The sun rose over Luneder, painting yellow hues on the canvas of receding night. From beyond the sleepy forest of Gohenur the fire giant roused, splashing gold over vast tulip fields and illuminating row upon row arrayed in marvellous red and purple. A gentle summer breeze made the flower fields dance, rejoicing in the shower of light. The morning’s bright deluge reflected off the glass-like surface of the Western Sea and conjured a brilliant golden mirror that enveloped the solitary settlement on its shores.
A young girl was running through the meadows awash with colour, enjoying the dawn’s spectacle of wind and fire. She was beautiful. Her scarlet curls danced in the wind. Her emerald eyes caught the radiant light with a lively, playful gleam. With a smile brighter than the oncoming day the girl ran toward her home in lithe and graceful movements.
As she neared the edges of the village, she could see the lazy movements of residents barely awake being uncomfortably greeted by the brightness of the morning. The girl smiled to herself, proud that she had been up and about to greet the rising sun and had not been caught unprepared by the light. She wondered sadly how the villagers could miss the moment when the sun broke over the top of the trees of Gohenur and washed the land in gold. That moment was magic. But she loved her land, and she loved her home, her humble Luneder, hemmed between glassy seas and gleaming fields.
As the girl arrived at the outskirts of Luneder she did not want to disturb the gatekeepers and watchers, who were busy with their morning duties. The girl also fancied herself for finding a hidden pathway out of the village in old man Dronam’s garden, so she could enter and exit unseen. Making use of that secret entrance, the girl stealthily entered the village. She dashed through the thick foliage behind Dronam’s garden, crawled over thick underbrush, and finally climbed through the broken gate obscured by trees and bushes.
As the girl stepped foot in the garden the sight took her breath away. When she had snuck out under the cover of night, the girl had completely missed the beauty of the place she now stood in. Roses, dandelions and daisies, tulips, lilies and lilacs in full bloom, carefully tended and arranged, rose into view. The wonderful array of shapes and colours shone brightly in the morning light and made the girl halt. She walked through the lanes of flowers slowly, gently caressing them and taking in their sight and smell.
‘Good morning, Adélia,’ called a friendly voice from the back of the garden. ‘What are you doing here?’
Startled, Adélia turned. ‘Ah! Dronam! Good morning!’ she said hurriedly, obviously caught red-handed. ‘I was just… well, passing through, and the flowers… well, they’re beautiful.’
‘No doubt on one of your adventures, and yet at such an early hour,’ mused Dronam, hands in his thick beard and wise eyes fixed on the girl.
‘I’m sorry,’ offered Adélia weakly. ‘You won’t tell my parents, will you?’ She gave Dronam a dejected look that she hoped would melt whatever annoyance the old man felt.
‘Hmm… Ah. Well, no harm done no worries won, I always say,’ Dronam answered with a smile.
Adélia puzzled over the old man’s expression briefly but decided to take it as a good sign and press the matter no further. ‘You really do have beautiful flowers,’ she said, turning her attention back to the colourful rows. ‘Do you take care of this garden by yourself?’ Adélia wanted to add that it was the first time she had seen the flowers in bloom, but she realised that would unwisely reveal this had not been her first trespassing offence.
‘Well, I have always loved gardening,’ said Dronam. ‘It’s a pleasure of mine to collect, grow, and arrange all sorts of plants and flowers. Until now I had done it as a profession and as a service to others. But what’s a retired florist to do if not beautify his own home and garden?’
Adélia nodded. ‘Well, this garden is even prettier than the fields of flowers outside our village,’ she declared. ‘But I can’t stare at flowers all day. I must be going.’ Adélia turned resolutely from the flowers to the old man. ‘Thank you for keeping this a secret,’ she added with a wink. She bowed and then started to move towards the garden’s exit. She considered herself fortunate that Dronam was such a kind, forgiving man, and privileged to encounter such floral beauty in her own home.
‘Ah, dear Adélia, before you go there is something I must give you,’ Dronam said. ‘You may pick any flower from this garden for you to keep.’
Adélia’s eyes lit up with delight. She ran back to Dronam, incredulous. She was torn between showing proper gratitude to the old man and seizing the prospect of owning one of his flowers, as if this chance might slip away. Her eyes darted from the flowers to the old man and back. Dronam laughed at her visible indecision.
‘It’s alright, girl,’ he said. ‘You deserve it. After all it is your special day, is it not? You are all of ten years old today.’
‘Ah! You knew?’ Adélia asked.
‘Of course. Your father is one of my oldest friends. He never stops talking about you, you know. He’s very proud of you.’
