-Rigged-

Shrouds, deadeyes, knots and rigging—it sounded like they would be attending a funeral.

My own, Callan thought remorsefully.

The day before, under the soft sashaying of stars in broad daylight, he, Flage, and Jordan had taken their constructed mast and fitted it into place. Before moving the heavy wooden structure he and Jordan had swept up the fragments and pieces from the old mast, including the lower half which was still intact.

Jordan had seemed preoccupied, and as soon as the tasks were complete she had retreated to the lighthouse once more as though summoned. Callan only went inside to eat and sleep like the dead before returning to The Heightened’s repairs at dawn.

Flage continued to explain the technical aspects of the ship’s rigging, and while Callan admired the guardian’s knowledge, he was left wondering why the information was so important since Callan was capable of manning the massive ship alone with the aid of Flage’s gift.

He didn’t need to send crew members into the rigging to release or collect sails. When you controlled the wind, sails were as docile as a still pond of water after rain.

“Climb up the second mast and we’ll begin on the rigging for the new mast,” Flage instructed. He certainly didn’t baby his pupils—Callan had been forced to be creative on multiple occasions to fulfill one of Flage’s many requests. But if they were going to finish the ship in the next three days—and Callan longed to return to Ealias—he would accomplish any task the guardian assigned him.

Climbing the second mast, however, was a simple request. His muscles were sore from the exertion of the last four days of manual labor on the ship, but the pure, rich air of Hyasin made the discomfort a passing thought.

Up here the smaller details of The Heightened and the lighthouse were lost on him, but the stars—he could reach out and touch them, they were so close. He vaguely remembered learning at the academy that stars were actually suns infinitely far away, but these stars didn’t seem distant or indifferent.

They seemed like the taste of fresh bread, the smell of fallen leaves, the feel of warm sun under the cool swath of sea.

Like home.

“Shadows, you didn’t forget why you’re up there, did you?” Flage called up, but his tone was friendly and casual, a marked difference from his haughty and intimidating persona mere days ago.

Even though the man technically could have been one of Callan’s distant ancestors, he was feeling more and more like a brother, a friend.

In the evenings, Callan would cook and he and Flage would eat on the edge of Hyasin, looking down at the sea. Jordan usually only joined them for half an hour before excusing herself and rushing back to that strange book the guardian had given her their first night at the lighthouse.

But instead of irritating Callan, he found himself enjoying the one on one time with Flage, who seemed to know everything about even the smallest, insignificant things. Callan had always been one to ask questions, even as a little boy. He couldn’t help it—if he could he would devour all the knowledge he could get his hands on. Knowing kept the absence at bay, like holding back the darkness with a spark of Orenda.

“Callan?”

There it was, his name again. As though they were two friends instead of the Forlorn lineal and the immortal guardian of Hyasin.

“Yes, I’m here. No, I didn’t fall asleep. And although I know it disappoints you, I haven’t fallen off the mast either.”

“Yet.” Flage smiled, a rare thing, and then flung a long coil of rope at him.

“Let’s get started.”

Callan shared a grin and began the complicated spiderweb of rigging that would adorn The Heightened like a Trucesan woman’s many bracelets and trinkets.

***

It had taken the better part of the last two or three days, but she had cracked the alien script with the mysterious aid of the leather-bound book.

The handwriting inside the leather-bound book was comforting, like an old friend. Simple, each of the letters written in all caps like the writer had been in a rush and was aiming for ease of reading more than beauty and finesse.

Now that she could read the other language, she set her book aside and rushed down the many stairs to the main floor, picking a book at random.

It was written in more impressive handwriting, she knew that now. She’d been too distracted by the fact she couldn’t read any of the words to notice the difference until now.

She started at the beginning, instantly confused by what she was reading.

The Orenda Project

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Callan Aeon

D.A, H.F, D.T

I didn’t think it would ever come to this, to the end of everything we worked for for centuries. The pyramids, the skyscrapers, bullet trains and instantaneous global communication, all for naught. Like the world was shaken in a blender, spitting out nothing but broken shards where stained-glass cathedral windows once reigned.

Many have told me this expensive, drastic measure to rediscover our humanity will fail. That we as people are designed to self destruct and take as many others with us as possible. After everything I’ve seen, I almost agree with them.

But my son… I can’t bear the thought of him growing up here. Can’t bear the thought of him being sacrificed in this kind of mindless war. Only ten and already with the most serious eyes I’ve seen on a child, like the weight of the world is something he’s used to bearing.

