-Sharie’s Message-

Sareth, much to Jordan’s surprise, had been the one to insist on their current destination. When Jordan had protested, the slender woman had said curtly, “When in Trucesa, visit the weavers.”

Red had been quick to add, “Your rags may hold a certain appeal for ‘unique’ crowds, but Sareth is right. It’s time to move on.” She’d clapped Jordan on the back, almost knocking her to the ground.

The warrior was stronger than she looked, if that was even possible.

“How can I be of service?” a beautiful Trucesan woman asked. Like everyone else Jordan had seen in the seaside city, she had thick black hair, slightly wavy and held back by a colorful sapphire scarf.

However, instead of the usual dark brown eyes, the woman’s brown eyes were flecked with gold that matched her fitted, gold outfit.

Jordan, Sareth, and Red were in front of one of the many outdoor stalls in the city where men and women sold their wares. Sareth had insisted that this particular woman was the most skilled in her craft, and Jordan respected Sareth enough to take her word for it.

“My friend is looking for something… practical,” Sareth said softly, her icy blue eyes serious.

“I remember you, the warrior with eyes the color of winter. Come, miss,” the Trucesan woman gestured to Jordan, “allow me to do some measurements.”

Jordan followed the woman into a small room at the back of her stall, usually hidden by a thick tapestry that was mostly blue with a rising sun in the center.

“We’ll wait out here,” Red called out, and Sareth nodded.

“Now, what exactly do you have in mind?” the woman asked when they were alone. The back area was small but filled with every conceivable color of silky fabric, draped over wooden stools and a small table.

Jordan looked at her tattered Forlorn clothing and pursed her lips. She’d never purchased new clothing before. Or even had the chance to choose something other than the required academy uniform.

“I guess I’m looking for… well, something similar to what I’m currently wearing, Miss…”

The Trucesan woman looked over at Jordan curiously, and Jordan had to fight back a rising blush.

“I’m sorry. I’m foreign here, and I forgot…”

The woman held up her suntanned hand.

“Don’t apologize. Not all of us follow such outdated ideals. My name is Lia. And I am more than happy to help you with new clothing. Will you need anything more… sharp as well?”

When Jordan stared at her, Lia lifted up a stack of fabric to reveal an assortment of daggers and knives. The weapons were made from a coppery looking metal different from the usual shell, and the blades were far more serrated and ragged. Jordan was afraid to even touch most of them.

“Umm, yes actually. What would you recommend?”

Considering the dangerous path she would soon be taking to counsel with the Forgotten Trio, she wanted to have a quick way to defend herself other than using the sunsword.

Lia looked Jordan up and down. “Remove the cloak,” she said, and Jordan complied, her hair coming loose and falling freely over her shoulders.

The woman blinked back something so quickly Jordan had trouble reading it—surprise? Confusion? Shock?

“What is it?” Jordan asked.

“Is that you, Sharie?” Lia asked, walking up to Jordan until they were side by side.

“Sharie was my mother,” Jordan said, transfixed.

“Was?” Lia echoed, obvious sadness piercing her expression.

“She’s no longer with us.” The pain was old now, but Jordan was determined to learn how the Trucesan woman knew her mother and quickly asked, “How did you two meet?”

“We were best friends,” Lia said, exhaling slowly. “Even though Sharie was not born here in Trucesa, she spent much of her time here when not at the academy. We spent all of that time together, scheming on ways to bring Trucesa out of the dark ages.

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“She had the same shining, golden hair. Same eyes too. You could be her sister. I didn’t think I would ever see you again though, Jordan.”

“Have we met before?”

Lia began picking through pieces of fabric as she responded, “You wouldn’t remember. I helped your mother deliver. I met you only as a newborn. You had the strongest cry—we were convinced you would be a warrior like your mother one day.”

“Did Sareth know about your connection to my mother?” Jordan asked. The odds that Sareth had taken Jordan to this particular stall out of all the others seemed slim.

“No, but she is truly observant. She no doubt noticed the hilt of your sword, the symbol of the sun so prominently on display. You noticed the rising sun on my tapestry outside.”