Adélia blushed, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair.
‘He’s a very curious man, that one, but a good friend’ said Dronam contemplatively. ‘Old age may have dulled my strength and slowed my movements… but your father looks like he hasn’t aged a day since I met him. Still as young and full of vigour…’ Dronam momentarily frowned, perplexed at the thought, but then dismissed it. He looked down at Adélia, who was eagerly awaiting permission to take her gift. ‘And I’m sure you’ve inherited his strength and youthfulness, dear Adélia, with all your running around this morning,’ he said with playful accusation. ‘But listen to me ramble. Go ahead, child. You may select your flower.’
Adélia turned to the beds and rows of flowers skilfully ornamented. It was only now that she took in the full view of the garden and how each blooming complex contributed to the beauty of the whole. The stunning red of the roses, the piercing yellow of the lilies, the intriguing purple of the tulips, and the soothing white of the daisies, along with the multitude of other shades, all complemented each other and created a mesmerising canvas of colour. As Adélia looked over the enclosure, the light brought out the intensity of each hue, beautiful in its own way, but even more so when seen against the backdrop of the whole. Fresh dew made the entire garden sparkle and shimmer in a surreal fashion under the morning sun. Faced with such beauty, Adélia felt like she was in a different world, a transcendent realm of fragile beauty—one which would be disturbed by every intruding breath she took.
Adélia turned shyly to Dronam. ‘I can’t possibly choose which flower to take.’ Her voice revealed both disappointment and reverence.
Dronam widened his eyes in compassion and then walked over to where the girl stood frozen. ‘That’s alright, dear,’ he said with a hand on her shoulder. ‘If you allow me to make recommendations, I will pick for you.’
Dronam walked to one of the flower beds. Kneeling down, he produced a small blade and put it to the stem of a mystifying purple tulip. Adélia watched with wonder and keen interest as the old man silently and skilfully worked the fragile stem of the plant. But instead of returning to her, Dronam rose without a word and walked over to a bush where the small blade was used again. Then he stepped over to another corner of the garden and worked the blade once more. Finally, he walked back to where Adélia stood and held out his hand. In addition to the first purple tulip, Dronam held a rose burning with red intensity and a lily shining with the yellow of the sun. ‘Here you go, dear,’ he said with a smile. ‘Take them. Be careful of the rose’s thorns.’
Adélia looked up at the old man, stunned at his generosity. She extended trembling hands and took the bundle from Dronam. The freshly picked flowers settled gingerly in her hands. Adélia widened her eyes in amazement as she took in every detail, from the subtle bends of the tulip to the complex undulating spirals of the rose’s layers. ‘Thank you,’ was all that Adélia could say, her voice quivering with incredulity and delight.
Dronam put away the blade he had used to cut the flowers and turned to the girl. ‘You take good care of these, now,’ he said. ‘I picked them out for you for a specific reason. They are very special.’
Adélia leaned in closer, intrigued. ‘What do they mean, Dronam?’ she inquired.
‘Well, you see,’ began Dronam, apparently pleased that Adélia had shown interest. ‘The purple tulip you hold represents royal strength and independence. I thought it was fitting for you, Adélia. You are a strong, confident young girl.’
Adélia focused on the purple tulip, pleased at its symbolic significance. She recalled how only moments earlier she had run through an entire field of them on her way back after sunrise.
‘The red rose,’ Dronam continued, ‘is a symbol of passion and love. See, one day you will find someone you truly care for, someone you will give yourself to in love and companionship. It is customary in our village to give a red rose to those who have fallen in love. This one is for you to give to another.’
Adélia giggled at the thought and looked at the rose closely.
‘You will understand one day,’ Dronam offered with a smile. ‘Now the last one is very special. It is said that lilies take in the light of the stars by night. That’s what gives them their distantly piercing yellow colour.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ said Adélia, recalling late night conversations with her father as they gazed at the majesty and splendour of the sky above. ‘My father talks about starlight. He says starlight offers guidance and strength, but I’m not sure what he means.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, young one. So you could say the lily symbolises the gathering of that starlight that guides and empowers. We use it to bless those who go away on long journeys…’ Dronam paused and looked distantly at the flower in Adélia’s hand. ‘Yes, the lily is a reminder that wherever we may depart, the starlight is with us.’
Adélia looked quizzically at the old man but left her questions unspoken.
‘Anyway, Adélia, I think it is time for you to go,’ Dronam said with a raised eyebrow. ‘Your parents will soon be wondering where their little girl has gone.’
