Adrin

The lamps flicked on, making blue clouds in the predawn haze as Adrin climbed the slick stairs up to the linecar platform. Drizzle, somewhere between rain and fog, beaded on his coat and permeated his trousers, making them cling to his ankles. But his portfolio was safe and dry in its waterproof pack, and that was the important thing.

Last night had been a restless one, haunted by anxious dreams that turned into racing thoughts. At last he had given up hope of falling back asleep and began to prepare for his interview, but now that he’d come as far as he could, his fatigue caught up with him. Still almost an hour to wait until the linecar departed for Thaliron.

The benches in the waiting area were all speckled with water droplets, in spite of the overhanging roof that was supposed to protect them. Adrin wiped away most of the water on one with a sweep of his hand before he sat down. Yawning, he folded his arms on top of his pack and rested his chin on them as the first light from the invisible sun turned the sky from black to gray.

He faced north, where in spite of the fog, he could make out the Ocean on the horizon. It was just as gray and dark as the sky, but alive in a way the sky wasn’t, waves interacting and crashing in a pattern too complicated for his brain to untangle. The fog, the rain, the water flowed between him and the Ocean, and with every moment of increasing light, the message became a little bit clearer, the tide crept a little bit closer, until the waves lapped at his feet.

“Come to me,” said the Ocean.

The wave retreated, trying to pull him along with it, but there wasn’t enough water to drag him down. Adrin climbed up on top of the bench, out of the reach of the next rush of water, but it was only a temporary escape. The next influx rose higher still, swirling around his ankles and tugging more insistently.

“I need you.”

“What do you want?” Adrin asked.

The water continued to rise, creeping up around him, pulling him this way and that, trying to pry him loose. With one hand, Adrin held fast to the back of his bench, and with the other, he clutched the satchel that held his portfolio. He didn’t dare let go of either one, but he was running out of time.

“Hurry. Please, Adrin Remyer.” When the waters receded, they tugged hard at his bag, and he nearly lost his grip. Adrin seized hold of it with both arms, and then he was falling into endless depths, swept away into the gray darkness of eternity.

A bell rang. “The Thaliron Central Line is now boarding,” announced an amplified voice. “We will be departing the station in five minutes.”

Adrin was still sitting on the bench on the platform, arms clasped tight around the bag containing his portfolio, no more or less damp than he’d been before he dozed off. A dream. He moved automatically to board the linecar, taking a seat on the north side of the aisle so he could watch the Ocean through the window.

Had it been only a dream?

Adrin was tired, on edge; it was only natural that his anxious mind would produce disturbing dreams. But he’d heard stories of times when the Ocean had called to people in their dreams, instead of waiting for them to come to her.

To “her.”

Why did everyone call the Ocean “her”? It was a body of water, not a person with a gender, but then, it had been a woman’s voice calling to him in the dream. Of course, that could have come from his imagination, too. He was on his way to Thaliron for an interview with a woman: Dacrine Wyess, the greatest ceram engineer of all time, who designed and built the weapons and armor that gave the Ethereal Guard a fighting chance against the constructs. All night he’d dreamed of ways it might go wrong. Was this just another example?

It had been difficult enough to get this chance. The apprenticeship was supposed to be open only to those in their fourth or fifth year at the University, and Adrin was only halfway through his third. Another professor had convinced Wyess to consider Adrin, but he still needed to prove today that he was worth taking on as her student.

His portfolio could do much of the speaking for him, its pages filled with ceram designs that his teachers had praised as elegant and clever. The hard part was going to be making a good impression and making his case in words. He had agonized about what to say and how to say it far longer than it had taken to assemble his portfolio, then he’d rehearsed his story in front of a mirror until he could recite it by heart.

He ran through the speech again in his mind. “If it weren’t for the Ethereal Guard, I wouldn’t be here today. I was born in Dhanlir six months after the tiger ravaged the town . . .”

The words were supposed to carry his passion, his fervent desire to use his skills and talents to protect his people from the monstrous scourge of the constructs, so why did they ring hollow to him now? He didn’t want to just build more weapons to combat the constructs, he hoped to one day create devices that could destroy them completely. Maybe it was a wild dream, and ultimately a futile one, but it had to be dreamt, it had to be tried, and tried again. The tragedy in Bhadrat sixteen years ago didn’t mean they had to give up hope completely. There had to be another way, and he would find it.

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Another way waited to the north of him, and called his name.

Adrin shook his head, tearing his eyes from the window. The last boy to try the Ocean had never returned, and that boy hadn’t been just anyone. Raen Semfrey had been a member of the Ethereal Guard, the son of the Tresuan and the lost hero Danthan. If the Ocean had drowned such an illustrious scion, who was Adrin to even think of trying it for himself? An interview with Master Wyess was audacious enough, as high as he dared reach. He’d never felt any desire to become Prince Ethereal, to marry Princess Jocyanë and one day become king. The dream on the platform had been a dream and nothing more.

