-Into the Deep-

Callan’s hands felt raw, but the rigging and sails were up and looked just as flawless as the two intact masts. He stepped back and admired The Heightened, restored to her prior glory. The large white sails hung limply, sunlight fainting shining through the large swaths of fabric. Tonight they would descend back to the world of mortals, back to the world of conflict.

And Jordan… Callan honestly wasn’t sure if she would be joining him. It would be unrealistic for her to remain here at the lighthouse with no way to return to Ealias below, but the shock and then betrayal at learning Callan’s calling as lineal had shot through her like an electrical bolt.

Every hour he’d spent courting her good graces, only for her to retreat back into herself, the mental armor and shield firmly back in place.

He and Flage had finished The Heightened alone. Flage had never inquired as to Jordan’s absence. Callan hadn’t elaborated. Flage’s kinder treatment toward Callan hadn’t changed, and he didn’t seem worried about Jordan’s refusal to leave the lighthouse.

He had to know something Callan didn’t.

“You’ve honestly surpassed my expectations,” Flage commented, gazing up at the towering masts of the ship with a scrutinizing eye.

“The Heightened looks unspoiled, as though she’d never been wounded in the first place. And you managed to work faster than my seven-day estimate.”

It was true. Tonight was the sixth day at Hyasin. Callan had felt compelled to return to Deporta, sensing a shift in the Forlorn even though he was many miles away from the city.

“And what of Jordan?” the man asked unexpectedly.

“What about her?”

“Does she know?”

Callan was lost.

“Know what?”

“It doesn’t take very many days around you to notice you favor her.”

Callan began examining the ship for invisible scratches or imperfections, suddenly fascinated with the intricate carvings that made up the wheel.

“She won’t choose to stay here.”

Callan gave up his pretense of studying the ship and met Flage’s steady gaze.

“And how do you know that? She knows I’m the Forlorn who took her place now. Knows I might have aims in bringing her to Deporta and giving her back the throne.”

“But you know she doesn’t want it. And it’s obvious that you do. Why would you give it up, especially if Jordan would spurn the offer?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Callan said stubbornly, looking up at the stars, searching for that elusive sense of comfort they sometimes brought him here at Hyasin.

“Why?” Flage’s midnight eyes shone like his Orenda, cutting through Callan’s defenses and excuses.

“Jordan and I went to the academy together. I don’t think she remembers it—we were only twelve at the time—but I do. She had just lost her mother, was clearly grieving, but even then she was so determined to become something more than a helpless little girl.

“I’ve watched in the shadows as she progressed from the Forlorn who struggled with both Orenda and weaponry to the most talented sword wielder the academy has maybe ever seen.”

“And you fell for her.”

“Like she’d struck me down with her blade.”

“And now you feel torn,” Flage wisely guessed, “between your responsibility to the Forlorn and your interest in Jordan Guildedsun.”

“Yes.” It felt good to finally admit the burden to someone else. Just a fews days before Callan would never have imagined having any kind of intimate conversation with the guardian, but Flage had shown him stern kindness and patience—more than most instructors at the academy.

“Jordan has found a certain book in my collection. A book that talks of a prophecy. After reading its contents she won’t be able to remain here at Hyasin.”

“Why?”

“Ask her yourself.”

***

She’d spent the better part of their last day at Hyasin copying down the most important passages from The Prophecy of the Sun and Dual Moons into the book Flage had given her, leaving the great door leading into the lighthouse partially open to let in the cool sea breeze and stray beams of sunlight that danced across the pages of the book in her hands.

The author had been vague enough that Jordan really had nothing more than clues, but the information within had filled her with a mixture of dread and anticipation. After feeling purposeless for five months, surviving without thriving, she was ready to tackle the next task. Especially one apparently assigned to her specifically. The book hadn’t used her name, but the reference to “the sun” was clear enough.

She wielded the sunsword. Her name was Guildedsun. Part of the prophecy hinged on her.