‘Ah! You’re right,’ said Adélia in a panic. ‘I must be going. Thank you for everything, Dronam.’ She turned and dashed toward the garden’s exit.
‘Happy birthday,’ called Dronam after the girl.
Adélia turned with a smile, then finally, with flowers in hand, leapt over the short fence and disappeared into the maze of alleyways leading to Luneder’s main thoroughfare. When she emerged from the obscurity of the alleys, Adélia slowed to a walk and joined the growing throng scurrying about and preparing for the day. Painters and potters, tailors and sculptors, florists and carvers, instrument makers and glassblowers, all readied their workstations and set their wares on display. Luneder was renowned for its workers in the fine manual arts, and soon the streets would be filled with marvels of cloth and clay, paint and wood.
Already some of the more eager merchants were advertising their products. Adélia heard a vendor of glassware try and sell a wonderfully crafted glass rose. Across the street, a seller of instruments swore that the strings on his lutes played so beautifully and finely they could even put a dragon to sleep. Adélia glanced at the beautiful bouquet in her hands and wondered why anyone would prefer glass flowers to the real thing. And she would sooner trust a spear to fell a dragon than a song. Adélia hurried on through crowds of merchants and curious onlookers unaware of the young girl’s morning adventures. But she did not go unnoticed, and a friendly voice called out to her.
‘Good morning to you, Adélia,’ cried Aresa the potter, already busy at her wheel.
Adélia turned to see the source of the outcry. Aresa was sitting behind her stall, hands and feet working the potter’s contraption. With bony fingers, she was shaping a lump of clay that Adélia knew without a doubt would become another masterpiece. Aresa’s warm eyes, set in a round face wrinkled with experience, gazed at the young girl with gentle focus. ‘Good morning,’ Adélia said cheerily.
‘Lovely flowers, you’ve got there, dear,’ said Aresa, eyeing Adélia’s hands. ‘You know, I’m glad you came by. I’ve got just the thing for you. Come on over.’
Adélia saw Aresa’s inviting stare and gingerly stepped closer to the old lady’s workstation.
‘Don’t be shy, love,’ said Aresa with a laugh as dry as the clinking and clanking of her wheel. ‘I want to give you something for your special day. Go on and choose any of the flower pots on that wall over there,’ she said with a wave of her head. ‘We can’t have those pretty flowers wilt in your hand now, can we?’
‘Ah! You knew as well, Aresa?’ exclaimed Adélia as she walked behind the wooden shopfront. ‘Old man Dronam gave me these flowers for my birthday.’ The girl drew near to the old lady and held out her hands proudly.
‘I had a feeling those were from that man’s garden,’ said Aresa with a smile. ‘Finest florist in all of Luneder, he is. His flowers deserve the finest ornamented pots,’ she added with a wink. ‘Go on, girl, choose any you like.’
Adélia stepped to the back of Aresa’s workspace and looked up in wonder at all the pots on display. All shapes and sizes, all shades and colours, stood still on old shelves ridden with dust. There were large plant pots exquisitely shaped and meticulously engraved with motifs of various landscapes. Smaller pots stood near, decorated with minuscule details of meandering swirls that boggled the imagination.
Adélia’s attention was caught by a vase of modest size in the corner, golden in colour save for the couple of black figures locked in combat on its painted surface. She leaned in closer to make out the swarthy characters. A warrior stood his ground, spear in hand, against a large dragon poised menacingly to strike. Their battle dance mesmerised the young girl.
‘I’ll take this one,’ Adélia said, lifting the old vase from its resting place and holding it up for Aresa to see.
‘Interesting choice, love,’ said Aresa, lips pouted. ‘Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing. You’re nearly a lady now.’
Adélia beamed a smile and said, ‘It’s not just flowers that I like, Aresa.’
‘I hope it serves you well, dear,’ said Aresa in resignation. ‘Go on, your father will be looking for you.’
Sudden shock splashed across Adélia’s face. She had again forgotten that her daring morning activities would elicit worry from her parents. She turned to the potter with dismay and asked, ‘You wouldn’t happen to have seen my father, would you?’
‘Not this morning,’ offered Aresa. ‘But I’m sure he’s around somewhere. That man is like you, up before dawn, wouldn’t miss the sunrise for the world.’
Adélia quickly put the bundle in the pot then bowed. ‘Thank you very much for the vase, Aresa. I will treasure it always,’ she said, and before the old woman could reply the girl had run off with determination.
