Two Faces

Man meets with his lover who turns out to be... an animated puppet?

An abridged German version of this story can be found here.

Content warnings¹

Beryen sat on the ledge, looking down on the city with its blue and green pockets of light. While waiting, he fingered an amethyst pendant hanging on a fine silver chain. Like all proud members of the clans ruling Kandamsin, he wore several silver rings on each hand although none of the stones in his rings came close to the amethyst's size and beauty.

For the hundredth time in so many breaths, he glanced to the rough steps hewn into the rock, leading down to the city. Yesterday, Elil had agreed to meet here at fifth drip. Where was he?

Sighing, Beryen leaned back on his elbows and thought back to last evening. After five weeks of courting, he'd finally been invited to dinner with Elil's parents, wealthy spice merchants. Their town house just outside the clan quarter was spacious and tastefully furnished, overlooking Wormwood Chasm. After dinner, they'd shared a private bottle of seaweed wine on the balcony and admired the dark blue and violet mineral veins in the rock.

Beryen held the amethyst aloft, debating whether he should polish it one last time. As a merchant son, Elil was wealthy but still of lower standing which was why Beryen—respectable scion of clan Meruun that he was—had been wary when their amiable working relationship had changed to friendship.

To his shame, he'd been afraid of what his peers would say. Yet as they'd met again and again, no longer in Beryen's private office but on walks around the city, hours spent at their favorite tea houses and hole-in-the-wall eateries, there had been no backlash at all.

And instead of watching their surroundings, Beryen had come to watch Elil: his quiet grace, his thoughtful pauses before speaking, his shyness that, Beryen thought, revealed acute awareness of his role in society. Elil spoke little but was an excellent listener and always offered words of compassion or encouragement when Beryen complained about his superior at the tax office, some pompous cousin of Vesilim An Don.

He'd brought the amethyst to do what he'd never done before. He would tell Elil…

Steps sounded on the stairs.

Tucking the necklace away, Beryen stood and broke into a smile when Elil appeared on the stairs. His white hair was carefully styled, framing his delicate features and green gaze. His brown merchant's tunic was tailored, copper embroidery gleaming at his collar.

"Flawless," Beryen mouthed. Hastily smoothed his robe—finest silk, of course, and pure white as befitted a clan member such as himself.

In two steps, he'd reached Elil and gripped his hands. "What took you so long? Are you well?"

Elil gazed at him wordlessly before giving a tiny nod.

"Good," Beryen breathed. "I've got something for you. Besides the wine and snacks for our little picnic, of course." He nodded to the basket he'd brought, at the same time taking the amethyst out of his robe with a flourish. Dangling it in front of Elil's face, he grinned in anticipation of his friend's reaction. "Isn't it the most beautiful stone you've ever seen? The best out of Asurmiri Mine this season, I can promise you that. We've been going out for a while now, and after meeting your parents, I thought… Elil?"

Elil still didn't say anything, didn't even move to take the necklace.

Beryen frowned. "Elil, what is it? If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny."

Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition in those green eyes.

"Elil," Beryen snapped, swallowing his unease. "Come now, what is it? Explain yourself!"

"Scary," someone said and Beryen flinched back. His friend hadn't moved. The voice hadn't even been his.

A black-cloaked figure peeled out of a natural alcove in the rock: ivory hair was in a messy ponytail, smoldering orange eyes and an old burn scar covering his left cheek. The stranger was wearing clan robes but black ones that melted into the shadows. Beryen stared. How long had he been standing there?

The stranger leaned over Elil from behind, propping one hand on his shoulder. Beryen gasped as the silver thread around his fingers caught the light. "You're a Noe!"

The stranger knocked on Elil's collarbone. Clunk. Something in Beryen's chest crumpled at the hollow sound. "Still as dim as you were ten years ago, Meruun. Delightful."

"Do I know you?" As much as Elil's stony face pained Beryen, now he narrowed his eyes at the stranger. He would've remembered that vicious burn scar…

Moments passed. The stranger's gaze froze over. "Noe Silmo. Sound familiar?"

Beryen blinked. Silmo had been a shy boy, friendless but always eager to please the priests at their temple school. Beryen had been surprised to learn that he was of clan Noe, notorious for their secret puppet crafting and manipulation techniques. With his sweet face and slight frame, he didn't seem capable of any of it.

Their classmates had taunted and bullied him. Since he got top marks, they also made him do their schoolwork.

They had been from the most prestigious families: An Don, Yeshen, Lerythis. One day, the ringleader had struck him down because his theology essay had performed worse than Silmo's own. Blood had splattered the stone tiles and Beryen had cracked.

