The wind sighed, and Cor closed his eyes.

He was flying.

His clothes billowed out as he soared above the tree on which he had been sitting, and soon he could see the whole village and the bright red roofs of the houses and the crimson forest that surrounded it all.

Over to the east, where the sun was now setting, he could see the long patch of green–the only patch of green for miles and miles–that was the Garden. Walls of raised earth, shaped and maintained by the village men and hardened by the women’s enchantments, surrounded it.

He flew east toward the Garden, then past it, following the narrow dirt road that wound through the forest until he saw the little pond and the hut next to it; Old Shamon’s dwelling.

This was the furthest he had ever gone from the Village, but he knew what lay beyond: first, more crimson forest, then still more crimson forest, and then miles upon miles more crimson forest, until, like a sudden storm, the land became green hills and mountains. Just a day’s journey further eastward and nestled between two mighty peaks was the great city Gol.

On foot, the journey took weeks, but when you were flying, distance didn’t matter. And so the boy soared across the forest and the green hills, and was soon at the foot of the mighty mountains. As he flew, the city came into view with its thousands of homes and towers and marble palaces…

“Cor!”

Hylan shook Cor’s shoulder, and in an instant, he tumbled out of the sky and back onto the tree on which he was sitting. He opened his eyes and looked down. There was Mother, standing beneath the tree, arms folded, a gloved hand holding a wooden spatula. She was cross.

“Cor, get down here,” she said.

“Come on,” Hylan said, tugging on his shoulder once more.

Cor followed her down the tree and felt a little betrayed–as he always did–when she scampered off, leaving him to face Mother alone.

She regarded him for a moment before turning and heading towards their house.

Cor looked up in surprise; he had expected a reprimand. Mother stopped and turned and struck the spatula against the palm of her hand. “Come on.”

He went after her.

***

“Cor! Stop fidgeting.” Enya grabbed both Cor’s hands to keep them still.

“Mother, it fits perfectly. See?” Cor twisted his hands out of Mother’s grasp and held his arms out to his sides, showing how the huge, drooping sleeves of the mitar ended right at his fingertips.

“The left sleeve is still a little long,” she said.

“Nobody will notice it.”

Cor’s mother glared at him.

“Look,” Cor said, putting his arms down. The white sleeves swallowed up his hands and melded with the rest of the robe. “See? You can’t tell.”

Mother still did not look convinced.

“Mother, it’s been three hours. Plyan’s going to get hungry if we don’t have dinner soon.”

For a dreaded moment, Mother showed no sign of letting Cor go. But then she sighed. “Go hang up your mitar.”

Cor beamed and took off the white garment.

“And get some eggs from the pen.”

Cor sagged. “Can’t Father do that?”

“He can,” Mother said. “But if I let you go, you’ll go out and climb trees until I come and drag you back.”

“I’ll be back before dinner this time,” Cor said.

“You’ll stay here.”

“If I get the eggs, can I go?”

“No,” Mother said. “I don’t want you to get hurt before the Ceremony.”

“I’m not going to get hurt climbing trees.”

“Cor.” Mother put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “The Ceremony is in three days. Can you be good until then?”.

Cor did not reply; when Mother used that tone of voice, it was best not to.

“Go check on your brother after you get the eggs,” she said.

Cor bit his tongue and nodded.

***

Cor knew that Mother and Father were worried about him, and he knew that they had a right to be. He just wished they wouldn’t make so obvious.

He knocked on the door to Gimor’s room before letting himself in.

His older brother was sitting in bed, looking out the small window across the room. He didn’t seem to notice Cor as he entered.

Cor tapped him on the shoulder. Only then did his brother turn and look at him.

“Dinner’s ready,” Cor said.

Gimor stared.

“Come on.” Cor took his brother’s thick hand and helped him out of bed. Gimor walked slowly, like someone in a trance, and Cor restrained the urge to pull on his hand–Gimor was frail as well as slow.

They headed out of the room and down the hall where the aroma of gravy and boiled chicken floated from the kitchen. Plyan was already at the dining table, sitting with her short legs swinging above the floor. She looked up as they entered.

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“Where’s daddy?” she asked.

Cor guided his brother to the nearest empty seat and helped him into it. “He’s coming home late today.”

Cor sat next to Gimor, and Mother came in with the steaming pot of chicken.

“Mommy, when’s daddy coming home?” Plyan asked.

“Your brother is right, dear. Daddy’s coming home after dark.”

“Why?”

“He’s helping with preparations for the Ceremony,” Mother said. She sat across from Cor and next to Plyan and took Plyan’s hand. Cor took Gimor’s, and they all closed their eyes.

“Spirit of the World, we offer you our gratitude for this meal before us. Send us your strength through your warrior, Myor, and keep us safe.” Then she added, “And bless our dear boy, Cor, as he prepares for the Ceremony.”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Let’s eat.”

***

Cor sat next to Hylan on the steps in front of his house. On any other day, he and Hylan would have been in the woods or somewhere on the outskirts of the village, climbing trees and pretending to fly. But it was two days before the Ceremony, and Cor’s mother was dead set against any kind of activity that might get him hurt.

“I wish my mother was more like yours,” Cor said to Hylan.

Hylan shrugged. “I wish my mother could cook like yours.”

“You can stay over for dinner today,” Cor said.

Hylan shook her head. “Can’t,” she said. “I’m to help the women at the Garden and have lunch with Aunt Yanna and Reya.”

Cor made a face.

“I don’t like the idea either,” Hylan said.