Adélia dashed through the thoroughfare of Luneder, dodging merchants carrying wares and eager-eyed buyers shuffling about. With one hand under the pot and one on the flowers, she held her gifts close and raced toward her home. The thoroughfare cut from the main gate of the village in the east all the way to the western alleys leading to the docks, dividing Luneder in half. Adélia’s home was situated in the northern residential half, edging the dock district. From her window she could see Pirate’s Lookout, the oldest structure in Luneder, a guard tower built in a bygone age to ward off seafaring Senhì plunderers. The tower was now a simple lighthouse, guiding passing ships with its watchful flame. But the lookout still stood proudly, an ever-vigilant guardian of the Western Sea.
Adélia had an innate distrust of the sea, an inexpressible trepidation of its incomprehensible vastness. While she had never sailed the sea, Adélia observed it one day from the top of Pirate’s Lookout. Staring out over the endless watery dunes, she was filled with dread. The sea was fickle and unpredictably changeable. It lacked the stability and security of land. Unlike the constant mounds of earth, the ageless shape of the mountains, and the unmoving stillness of the forest, the ocean rolled and roared, swallowed and swelled. The sea railed against its terrestrial counterpart, amorphous and untameable.
As Pirate’s Lookout came into view, Adélia knew she was near home. But the path she had trod a thousand times was suddenly fresh with the urgency of the morning. As she turned into the last alley toward her home she saw her father Menkalinan, standing not far off talking with another man she did not recognise. Adélia quickly hid behind the wall of a nearby house, uncertain of how to approach. She could not make out what her father and the other man were saying, but Menkalinan’s hearty laugh and beaming smile indicated they were discussing woodcarving, his favourite subject and passionate profession.
Relieved that her father was in a good mood—perhaps good enough to forgive her sneaking out lightly—Adélia emerged from her cover and sheepishly drew nearer. Menkalinan stood imposingly tall, a head taller than the other man, his broad shoulders fanned out with authoritative manner. He laughed and spoke through a thick yet well-trimmed beard, alive with the brown of earth. Shaggy hair of the same brown colour framed Menkalinan’s gentle face, set with opal eyes and a prominent nose. His voice sounded forth with the quiet strength of ancient trees.
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Adélia set her flower vase down and latched onto her father’s leg. ‘I’m sorry, father! I’m sorry,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes.
Menkalinan cut off his conversation and looked down to see his daughter’s glistening emerald gaze locked on him. Without breaking his smile, he stroked her hair and said, ‘There you are, my dove. I’m glad you’ve returned.’
Panged with guilt, Adélia buried her face in her arms and sobbed softly.
‘Is that your little one?’ said the other man, seemingly undisturbed by the interruption.
‘Yes, she is,’ Menkalinan said. ‘My dove, my treasure.’ He reached down to his daughter’s hair again and plucked off bits of branch and leaf. ‘Looks like you have been on another morning adventure,’ Menkalinan said warmly.
The other man stood silent, patiently watching the reunion with shadowy eyes, colourless like quartz.
Menkalinan softly lifted up Adélia’s chin. Her tears streamed, following the contours of her face like clear rivers careening down mountains. In her father’s presence Adélia was not afraid to express her weakness, confusion, and frustration. Though strong and independent, proudly free-spirited and determined, Adélia was also fragile, sensitive, and passionate. In her father she could confide all her delights and disappointments, aspirations and apprehensions. It was not that her mother Cassia was distant or uninterested, but Adélia had always felt closer to her father. Her mother disapproved of Adélia’s frequent adventures, and she felt her interests were unbecoming. So it was Menkalinan who took her places and told her stories. Stories of heroes and villains, of the meek and the monstrous. He listened attentively, answered her inquisitive questions, and encouraged her exploratory endeavours.
‘Do not worry, daughter,’ Menkalinan said. ‘All is forgiven. Now, come greet—Ah! I am sorry, I have quite forgotten your name already,’ he blurted with apology in his voice as he turned to the stranger.
‘My name is Umar,’ said the man with a subtle but courteous bow. His voice echoed unnervingly with the still of silence.
Adélia turned to the stranger with curious eyes. Umar seemed to be quite young, a man of twenty years perhaps, with a smooth face, neatly shaped yet framed by rather unkempt dark hair. His clothing was indistinct, save for the traveller’s cape clasped around his shoulders with a brooch of bronze. Tattered and torn, the cape had perhaps been white originally, now well-worn and discoloured with use. The clasp was engraved with the design of a coiled sea serpent. The beast frolicked amid rolling waves intricately captured in the metalwork.
