The Two Suns of Eremus

Flecks of dust dance in warm sunlight as Ilsa Star rises and the Silica Star sets. The air smells faintly of plums.

Faustia traces her fingers down Marius’ back, following the line of his spine. Tanned, slender, and turned away from her as he dozes, he is tangled in the wine-red sheets of her bed. His skin is dappled with freckles in patterns that remind her of the constellations glittering on the dome ceiling of her chamber. 

What a terrible mistake. 

Has it been only a day since Faustia spotted him walking the dusty roads of Eremus? His skin had been plastered with dirt and sweat, hair tousled by desert winds; even from her shaded palanquin several meters away she instantly recognized him.  

“Marius!” Her heart leapt to her throat as she threw herself from the palanquin, sprinting ahead as the automatons carrying the platform stumbled in confusion. She threw her arms around him, folds of her blue spectre-fiber gown billowing in the sandy gusts. Marius stumbled and caught her, dropping his rucksack, expression baffled. 

He hadn’t recognized her; she could see the confusion in his dark eyes.
“Faust?” he finally asked, awed. 

Faustia had laughed. 

The children of Eremus were wild things. Like the twisting, spindly roots of the plum trees at the base of the mountains, the desertlings ran their city, rushing from market to market, stall to stall, chasing between the alleyways and under stone awnings. Their laughter and shouts chimed above the din of trade and the distant roar of engines. Boys and girls gathered at the edge of town to the smooth, black-spired electric fences of the shipping field, kicking leather balls while waiting for the residual blast of space vessels to rush waves of violent, hot air over them. Shrieking and laughing at the dust clouds, they dared each other to get as close as possible to the fence, sometimes toppling over from the force of the winds. 

Marius was no different. Barefoot, dressed in rust-red reed cloth, he spent his days playing tag and kicking balls; his meals were the plums that fell off merchant vehicles and whatever leftovers marketmen would give him for errands. His parents spent their days harvesting fruit in the far-off orchards, returning bi-daily when the Silica would set.  

Faustia was not a child of Eremus. 

One blistering day, Marius had found a girl unlike any other as he loped down a crooked alley, chasing a two-headed lizard. Pale, light-eyed, and sniffling, she was curled against the craggy stone walls, her dress a pink color that Marius had never seen.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. She looked up, her nose and undereyes bright red. Her wrist was purpling with a bruise.

“Please go, whoever you are” she hiccuped. “I want to be alone.”

Marius was a poor listener. He sat himself down as his lizard got away. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” the girl asked, her lip trembling. Her accent was strange, one Marius had only heard from the wealthiest merchants.

“I did, but you seem awfully upset,” Marius replied. “It’s not good to leave a girl in a bad way, especially if she got knocked by somebody.” He gestured to the bruise on her wrist, which she hurriedly tucked to her side. 

“I’m…fine.” 

“You sure? I could go help you wallop them, if they aren’t too big.” 

“It was my tutor-- a grownup.”

“Aw well then, that’s too bad. I don’t think I would do much good fighting a grownup,” Marius admitted. “Though I did give a black eye to a thirteen year-old.”

The girl seemed a bit perturbed by this, though her tears had stopped. There was a curious edge to her voice: “Why did you do that?”

Marius puffed his chest. “He took my bag. Had all my treasures inside. You can’t let just anybody take what’s yours-- had to get it back, y’know? Say, why’s a grownup hitting a girl like you for?”

“I just can’t remember anything at all,” sighed the girl, shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t recite The Iter of Constellations. I was rapped every time I forgot a word.”

Punishment was no stranger to Marius, but hitting a princess for forgetting lines seemed barbaric. “Well that’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s not!” she protested, though she followed with, “Well, why would it be stupid?”

“Just, doesn’t seem like a thing worth hitting for. You only hit when you gotta, not for learning… whatever that thing was.”

The girl gave a tiny smile. Her eyes fell on the bag tied to Marius’ belt. “Are those your treasures?”

