The Orphan

  The Sea of Emptiness, a boundary that encloses humanity, a border determined to keep us here. Be there more beyond the great expanse? Worlds unknown, or worlds past? Even Gaea, say the bards of old. Even Gaea, ancient home of the Legaleians. Even the Moon, a heavenly body lost in time. But who can brave that hollow chasm, perilous void that swallows man and beast?

  — From Legends of the Ancients

  (San’Hal 13, 997—Night Season)

  I dreamed as I slept. In that bright, foggy dream world, White appeared, taking me to a memory of my mother.

  In the memory, I was sitting on a tree stump across from my mother, who crouched in a field of tall, grey grass. She was talking to me. I kicked my chubby little legs idly as I tried to pay attention. Well, I didn’t exactly try; I wanted to move. Every time I moved too much, she would steady me with her strong hands, a quiet reminder to settle down, and each time I grew distracted, she would gently prompt me to focus by turning my head with a finger.

  “My little Lynchazel,” she was saying, “you have to pay attention, please. I’m only telling you again so that you will remember. At least . . . well, someday. When you do, you’ll be able to process what I’m saying more easily.”

  Actually, my sleeping brain was just barely understanding her words, mostly from the memories of my toddler self. The language was still foreign to me, but I could just make out her meaning.

  “Gaea,” she explained, “is not like this world. It’s a scary world, full of volcanoes and earthquakes, magma fields and raging oceans. The thing you will have to get the most used to is the pull of the planet, which is far stronger than that of Mani. For a full-blooded Hellebes accustomed to it since childhood, it’s not so bad, but . . . I worry for you.” She stopped and coughed into her shoulder.

  Some of the words that she spoke were hard for me to make sense of. Some, like earthquakes and oceans, I was able to grasp the meaning of from my child self, but . . . Hellebes? That one I certainly didn’t recognize.

  Mother sighed, brushing a stray lock of her silky white hair behind her ear. “I honestly don’t know if you will ever make it back. I sense that it is your destiny, that you will one day return to Gaea, but . . . perhaps it’s only my fears. Especially the fear of what will happen to you once you do reach Gaea. The people of my homeworld will try to use you, experiment on you as they did on me . . . but you must fight them, and you must win. You can win. I don’t know what became of Zent, but some from his team are still out there, and I’m sure that all the time you are here, growing up on Mani, they will be planning for your return to Gaea.”

  Mother sighed and looked up past me, watching the grey grass sway in the breeze for a moment, and then she bent forward and kissed my forehead. “I wish I could live to see you grow up, my girl.”

  She smiled once more, and the moment was gone, my dream fading away.

  ??

  When I awoke later that evening, Kaen and Mydia were both still there. Kaen was up and pacing about, Mydia seated quietly on a stool by my cot. Oliver was poking his head around the doorway, probably wondering if he could come in now.

  “Lyn!” Mydia whispered. “You’re finally awake. How do you feel? Are you all right?”

  “Unngh,” I groaned. “I’m . . . I’ll be . . . ugh, I feel horrible.” I grimaced, reaching a hand to my bruised side. I sucked in a deep breath, wincing at the pain it induced in my ribs. “I’ll be fine; don’t worry.” I managed a small smile.

  I noted the tear stains on Mydia’s soft cheeks, the haunted look in her eyes. She had been scared stiff over what happened to me, worrying the whole time about my recovery. But she seemed to brighten up now.

  “Don’t sit up yet, Lyn,” Kaen protested, walking over just as I tried to sit up. “Careful.”

  I glared at him as hard as I could manage. “I’m fine. Really. I just—ouch!—need to stretch.” I sat up and reached back tentatively to push my hair back behind my ears. “Whew. That was a thrill, huh?”

  Mydia put on a pouty face. “That’s not funny. I was scared half to death, Lyn! You almost died. I almost died! I mean, Rhidea probably had it all under control, but it was really scary. . . .” Her nervous smile died as she caught Kaen’s disapproving stare from beside her, and she said, “Sorry. Rambling again. I’m just glad you’re all right, mm’kay, Lyn?” She ruffled my hair and smiled, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

  Crybaby. I threw back the sheets to reveal my bare legs covered only by the short, simply-stitched healer’s gown I wore. I was about to reach down and roll it up when I realized Kaen was still there, looking around uncomfortably. “Go on, get out,” I muttered, and he did so. Then I rolled up the left side of the skirt enough to see the bandages that Lena had wrapped my upper-thigh in.