But no matter how hard he tried to keep his mind on his interview with Master Wyess, his ideas and his ambition, he still felt the cold water creeping up to engulf his body. Maybe that sensation had something to do with the cold, sodden cuffs of his pants, but he couldn’t escape the discomfort.

“Give me a sign,” he murmured, looking out the window once more. The Ocean was a glimmer on the horizon as the track swung southward, towards the center of the capital city. “If you want me, if you truly want me, give me a sign.”

Adrin received no answer to his plea. He was no closer to reaching a decision when the linecar came to a stop in the heart of Thaliron.

From the central station, it was only a few minutes’ walk to reach the south gate of the palace complex. He would need to present himself at that gate one way or the other, to declare he was there for his interview with Wyess, or to declare a different intent, an intent he was certainly mad for continuing to entertain.

The city had only just awoken. The streets of central Thaliron were never empty, but only a few people walked them now, here and there, coats drawn against the morning damp. They ignored Adrin, absorbed in their own lives, completely unaware of the struggle going on inside the young man whose uncertain steps were taking him north on the broad avenue that led to the palace gate. The line to enter was short, and his turn at the guard station came far too soon.

“What is your purpose for visiting the palace today?” the young man behind the desk asked by rote, ready to mark his answer in the guest book open before him.

His purpose?

His purpose was the same as it had always been. It was written in his portfolio, in the years of study and painstaking work to learn the intricacies of ceram engineering, but it went deeper than that. It was the drive to do everything that was in his power to do, to give everything he had to give, to create a future for Elorhe that was no longer shadowed by the terrible creatures that slept beneath the seals. Studying with Dacrine Wyess was only one means of answering that greater calling. If he could do more, if he could give more, it was his duty to do so.

“I’m here to petition for my right to enter the Ocean.”

* * *

The door to the waiting room opened only a few minutes after Adrin had taken a seat on one of the upholstered benches.

“Good morning,” said the red-headed man in the doorway.

Adrin hadn’t expected the king of Elorhe himself to be the one to come and greet him. He jumped to his feet, then instinctively stooped a bit to put their eyes on the same level.

“Um—Good morning, your majesty.”

Gerimon Talmuir, King of Elorhe, was shorter than Adrin had expected. But he’d never seen the king up close before, only from a great distance, at the New Year’s Games or other events. He was as Namaian as they came, with fair skin, green eyes, and hair the color of turmeric. The lines of his clean-shaven face made him look a bit older than fifty, but there were few strands of white in his hair.

“I suppose you were expecting someone else.” The king leveled a measuring look at Adrin, a weary smile on his face. “But I’ve been expecting you.”

Adrin blinked. “Me?”

“Well, not you, precisely.” The king took a seat on the bench opposite Adrin, who sat back down as well. “I knew—have known for some time—that someone was going to show up any day and make the request. Did I know that Adrin Remyer, a third-year engineering student who hails from Dhanlir in Nalla-Bidharac, would be here this morning, seeking to attempt the Ocean? No, I did not.”

Gerimon had been a teacher before the Ocean selected him, and his attitude seemed better suited to a professor than a king. Apparently, he had already made some inquiries about the young man who had appeared on his doorstep, asking to become his son-in-law and heir. What else had the king discovered about Adrin already?

“So tell me, Adrin, why do you want to become the Prince Ethereal?” Gerimon asked.

“It’s not that I want to,” Adrin replied quickly. “I—I think I have to.”

The king’s face fell. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. He shook his head, then tried again. “You don’t have to.”

“I do,” Adrin said, surprised by his own fervor. This close to the Ocean, it seemed to pull on him, demanding his presence. “I was called—in a dream—”

“You have a choice,” Gerimon said firmly. He leaned forward, staring into Adrin’s eyes. “I know you had other plans today. You can still pursue them.”

Adrin didn’t waver.

“You’re not of age. I could bar you on those grounds.”

“Please don’t!” Adrin said. How could he suggest such a thing? “You don’t need to be of age just to try the Ocean, I know—”

The king raised a hand to silence his protest and sighed. “Listen, Adrin. I’m not going to bar your way. The Ocean may have called you, but the choice is yours whether or not to answer. And you shouldn’t go in without knowing . . .” He paused, hand to his forehead, then spoke slowly and deliberately. “I cannot say for sure what will await you in the Ocean, and I cannot promise your safety. I lost someone that I loved like a son, and I still don’t know why. And . . .”

Adrin waited, and the king seemed to struggle to find the right words.

“There are . . . dangers . . . that were not there before,” he finally finished.

“I have to go,” Adrin said, more to himself than to the king, to silence the voice of his doubts.

The king sighed, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “Follow me, then,” he said, turning to the door. Adrin followed, pausing just a moment when he realized that he’d forgotten his satchel on the bench. With one last, regretful glance, he left it behind.