-Keeper of Light-

Jordan climbed out of the blackness into the light, a burning light like a sun had fallen down and taken refuge in the massive structure before them.

The lighthouse. Cal had been telling the truth.

As soon as she reached the deck she saw him, unconscious, his hair and clothing soaked through as though he’d been swimming in the sea. He was far too heavy for her to move, so she fetched a heavy blanket from her quarters and covered him with it before curiosity won out and she found herself crossing the deck and using her same coil of rope to let herself down the side of The Heightened, which had been beached on dry land, so far above the land and sea.

The vast ship lay at an angle on large, flat stones the color of the sky. Unable to swallow the burning curiosity, she crossed the massive gray cobblestones until reaching the edge. Far below her was the silvery sheen of the sea, partially obscured by clouds that drifted below her. As she approached the edge she got down on her stomach, peering over the edge of the stone floor with her elbows propped underneath her chin, watching the large, hazy shapes moving below her, like a group of gigantic, ethereal fish.

She didn’t know how Cal had managed it, but they were hundreds of feet above Ealias now, so high that even the clouds sailed below.

Returning to the ship, she felt an internal pang as she looked at the ripped sails of the majestic vessel. Hopefully Cal knew how to repair the ship or someone else who did. She’d never been on a ship before, but it had been instantly obvious that The Heightened was no regular craft.

Just like the lighthouse, which stood proudly on the mysterious stone she now walked on. The castle-like structure was made of similar stones to the large slabs of stone underfoot and was punctuated by slits filled with warm, honey-colored light. The lighthouse’s stones looked like they had been dipped in liquid metal—each rock expertly positioned to form the lighthouse glowed with a golden sheen. It stretched almost as high as the towers of Deporta, and the light blazing from the top was brighter than any display of Orenda she had ever seen. Such a perfect, flawless gold, like liquid sunshine spilling out of the mighty tower. Master artisans had clearly worked for years, building the lighthouse from the ground up, polishing and smoothing each stone before fitting it into the overall structure.

It was imposing, like the tower of an ancient Forlorn castle.

Looking up at the polished stone face, she took one last glance at Cal and made up her mind. She strode toward the lighthouse.

As she got nearer she saw a heavy, carved wooden door pushed open that would have normally barred entrance into the lighthouse. Interpreting the open door as an invitation to enter, she stepped inside.

The space inside was cavernous and warmly lit with small golden orbs that hung from the ceiling, encased in aquamarine glass. A polished wood the color of amber served as the floor of the lighthouse, and the inner walls were a strange, slick material that seemed to reflect light, almost like her sword’s blade. A massive spiral staircase expertly carved from the same amber-colored wood led up, presumably to the lantern room which housed the glorious light.

Although the rest of the room briefly held her in its sway with its illustrious bookshelves, weighed down with as many books as the tomes housed in the academy’s archives—as well as an assortment of other new and interesting things she didn’t even have names for—she felt herself drawn upward.

She followed the urge, leaving her boots at the bottom of the stairs as she began climbing. It felt right, like entering a holy place.

***

She was fighting to breathe as she finally reached the lantern room. The occasional window slit cut into the lighthouse had revealed just how high into the heavens she was climbing, and if she’d been afraid of heights she might have wavered before finishing the ascent. But, truthfully, the heights invigorated her, like her stolen ride on the rowder.

The lighthouse hadn’t consisted of any other rooms, just a spiral staircase that seemed to ascend eternally, the now-familiar golden orbs encased in aqua glass lighting her way like starflies.

And now at the end, another door, just as stately as the first and just as large, as though the lighthouse keeper was a giant instead of a mere man or woman. This door, unlike the first, was closed, and Jordan took a moment to examine the carved wooden face and listen to her surroundings before knocking lightly twice.

The door began to swing inward instantly, slowly yawning open to reveal yet another spacious room. The source of the light was still above her, suspended in some kind of massive bowl on a platform. The lower section of the room was filled with all sorts of instruments, stacks of books, and other odds and ends that all seemed to be in a specific order, even if that organization was lost on her.

And there, in the center of the room, arms clasped behind his back, was a man, his back to her.

His hair was the most pure white, and his skin was almost as pale, although on his lower arms and palms were splashes of violent red in the shape of blossoms. A massive battle ax hung from his back, and he was slender but imposing, standing far taller than Jordan.

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“So, Shadows kept his promise. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Jordan Guildedsun.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“The Guardian of Hyasin.” His voice was rich but neither low or high. An ageless voice. As he spoke he turned, and Jordan bit back a gasp.

