Vanya was supposed to have her eyes wide open, glued to the outside, waiting for the faintest shadow to pass by, but the chilly sea breeze and the calming sound of the waves crashing onto the shore had her dozing off already.

She only pretended to be asleep earlier. As soon as Joan had started snoring, she hopped off her bed and was out of the room. She scooted a chair over to the porch to sit there and wait, hoping to catch a rouge Roza passing by.

Her closed eyes tried fluttering open but she was far too tired and was already too deep into dreaming of her days back when she relished in her lavender-scented baths where she would dunk her head and blow bubbles pretending to be a fish in the sea.

When she was done, she would have Joan dry her with the softest towels, and dress her in the richest fabrics found in all of the Northern Kingdom. Clothed in a deep violet dress with her hair damp from her bath, she would stuff herself with breakfast. After breakfast was tutoring.

She usually walked alone to the great library at the heart of the castle. The corridors were the size of entire rooms panning across with ceilings so high. But nothing was as magnificent as the great library itself.

The deep wooden doors only creaked open to let out the most raw and enticing smell of old parchment all hidden behind them like a secret kept from the sun. Vanya was never really that studious but oh my, did she love the smell of a library, that too the grandest library with the largest collection of literature covering almost anything one might want to know in all of the Northern Kingdom.

She would usually hop onto the chair at the edge with a book about horses or the tales of a woman with several husbands, the latest editions to the current popular story going around in Esmeth, and eat an apple while at it. But today, she had lessons with her history tutor, who was barely able to walk his way without stumbling on his dreadfully long silver beard.

She yawned in boredom wondering why the tutor for history, who was as old as history itself, was so monotonous. He pushed his half-moon glasses away to eye her.

“Your Highness, you must focus,” he spoke in a shaky voice, not that he was scared, he was too old for his vocal cords to even function properly.

Vanya rubbed her eyes, “But Master Aren, it’s too boring. Too dull.”

“Now now, do not disregard history, child. You must know the story of your land. You are the heir to the throne,” he tried to sound stern but Vanya’s sleepy eyes made him feel soft.

“Alright then, to amuse you with something and to have you not dozing off on me, I shall tell you something none of you young people would ever know, given it all stays hidden.”

Vanya’s eyes shot open. Her hands on the table, her body leaning forward to Master Aren who crossed his arms sitting across from her with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Do you know of grimoires?”

“Grim–what?”

“Grimoires…Books, writings of something a little beyond your imagination. Books of spells, books of magic.”

“Spells? Magic? There’s no such thing as magic–”

“How are you so sure?”

Vanya peered into Aren’s eyes. His usually shaky pupils were still and stoic. She fell back into her chair.

“What about the grimoires?” she asked almost in a whisper.

“When the war ended they were all destroyed, every single one of them. They used to be littered in this very library. Shelves upon shelves covered in all sorts of grimoires. I myself used to possess some of the most ancient grimoires ever found, as a collection, of course, I cannot cast any spells.”

Vanya remained apprehensive. She knew about her father’s efforts to ban magic. She was well aware of the laws. She just did not understand if Master Aren was simply using this as a topic of conversation to wake her up or if he had any other plans in mind.

“What do you mean you can’t cast any spells? If the grimoires are books of spells, shouldn’t they instruct you on how to use them?”

Aren let out a hearty laugh. “You and I, princess, are not gifted by the heavens above to wield such power. Even amongst the gifted, only a few possess the true power to command the earth, to form fire, and part the seas. We were simply born to bloodlines that never carried such power hence not a part of the chosen.”

“I have never seen such magic with my own two eyes–”

“Nor has anyone in all of the Northern Kingdom in close to two decades now. It’s merely a memory for us older folk and only a made-up story to you younger people.”

“Why are you telling me this? It is not simply to wake me up, is it?” she asked wanting to get to the bottom of it quickly.

“The destruction of the grimoires was one of the most discussed and argued topics in all of the issues talked about in your father’s court from the time of his coronation. Do you know why?”

“Because they were so…dangerous?”

“Yes, yes! But dangerous not because of the knowledge it gave to those with magic, but because of the proof of the very existence of magic itself to those who do not possess such abilities. Look at you, already denying its existence because of how little knowledge of it still exists. Your children will know even little. Your grandchildren will never know of its existence at all.”

“Are you challenging my father’s decisions, the current law of the land?