I didn’t slave away all those years, fight in all those political battles and invent so many advancements for everything to fall into perpetual darkness.

The hope of our future lies with this project. I only hope I live long enough to see it through.

The project lives on with me, and the two other souls I could find to carry on the project with me. Dad’s research and creation will not be in vain.

We will each take a turn, guiding and shaping this new hope. I don’t know if we’ll be able to retain our memories, but I can’t stand by and do nothing while it all burns and we revel in the flames.

-D.A.

The book continued, but Jordan would only have a few more days to explore the rest of the strange wealth of knowledge presented to her.

Who was Callan Aeon? Was he possibly related to Cal Shadows? And the list of letters under the main name confused her. Initials? Some kind of secret cipher? Although the initial handwriting was elegant, it had quickly shifted into the handwriting that filled the book Flage had given her. Maybe the original owner had been this “D.A.” the passage she’d just read was signed by.

What war were they referring to? She obviously recognized the reference to Orenda, but an “Orenda Project” was foreign to her.

These books were nothing like the academy archives.

Eager to explore the next book, she shelved The Orenda Project and picked up a slim title next to it.

Opening the book, she read the title—Abysmals and the Birth of Orenda.

Fascinating.

This time she decided to flip to the middle of the book before she began perusing.

In the future people may assume that the Abysmals perished after the violent destruction of their precious jade, and if the Forlorn manage to retain the power they’ve wounded others for, I’m sure this story will never be told.

But Obcise should have known that all secrets have a way of being dragged to the surface, like the remains of a shipwreck washed up on a shore for all to see.

I won’t be here to tell others this tale, but the jade’s destruction had consequences no one else could have foreseen. I didn’t see it myself at the time, not until I passed on and regained memory of the true life I had lived…

Just as indecipherable as the first book, even though she could get through the language now. And that same blocky, no-nonsense handwriting filled the pages of this tome as well. She’d heard the only thing the academy had known, or at least taught, about the Abysmals. They had ruled Ealias at the beginning of the world and had been beings of extreme power and sway. But they had fallen to the rise of the Forlorn. How, when, why—none of that had ever been explained. The writer clearly knew more than the academy was willing or capable of teaching, but she was looking for more information on the “prophecy” her book had mentioned briefly, along with her name.

How could this writer know so much about the Abysmals and also know her name? If Jordan had been hoping for answers, she was only becoming more and more convinced that she knew nothing.

And every time she ran into Flage his eyes would smile knowingly, like he had the answer to every one of her questions but would only let her find the answers for herself.

She quickly glanced through The Birth of Rowders, The Forgotten Trio, Jadelin Links, The True Origin of Orenda, and Forlorn: The Forgotten Histories before pausing on The Prophecy of the Sun and Dual Moons.

Maybe this book would tell her more about the prophecy and explain why her name had been grouped in with it.

She was about to crack open the book when a familiar voice said with a smirk, “We’re doing things with shrouds and deadeyes now, you don’t want to miss it.”

Jordan looked up to see Cal standing in the doorway leading out to the steady sunlight and The Heightened. Against her will, her heartbeat quickened as his blond hair caught the light and gave his skin a golden glow.

“Kind of sounds like a funeral to me,” she commented, carefully setting the book aside so she could find it again later.

“I thought the same thing,” he grinned, extending a hand toward her. She accepted, and he lightly pulled her to her feet, holding her hand for a moment too long before he let it go.

Slight color escaped across her cheeks, and she checked the sword at her waist to draw attention away from the display.

“Only a couple more days of this and we’ll be able to ship off,” Cal said, undisguised excitement in his tone.

“And why are you so eager to return?” Jordan asked. The sun was catching in Callan’s brown eyes now, making them gleam like amber.

“I had to leave certain… responsibilities for a time in order to find you.”

“Let me guess, responsibilities in Deporta.”

“Not…”

“You’re Forlorn. You’re clearly one of their prized warriors. The Forlorn I’ve known would never let you get away with living out the rest of your life in a quiet settlement like Whisten or Ananth.”

Cal shrugged his shoulders in mock defeat.

“You’re right. I do have to return to Deporta, but I won’t force you to go there. I made a promise to get you safely to Flage, which I’ve done.”

“And what business do you have in Deporta?”

Cal looked down at his feet, avoiding the question.

“You couldn’t possibly be the unlucky soul they chose… they would never have let you leave if you were… and the raisling….”

It came together in a rush.

“You’re the new lineal!”