‘Yes. Umar and I were just talking about our methods of woodcarving, shaping and engraving the material,’ Menkalinan said as Adélia continued to stare at the stranger.
‘What your father means to say,’ began Umar slyly, ‘is that he has been telling me how inexperienced I am and how utterly short I fall of a master woodcarver’s skills.’
Menkalinan guffawed so loudly that Adélia was certain not a soul in Luneder would still be asleep. With her home only a few paces away, Menkalinan’s outburst was sure to have woken up her mother. Several faces looked in the direction of the commotion, puzzled looks inquiring what jest they had missed.
‘You are too contrite, my friend. For one so young to be so knowledgeable in the art of wood… it is extraordinary.’ There was genuine delight and praise in Menkalinan’s voice as he studied the young man’s unyieldingly composed face.
‘At any rate, that is why I have come to Luneder,’ replied Umar. ‘I desire to better my skill in the fine arts and to meet the masters of the craft. Luneder’s reputation for such is second to none. I have only arrived a few hours ago, my ship making shore before the sunrise. And to already be acquainted with someone of your calibre is… fortunate.’
‘I am pleased to see how eager you are to learn, Umar,’ said Menkalinan, mouth bared in a grin. ‘You should visit my workshop later. It would be my pleasure to show you some of what we discussed. But if you would excuse me for now, there are some family matters I must attend to.’ He looked down at his daughter, who still clung to his leg and wordlessly eyed Umar.
‘Of course,’ Umar responded. ‘In the meantime, I shall spend the day at the markets. There is much to learn from all craftsmen and trades here in Luneder. Thank you for everything. A good morning to you, Merenor.’ With a bow, Umar turned and joined the throng heading toward the markets on Luneder’s thoroughfare. His cape fluttered in futile defiance of the breeze and his silent steps were soon drowned by the commotion of the morning.
Menkalinan watched him disappear in the crowd. ‘What a fine young man,’ he said. ‘Now, Adélia—’ Menkalinan began as he looked down at her once more, but his inquiry was met with a quizzical expression.
‘Merenor?’ Adélia asked, perplexed at Umar’s farewell.
‘Ah! That is my… business name,’ Menkalinan stammered. ‘A common practice in the trade.’ Adélia fixed her eyes on her father, unconvinced. It was unlike her father to keep things or to avoid proper answers.
But before Adélia could continue her questioning, they both heard a latch click and the door to their home swung open. Cassia appeared, her beauty unstained by the dishevelling clutches of the night. Auburn hair cascaded in rich locks and framed a slender face full of wisdom and grace. The same knowing emerald eyes as her daughter’s shone in the gold of the morning sun. As Cassia stood in the doorway, she crossed her arms playfully, her gaze darting between husband and daughter.
‘Who do I have to thank for the morning bugle?’ she said with a smile. Her voice rang with the soothing air of the forest breeze.
Menkalinan could only scratch his head and offer a guilty chuckle, and Adélia giggled at the sight of her father in trouble. Cassia sighed with all the contentment of a mother and a wife.
‘Good morning, mother!’ Adélia cried, her eager eyes beaming. ‘There’s something I have to show you!’ She detached herself from her father and ran to where Aresa’s vase lay on the ground. Picking up her treasured bundle, Adélia ran proudly to her mother.
Cassia eyed the items sharply. ‘A vase from Aresa’s workshop and three flowers from Dronam’s garden,’ she declared. ‘No doubt spoils from your morning adventure.’ With a glance, Cassia had pieced together the morning’s events, noting not only the vase and flowers but the redness of Adélia’s eyes and the debris in her hair. ‘Let’s find a place for these inside,’ she said, breaking Adélia’s stunned expression.
Adélia turned to her father with a face written with incredulity at her mother’s ability to work things out. Menkalinan simply winked.
‘And don’t think you’re in the clear either, dear,’ Cassia snapped at Menkalinan as she stepped inside with Adélia. Her tone was filled with gentle prodding rather than rebuke.
As the door swung shut behind Adélia, the brightness which had bled through the opening was snuffed and dimness settled over the interior of her home. In the pale, weak light the house seemed foreign, steeped in unwelcoming shadow. A stifling darkness seemed ready to swallow all, until Cassia drew back large drapes and opened windows. Light and wind rushed in like a swimmer’s gasping breath after long periods underwater, and the familiarity of the place returned.
Cassia walked over to a great mirror by the fireplace, its flames now extinguished. The mirror’s wooden frame featured exotic shapes and mesmerising swirls that looked alive even through the still and lifeless texture. Adélia remembered the day her father had finished the mirror and brought it home proudly as a gift for Cassia. But her halted reminiscing was interrupted by her mother, who beckoned her to come over to the mirror.