That day, it had been the bullies trudging to the healer's. After class, Silmo had tugged at his sleeve, met his gaze with vibrant orange eyes and whispered: "Thank you."

From that day on, they'd been inseparable. Beryen had come to admire Silmo's quick mind, the wit he displayed when relaxed, and Silmo had relied on Beryen's physical strength and reputation. After graduation, however, their relationship had fizzled out. Beryen hadn't spoken to Silmo in years, hadn't even seen him around clan get-togethers.

There was only one Noe with striking orange eyes though—the one who seemed to be mocking him with that grin now. "What happened to your face?" Beryen blurted out.

Silmo waved his hand. "Just a little experiment," he drawled. "Sooner or later, our faces resemble what lies within. I just sped up the process. You, on the other hand," he dragged one red-painted fingernail down Beryen's cheek, "are as proper as always."

He made it sound like a slimy worm in some wet hole.

Beryen looked at Elil. All this time, he'd been going out with a puppet? All their conversations, their walks through the city… that dinner with Elil's parents… He bit back the hurt, the grief, the monstrosity of it all. How dare he! "You went to great lengths to ensnare me, Noe. If that's how you greet an old friend, I don't appreciate it."

Silmo's grin was frigid. "Likewise. I liked you better back in that broom closet."

"That…" Of course, he had to drag up the one memory Beryen had buried deep inside. "That was just a bit of fun! Everyone did it! Don't tell me you…"

"And how was I to know?" Silmo thundered, throwing the puppet aside. It clattered on the rock, raising a racket that filled Beryen's ears.

Hands closed around his throat and he was slammed back until the jagged wall cut into his back. Through his own ragged breathing, Silmo's voice sounded far away. "I had no friends, no one who would've told me. I… I trusted you, and you threw it back in my face!" His lips curled, tugging at the old scar. "I was just good enough as a sidekick, wasn't I? Always the underdog. You Meruun pride yourselves on being fair, honorable, but in the end you're just like the rest of them. Too proud to hold my hand, to have me by your side in public! Oh, the shame!"

Silmo's eyes were like lanterns of pure venom, blinking in and out of his darkening vision. Gasping, he pulled at his opponent's arms but he might as well be scratching at stone. While Beryen had been sitting in his well-heated office, reading and writing his documents, Silmo had obviously kept in shape.

"I didn't know," he rasped, "Didn't know you'd be so…"

"So sensitive?" Silmo hissed. "Of course, I was only a nobody from a lesser clan. Rejecting me meant nothing. You'd forgotten all about it, no?" Then he smiled and in one mind-numbing moment of double vision, Beryen saw Silmo the boy again, his soft-spoken friend. "In fact, I should thank you! Without you, I never would have created Elil. So lifelike, to charm even a proud Meruun. Thanks to you, I am the best puppeteer since our founding mother herself walked these mountains!"

"Stop," Beryen tried but Silmo was crushing his windpipe again. All he got out was a croak.

"Oh, no," Silmo said. "Your pretty face tells me you don't feel a smidge of regret for what you did. You didn't even recognize me."

"How was I to…"

"Hush. It's too late now," Silmo whispered in his ear. Grabbed him by the throat and hauled him around.

A gust rose from the drop below, mussing their hair, stealing Beryen's last breath. With one fluid motion, Silmo had him hanging over the ledge. Pebbles loosened under his heels, falling into thin air. Naked panic crept up his neck, his mind wiped blank save for a single word.

"Unfortunately, people aren't puppets, Meruun," Silmo breathed, still close to his ear. "We bleed when poked."

That one word pushed out of his mouth. "Please," Beryen whimpered, "please."

"Let's see how much you bleed."

Silmo let go.

He watched Beryen fall until his shocked moon of a face had vanished in the Deep. He turned back to Elil, clicking his tongue. The puppet would have to be sacrificed. Too many had seen it with Beryen.

A shame but he'd build other, better ones.

Author's note

If I had to pick a favorite literary trope, it'd probably be the Byronic Hero. Most of the time, I prefer stories with happy ends, showing the brighter side of life, but every once in a while, I just want to vent about everything that’s wrong with society and the world. (During the pandemic, I wrote an entire dark academia novel driven by fear and rage.) Fiction is the only place where we get away with murder and morally grey characters like Dorian Gray or the Count of Monte Cristo.

Silmo is the protagonist of a story idea that has been living in my head for a while now. I thought it would be fun to introduce him as the villain before trying to (somewhat) redeem him. Of course, cold-blooded murder is never justified but I hope his actions are understandable at least.

Requiem of the Moth, in which Silmo has renamed himself Yun, takes place several years after Beryen's unfortunate accident and goes deeper into the low fantasy society hinted at here.

1. Bullying, physical violence, murder