“Yes.”

“That was Sharie’s mark. She said I should stand out among the other Trucesan woman here and spent an entire night creating that sun without my knowledge. I have treasured the tapestry ever since. Maybe she knew you would find your way back here some day. She had an uncanny ability to understand people.”

“Did you ever join her at the academy?” Jordan asked, turning and holding out her arms as Lia measured her.

“Trucesans, men and women, both fear and distrust Forlorn people and their customs. They find Orenda unnatural and evil. Your mother never used her Orenda while in Trucesa, but I know she was incredibly skilled. Sharie never did anything halfway.”

“She was incredible. Sometimes I wonder if I really am related to her,” Jordan admitted, looking down at her hands. Hands that had never glowed with Orenda, fingers that had never felt the warmth of inner power.

“She was more proud of you than you’ll probably ever know,” Lia said, and her golden-brown eyes immediately silenced any disagreement forming on Jordan’s lips.

“I have finished my measurements. It will only take me a moment to piece the outfit together.”

“So fast?”

“This is my craft,” Lia said simply. “I have done it for enough years now. Speed is one of the things that sets me apart from my peers. If you will excuse me.” Lia pulled aside a thin drape, revealing a chair.

“Please sit.”

Jordan complied, and soon she could hear the snipping of fabric and the rustle of Lia’s golden-yellow skirts as she worked.

Now was as good a time as any to examine Smiley’s map. Eithan had written in some helpful directions, although he hadn’t included any additional landmarks, other than a small star that marked the entrance to the ancients’ lair. The map was quite detailed overall, but Jordan was quick to notice that the southern Ruins were still little more than a field of clouds, signifying that the creator of the map wasn’t aware of what lay within the large swath of abandoned land.

Jordan studied the map as though with enough effort she could pierce through the illustration’s absence of a route, lost in thought until Lia said, “It’s ready. Would you like to try the pieces on?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A brown hand pulled aside the drape and handed Jordan a small pile of fabric.

“Let me know if any alterations need to be made,” Lia said through the drape. “Or if you need any help trying on the clothing.”

Jordan looked at the clothing in her lap. On top was a slender tunic the same shade of gold as Lia’s outfit. Over the satiny fabric were small, interlinking gold rings—some kind of chainmail.

She put it on, unsurprised to see that it fit her exactly.

She really is a master.

Next was a thin, corded belt, a welcome replacement to Jordan’s worn one.

There were no leggings in the pile, and Jordan assumed Lia had observed her clothing and noticed that the leggings were made from rowder hide and still in good condition. However, she had included a small bottle and a rag to polish and clean the material.

The Trucesan woman had even included a new pair of boots, and this time they were made of rowder hide as well.

She switched out her worn leather boots and left the small enclosure, joining Lia once more.

“What do you think?” Lia asked, looking Jordan up and down approvingly.

“It’s wonderful, thank you.”

“I have two more things for you. First, a more practical cloak for travel.” Lia reached into yet another pile of fabric and removed a thin, gossamer cloak the color of midnight.

“A shadow cloak?” Jordan asked reverently. Shadow cloaks were rare—most people couldn’t afford them.

“It was your mother’s. She accidentally left it behind the last time she visited me.” Lia looked down at the ground for a moment, struggling to regain her composure before making eye contact with Jordan, all trace of her sadness vanishing, replaced with calm assurance.

“She would have wanted you to have it.”

Jordan tried it on, smiling when the cloak reached down almost to her ankles.

“Your mother was a little taller than you,” Lia conceded, “would you like me to adjust the length?”

“No, it’s fine.” She didn’t mind the reminder and didn’t want to alter the only thing she had of her mother’s.

“And this.” Lia held up a folded piece of parchment. “A note… from Sharie.”

Jordan took the note gently, intrigued. She pocketed the small piece of parchment in the same brass case that contained the map.

“Thank you, Lia. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me. I think I know where you’re going and where you may have to go.”

She walked up to Jordan and placed a hand on her cheek in a gesture of motherly affection. “ Just don’t falter.”