Where the River Meets the Sea

Matt Hale & Paul Yeoh

From the young adult’s novel based on The Mysteries of Arklan

Caedmon sighed. “I know it is tough. I care for you too. I always have. But it isn’t possible. Our paths are not the same. You have your Aramentè and I have my songs and gigs. Both our paths are wayward lives of exploration, but we have to find our own ways forward. Your home is always with you. Don’t ever forget. Now, with my new message spell, I can be too. Well, at least I can check in with you.

I wrote a poem for you and wanted to share it with you today. Now it seems more relevant than ever. I’d like to call it the ‘Call of the Sea.’ 

The cobbled path they followed wound through the eateries and warehouses in the seaward quarter, and they were near the sea when they had paused for Caedmon to recite his poem. Between the buildings they could see the Bay of Steel flashing a metallic azure. Fitfully illuminated by the late autumnal sun, mauve- and cream-colored clouds dappled the sky, completing the picturesque scene. Ordinarily, Teal would have been charmed by the sight, but his eyes could no more focus on the view than his ears could appreciate the mellifluous syllables falling from Caedmon’s lips. The warmth and feeling in that beloved voice were like rain in the desert to Teal’s yearning heart, but he struggled to grasp the meaning of the words. At the same time, he was battling a rising sense of despair— a chilling sensation that had gripped his insides from the moment that Caedmon had pointed out the impossibility of their being together. Yet amidst the numbing disappointment, he found himself buoyed up by a sense of pure joy: Caedmon had expressed feelings for him, too— the passion that he had developed for his childhood friend and protector was not a baseless delusion!

Then there was the poem. Caedmon had, of course, sung for— even with— Teal on countless occasions. But he had never composed poetry dedicated specially to his young friend. Teal found it impossible to stifle a glow of elation and pride— in spite of his growing conviction that NO, their love was not to be.

Teal’s dark blue eyes glistened— with sadness but also gratitude. “It’s beautiful, Caedmon,” he said softly as he turned to his friend. 

Many gifted musicians who effortlessly channel nearly any shade of emotion during a performance are surprisingly reticent when it comes to expressing their own feelings; and Caedmon was one of these souls. He smiled shyly, but said nothing.

Teal took a deep breath. Time: that was what they needed to shape this conversation on which so much— everything, it seemed to Teal— depended. “Do you know a spot from which we can watch the sunset together?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Caedmon’s shy smile turned to a grin as he recomposed himself, gaining the familiar swagger that had drained away in his moment of vulnerability. “Do I know a spot? Of course I do, this is my city!” He proceeded along the raised boardwalk to a fence that was marked “No trespassing.” Taking Teal to a small, inconspicuous ladder on the boardwalk, they descended a few feet to an unobtrusive portcullis that granted entry to the fenced-off area. Caedmon smiled again.“See, they always forget to lock it.” On the other side of the fence, Caedmon escorted Teal to another ladder, this time on the side of a warehouse building within the walls. “After you,” he said to Teal. Climbing a few stories to the rooftop of the warehouse revealed a dazzling view of the river’s entry point into the sea. “Land and Sea merging. Fresh and saltwater becoming one. What do you think Teal?”

As if on cue, the now-setting sun broke through the clouds, transforming the bay into a rippled mirror dotted by vessels of different shapes and sizes. Teal gasped at the breathtaking panorama: except for a series of white plumes, the stretch of water where the Queen’s River met the sea seemed preternaturally serene, almost perfectly reflecting the sky’s beguiling blend of burnt orange and magenta. Yet as someone who had grown up among fisherwomen, Teal did not need a primal connection with water to be aware of the swirling currents produced by the opposing fresh and saltwater streams beneath the placid surface. 

Such was the inward turmoil that Teal was experiencing. The intoxicating beauty of their surroundings and Caedmon’s words—those images of unification!— touched a chord in the deepest fibres of his being. He could barely speak—his heart was so full. Then he was intensely aware of his friend’s presence—Caedmon was standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth of his body, smell his familiar scent, reminiscent of the variety of juniper that grew prolifically on Talpin. 

Teal exhaled slowly. Perhaps there was no need for words. He took a few steps towards the edge of the rooftop and traced a parabola with his right hand. A watery sphere emerged from the surface of the river about 30 feet away from them—higher, higher into the air it rose until, with a swift gesture of his hand, Teal dispersed it into a fine mist of water droplets. Suspended in mid-air, this fine watery veil danced about momentarily in the rays of the setting sun, creating a glowing rainbow over the mouth of river. Turning to Caedmon, Teal looked him directly in the eyes and embraced him. “For you,” he murmured.  

After a few quiet moments—during which their heartbeats seemed loudly audible—Teal continued in solemn, earnest tones. “I know that we must follow different paths for now—who knows how long—but when the currents of our lives flow together, will you allow me to be more than a friend to you … your lover? Nay—even when we are apart, Caedmon, may I always think of you as the rightful keeper of my heart?” Blushing violently, he buried his face in his friend’s neck as he had done so often as a child. 

Caedmon looked out over the neatly ordered bands of color in the mist. A moment of tension and suspense as the question hung in the air. As the mist fell and the sun began dipping below the horizon, Caedmon answered contemplatively. “Teal, your heart doesn’t need a keeper. It doesn’t need to be locked away and held in reserve. It is a treasure, yes, but real treasures deserve to be experienced. It doesn’t belong in a museum. There is something sad in the notion of reservation.” He paused, not wanting to be misconstrued. He cared deeply for Teal and the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt him. 

“Think of the instruments you’ve heard. Imagine the finest instrument you’ve ever heard. The finest note that has ever sung its way to your ears. The pinnacle of art and enchantment wrapped into one, capturing and captivating your attention and imagination, not unlike the rainbow that just faded a moment ago. This is beautiful, yes?” He paused for rhetorical effect, and then continued. “This instrument deserves to be heard, yes? This moment deserves to be experienced?” Again, he paused. Like a philosopher, he crafted a logical trap where all the premises necessitated a conclusion. “Would it be right to lock away and reserve such an instrument? To place it in a museum to be bound and preserved, unheard, for some imagined future use?” 

Not waiting for Teal’s response, he continued, “I say no. We have but one life—well most of us anyway. Live it. I won’t have you reserve yourself for me. I welcome a time where the currents of our lives flow together. When and where that happens, we will find happiness in that moment, of that I am sure. But as you know, water has a mind of its own. It finds its own way forward. It resists its bindings and forges ahead unimpeded regardless of the intentions of those who build dams around it and attempt to levee it in place. Right now we find ourselves in the same place at the same time. Let’s enjoy it, but don’t talk of me as your keeper.” Reaching out, he squeezed Teal’s hand, leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.