-Tokyns-

As the ruby Orenda descended on the people, Helm smiled. Drew might not remember, but he was prepared in more ways than he realized to rule, to lead not only by authority, but by example.

The public part of the ceremony was now over, but the people left the courtyard slowly, stealing glances at their new, temporary lineal. Helm hadn’t seen so many looks of admiration in many centuries, if ever.

Drew is more fit than me for this life.

Reign’s usual stormy demeanor was once again subdued. Even he had worn a ruby crown, identical to the one Helm had placed on Drew’s head. The man would never say it, but Helm had caught a faint glimpse of light in the raisling’s eyes that had been subdued before.

As the Forlorn people continued to filter out of the cobblestone courtyard and return to their shops and homes, Helm put a hand on Drew’s shoulder.

“Walk with me, Lineal. There is one last aspect of the ceremony to complete.”

Drew nodded. Reign and Ryn Ashten began walking toward the Octurn as Helm and the new lineal entered the streets of Deporta.

Judging by the way Drew’s eyes eagerly took in every detail and facet of the city, Helm could tell the new leader had never walked the streets of Deporta before. But even though it was impressive captivating, Helm urged Drew to keep up with him.

Crowds immediately parted for the mysterious man in the white cloak and the newly coronated lineal. They walked in silence for a time, Drew clearly lost in thought, Helm reminiscent.

He had watched the towers be designed, had watched the architects and builders fashion the glass. Had seen the men and women laying down the cobblestone streets and building the stone-and-wood houses and shops. But Helm had also watched Deporta Prima rise from the forests and grow into a thriving heart of life many years before.

Cities rose and fell like the tides. People rose and fell like the sun and moon.

It seemed even the darkest souls eventually stumbled into the dawn.

At least, that’s what Dusk would have said if he had been here.

Soon, the two men approached the sprawling tree on the outskirts of town, overlooking a perfectly still bay cutting into Ealias from the Glacian Sea. The unusually warm waters below were littered with vibrant red leaves from the great tree, brilliant spots of color on the crystal surface. They had climbed a steep hill to reach the great pillar of nature. No one else disturbed them as they walked up to the tree’s hulking trunk. The leaves were the color of flame, similar to Drew’s Orenda.

The tree’s twin stood like a beacon on an island off the Elisian coast. These trees had stood for centuries. One had been planted by Helm himself. The other by the world’s first mastyr.

They stood before Helm’s tree now. The branches sprawled like a network of veins or tunnels, and the sky above peeked through the tree’s many arms. At night the stars looked like glittering fruit hanging from the tree’s branches, but it was only nearing midafternoon.

“I’ve never seen a tree like this,” Drew said quietly, gazing up at the many branches in awe. A blanket of maroon leaves lay on the ground at their feet, even though thousands of leaves hung suspended above their heads.

“There’s only one other like it,” Helm replied.

A simple metal bench lay under the great tree’s sprawling form, and the two sat down facing the tree, their backs to the sprawling form of Deporta below.

“You surpassed everyone’s expectations at the ceremony today, Drew. Including mine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s one thing to graciously accept a position of power and vow to try to serve the people under you. But to openly proclaim that you see every other Forlorn citizen as an equal to you… as fellow rulers? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Drew nodded his head in shy acknowledgement, although Helm could already feel the man’s self doubt beginning to fade.

“Why are we here?” Drew asked.

Helm removed his sun cloak and set it aside before answering. It was such a relief to not have to hide his identity under shadows and fabric or in the darkness of his appointed chamber.

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“As a Forlorn lineal, you join a long line of past lineals and become a link in the chain. Like this tree, you become a root that feeds and nourishes the mighty stock you see before you.

“Every lineal has given a tokyn to one of the two master trees. All but one have left their tokyn here, at this tree.”

“But I didn’t bring anything with me.”

Helm chuckled.

“You brought everything you are with you. The tokyn is not some physical keepsake or memento. It’s dedicating a piece of yourself to the Forlorn line.”

“Do I have to give that piece of myself up?”