  “Lena did a good job patching you up,” Mydia said. “She’s a very sweet woman, too.”

  Satisfied, I nodded and rolled my skirt back down to knee-length, swinging my hips painfully to rest my feet on the floor of the spare room. And then I rose to my feet shakily. Mydia steadied me with a hand on my good shoulder, a worried look on her face. I shook my legs slowly and proceeded to hobble around the room—equally slowly. The more I moved, the better I felt. The achy pain was still there, but I was able to function and my head, throbbing though it still was, was clearer than before.

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeated to Mydia—and Kaen, who’d just reentered the room.

  He nodded almost grudgingly. “You will. You’re made of tough stuff. Lights and glory, but I don’t think we know how tough of stuff . . . I’m just glad you didn’t, you know, I’m glad you made it to the rope. That you didn’t fall.”

  “Me too, Kaen.” I approached my friend and embraced him tiredly, heedless of my attire. Then I backed away, feeling a touch of heat rising to my cheeks. “You know what, I should . . . find something to put on. Mydia, where are my clothes?”

  Kaen glanced down at my gown and backed away. “I’ll . . . leave you girls to that. I’ll go tell the others you’re up.”

  “Thanks,” I said tiredly.

  “Rhidea, Kaen, everyone . . . I want to go back out there. I want to fix whatever went wrong so that it doesn’t happen again—and then I want to go back out there.” I said the words with a fiery resolve that hadn’t shown up in a long time, despite how tired I felt.

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down, Lyn,” Mydia said. “I know we need to get across, but . . .”

  “Child, you just came close to dying because of a weak point in the design.”

  “Then let’s find it,” I urged them. “We’ll go over the whole thing and see what we can improve. We can’t just stop here when we’re so close.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “There are other options to explore, Lyn,” Rhidea said calmly.

  I shook my head. “I think we’re on to something here. You went out in a team of two and the glider performed fine. In fact, I’d say you were taking riskier moves than I was.”

  Mydia muttered something in agreement.

  Rhidea rested her arm against the door post. “I was also the one with the better chance at recovering from a disaster with my abilities.”

  “Wait . . . abilities.” My eyes widened. “The fire! I used fire magic to boost my height with hot air.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Oliver chirped in. “I know you said you wanted to try that and all, and it was impressive looking, but I never thought that was a very good idea. Fire used wrong can weaken the design. Not good for the glues.”

  “Let’s examine the broken glider for scorch marks and weakness,” Rhidea said. “As for design improvements . . . any ideas?”

  Mydia’s eyes roved back and forth over the floor. “Well . . . actually, I may be able to use my water magic to strengthen the wood of the fliers.”

  “Really?” I asked skeptically. “You can do that on dead wood? Your Authority is that strong already?”

  “I’m not sure. But I can certainly try. I’ve done it to flowers. I think I can imbue it with a spell that will help it to . . . let’s say remember the life it used to have. This would make it more supple and strong, a bit more flexible.”

  Rhidea pursed her lips. “Hmm . . . but it would be more resistant to heat and fire, if nothing else.”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. “Mydia, that’s brilliant!”

  Kaen and the others immediately began checking the old glider diligently for any type of damage. They insisted that I go to bed early, however, even though my injuries were already healing. So I went back to the inn, ordered a giant meal, and went to bed.

  I woke up the next day and sought out my companions. I took all my bandages off and threw them away, because my wounds were nearly completely healed. Only small aches were left.

  I found the others at Uncle Ben’s house. Oliver was still there, though I wondered when his parents would return and take him away from our project completely.

  “Kaen! Mydia!” I called, coming up to the open workshop. “How’s the progress?”

  “So you’re finally awake, huh?” Kaen said with a grin. “You look better.”

  “Yes, I feel better.”

  “You look like a new person!” Oliver said. “You don’t look hurt or nothin’!”

  “Well, let’s just say Miss Lena did her magic well, hmm?” I gave him an innocent smile.

  “Say, miss, I meant to ask you how in the great islands you managed to climb all the way up the cliff from where you were . . .” Oliver scratched his head.

  Mydia gave him a flick in the head, prompting an angry yelp of pain. “Knock it off, kid. She’s magic, okay? You saw her create flames.”

  The boy looked at me as though considering this for the first time—though I was reasonably certain his mind skipped right past the matter of my unnatural healing. “That means you’re a fire mage?”

  I studied the half-built craft on which they currently worked. “Yes. I have other abilities, too. You just don’t know about them.”

  “Like . . . really fast healing?”

  “Mm-hmm. Maybe.”