Aren remained calm despite Vanya expecting him to scramble.

“You cannot undo what has been done. But I say to you as the future Queen of the Northern Kingdom, that erasing history is never the answer. The grimoires that were once studied with great respect and even kept peace between us ordinary folk and tribes that possessed these special gifts, encompassed the history, the story, of people. Heavens will bless you if one day you decide to right what has been wronged–”

Aren froze as if he was turning to stone. His eyes locked in place and his shaky hands perfectly still. With a blink, Vanya was no longer at the library. There was no Aren. There was not even the light beaming in through the great windows. It was just Vanya on her chair in a room painted pitch black, her eyes seeing nothing but darkness.

Suddenly, a hand appeared from the shadows and grabbed her neck tight. The cold fingers dug into her skin as she started choking, unable to let out any sound. It squeezed her neck harder and she flailed her hands trying to grab onto it, but her hands only passed through.

“No, please!--”

She felt her breath leave her. Her vision started to fade. And at the edge of it all, she saw it. Two golden rims shone once and faded out.

Vanya gasped awake. Her body was covered in cold sweat. With her hands to her neck checking frantically for a ghost hand choking her, she panted loudly. With time she calmed, her heart going back to normal and her terror subsiding.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She was once again alone, on the chair by the porch. She was back to listening to the sea.

It was just a dream…a nightmare…

She kept saying to herself, all this time, hoping it would slow her mind. Through the dream, she remembered Aren, who shortly retired after that tutoring session. She enjoyed his company for he was often a rebel with his own teachings swaying too far, edging on controversial topics. She was surprised she had such a distinct memory hidden well in her mind, so deep it came to her in a dream.

The hand, though it seemed to have just been a nightmare engulfing her dreams, was not entirely made up.

Her pupils shivered as she remembered that night when she stumbled on the rocks and it caught her just as it did in her dream. That hand choked her wanting every last breath she had left. She was still unsure how she escaped its grasp. That grasp that left her neck swollen and purple.

***

It wasn’t just Vanya who planned on sacrificing sleep that night. Rhohaz was dozing off in the corner of his dark living room. The moonlight danced with the waves outside as his head bounced back and forth before it fully gave in and made Rhohaz snort awake.

With his red, tired eyes wide open, he quickly scanned the room, his legs ready to jump off his seat and his hands ready to stop her.

It took a minute for him to realize there was no Roza in front of him. He had only managed to wake himself up again.

He sat back deeper into his seat with a pout forming on his lips. It was looking as if he was going to be wasting the night away. His heart worried. His younger sister was late out in the middle of the night with no sign of return. He was wondering if it was time to go start looking for her like he always did.

The parchment at his fingertips ruffled with the sea breeze giving it life. He barely caught on to it before it whisked itself away from his grasp. His other hand held onto a leather cover with a good collection of loose sheets stuffed in it. Today he was reading the parchment sitting on his palm removed carefully from his precious collection, right before he started dozing off.

Remember son,

the sea is our world.

Without the sea, we are nothing.

Without the waves guiding us we will be lost.

Always, always respect the sea and its beings.

And they will reward you with wisdom, power, and peace…

He read the words gathering at the bottom of the page once more despite having read it a few times over before dozing off. Rhohaz’s eyes deepened and his heart felt sad once more.

He only opened his father’s journal days after he passed away last year. He was confused at first for the majority of the pages were never entries of his father’s personal life despite him retiring himself giving the excuse that he must write his journal entries every night, but it was a collection of advice and sometimes trivial facts about the world addressed to his children.

Most of the humorous delicate poems were for Roza, despite his father never really being that playful with his children. All the advice on leadership, how to manage oneself, and tidbits about the powers of the sea were for Rhohaz.

He did not want to admit it but every time he read his father's advice for him he felt anguished that he was not living up to his father’s expectations. He felt as if a fierce man who led his family and the whole of the village for decades was hovering over him the entire time. But his father’s writings on the sea always calmed him, brought him back to his old self, younger Rhohaz who enjoyed strolling down the shore, staring at the stars, and wishing he could keep speaking to the sea.

“You must ignore it, Rhohaz. Don’t worry, it will pass with time,” he remembered how his mother wiped his tears as she knelt with him on the shore one night when she found him out of his tiny bed, on the damp sand, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“But Mama, I can hear the waves,” he sobbed. She only held him closer hoping with time he would be too tired and fall asleep.