‘Adélia,’ Cassia spoke with soft authority, ‘come. We must speak.’
Adélia complied and stepped to where her mother waited. She feared a rebuke for her morning daring was incoming. But her mother’s eyes showed no frustration or anger. Cassia’s calm gaze, green as the forest in spring, focused on her with concerned anticipation. As she drew nearer, her mother turned and placed Adélia’s vase on the stone sill atop the fireplace.
‘What do you think, Adélia?’ asked Cassia. ‘Don’t they look wonderful here?’
‘They do,’ Adélia agreed. She absently noted the paradox of the vase and the flowers; a visceral confrontation between man and dragon encasing the most innocent and gentle of living things. She wasn’t sure what to make of this discovery, but Adélia decided she liked it.
‘But it’s not flowers and vases that I wish to speak with you about, lovely as they are,’ said Cassia, facing her daughter once more. She grabbed Adélia’s shoulders and guided her to the mirror. Picking up a nearby comb, Cassia began running it through her daughter’s voluminous locks. The comb parted Adélia’s rich waves like a ship sailing on crimson seas. Bits of dry leaf and twigs fell to the floor, the last evidence of the earlier endeavour. Adélia watched in silence as her mother groomed her hair and arranged her garments.
‘Adélia, I know you are a bit different,’ she said at last, somewhat wistfully. ‘You prefer knights to knitting. Swordplay to society. But perhaps I should not be surprised. You are an Amal’ethar after all, and we don’t follow conventions very well,’ she added shrewdly.
Adélia looked up in surprise. The lecture on the impropriety of adventures did not materialise as she expected.
‘Don’t look so incredulous,’ Cassia said with a chuckle. ‘I’ve had my fair share of adventures—not so long ago, mind you. And that’s to say nothing of your father!’ She knelt down beside Adélia, meeting her eyes in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to accept that,’ she said.
Adélia turned to her mother. She felt tears welling up, but supressed them. She had already cried enough on her birthday. ‘Then why did you look so concerned earlier, mother?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t go to Gohenur, I swear. I know you’ve always said never to venture in the forest, so I’ve kept away.’
A smile appeared on Cassia’s lips. ‘I am glad to hear that,’ she offered. ‘I was concerned because I feared you spoiled your present, dear.’
Adélia gasped breathlessly, unable to even stammer a reply. She couldn’t believe the implications of her mother’s words.
‘I know you have always wanted to go,’ Cassia continued. ‘And since I have come to accept your adventurous nature, I thought it appropriate to grant your wish on your birthday.’
Adélia could speak no word, but she silently embraced her mother. Cassia returned the gesture affectionately. ‘I love you, dear daughter,’ she whispered. ‘I hope you think no ill of me for failing to understand and accept you until now.’
Releasing the embrace, Cassia kissed Adélia’s forehead. ‘You may go after you break your fast,’ she spoke. ‘After all, no adventurer should be caught hungry in the woods. We wouldn’t want your grumbling stomach to scare off the forest creatures, would we?’
A smile broke out on Adélia’s face, and soon the tears she held back rushed forth in a river of joy accompanied by streams of laughter. The felicitous waters had washed away any bitterness Adélia harboured toward her mother and surely cleansed any disappointment Cassia held against her daughter. It was as if a great burden had been lifted; an unspoken, invisible tension between mother and daughter had been relieved.
‘Now go, get your father and we will all eat together,’ Cassia said at last. Wiping her tears with the sleeves of her garments, Adélia rushed excitedly to the door.
Outside, the morning sun kissed the streets and structures with cheery brightness. Even Pirate’s Lookout, normally a gloomy outpost against a pale sky, seemed friendly and inviting. A perfect, cloudless blue blanket enveloped the earthen stage of green and grey, and all was clinquant, tinged with the gold of sunlight. The pleasant radiance of the day reflected Adélia’s own jubilance and relief. Her birthday had already brought more surprises and unexpected encounters than a Hyadaëan merchant’s rucksack. She had seen such a merchant in Luneder once, rare as it was to get travelling tradesmen from the East beyond the mountains in these parts. Their craftsmanship rivalled her father’s own, but their creations were more curious and queer, toys more mystical and trinkets more mystifying. Adélia guessed Hyadaëan weapons must likewise be exquisitely strange and yet exotically deadly.