Cal had outdone himself, working with almost reckless abandon after Jordan had discovered his identity as Forlorn lineal. She could only imagine Reign’s fury at being looked over not once, but twice, and by Cal of all Forlorn.

She knew Cal was eager to return to his people—in truth, they hadn’t ever felt like her people. Reign had kept her peers at a distance except for sparring sessions, determined to work her fingers raw as though it would bring Jordan’s mother back. The previous raisling.

But The Heightened would have to pass through the colorful coastal city of Trucesa on the way to Deporta, which would take Jordan one step closer to uncovering the next step of the prophecy. The book had mentioned visiting an old inn called “The Forgotten Refuge” for details on how to find ancients who still guarded the prophecy so many hundreds of years later. The Forgotten Trio.

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Content that she’d recorded the most important points within the small book, she took the spiraling staircase into the heavens one last time to say goodbye to the lighthouse she had grown to love. She stole a final glance around the airy lantern room and the golden Orenda filling the air with fiery warmth before taking the amber stairs down.

She’d miss the books. Flage had such an extensive collection. Most were thick, leather-bound tomes, but there were also several books with slick, thin covers and even some scrolls in beautiful metal cases. All had vast oceans of knowledge it would be so easy to drown in, knowledge she hadn’t begun to unearth in her short time here.

She’d miss the unfamiliar sense of peace. True to her experience the first night, she felt nothing but calm reassurance around the beautiful golden light, rolling freely in the metal bowl like sea waves.

She’d even miss Flage’s subtle humor and playful jabs at Cal. The two had progressed from almost rivals to steadfast friends in the last several days, and Flage felt like just another one of Jordan’s uncles to her. Family.

And the stars. Those she would miss the most.

She’d never seen Trinket again since their first encounter, but Jordan had taken the woman’s words to heart, spending each night beside the mighty bowl of Orenda in the lantern room, half her attention on one of Flage’s books, the other half on the not-so-distant suns gleaming overhead. Jordan hadn’t felt Trinket’s or her mother’s presence again, but the usual sense of loneliness she tried to dispel was less powerful when she silently sat in the presence of the stars. As though someone was watching out for her.

The glowing orb Trinket had given Jordan was securely on a chain around her neck under her clothes. Trinket had said the object was for her sword, but Jordan refused to unsheathe the sword for something as trivial as finding where to fit the golden jewel.

In a moment of great need, when the only option was to draw the sword and fight, she would fit the pieces together.

She looked around the great room at ground level, saying a silent farewell to the wealth of knowledge housed on the many amber-wood shelves ringing the circular space before closing the heavy wooden door behind her. It clicked shut gently.

Flage and Cal were waiting for her aboard The Heightened, two dark silhouettes illuminated by the stars beaming overhead and the constant golden stream of Orenda exploding around the lighthouse as always, like the sun had laid herself to rest in the great metal bowl hanging in the lantern room.

“I’m ready,” she said quietly, her sword at her waist and the book tucked under one arm.

“You aren’t now, but you will be,” Flage said cryptically.

Suddenly, the thought of all stability and certainty vanishing as quickly as the lighthouse would as they reentered the world below hit her like a physical blow.

She looked over at Cal, searching for some kind of reassurance. He smiled, his rich brown eyes pleading for her forgiveness and understanding. Ever since she’d found out he was the Forlorn lineal she’d kept her distance, as though being close to him would bring the Forlorn and their raisling out of the shadows. But since he’d rescued her from the Answerer he had been nothing but charming and kind.

Maybe a little too charming at times. She shook her head, as though the action would clear her mind.

“Do I need to go back down to my quarters?” she asked, remembering Cal’s request on their ascent to Hyasin.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…. She held back a mischievous grin.

“No need,” Flage replied. “I will aid in your descent back to the world of Ealias. I know Callan has been beyond eager to see my Orenda in action.”

Cal smiled sheepishly, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I won’t disagree.”