  Kaen interrupted to explain that they were modifying one of Oliver’s old projects to be a bit stronger against gusts of wind and hard banking. Mydia was going to try her idea of imbuing the finished wood with water magic.

  Old Ben, Rhidea and Kymhar worked on another one behind them. I wandered over to them and asked Uncle Ben, “When are, uh, Oliver’s parents getting back?”

  He froze and stopped his work, not looking up. “His parents?” He sighed. “So he told you that one. They’re not . . . getting back. They died. I am his sole guardian.”

  I gasped. Rhidea nodded grimly, as though she’d already figured it out.

  “What happened to them?” I asked in a shocked voice. I saw Oliver look up sharply from beside me, ducking it back down again just as quickly.

  “It was two years ago. The boy doesn’t like to talk about it, and neither do I. Let’s just say they’re the reason I don’t like him going out flying. We’ll leave it at that.”

  (San’Hal 14, 997—Night Season)

  That afternoon, we stood once more on the cliff at the edge of Scathii, overlooking the majesty of the infinite starscape that faded into the dark fog of the Sea of Emptiness. The auroras’ ribbonlike lights danced off the ashen particles that floated over the void. “It’s so beautiful,” I breathed.

  “Uncle, please,” Oliver was begging. “Let me go out just this once to flight test it. I’m familiar with these things like no one else is.”

  His uncle pursed his lips. “I know that, son, but . . . no, I can’t have you going off alone like this.”

  “Then with someone else!”

  “Someone like who?”

  “I’ll go with him,” Kaen said. “He’s talented, but impetuous. That’s what you’re concerned about, right? I’ll keep him in check.”

  Yeah, sure, I thought wryly, and you aren’t.

  Uncle Ben grimaced. “Very well. But just this once.”

  Kaen and Oliver got suited up in the glider harness. Kaen was on top, just because it made sense, although Oliver would be controlling it for the most part with the steering ropes.

  And then they were off, jumping from the edge into the misty horizon. They fell for a short distance until their glider’s form became blurry to my eyes, and then they came up out of the dive, soaring away from the island and to the left.

  Glancing up, I saw Rhidea put a hand on Uncle Ben’s shoulder. “The boy is a natural,” she said calmly. “He will be fine. A remark-able boy, really. Very intelligent and skilled for his age. I think he gets a lot from you.”

  Ben nodded solemnly. “He is a good boy. Willful and impetuous, but a good lad. He’s all I have left. His mother and my brother, they . . . they fell on a skyship accident. It shouldn’t have happened, as those boats are usually quite safe, but . . . well, there’s no way to know how it happened. His father, their wind mage, must have fallen suddenly sick, or the mechanics failed. Who can say? The merchant guild tries to cover it up along with every other accident. I saw it fall with my own eyes, just as they were approaching port.”

  He said the words with such bitterness that I felt my heart wrench for him.

  “I’m sorry,” Mydia whispered from beside me, head bowed. “That must have been horrible, both for you and for him.”

  He looked away, then back down at the pair of fliers out on the horizon. “I loved them very much. And my fierce love for my nephew makes me protective of him. I’m sure you can understand. But . . . my, I don’t often see him fly on these. He’s . . . amazing.”

  Oliver was taking their glider in circles and swoops, probably using his Wind Authority to boost their speed, catching updrafts and soaring upward through the misty skies.

  “Like a bird,” Mydia said. “So graceful.”

  “He really is gifted,” I observed.

  As we watched, the boy righted the thin vessel and began to take them back to the island. They came in fast and pulled up at the last moment, slowing to land in an awkward run on the grassy soil of Scathii.

  “Whew! We’re back, Uncle!” cried the blond boy excitedly. “Wasn’t that fun, Mr. Kaen?”

  “That was . . . very exhilarating,” Kaen said breathlessly as he worked to extricate himself from the gear. He straightened his wobbly legs and shot me a grin. “But really fun. The kid knows what he’s doing.”

  “Oliver,” his uncle beckoned him, arms open. The blond-haired boy ran to him and embraced him. “I want to apologize.”

  “For what, Uncle?”

  “For never watching you fly. I might have changed my mind had I seen you do it before now. And . . . I think I’ve also decided to let you fly whenever you want now.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re almost a man by our standards, my boy. And I can see what a passion you have for it. You will become a great skyship designer in the future.”

  “So . . . what if I wanted to go on a proper trip?” Oliver glanced up at us. “With some strangers.”

  Uncle Ben squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then let out a breath. “That would be your decision, then.”