The Thorn Boy (1999)
by Storm Constantine

A Word From the Editor: This review continues a trend I hope to continue with every edition of this e-zine: Reviews of Storm's books! Want to do a review? Email Inception!

We meet the main characters of Storm Constantine's novel The Thorn Boy in the first paragraph: Darien, the favorite of the King of Cos, looks on as Akaten, the lover of the defeated and dead Khan of Mewt, grieves hysterically for his lost lord. Healers insert thorns meant to sedate Akaten into his flesh. Later in the story he tells Darien that, far from sedating him, the thorns were torturous, and that Darien "you enjoyed watching it." With such images, Constantine unfurls a surprisingly rich story of obsession and agony, as haunting as Akaten's grief. The thorns of pain and loss are ever-present, with the bloom of first love all too brief.

That the novel is a short one is no surprise; Constantine has proven she can write concise stories that pack twice the dramatic punch of a typical fantasy door-stopper. Her style is clean yet lyrical, and The Thorn Boy is filled with imagery that conjures her world as clearly as illustrations would. From its chthonic temples to the quarters of the king, Cos comes alive as a place of intrigue and whispers, dissociated even from the simple pleasures of sex unless an ulterior motive exists. Without stating who are the villains or heroes (thankfully, allowing the reader to decide), Constantine succeeds in illuminating the nature of love by writing about its ugliness and power rather than its blessings.

The Thorn Boy introduces us to Cos and Mewt, rival nations whose contention has ended in the conquest of Mewt by Alofel, King of Cos. It is a conquest that seems doomed to eternal struggle; the society of Cos places the greatest value on appearances and status, while the Mewts are described as emotional and strong-willed. Polar opposites, Darien and Akaten play out the cultural differences of the two kingdoms as Darien, the polished concubine of the elegant King Alofel, is told by his master to instruct the beautiful Mewt captive on how to please the Cossic monarch; Darien must first contain his disgust over Akaten's unrestrained grief and then battle the growing attraction he feels for him.

Darien presents himself at first as a creature of the court, polished and poised for the daily machinations that surround him, a veneer of manners and good looks keeping him within the protective wall of Alofel's favor. He describes Alofel in impersonal tones, respectfully, but in the same way one might describe a statue or other impressive work of art; he refers to the encounters between them with an offhandedness that suggests his position is more courtesan than concubine. When Alofel informs him that he will prepare Akaten to come to him for the night, Darien goes to the Mewt youth and gives him coldly pragmatic advice:

'You were Harakhte's slave, now you are Alofel's. What's the difference? Act temperately and your life will continue much as before.' I don't know why I proffered this advice, for I wanted him to be miserable enough to brave the fall to the garden.

He looked at me steadily. 'The man I loved is dead,' he said, and then added with scorn, 'Do you really believe I wish to give myself to the one who slaughtered him?'

I felt only disdain. People such as Akaten and I could never be the lovers of kings. We were baubles, ornaments, to be discarded at will. Where did love come into it? Of course, I adored Alofel as my sovereign, but I did not rely on his love in return. That would only be asking for heart-ache. I handed Akaten a cloth. 'Wipe your face. The king will be here shortly.'

He looked at the cloth as if he'd never seen one before, then applied it with dignity to his eyes.

'It can be of short duration,' I said, 'if you know how to arouse him. If he thinks you require pleasuring, he will take his time. To avoid this, after the first kiss, raise and offer yourself to him. He will understand. He is not a cruel man.'

In Cos, kings are accustomed to taking boys as sexual playthings, but love never enters the relationship-neither party would dream of it. In Mewt, such liaisons are celebrated in song and art. Darien is Alofel's favorite among the youths, but he is not his lover; Akaten was much more to the dead Khan than a mere bed-toy. The idea of love being part of such a relationship-to be expected as a cause for it-fuels Darien's fascination with Akaten to the point of obsession. Requested by Alofel to woo Akaten to his bed, Darien takes it upon himself to win Akaten for himself.

A chance encounter in a temple encourages Darien to believe that Akaten has sought him out; unable to verify it, he cannot decide if the interlude was a highly-charged dream, or an actual seduction. His mental and emotional state quickly unravel as he witnesses Akaten's profound suffering and emotion. Mourning the Khan even as attendants keep him being sedated daily, Akaten's emotional state whirls from grief to giddy scorn at the pretensions Darien hides behind to shield his attraction to the Khan's boy:

'So, tell me, how did you escape?' I asked him.

He put his head on side to look at me. 'Easily. I climbed the vines on the terrace wall up to the roof.'

I could not help laughing. 'A precarious climb! You were lucky you weren't killed!'

He smiled. 'No, Darien, that wouldn't have happened. Tonight, there is magic in the air.'

My laugh turned into a sneer. 'Is there?'

He shook his head and looked at me. 'You are so unimaginative.'

'Hardly,' I answered dryly. If only he knew!

'You're never anything but formal. It diminishes your attractions.' He didn't wait for me to respond to that, but began to walk around the tree, touching it with one hand. 'It must be the way you've been trained, or brain-washed. It's such a waste. I like to imagine you with tangled hair and dirt on your face. Then you would be more real.'

Indignation hardened my heart. 'I am very real, Akaten. More so than you can imagine.'

'No, you are a dream.'

I thought he seemed intoxicated as if he'd been drinking or smoking hemp. The conversation itself had taken on a dream-like quality. He seemed fragile and fey. Perhaps they had increased his dose of herbals again. Impulsively, I reached out and grabbed hold of his arm, stopped him circuiting the tree. He leaned his side against me, his head hanging forward. 'What do you want of me?' I hissed. 'What is this game?'

'The game of life,' he answered. 'I thought you knew.'

The game of life turns out to be a dangerous one for Darien, who drops his defenses to accept what Akaten offers, and in doing so makes himself vulnerable to emotional wounds and the scorn of his peers at the court. Lost in his belief that he can somehow possess Akaten and cheat Alofel, the Mewtish lords who want Akaten returned home, even the memory of the dead Khan, Darien isolates himself from former friends and allies, leaving himself only with Akaten-and, ironically, closing the door on Akaten's freedom.

For Akaten is searching for the means of survival, and the only means Darien can teach are the lessons of the court-to survive and protect himself at all costs. Steps Darien takes, goaded by his jealousy of the dead Khan as well as the living monarch he serves, drive Akaten to learn those lessons quickly, which drive Darien to the edge of madness in his shattered illusions. As Alofel steps in to take what he believes is his, Darien forces a confrontation that eventually leads to the destruction of everything he values. His fall from grace incites a desire for revenge, and to gain it Darien gives up the last of his integrity. Without revealing the conclusion, it illustrates the saying that what we love, we destroy, and Darien narrates his guilt and self-immolation with a stark honesty that chills the reader.

Because love is a universal emotion, so many stories revolve around love and its manifestations. The most common-place treatments follow a set script--the hero/heroine must meet their destined mate, fall in love, save the world, etc. The Thorn Boy takes a solid look at a love based on emotions far less delicate, charts a course through the darkness, and draws the reader along to the bitter end, daring you to flinch. Love is not all hearts and flowers. Sometimes, love is a brace of thorns, cruel and numbing all at once.