“Becoming a part of the Forlorn line doesn’t mean less for you. It means more for the people who come after you.”

“And what kinds of things have lineals offered up in the past?”

Helm studied the flaming leaves above and below them, breathing in the scent of things growing and dying in an endless cycle.

“Some have offered bravery, wisdom, dedication or sacrifice. Others offered up their position, wealth, authority.”

Drew looked at his hands, lost in thought for a moment.

“So,” he finally said, “I can either offer up a strength, or I can let go of a weakness that will hold me back from best serving the people.”

“Perceptive. Few understand the role of the tokyn so quickly. Yes. What you offer up is personal to you. You and you alone will know your tokyn. Even I will not see it.”

“And how do I create my tokyn?”

“The same way you use your Orenda, Drew. I have struggled to teach many past lineals how to create a tokyn, because they treat their power like a wild animal kept restrained. Their constant focus is on controlling and taming their Orenda. The mere thought of letting it freely act, of giving it freedom—it petrifies full-grown women and men.

“But I saw how you accessed your Orenda today, Drew. You did what no Forlorn has done in over a hundred years. Creating a tokyn will be effortless for you. Just picture in your mind what you want to offer, and let it go. The tokyn will do the rest.”

“How much time do I have to decide?” Drew asked.

“As long as your tokyn is created and added to the line the same day as your ceremony, it will be valid and remain a part of the Forlorn legacy until the death of Ealias.”

“The death of Ealias? But whole worlds don’t die, do they?”

“I wish that were true…”

***

The day had blurred by, a contrast of high emotion and long periods of reflecting. Helm was a calm, patient companion, like a stone weathering the fiercest gales and tempests. Immovable. The sun slowly sank in the sky, seeking refuge in the ancient tangled branches hanging above their heads, the bright leaves burning like some kind of holy offering as the sun shot through them.

A tokyn. What was Drew willing to give?

Acelin would have instantly counseled Drew to offer up his tactical ability to make decisions. Gracelin, on the other hand, would probably have encouraged Drew to give his kind heart. Someone like Reign would clearly offer up his single-minded determination to rule.

Drew didn’t know Callan, but from what he’d heard of the missing lineal, the man had probably created a tokyn out of his prowess with Orenda.

Helm was silent, studying the tree before them as though it were an old friend.

And Drew still had a decision to make. He’d honestly already decided an hour before, but he wondered if the offering would be too little, if it would pale in comparison to the other tokyns lineals had created over the centuries.

It was simple. He knew what he had to do.

He had to offer up his fear. Give it away, knowing that, when he did, he would walk away from the master tree a new man. Forever changed. If not fearless, then determined to become so.

Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn’t making a rash mistake, Drew said, “I’m ready.”

“I think, when it comes to this, you are,” Helm said, his topaz eyes still lost in the sea of branches and leaves.

“Remember, concentrate on your offering. Picture it in your mind and give it as much detail and life as possible. Then let it go.”

Unlike the ceremony earlier that day, there was no fanfare. No crowd to impress or sway. Just the tree and Helm and a choice.

He took it.

Grimacing slightly as he thought through his fears in as much detail as possible, he began forming the tokyn, giving it weight and depth. Giving it life, even in its heavier shades.

The fear that he wasn’t good enough.

Wasn’t a leader.

Wasn’t anything more than a boy hungry for freedom.

For acceptance.

The fear that, for all his desires and efforts, the world would be unchanged by his existence.

Abruptly, the growing tightness in his chest vanished. He opened his eyes and saw a brilliant ruby ball of light rising up into the tree’s many branches, seeking shelter in its slender limbs.

Helm didn’t spare the tokyn a glance, as though he honestly couldn’t see it.

Just as the tokyn had almost faded from view, the entire tree flashed as though struck by lightning. For a moment it seemed like Drew could see through the tree, past the bark into its pulsing heart. Hundreds of tokyns, brilliant balls of light, filled the tree like captured starflies, each shifting with fast-moving images from the lineal’s life.

And there, in the very center of the master tree, Drew’s humble tokyn, beaming like a pulse from a lighthouse, calling the lost back home.