After leaving Heron Village behind, Cira spent weeks travelling the empty sky. That trading post was like finding a lighthouse after years lost at sea, punctuating a long and desolate journey for the young sorcerer. Fount Salt wasn’t what she had in mind when she decided to meander back into civilization, but beggars couldn’t be choosers up here.
Some folk didn’t have the agency to flutter about the winds at their leisure, however. Months on the soaring tides took a great deal of preparation, and none but the most seasoned sailors found themselves in the dead skies. These regions required skill, provisions, and a hardy crew. If one navigated their course a fraction of a degree off on a trip through a month or two of empty sky, they were doomed to never reach their destination, often thrown deep into a distant frontiers they’d never heard of with no idea how to get back.
While all these rules applied to Cira, she didn’t have to care about them. She could live out her whole life on Breeze Haven and never land, but that would be a bleak existence to say the least. This was what she got a glimpse of in her quest to wallow across the world in her father’s passing and is the reason she so quickly latched on to tales of the Boreal. A busy trade route was sure to be a great place to start living her life again.
This was the simple beauty to be found in the life of a sorcerer. Or perhaps Cira had it easy, but she was always on the move. Cira could tune herself out of the world for a time then drop out of the sky on a whim for a fresh breath of life. Heron Village was bizarre, but it wasn’t the worst she’d ever seen. Most of the people there were very nice and hospitable. But even now the island was becoming a distant memory in the back of her mind. The sorcerer had long-since moved on to toil in someone else’s lives and surely disappear into the sky just as quickly.
Again, not all had such freedom. More importantly, not all craved it. Far behind Cira lay the island of Heron Village. Just as Sam had claimed, the regrowth over their burned little town was truly impressive. While still saplings, trees broke through the ashes spread across the last generation’s land. Wildlife which was driven out of the forest from their reconstruction efforts had now found new hovels in which to sire their young, and plentiful food to eat among the rich foliage.
A spry, yellow bird flew over the new growth and across a simple wooden fence line, turning villagers’ heads with its pleasant song. There was a group of men breathing heavy with hammers in their hands, laying planks down then staking them to the dirt. These formed pathways between simple wooden homes that everyone on the island lived in. Within the first couple weeks the longhouse was built for everyone to eat in and bunk together, but it took them weeks to finish all the individual homes.
None of them had the personal flair common among Heron Village’s craftspeople, but they were all sturdily built and unfinished. In the coming years each family would work on their own home during their spare time to make them unique and more comfortable until the day eventually came to pass the village anew onto their children.
All these homes encircled a plaza in the center. The village clock traditionally wasn’t built until the rest of the village was in a complete state—usually after the first year. So, there was no wooden construction in the center of their town yet.
Sam leaned against a post thinking about how this generation would build it. Of course, the decision would ultimately come down to the new chief being elected next month, but the elders’ opinions was always been regarded with weight since he could remember. He was almost excited to be one, even if it meant turning over his life’s work.
He had witnessed the festival once when he was young, but his second was the one that would stick with him to his death bed. Through the many years he’d lived in Heron Village, never was there a visitor quite like her.
The girl who called herself Cira was not the first spellcaster he’d met, but none of them left much of an impression. The air around this one felt different, like she lived in a world far above any he would ever know. The sight of her own personal island ascending against the bright flare of their burning village until it was no more than a twinkling star left him strangely somber.
She had arrived looking for nothing past a few meals to eat and despite her frail body, worked as hard as any villager without complaint. Sam wanted to make her a water girl at first, but she insisted that she wanted to get a good workout in “for once”. The thought made Sam chuckle. She was easygoing enough to let them off when the man tried to burn her home even after the misunderstanding was laid bare, but Sam could tell her feelings were hurt when the situation turned.
He thought she seemed like a normal girl for the first few days. Even at the end, he was sure one was buried down there somewhere, but her departure reminded him they were indeed residents of different worlds. The heron she conjured was burned into his eyes and it was surely a festival that would be told of for generations to come.
Sam was hardly the only one affected by her visit either. The village women had taken to wearing whites and leafy green colors on their dresses. It appeared they’d taken more of an interest in fashion, and many of them were competing to make the smoothest fabric or most vibrant dyes, taking greater care in their sunhats as well.
The traveler was practically all the young ones would talk about these days too. Their imaginary games involved sorcery now and some tried to imitate the way she spoke in exaggerated, haughty impressions. It was endearing to see the kids so lively. Even though most of them only saw the heron’s flight and didn’t even witness her casting it, their minds were stuck in the clouds ever since.
Magic held no place in Heron Village’s history, so what some children may think to be a fairy tale, others had never even heard of. It was something they’d never conceived. Some were still having trouble understanding that it wasn’t actually the Heron, but that was an issue for another day.
The young ones were blown away when they heard it was all Cira’s doing. Whether she conjured them a show or commanded the mighty Heron to make an appearance, the excitement still hadn’t died down.
After finding the present she left in the woods, most of the adults were happy rather than upset. When they learned it was a clock, they unanimously agreed to build the village around it. Their own mechanical clock would be built around that.