Despite the inevitable goodbye, Jordan found herself smiling. “I’d like that too.”

“Then I’ll do my best to put on a good show,” Flage said, spreading his arms wide, the roses prominent on his arms and palms, even in the twilight of night. Even though the color was stark, the delicate flowers were undeniably beautiful and amazingly detailed.

The roses reminded her of Trinket. I never asked Flage how they met!

“Flage, how did you and Trinket meet?”

“Who’s Trinket?” Cal asked, confused.

“I had a feeling you might ask,” Flage smiled, a shy smile that made him suddenly seem the same age as Cal instead of powerful and immortal.

“I took the liberty of writing the story down in that book of yours. Whenever you want to know the story, turn to the pages written in gold.”

Content, Jordan nodded and rushed belowdecks to stow her book before they departed.

As she climbed the stairs back to the open night sky she heard the tail end of a conversation between Flage and Cal.

“…have to discover the true source of Orenda.”

“All this time? And it was right…”

The conversation drifted into the cool breeze as Jordan rejoined the two men on deck.

“Callan, you’ll want to stand by the wheel. Jordan, the best view, as I’m sure you’ve guessed…”

“The crow’s nest.” Before Flage was done talking Jordan was scaling the rigging until the stars seemed to radiate right above her head like gems on an elaborate crown.

When he was content the two of them were in position, Flage stood in the center of the deck and closed his eyes. It was hard for Jordan to tell from her high vantage point, but he seemed to take a slow, deep breath before the now-familiar golden light filled his hands, becoming scarlet where it touched the rose petal markings. She’d never seen him summon his Orenda before, and once again she was stunned at how at peace she felt as the power filled his hands.

The light grew until Jordan had to squint to look at Flage. Even his shock-white hair glowed gold. He looked as divine as Trinket, like he’d harnessed the sun and was releasing the memory of the light.

The Orenda filled the air and fashioned a delicate golden bridge, which Flage used to disembark the great ship. How was he able to use his power to do something so delicate, so beautiful? When he was back on the smooth stone slabs of Hyasin, the light around him grew even stronger. Even from a distance Jordan could feel the warmth, like huddling in front of a blazing bonfire in the winter months for warmth.

Glancing down at Callan, their eyes met. He was beaming, looking as eager as a child riding a rowder for the first time or biting into a sugary piece of chilled sweetspine.

She could hardly look back at Flage. Even his silhouette was lost in the rich golden blaze, and it hurt to look at the light directly.

Then he spoke, words Jordan couldn’t understand but that sounded like an invitation more than a command.

And then the Orenda dispersed from Flage like millions of paintedwings taking flight on their yearly migration from the northern to the southern tip of Ealias.

In unison, the many beautiful sparks of Orenda seemed to meld into the sleek, white body of The Heightened, enveloping the ship.

Jordan gasped out loud as the golden light grew up the masts like tendrils of wild trailing fingers. As the Orenda got closer her eyes widened—the golden power truly did look like flowers, millions of intricate roses reaching for the cosmos as casually as rain falling down from the heavens.

And then the entire ship was sheathed in gold like one of the ancients in armor, armor Ealias had long since forgotten and buried, broken and rusted.

Flage’s midnight eyes held several worlds of knowledge, and joy radiated from his being as strongly as his Orenda.

Throwing his arms open, the ship rose off the stone foundation of Hyasin and began rolling forward like the tide.

She dropped to a sitting position and tightened her arms around the wooden spindles of the nest, her heart somewhere in her throat, her eyes open as wide as they could be.

Unstrapping the massive battle axe from his back, Flage swung the weapon with full force, the polished steel cutting through the air so quickly it rang out like a cry.

The last thing she saw was his stubborn look of contentment, a beautiful woman standing at his side, waving at Jordan as The Heightened dropped off into the deep on a golden waterfall of Orenda, plunging into the Glacian Sea worlds below.