“Uh-huh.” Without invitation, Marius dumped his bag of odds and ends. Out clattered metal springs, broken console knobs, loose change, sticks, and two bruised plums.

“My papa grows these,” she said, picking up a plum. 

“So does mine.” Marius grabbed the second one. “Here, you have one and I have the other. Then you can help me catch my lizard.”

She nodded, cradling the fruit.  

“Say, what do they call you?”

“Faustia.”

Marius pulled Faustia into his world of mischief and adventure. After her lessons she would sneak from the compound that held the lush gardens of her family, pockets full of strange candies and exciting new toys: holograph animals and flying spinning tops. Marius showed her his lean-to hideout at the top of an old warehouse, where they would pretend to be the characters in Faustia’s beloved novels: space-pirates, princesses, roguish thieves, and captains of the legendary galaxy-cruisers. They would chase merchant transports to catch fallen plums, feasting in their secret spot, fingers sticky with sweet juices and summer heat. 

Years went by in this simple way. Faustia smuggled her old holodecks to help Marius learn to read, so they could share in her favorite stories together. He had special interest in the books dealing in science and travel, fantasizing about piloting the giant ships that carried goods to and from Eremus. 

“One day,” hummed Faustia, laying on her back, feet propped unladylike on a crate, “When I own my papa’s orchards, I can make you a pilot of a big ship.” 

Marius grinned.

They grew like weeds. Faustia’s visits became less frequent, as  her studies increased in order to prepare for her mantle. With siblings to care for, Marius began to work the orchards. In their late-night meetings, Marius would steal a glance at the curve of her waist as Faustia ducked into their hideout, noticing how her hair stuck to her neck in the heat. Secretly, she eyed the stretch of his long arms-- the way Marius moved his hands as he talked.

One starry night, they shared a first kiss. It tasted of plums.

That was the last time Faustia visited before she vanished from Eremus.

Marius turns over with a yawn, smiling the moment he sees her. Sunrays ripple over his eyes like dark waters-- how easily she could drown in their coolness. 

He cradles her cheek, his hand callused from working her orchards. 

“Well goodmorning.” His voice is low, soft, bemused. “I had almost thought last night a dream.”

If only it had been. It all plays in Faustia’s mind: her invitation to dinner, the hours of conversation to capture years of life, the sweetness of plum wine mixed with laughter as her fingers played with his dark curls. What has she done?

She takes his hand from her cheek and kisses his palm, eyes closing. 

“Goodmorning,” she says. 

The day ahead unfolds before her: accounts to balance, meetings to hold, finances to manage. Marius… where could she fit him in any of this? 

“I did dream, however,” Marius says, moving his hand to stroke her hair, “of catching a two-headed lizard that was eating plums in the orchard. I put him in my bag and brought him to you-- sadly, you weren’t as impressed as I hoped.”

Faustia’s laugh rings hollow. It prickles like needles in her chest. 

She stands from bed, sheets cascading away, the floor icy underfoot. She feels Marius’ gaze on her as she snatches a linen gown, pulling it over, grabbing her hair and twisting it above her head. Breath short, she snaps a golden pin in her hair, tinkling with tiny gems. 

“You’re in a hurry,” he says. It isn’t a question. 

“I have an awful lot to do.” She knots a golden cord around her waist. Her eyes move to her painting of the mountains, the ceiling’s constellations, her mirror. Anywhere but Marius.

“I see,” he says softly. In her peripheral, he stands and pulls on his work clothes. 

She doesn’t face him. Faustia tries to formulate her next words-- I’m sorry I left. My family gave me no choice. I’m sorry I brought you here. I am sorry I can’t do this.

“It’s alright, Faust,” Marius says. His voice is tight, but not angry. “But could you look at me?” 

Faustia turns. Sunlight haloes Marius. His eyes are darker and deeper than desert plums. 

“I understand.”

It is all he says before leaves.