Excerpt: Optophobia

The ocean breeze blew heavily as Kwesten sat on the deck enjoying the last hour of daylight be-fore the sun dipped over the horizon. Jehiah was still a little sore with him after all the captain had put him through, and was busy sitting next to him administering a heavy dose of the silent treatment. The torquin didn’t really want him chewing his ear off, anyway. Everyone on the man’s crew knew that his favorite time of day was at sunset, and thus knew better than to bother him.

The two sat in complete silence, thinking their own thoughts. The gypsy was absentmindedly stroking his guardian spirit which lay coiled and bandaged in his lap. Finally fed up with the si-lence, he turned to Kwesten.

“Can we talk now?” he asked, sounding just as annoyed as he had been sounding all day.

“You’re the one who’s been refusing to talk to me,” the torquin captain pointed out. His eyes never strayed from the rolling waves that sparkled shades of reds and yellows against the falling sun. Behind them, the stars were brilliantly visible on the horizon, and faded to meet the sunset at the peak of the sky. “Give me a couple minutes though,” he said. “Wait until the sun’s gone.”

Frustrated, he perched himself on the railing on the opposite side of the ship. He stared up at the starry sky and lifted his bandaged hand, tracing the constellations with his finger. He had long since forgotten their names, but had learned them a long time ago, when he was still with his parents and the other gypsies. His parents loved the stars, they would always say that there’s where they’ll all be one day. When they sent him away, his mother said that they would meet again amongst the stars. He often found himself wondering if they had made it there, or if they were still trapped here, still alive. A gypsy was almost impossible to find; they were very nomad-ic people and it was hard to tell where a troupe would go. They would stay in some places longer than others, or keep moving for months without stopping anywhere.

The next time the gypsy looked over, the sun had set and the moon was the only thing left illu-minating the sky. He lowered himself to the deck and walked back across to the other side, where the captain sat, his eyes still fixated on the sky.

“It’s gone,” Jehiah said. “Now let’s talk.”

“Hush,” the torquin demanded.

“The sun is gone, Kwesten! It’s night, the sun set, bedtime! Time to talk. Now.” Grabbing the man’s collar, Jehiah pulled the captain up from his seat on the deck. “I’m done fooling around with you, Kwesten.”

“You haven’t seen fooling around,” he said with a coy smirk. “But, fine, fine. We’ll talk. If you’d be so kind…” He forcefully removed the gypsy’s hands from his coat and headed, once again, for the captain’s quarters. “Would you like anything to drink while we talk? Phellen keeps some fine wine on this ship.”

Jehiah nearly rolled his eyes, but refrained. “I’ll pass, thank you,” he said as he followed the rougher fellow inside.

“I’ll get some anyway.” The torquin pushed the door open, allowing Jehiah to enter. “You might change your mind. And the gods know I need a drink.”

“When have you ever not?” For a moment, an ever so brief flicker of time, the two shared a near identical, warm expression. Any person passing by would not have the time to notice it, for it was gone so quick, but had a photograph been taken right then and there, capturing their faces in time forever, one would see it. These men shared something that no one else could ever come to comprehend; a bond of companionship and camaraderie that could very possibly have stretched back to boyhood, for all anyone knew.

But as quickly as it came, the fleeting glance was gone and, chances are, it wouldn’t return again for a long, long time. Like a blue moon, the rare sight disappeared without hardly any thought.