped out of the tree to surprise him, Marko stood there solemnly, with his arms crossed, staring coldly at me. That was how he was the whole time; while the heat of the Mirandus sun bore down on us, my best friend Marko was cold. Suddenly, he didn't want to play with me anymore, and every day, he and Lakan would run off with the other boys. Suddenly I was mercilessly teased, sneered at, and bullied. At the beginning of the summer, Marko seemed unsure about it, but as the season wore on, he got better and better at it till it seemed quite natural. "Stop following me - you're just a girl! - leave me alone - we aren't friends anymore, okay?"
When Marko stopped saying sorry for being mean and shrugging me off when I cried or fought or punched him in anger, I ran to my dad, and it was he who shared cookies with me on the shore, as the summer began to fade.
Dad had his arm around me tight as I sniffled, disappointed and hurt. I was soothed by warmth in my dad's arms and voice, but I was still troubled by the horrible vacation. I'd been generally alone and lonely the whole time...
"Don't you see, Aaren?" Dad asked me gently that night. "Marko's growing up. And you - you're growing up, too." I shook my head and wanted to say something, but he shushed me. "It's true. You're getting bigger and older with every year. You probably don't notice it in you, but haven't you noticed it in him?"
In the distance, I could see Marko with the other boys, and I could hear Lakan's voice carried across the beach - some story about etherium banshees and then a mention of my name. I scowled at Marko. Tito Leandro, his father, had blue-black hair, but more of it was in shades of cobalt and sky blue than in black. And the strange birthmark of Tito's people, the tatto-like markings that grew as they did, covered his back and arms, all the way to his fingertips.
When I looked at Marko again, I noticed at last that his hair, once jet black, now had a deep, bluish tinge to it; it was faint, but it was there. And the markings on his back, once smaller than the palm of my hand when I was five, now swirled and stretched to three times that size. I knew my father was right. Just looking at Marko told me that he was changing. I secretly wondered if he ever looked at me and saw that too...
-Author's Note-
Hey, guys, thanks for reviewing! I felt kinda surprised to get several notes for just the first chapter; it means a lot to me. I hope you'll all like where this new story will go.