Menkalinan seemed not to have moved since the earlier exchange. He stood facing a crowd of artisans who were busy shuffling their wares along Luneder’s thoroughfare. As Adélia approached he turned to her with a smile that ruffled his facial hair.
‘Did all go well inside, my dear?’ he queried without lowering his grin.
Adélia was unsure how much her father knew about what had transpired, but had a feeling he was aware of the tension that was broken. She wondered whether the traces of her tears had been erased by the morning light. ‘Yes, father,’ Adélia said timidly. She drew in a deep breath. ‘I think mother’s become more accepting of my nature. She’s allowing me to go into Gohenur!’
‘Ah! I figured she would come around,’ said Menkalinan as he slapped his knee in delight.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Adélia asked, glaring at him with playful suspicion.
‘Well, of course. I have been telling your mother for a long time that you would eventually want to venture into the forest. Naturally, at first she said it was my fault in the first place that you dream of adventures and journeys.’
‘You have a way of getting into trouble with mother,’ Adélia laughed.
‘That is true,’ Menkalinan sighed. ‘But do not worry, Adélia. I have no regrets about instilling in you a love for the land and its wonders, whatever trouble that lands me in. And I am glad to hear that your mother, too, now accepts this.’
Adélia smiled briefly but then lowered her eyes, suddenly overcome by an ineffable appreciation for her mother. ‘Do you think I’ll ever be as beautiful as mother?’ she asked. ‘She’s so fair and kind. I want to be just like her.’
‘You, my dear, grow more beautiful by the day as your affection for the land increases,’ Menkalinan assured her. ‘You are more beautiful than the flowers you brought home this morning and already more kind than the old man who gave them to you.’
Adélia blushed, grateful for the compliment. The mention of old man Dronam sparked a new line of thought. ‘He told me what those flowers mean,’ she said with a secretive wink. ‘With that in mind, I’ll collect some more today when I head out to the forest.’
‘Do you intend to be a florist, like Dronam?’
Adélia paused to think, placing her hand on her chin. With the impending excitement of the forest venture, her mind drifted from thoughts of flowers and fields. She recalled all the heroic tales her father had told her, all the stories which had left an indelible imprint on her mind, and a smirk appeared on her face. ‘Well, flowers are dear to me. They are the fruit of the land I love, but my desire is to be a knight.’ Her emerald eyes glinted keenly. She wondered how her father would react.
‘Ah, you wish to do battle with brigands and bandits? To fight against plunderers and pirates?’
‘I want to slay sea monsters and dragons,’ she said defiantly.
For a few silent moments Menkalinan’s mouth gaped open and his eyes widened. Finally, a hearty laugh escaped his throat. ‘You may be a dove, but you have the spirit of the Lion!’ he exclaimed proudly.
Adélia put on her best knightly stance, the way she imagined Sir Lanurel stood when he battled the accursed King of Stone and in the manner Lady Vildia faced off against the vile Dread.
‘Well, to aid you in that quest,’ said Menkalinan, ‘I have something for you. Close your eyes and wait here.’
Adélia closed her eyes, shutting out the morning’s light which now streamed evanescent forms through her eyelids. Her heart raced. In the darkness she heard her father’s shuffling footsteps trail to her right. She knew his workshop was that way, a humble shack she seldom visited but an inviting place that smelled of oak and birch, pine and fine resin. She briefly heard the sounds of rummaging and then the footsteps returned, inching closer to where she stood in anticipation.
‘Alright, my dear,’ said Menkalinan. ‘Open your eyes.’
As Adélia’s eyelids opened, Menkalinan’s image coalesced in front of her. He looked much as before, except his outstretched hand held a short ebony spear. His smile pierced through the returning brightness.
‘Happy birthday, my dove,’ he said.
Adélia quivered with delight, her emerald eyes fixated on the object in front of her. She extended trembling hands and delicately took the spear, examining its length with a curious eye. The spear was much smaller than a full-size weapon but it fitted Adélia nicely, still standing taller than her. Light-coloured designs were painted on the dark ebony shaft, waves and whirls which wound around the wood like wild vines. She followed the snaking shapes to the finely-crafted tip. The radiance of the spearhead captivated Adélia. It was a stony material, bright like marble yet far clearer and more luminous. Polished and shaped to perfection, the sharp edges glinted and glowed. Warm light of all hues seemed to be trapped distantly inside, impossibly remote. And yet with each turn of the spear piercing rays of light burst forth as if from a diamond.
‘You have always liked weapons.’ Menkalinan’s voice rang with pride for his daughter. ‘And with your trip into the forest today, I thought it appropriate that you have your own. Besides, it was the only condition your mother placed on her allowing you into Gohenur.’
