-Splintered Pride-

Callan fought back a grimace and began pulling the millionth sliver from his fingers.

Flage stood off to the side, watching with undisguised amusement. “For someone as powerful as you, Shadows, you endure hard work like a child.”

“Compared to you, old man, I am a child.”

“Congratulations on your infantile status.”

“And why do we need so many pieces of wood for the mast? I figured it was one thick log with ropes and sails attached to it.”

“Of course you did…. The Heightened is not some primitive boat or toy. What other ship dares to freely sail the Glacian Sea without hugging the coast?”

“Point taken. Have we finished cutting enough similar-sized pieces to begin fitting them together?”

Flage examined the pieces of wood Callan had painstakingly measured and cut. Callan was tall enough that he rarely had to look up to anyone, but Flage was the exception.

The exception in most things it turns out, he thought begrudgingly, but his respect for Flage was growing with each passing hour.

Although the two of them frequently sparred with words, when it came to actual instruction Flage was exacting but incredibly fair. He invited and encouraged all questions and took the time to answer them completely. He was as patient as the slow, constant rotation of the planet when giving instruction, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty once Callan had proven he knew how to do the current step on his own.

Flage had cut half the pieces that would fit into the final mast, doing everything by hand as well. Callan didn’t know how the man could stand it, the blazing golden Orenda in the distance taunting them with its divine power.

Jordan had joined them and cut a few pieces of her own. The Heightened, Callan was coming to realize, was a hulking craft. Each mast was as thick as he was and many times taller. The rigging was so complicated he shuddered just thinking about their next step. Cutting the wood had taken two days, and Callan was becoming eager to finish repairing the ship and return to Ealias.

The Forlorn would be growing anxious. He’d been gone almost a month, and the population would be restless. Hungry. He didn’t envy Ryn Ashten or the others who assisted the lineal. How would she and the others satiate the people?

“Callan, if you keep working without allowing your mind time to keep up, you’ll lose a finger.”

Callan started. Flage had never used his first name before. Looking down at the piece he was cutting, he realized how close he’d been to doing just that.

“While you were dreaming about your supposed future and shadowy past, I took the liberty of finishing the last piece. We can combine them together now by fitting each piece into the spindle, or the foundation for the new mast.”

Callan would never have come up with the construction on his own, but Flage’s methods and explanations made the answer seem obvious. Multiple pieces of the strong wood, slightly overlapping each other in a circular design and bound by metal hoops, would make the mast stronger and more flexible.

As he began to understand the process, Callan was surprised they’d managed to break a mast in half in the first place.

“Easy,” he replied confidently, joining Flage as the two men began picking up the large, cut pieces of wood and fitting them together.

“Easy for me,” Flage boasted, returning to their cut pieces and picking up one in each hand by himself.

I don’t know where he hides his muscles… Callan mused.

***

She’d stolen away to Flage’s library again. They only had five days left in Hyasin, and between helping with the ship’s repairs and the arduous tasks of sleeping and eating, Jordan had only begun to scratch the surface.

For one, almost every book was written in a language she didn’t speak. None of them were in Elisian, including the book Flage had gifted her. The letters were the same, but it looked like gibberish to her.

She’d pulled almost every book off the shelf at this point, skimming to see if she recognized anything. It was only after combing through every book on the main floor of the lighthouse that she rolled her eyes and took the stairs.

He would take the book I need and hide it in his sanctuary.

She reached the top floor with a huff and began scrounging through the books spread throughout the room, being careful to keep everything in its seemingly random place.

In the end, she sat in the middle of the room, hands on her head, disgruntled, her impatience growing with each passing moment.

“Why would he give me such a useless task?” she said to the empty room.

“It’s not like I speak this alien language. How does he read these books anyway?”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

The room was silent.

Maybe she’d missed something. Jordan was as determined as she was stubborn—Flage would not get the best of her.

She picked herself up off the floor and dusted her increasingly ragged clothes. She was about to rifle through his books again when she turned to stone.

A figure brighter than the blinding towers of Deporta was descending the staircase which spiraled up to the golden Orenda.

Her first instinct was to bow, or kneel. But the presence was so unexpected and overpoweringly pure that she stood still, not even daring to breathe.

“Is my husband giving you a hard time?” The voice sounded like wind chimes. Jordan couldn’t make out the figure’s features until she was face to face with the glorious creature.

Flage’s otherworldly beauty had caught Jordan off guard, but this was something else. The woman in front of her was the embodiment of light, like a star had fallen to Ealias and forgotten to return to its rightful place in the heavens.