She was right. The more he ignored them the more they went silent. Nowadays, he rarely heard anything. He barely even remembered what they sounded like. But he vaguely remembered the memories of when he heard the most beautiful notes in his mind, where every waking moment was filled with music in his ears. They somehow grew horrid and terrifying at times. And those times were enough to push one over the edge.

Suddenly, his mind walked over to the horrid scream of Tarin over Betsy this morning. It was so similar to when the waves grew angry that he thought he was back to hearing them again. But seeing Vanya bent over in front he knew it was not the waves.

Then he remembered her. With that, his pout slowly curved to a gentle smile. He hated bickering with anyone at all but something about bickering with Vanya had his heart happy. Then, he started scratching his forehead hoping Vanya was not going to actually stay up and spy on his behalf. His eyes drew towards his grandmother’s home.

The little house with its porch facing the sea stood there so sturdy. He could not see anyone lingering about, and he wondered if she had just forgotten about it and gone to sleep. A tiny part of him wished she had not forgotten, that they were both awake so deep into the night, perhaps even getting to see a glimpse of each other. And he ignored that tiny part pretending to not know of its existence.

His ears perked as the front door knob rattled. He pushed his stray parchment into the leather cover and placed it aside to get into a more alert stance.

The door opened with a slight creak.

“Damn it,” an angry whisper was heard.

Footsteps entered the home and closed the door carefully, silently. A cloak with muddied hems and equally muddied boots came off revealing Roza, with her thick brown hair completely disheveled as if she had been running down a mountain all day.

She was about to sprint on tippy toes to her room when Rhohaz spoke, startling her to a corner, “Where have you been? All day at that?”

Her pale eyes rounded in shock but they soon narrowed in contempt.

“I…I don’t need to explain myself. I’m a grown woman. I can do whatever I want–”

“Not when you disappear without a word and appear in the middle of the night.”

“Oh!” Roza cocked her brow, “Are you suddenly concerned for others’ wellbeing now? Wonder what happened to the old Rhohaz.”

Rhohaz stood, crossing his arms. He stayed silent, a part of him bringing up the courage to apologize, keep it short and sweet, and get to the point. But another part, holding back.

“You don’t get to talk to me that way,” Rhohaz demanded.

“I’ll respect you when you’ve gained my respect. You have stripped all your values down to nothing but anything that would please the council.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about you disappearing for days and repeating your little stunt over and over. I’m not holding my tongue with the council anymore. I will let them know the next time you do it and they will take extreme measures. Mark my words.”

Roza rolled her eyes listening to Rhohaz. He had threatened her before in the exact same way but she had always gone back to doing as she pleased.

“Go ahead…” Roza started waving her hands around trying to spite Rhohaz, “...Do it, brother–”

But the book in Roza’s hand caught Rhohaz’s attention, making Roza immediately push it under her cloak.

“What was that?”

“None of your damn business.”

She scurried past her brother and down the hallway, Rhohaz right on her heels about to snag the book from her fingers.

“Give it to me!” Rhohaz let out a shout. But Roza thrashed her door open and shut it just in time.

“Open the door, Roza. Show me the book…,” Rhohaz spoke in a low tone listening to Roza inside, “...You know it. You know we are not allowed to have such books.”

“What do you think it is?” Roza’s muffled voice retorted mockingly.

“I know you enough to know what that book might be. I won’t ask you where you found it, or who gave it to you. I just ask you that you show me the book and if it is what I think it is, you must give it up. I must confiscate it. You know the rules.”

Rhohaz stayed silent waiting for her response. He heard nothing. He stayed there patiently with no sign of Roza answering him. But just as he was about to leave she spoke in a low voice, “Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you or speak with you. You shamed me in front of the council and betrayed me. What I do with my time is no longer your business. If Mother was here she would tell you, you have become nothing but cold and dull. You are not the Rhohaz we knew.”

He felt his heart shatter, his throat dry. He knew this was a long time coming. Ever since he became the leader of Shalom he felt his personality chipping away piece by piece. Now, a year later, he felt like a different person. His values different, his fears amplified.

Today at the school being amongst his villagers felt the most natural after a long time. He considered it a win but Roza’s words crumbled it to pieces.

He did not know that hearing this from someone would hurt so deeply, but hearing it from Roza, his sibling he treasured, and looked after from a very young age, felt like a knife straight through his heart.