He looked like a fallen angel. Midnight-blue eyes seemed to magnify, rather than devour, the golden light cascading down on them. Eyes that had seen everything and were now surprised by almost nothing. Every feature was perfect, like the guardian had been sculpted out of white stone.

Except for those markings staining his arms and hands. Now that he had turned and she took a moment to focus she recognized the shapes—roses. Dozens of rose petals, seemingly imprinted into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’ve never been here. Never met you. How… how do you know my name?” she stammered.

“Many people know your name who you do not know, or who you do not remember. Many people used to know my name, and now very few do.”

“And what is your name?”

“Flage. Do you know why you are here, Jordan?”

She stole another glance around the airy room before answering. “No.” It was the honest truth. Cal had constantly picked her brain, asking countless questions, but Jordan hadn’t pried into his history or even why they were supposedly going to Hyasin, other than to fulfill a promise he had apparently made. Presumably to Flage.

She was beginning to regret her mostly one-sided conversations with Cal.

“Shadows didn’t know either,” Flage said. It was uncanny—he looked only slightly older than her, although she knew instinctively that he had seen worlds rise and fall.

Flage strode over to yet another amber spiral staircase in the center of the room that led up to the blazing golden light. Gesturing for her to follow him, he gracefully and effortlessly climbed the stairs.

She strode across the room to follow, hand straying absentmindedly to the sword at her waist. She could sense overwhelming power here—something ancient, similar to Orenda, but warmer. Deeper.

The staircase was leagues shorter than her last climb, and a few minutes later she was standing on the circular platform with the guardian. He was gazing down on The Heightened, an inscrutable look on his face.

Noticing her arrival, Flage invited her to sit on a round bench that wrapped around the entire platform. She took a seat, although her eyes were immediately captivated by the golden something dancing and swirling in the deep metal bowl that hung suspended in the middle of the space.

It radiated heat like a fire and seemed to be alive and conscious of her arrival.

“What is that?” She pointed at the golden light.

He chuckled quietly. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? How did you come to be with Shadows?”

“He found me at the Landing, the island I was on. I was facing an Answerer when his ship came by on the largest waves I’ve ever seen. I knew the only way to avoid the Answerer’s summons was to board the ship.”

Flage nodded, his posture perfect as he remained standing. Shrugging the substantial battle ax off his back, he set it on the ground with a resounding thud. The large bowl before them rang like a gong, a pure sound that resonated for long moments afterward.

“And how did you come to be here?” she asked before she had time to think better of it.

“That’s quite the story. Suffice it to say, this lighthouse wasn’t always housed in the sky. I stumbled upon it many years ago and became… ensnared. I have lived here ever since, guarding the golden light you asked about.”

“And what is the golden light?”

Flage looked at her, humor in his ocean-like eyes.

“Are you not Forlorn? Surely this power is not foreign to someone trained like you were.”

“But it can’t be Orenda.” The words escaped, beyond her ability to contain them.

“And why is that?” He raised a quizzical, perfect brow in her direction.

“Because I’ve felt the power of Orenda at close quarters like this and it makes me weak, sick. Especially powerful Orenda like Cal’s. And I’ve never heard of Orenda pure enough to manifest as gold. I thought emerald was one of the most potent forms.”

“Fascinating.” Those eyes, unfazed by so much, were now eager.

“And what do you feel near this Orenda? Because it is Orenda, more pure than any other Orenda you have seen or experienced.”

“Peace. Warmth,” she admitted.

“A moment.” He moved so fluidly she almost missed him descend back down the stairs. In only a minute he had returned, a large, leather-bound book in his long, pale hands.

“I was told to give this to you,” he said simply, holding out the book. Jordan took it, instantly surprised by its weight. The book felt as heavy as Flage’s battle ax looked.

“By who?” She set the bulky book in her lap. It had no inscription on the cover, nothing but a precise illustration of a sword that shone from the cover, a silver blade in a sea of dark-gray leather.

“My sword!”

Flage grinned, and it looked almost predatory.

“You recognize this weapon?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s this sword.” She pointed to the scabbard at her waist.

“Hmm, interesting.” That same grin. “It seems the Mastyr was right about you.”

He pointed at the book. “That is yours to keep. Read it. Fill it. Empty it. It will most likely surprise you.”

Jordan made as though to open the book, but Flage was quick to place a firm hand on the cover.

“Later. Now, should I retrieve your friend?” He was looking back down at the ship again and the dark smudge that was Cal’s unconscious form.

“I suppose it’s for the best. His cooking is better than most.”