“You’re lucky,” Cor said. “You don’t need to worry about the Ceremony.”

“Just knowing my Talent doesn’t mean the Ceremony’s not important.”

“But that’s what the Ceremony’s for,” Cor said.

Hylan got up and turned to face him. She held up her two hands, palms out, fingers spread apart. “How many fingers do I have?”

Cor frowned. “Ten.”

Hylan wiggled her ten fingers. “Yup.” She tucked one hand behind her back. “Now how many do I have?”

“Still ten, obviously,” Cor said.

“How many can you see?”

“Five right now. What’s the point of this?”

“You can only see five fingers, but I really have ten,” Hylan said. “It’s like how we know I have one Talent, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more hiding somewhere inside me. The Ceremony brings to light all the Talents that are still hiding.”

Cor considered this for a moment. “I thought people only had one Talent. The Spirit gifts to man two blessings: life and a Talent by which he lives true.”

Hylan put her hands on her hips. “Then what about the King?”

“Well… he’s the King,” Cor said.

Hylan wagged her finger at him. “It’s not just the King. The Royal Enchanters and the Divine Warriors all have more than one Talent. It’s a requirement.”

“How do you know that?”

Hylan grinned proudly. “Old Shamon told me.”

Cor jumped up in surprise. “Old Shamon… talks to you?”

Hylan bobbed her head. “He talks a lot, once he’s fond of you. He’s been to our place a few times to teach me how to use my Talent. Did you know he used to work in the royal court?”

Cor did not.

“Old Shamon thinks I have more than one Talent and that they might be strong enough to get me into a university.”

“University…” Cor was speechless.

Hylan laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll write home every once in a while. And I’ll come back during the summers.”

Cor sat back onto the steps. Everyone in the village knew about Hylan and her Talent of Water. She was the first person in over fifty years who had discovered their Talent before their Ceremony; the last person before her had been Sculptor Isor who made a living selling dazzling stone statues to merchants. The money he had made over the last five decades had been responsible for the enchanted water pump that pumped water from the well to every home in the village, and the hard stone bricks that made up practically every building.

“You weren’t going to stay and… you know,” Cor gestured lamely at their surroundings.

Hylan’s smile faded. “Stay? Are you saying I should stay?”

“Why not?” Cor said. Heat rose to his cheeks and he stood up again. “Sculptor Isor stayed, and so did Uncle Unir, even though my mother says he could have gone to the city to train under a Master Warrior. Besides, you don’t know if you have more than one Talent yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

Hylan looked taken aback. “What’s wrong with wanting to study at a university? You’re the one who’s always saying you want to get out of the village and see all the cities and towns across the country. Now you just sound like my mother.”

“Well your mother and I are both talking sense,” Cor said. He was angry. “It’s dangerous in the cities. You don’t know what’s going to happen to you with all the bandits and thieves who live there. And I heard people die at university from learning dangerous magic. It’s safer here. You’ll make a good living. Everyone will love you. Everyone loves Sculptor Isor. And I…” He blushed. “I’d be happier if you stayed.”

Hylan snorted. “You’d be happier if I stayed? So that’s what matters; how you feel. You’re just like my mother. Just like everyone else in this stinking village. Listen, Cor. I thought you were different. I thought you were somebody who dreamed, just like me. I guess I was wrong. You stay here and become a stupid Talentless lumberjack like your father and I’m going to leave you behind to rot.”

Then she was gone.

***

Hylan didn’t come visit again that day. Nor the next. Cor even managed to convince his mother to let him go over to her place, but when he went and knocked on her door, Hylan’s mother answered and told him her daughter was sick.

Hylan was not sick; she had the Talent of Water.

And so came the day of the Ceremony.

Even from inside his room, at the dawn of day, Cor could sense the excitement and restlessness of the village. Other than the Late-Autumn Festival, the Ceremony was the biggest event of the year.

Cor was also restless, but not for the same reason as the rest of the village. He could do without the feasts and the dancing and the singing. He could even do without Old Shamon’s fireworks and the sparring matches between the men.

Cor jumped off from the top bunk, nearly landing on Plyan who was also just about to get out of bed. He ignored her protests and ran out the room and into the kitchen where Mother was frying sweet pancakes for the Ceremony.

“Mother, could I take a walk outside?”

“Good morning, Cor,” Enya said. “Could you pass me the cinnamon?”

Cor got his mother the little tub of cinnamon. “Could I take a walk outside? I’ll be quick,” he asked again.

“Cor, the Ceremony starts at noon. You need to bathe and get yourself ready before then,” Mother said.

“I’ll be quick,” Cor said.

“Don’t talk back–”

“There’s my son!” Omor came into the kitchen and put two strong hands on Cor’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“I might feel better if I took a walk outside,” Cor said.

Mother rolled her eyes, but Father didn’t seem to notice. “Fresh air does do wonders for the nerves,” he said. “Let’s do a round of the village.”

Cor hesitated; he wanted to go out alone, but he wasn’t sure if Father would let him. He gave it another moment’s thought, then replied, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Be back before full morning,” Mother said.

Omor grinned and gave Enya a kiss. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Daddy going?” Plyan said, just now entering the kitchen.

“For a walk outside,” Omor said, rubbing the top of her head. “Do you want to come?”

Cor stiffened, but Plyan shook her head.

“I want to help Mommy cook.”

“That’s my girl.” Omor gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Come on, Cor. Let’s go.”

He couldn’t have followed his father out faster.