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After Jamil’s fury dims… like a headache softening, becoming a dull thrum, then almost nothing… he’s able to listen properly to what Kalim has to say about where he went, yesterday. He skipped school to explore the Playful Land amusement park, which was apparently on a sprawling luxurious ship, a place of perpetual snack food and carnival music and leering fox-statue smiles; he had a great time until he didn’t, but he wished Jamil could’ve been there before things went wrong. Then, he was relieved Jamil didn’t have to deal with any of it.
Any of what?
Kalim doesn’t explain, at first. He says nobody liked his idea about meeting up with their new friends (“enemies,” it sounds like to Jamil) to have dinner and talk things through. Though, you know… maybe it could’ve worked! Kalim says he was an idiot, again, and he’s sorry, and he should’ve listened to Jamil from the start.
“You should have,” Jamil sighs. “I thought you might’ve been kidnapped, or dead, or… ugh. Did you even think about that?”
I thought I might never see you again. Did you imagine me explaining your disappearance to the Al Asim family, hands folded behind my back, trying not to reveal fear or hate or frustrated tears? Trying to steel myself to accept whatever punishment they could have for me?
Did you imagine my insides curdling when I realized you weren’t in your bed? All day, I’ve been sick, scouring Sage’s Island for you – and beyond that. Obviously, beyond that. I have private investigators hunting known criminal hotspots around the globe right this moment. I skipped class, too, and for what?
For you.
Kalim is whole and here, now. He’s wearing a sea-salt crusted ringmaster costume, with a top-hat dangling awkwardly in his torn-glove hands. Fiddling with the decorations, feathers and cheap glass gems and bangles. He’s forcing himself to meet Jamil’s eyes, though Jamil knows he’s not softening his expressions, yet. There’s a little bark in Kalim’s hair, a few splintery twigs. It’s strange – Jamil’s one of the only people who ever sees Kalim without his usual headscarves, from day-to-day. That bared, cropped-short hair is messy, now. Like a normal guy’s, not a lordly heir’s. Sweaty from running, scattered with ash and rubble. A little dried blood.
Jamil imagines running shampoo through that hair, leaning Kalim back into warm water. Watching his face relax, his lips curl. Feeling himself utterly at Jamil’s mercy. If Jamil honestly wanted to drown him, how easy would it be?
Jamil plucks a bit of bark away, studies it. Kalim flinches, knowing so much Jamil doesn’t, which is… in itself… unbearable.
“What is this?” Jamil asks.
“I – uh – I’m alright. I messed up. Things got dicey for a while, there, but in the end we were able to overcome our differences –”
“Kalim. What is this?”
Jamil’s phone buzzes, and he peeks at it – sees a post from Floyd Leech in their Basketball Club chat. Something about how… if he really had turned into a wooden puppet forever at Playful Land… they’d probably have had to hunt him down and steal him away from those theme park jerks in time for their game against Royal Sword Academy. He just remembered! No way does he wanna miss it, at least not in his current mood. He could’ve probably kicked their asses even as a puppet! Once he figured out how to move those annoying wooden limbs and all...
Jamil’s eyes flick back up to find Kalim’s. He murmurs something about the message, and Kalim feels around in his hair, finds another slice of wood. Holds it gently against his cheek, like part of a mask. Then drops it, seeing Jamil’s expression.
Kalim must know Jamil tried making him into a puppet, too, using his signature spell. Jamil, his family, these Playful Land strangers… how many people have tried tying strings to Kalim’s wrists, over the years? How many more people will try, in years to come?
“I never changed completely,” Kalim clarifies, probably thinking that will calm Jamil at least a little. “My jaw was still, y’know, bone. Human? I still had my own voice, I mean, haha. And my eyes hadn’t turned into wood yet, either… just a little bit of my face…”
“… your face…”
“It turns out allllll the puppet workers at Playful Land were just transformed people! Isn’t that messed up?! I feel terrible for them, the more I think about it. And there are probably more of them, all over the world...”
Jamil shudders. His fury sweeps back in, like a flood of splinters in his throat.
Jamil imagines a world where Rook hunts down puppet-Vil, to keep safe and decorated with familiar bangles until he learns how to break the spell. A puppet wearing a mask of Vil’s face, asking “How can I help you?” and “Have you enjoyed your time at the park today?” in a stilted stranger’s voice. Oh, oui, oui, beautiful Vil. You always make days at the park so much fun!
Jamil imagines Malleus raging against the small mortal things that dared transform his teacher, his guardian. A puppet-Lilia, lips smiling impishly at nothing, head lolling, held protectively in the crook of Malleus’s thorn-scaled arm. And of course then there would be venom-green storms, enough to drown any ship. Tidal waves, reaching crooked skeleton-lightning fingers into coastline towns Malleus wouldn’t remember until later. Would he crush puppet-Lilia, even as he tried to avenge him? Or would he carry him home to Silver, so that he’d wake up with aching woodenness in his ancient joints and stories to tell?
Jamil imagines struggling to recognize a puppet-Kalim among all the others… without shared memories, without clear hopeful eyes to meet… and tries to gather words for another scolding.
Those words don’t come in time, though. Jamil just chokes out Kalim’s name, baffled, hands empty. Kalim, you need to be so much more careful. Kalim pulls him closer as if Jamil might lash out suddenly, flinching away like a snake bite. Kalim rubs soft circles into his back. Jamil’s stiff, professional, too-often-on-duty spine. Shh, shh. He’ll be careful, he promises. He’ll make this up to Jamil, somehow. Probably. He’ll try really hard to, at least.
He always says that.
He always means it.
There’s still bark flecked in Kalim’s hair, which won’t do. Jamil huffs, swallowing hard. Trying not to think about how Kalim probably has Playful Land souvenirs in his pockets right now, meant as gifts for him. He drags Kalim further into Scarabia to get cleaned up.