Of course, the children loved it and took to playing around it nearly every day. The villagers took pride in their isolation, but they were starting to see that influence from the outside wasn’t all bad, even if it challenged their ways. This next generation was inspired and worked tirelessly every day. This even led to the groundbreaking appearance of Heron Village’s first ever mage.
“Sam, look!” The girl twirled a stick around proudly and a little splash of water fell to the ground. “I’m just like Cira!”
Sam laughed and ruffled her hair. It was the young water girl that helped Cira not die of dehydration. “That’s great, dear. Maybe a couple more years, but you’re getting close.”
She giggled and ran off with her friends who also wielded sticks, though they couldn’t cast any magic. Sam was just happy to see them grow, but he didn’t know why the first girl could and the others couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t even know where to begin to answer that question.
You see, Cira had quite the impact on her. Magic was simply the caster’s will manifested through great desire, and occasionally other means. There were also factors like one’s aura. The water girl had very little mana to speak of, but it’s not like that was set in stone the day she was born. More importantly, the sorcerer had praised her and told her she could do anything she wanted. Such a person was a reliable source in her mind, and believing such words was conducive to sorcery.
The positive feelings she got from bringing water to the countless smiling faces in fact carried over when she wanted nothing more than to conjure a glass of water. I’m gonna be just like her one day. I’ll bring a smile to everyone’s faces, but there’s only one way I know how to do that… This exceedingly childish line of thinking was exactly what led to her conjuring water for the first time.
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Exceedingly childish thoughts had their place in sorcery, make no mistake. This girl would grow up to grasp her dreams with her own two hands one day.
As Sam watched them scamper off, it came time to call in the workers for the day. Until their clock was completed, this was done by ringing a bell. The farmers and seamstresses all flocked to the longhouse, followed shortly by the hunters with a fresh elk. Sam regretted not being able to share this delicacy with Cira, but they only hunted them once a year, lest they die out.
Much like the residences, the longhouse was yet incomplete. Mostly bare bones with exposed framing, but it was enough for the village to share a meal in and even sealed in case the weather turned. The villagers laughed and unwound, savored the meal, and braced themselves for another productive day tomorrow. Everyone was content.
After dinner they all went to their respective homes and went to bed as the sun set. This was just another quiet and peaceful evening in Heron Village. They changed a little over the years, and with each generation, but they found a simple comfort in their routine. Everyone wanted to see how the village would turn out this time around.
Over the next few hours, the moon rose over the sleepy villagers resting in their beds. Nobody had any business after dark, so everyone was inside. But this actually wasn’t true, on most nights.
Far across the new growth on the opposite side of the island, somewhere distant where noise wouldn’t carry, there was a young boy working on his craft.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Chipping away at a stone, Pita had gotten better. He was crushed when his dad told that lady to destroy the gift she left, and wept tears of joy when he discovered she ignored him ten-fold. When he went to look for it the morning after the festival, there were two more gifts sitting on the sundial—a hammer and chisel.
Using these, he’d made great strides in improving his skills. Slamming two rocks together for so long caused all his potential to build up and Pita took to the tools quickly. He still carved drawings of birds, and they looked much nicer, but he drew other things now too. Sometimes he’d carve an image of a ship, or try his hand at Cira herself, though he usually scratched over those ones by morning. These were things he drew for fun, though the kid had ambitions now. There was nothing on his mind more often than leaving this island, but he knew the road ahead was long and difficult.
So, Pita finally gave in and started working hard with his woodcraft during the day, but unless told otherwise, he only tried to build one thing—boats. They were really just reminiscent of the shape and would never float on water, though he did try it in the spring’s pond. It sank and washed away quickly off the shore’s edge.
Despite all his peers and the adults pointing out how impossible it would be, that he’d never make them fly, he still kept at it. It was the only way to achieve his dream. He didn’t know the first thing about how to make them fly, so it was a lot of trial and error. Something a kid wasn’t all that great with in the first place.
There wasn’t much at his disposal, but he was unwittingly on his way to stumbling into a craft far more impressive than simple stone-carving.
She said magic just does what she wants, right? He wished he had a chance to ask her more questions, but he remembered the woman offhandedly saying something along those lines. So, it should do what I want too!
He had a vast pile of rocks that he’d chiseled little doodles into. Some of them were words like ‘fly’ or ‘move’, and others were little squiggles to represent wind. He tried all sorts of different things, but nothing worked. He had no concept of artificing, but he saw a pirate ship once. Its sails had really cool patterns on them, so he figured it had something to do with magic.
Somehow, he was right on the money. Still, a worthless pile of rocks were the fruits of his effort. Tonight was drawing especially long as each time he made a new rock he felt a fuzzy tingling throughout his hand. He didn’t know what it was, but it drove him to keep trying. Again, and again.
Making one last attempt, he carefully chiseled some wavy lines on another stone, putting his full concentration into making them look nice and even. When he set it down a loud crackle made him jump and there was a brief spark on top of the rock. If he blinked, he would have missed it, but the flash of light was unmistakable. He held his palms open, looking at them. A weird feeling pricked his hands like he’d fallen asleep on them, and he suddenly felt tired.