Her silver hair was short and framed her petite build and gorgeous face. The woman was the same height as Jordan, but she still found herself looking up to the apparition. Gauzy white material danced and shimmered around her, as though her simple, girlish dress had a life of its own.

“It’s so good to meet you,” the angelic woman said warmly, pulling Jordan into an embrace. The woman’s skin was warm, like she had been sitting in the desert under the blazing sun for hours.

Jordan was at a loss for words. As the woman hugged her she felt another presence, a familiar touch. As though her mother was reaching through this being of light and holding her close.

But Sharie had passed on, and her father was as good as dead with her absence.

Pulling away to get a look at her, the woman smiled, her eyes, the same gold as Flage’s Orenda, kind.

“You look so much like her, you know.”

“Who?” Jordan managed to get out.

“Your mother. Sharie Lights.”

“You knew her?”

“I know… yes, I knew her. A brave, decisive leader. And a true friend. But that’s not why I have come. I knew Flage would challenge you to riddle through the books stashed here at Hyasin. I also knew you wouldn’t remember the language.”

“Remember the language?” Jordan echoed.

“I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t know the language. None of the books here are written in Elisian, after all. At least, none but one.”

“Where can I find that book, Miss…”

“Trinket. You probably tried to read the book my love gifted you. You probably also noticed that the book was written in the same language as the rest of the tomes here.”

Jordan nodded. Trinket gently took her arm and led her over to a couch, which Jordan gratefully accepted. Her knees were still weak from the shock and the encounter.

“The answer lies in the book, Jordan. You need only write a simple request in its pages. ‘Translate to Elisian.’ The book will do the rest.”

“But books don’t write themselves.”

“And lighthouses don’t dwell above the clouds, yet here we are.” Trinket smiled again, and the grin lit up the room.

“Try it. What do you have to lose?”

It hurt her to admit it, but Trinket was right. Feeling foolish, she took a charcoal stick from Flage’s desk and retrieved her book from one of the chairs. Returning to Trinket, she hesitantly cracked open the book and wrote on the front blank page in small script,

Translate to Elisian.

“Turn to a page with writing,” Trinket urged her, waving her forward with petite hands. Jordan complied.

Her eyes widened as she flipped to a page covered in alien script. Under each foreign word a new word was appearing, written in rich blue ink as though it had always been there. She caught the words “Jordan” and “prophecy” and closed the book just as quickly, stunned.

“You’re bright, so it won’t take you long to learn this new language by referencing your book. After all, the letters are identical. But before I go, do you have any questions for me?” Trinket asked. Her golden eyes danced with a mixture of amusement and playfulness.

She and Cal would get along well.

“I asked Flage how he came to be here, at this lighthouse, and his answer was vague. And he never mentioned you. Never even mentioned being married. How did you two meet?”

“And here I thought you would ask me where I came from or why I radiate light and heat. Silly me.

“But you want to know how we met? That’s an easy story, but one you should hear from Flage himself. I know he might appear callous on the outside, but his heart is as pure as his Orenda.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Trinket repeated, and this time Jordan recognized the emphasis.

“How did you know my mother?”

“We became friends at the end of her life,” Trinket said simply.

“And have you always lived here, at Hyasin?”

“Hyasin has not always been Hyasin. Ages ago, this lighthouse stood nestled in Eon.”

“Jadelin territory?”

“… yes, I suppose so. The lighthouse went by another name—Archard. Worlds ago a dear friend of mine was faced with death, and I stood in the way. I have been tied to this lighthouse ever since.”

“Did you die?”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Death is never an ending, Jordan. My body was laid to rest, but my soul lived on, and through the ingenuity of my dear friend I reside somewhere between here and the next bright place.”

“Are you a star?” Jordan asked bluntly. “The way you shine, the warmth radiating off your skin… your eyes.”

“That’s one way of understanding it, yes. Have you studied the stars here at Hyasin?”

Jordan shook her head. She’d been so transfixed by Flage’s Orenda that studying the night sky hadn’t crossed her mind.

“The stars are closer here than anywhere else,” she said without further elaboration. “The boundary between death and life is thin here.”

Trinket stood and Jordan followed suit. The woman embraced Jordan once more before ascending the staircase. Before she passed out of view she smiled and pulled something bright and circular from the folds of her dress. “Catch!” she called out, throwing the object down to Jordan. She caught it, perplexed by the small, powerfully bright stone.

“For your sword. A gift from your mother.” Trinket smiled and disappeared from view.

Dozens of questions suddenly rushed to the surface, and Jordan sprinted up the stairs, desperate to stop Trinket from leaving. She reached the platform in time to see a brilliant streak of light in the sky rejoining the other bright faces positioned there.

The opposite of a falling star.