Adélia regained her composure after being startled by the beauty of the weapon. She gave the spear a few practice swings. It sung through the air, far more effectively and accurately than the sticks she enjoyed playing with. Hollow, ringing echoes rose in wake of the spear thrusts. The light inside the spearhead looked alive with each lunge, and when Adélia settled the weapon, it became still and dim yet no less striking and beautiful.
‘Thank you so much, father,’ Adélia said as she met Menkalinan’s eyes with a look of gratitude that went far beyond her words.
‘Do be careful with it, Adélia. And be wary in Gohenur. Your mother worries about you. Ah, she loves you more than you could know…’ Menkalinan’s words trailed off pensively.
‘That reminds me, father,’ Adélia said, breaking the mounting silence. ‘Mother has called us in to break our fast.’ She had just noticed the smell of the morning meal wafting, lingering, beckoning. No doubt Cassia had been cooking while she had been out speaking with her father and enjoying her gift.
‘Ah, indeed. I do smell something good. We should not keep your mother waiting,’ he said with a wink.
Adélia walked back inside the house, her father’s hand in hers and spear held tightly in the other. Morning had well and truly dawned and the sun had painted the rooftops gold.
Breakfast went quickly. Despite the copious amounts of eggs and ham, porridge and various cereals, as well as sweet cakes and pastries, Adélia managed to eat lots and eat fast. The spear lay next to her at the table, an obvious sign that she could not wait to trek into Gohenur. Through mouthfuls of food, Menkalinan told tales about those who lived their life in the forest. He shared accounts of the fearless and the foolish who ventured without return into the deep woods. Adélia found the stories amusing, much to Cassia’s discomfort and displeasure.
As soon as Adélia bit into the last piece of cake, she rose and dashed out through the door with spear in hand. She knew her parents would be busy preparing for the feast later in the day. Cassia had spoken about inviting a few close friends to celebrate her birthday. Undoubtedly that also meant more food was on the way. But it was the company Adélia looked forward to most. While she didn’t have trouble getting along with other girls her age, she preferred the friendship of folk like Dronam and Aresa, who could show her interesting things and tell good stories. But until the night, she would enjoy herself in the forest. She would make the most of her parents’ gifts.
Adélia ran through the streets of Luneder. Odd looks were thrown her way, both because of the determination of her sprint and the eerily glowing weapon in her hands. But she kept running. Past the markets, past the merchants, past the busyness of town and onto her goal. When she reached the city gates, she greeted the keepers without slowing. They returned the gesture with odd looks.
Finally, she stepped onto the coloured meadows outside Luneder and away from the noise. Stopping to catch her breath, Adélia cast her eyes up to the hill where the edge of Gohenur stood, taciturn and ancient. But something else—an object even higher—caught her attention. Looking up into the cloudless sky, she could see a mass of earth suspended in the air. She recognised it at once. On clear, perfect days such as this, one could see the Sundered Land, a seemingly barren ship of earth adrift on a silent sea of sky blue. With its mountainous roots floating, it looked like a tooth pulled out of its nourishing gum. Adélia knew the stories. When death and decay were allowed to reign, the world was rent. When the ambitions of an evil king drove him mad, the very land suffered and tore. She grieved that such land was separated from the rest of the world, irretrievably isolated and unreachably distant. She wondered what forests and rivers and fields and flowers—and people—existed up there. Above all, Adélia wished for the healing of the world.
She snapped from her sombre thoughts of a faraway land and fixed her eyes on the forest in front her. The threshold invited her. The only sounds were the gentle beating of her heart and the wind’s whistling wander through the leaves. She sighed in unison with the forest and stepped inside.
It is not often that one finds a place so endlessly enchanting and engrossingly endearing that all sense of time and space are swallowed up by wonder. But such proved to be Gohenur to Adélia. Like a peasant in a palace, all was new and marvellous. She was wonderstruck by every clamorous movement and captivated by every serene lull. She held audience with creatures great and small and found more flowers than she could carry. With the life of Gohenur as her companion, she lost count of hours. The sun finished its long course and darkness fell.
It was the faint yet dulling scent of smoke that roused Adélia from her adventure, an abrupt and nagging intrusion into the perfect scene of the forest. With the awareness of the night’s enclosure pressing down on her, she rose and ran. But a strange sight met her.
The western sky glowed red and orange over Luneder but it was too late to be the sunset. As she neared the edge of the forest, Adélia realised what was happening.
Luneder was on fire.