“I… I did it! I think I really did it! Magic!” He jumped up and hopped around, spinning in circles and cheering to himself. Usually, he tried to keep quiet as an extra precaution in case he got caught, but it was the last thing on his mind. “I can’t believe it!”
He fell back on the ground, laughing in a giddy fit. This lasted a few minutes as he kept glancing back at the rock and smiling. While the spark was indeed mana, it was the spark of a failed glyph. This still was an achievement in that he channeled mana through a rock without evening using a needle, but it was far from artificing.
Even if he knew all that, it wouldn’t bother him. This was a monumental achievement wrought by nothing but his own effort. All those nights sneaking off through the woods meant something now. He didn’t know how, but he was certain he could do it again. Eventually, he would do it better, too.
“Huh…? That’s weird.” He stared up at the sky from his back and saw the rosey colors of sunrise approaching, “No way! I was out way too late. Dad’s gonna kill me!”
He jumped up to rush home. His father would be livid if he found out he was sneaking off at night, and it could spell trouble for achieving his dreams. It wasn’t long until made it to the top of the hill and froze, slowly sinking down, “No… Not again…”
Pita’s soul was crushed as he took in the vista before him. The sky was lit not by the rising sun, but by flames. They rose from the village and even the farms. He noticed they had even begun to spread through the incipient forest. He hadn’t heard anything, concentrating on his work, but the fire could not be denied.
“There’s not supposed to be another festival!” Pita cried from down on his knees, “Why…? Why is this happening?!”
Through his tears he looked around and his eyes fell on a ship much like the one from his carvings. Atop its single mast there was a black flag with a skull. Pita’s stomach dropped and his eyes flitted between it and the burning village. He had already lost everything, and now it was being taken away again so soon. And for what…? What is it for?
___
To the experienced pirate on an average day, their ship smelled of nothing but the freshest mountain air. Such a man has spent decades breathing piss and sweat, it was practically half their body weight at this point, so they didn’t notice it. As the sun rose over the distant clouds on this particular morning, Kieran enjoyed the brusque aroma of smoke.
“Do you smell that?” He waved a hand into his face, brushing the odor closer, “Fresh greenery has such a sweet scent, dontchya think?”
“Aye,” a man wearing an eyepatch and torn vest nodded, “but it’d smell sweeter if we got somethin’ out of it. Could’ve at least picked up some women.”
“Wasn’t worth the trouble, mate.” The first man shook his head and tsked, “Those folk know their way around a spear. I woulda lost good men. ‘Least one. I bet it woulda been you, too.” He let out a boisterous laugh and slapped him on the shoulder with a wink. “Just enjoy the next island twice as much.”
His laughter died down as the two men at the helm looked down at the distant island behind them. They tried offering a fair deal of only taking two women and all their gold but were immediately met with aggression. Kieren decided it was a wash and he was better off torchin’ the place than bothering—they practically got it ready for him what with all those stacks of lumber.
A few incendiary blasts later and they went about their merry way. Soon the far away flames wouldn’t even be visible on the horizon and the nameless island would go down on his long list of places where nothing of note occurred.
“I’ll drink to that.” His first mate held up his glass. “We’ll have to ask for four—”
“Cap!” A harsh looking young woman burst out of the hatch below deck looking pissed. She dragged a child behind her by the hair, “We got a goddamn stowaway! Stupid kid was tryin’ to hide behind the stairs, ya gotta turn around!”
“Aye, we don’t want that, do we?” Kieren spun the ship’s wheel with gusto and started yelling orders to his crew when the boy wriggled out of his captor’s clutches. He threw himself on the ground at Kieran’s feet.
“No! Y-you owe me! You… You burned it all down AGAIN! You owe me!!!” The kid’s face was red, enraged and pleading through tears.
“Oh, that’s what this is, eh? Boy wants revenge! I only burned it down the one time though.” Kieran had a good laugh then focused on the kid, “If you’ve come to settle a blood debt, just say the word. I’ll toss ya right off, Kiddo.”
“No, I said you owe me, you stupid pirate! Take me away from that horrible place—” His words were broken up through heavy sobs, “You have to! Please… I—I don’t ever want to go back!”
“Huh…?” Kieran had frozen mid-drink, “You seriously expect me to take you somewhere? I’m already at a loss wastin’ all them munitions—”
“Don’t take me back, please! I’m begging you…” The boy was now a blubbering mess, crumpled over Kieran’s boots, tears puddling on the deck, “I don’t care what you do with me, just don’t turn around.”
Kieran, his first mate, and the deckhand all looked at each other. They shrugged one after the next, ending with Kieran. “Well, whatever. It’s less trouble this way, but I’ll toss ya’ right off if you’re useless or we run out of food. Don’t forget that.”
Some still had to fight or beg for freedom, clawing at it with bloodied fingernails. Young Pita had friends in Heron Village and a good relationship with his mother. Truth is, without even the chance to check on them before stowing himself aboard, he was worried sick. In his soul there was an intense hatred for these pirates, and he felt it with every fiber of his being, each beat of his heart, but he was at least wise enough to know there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Like a flea hopping on a gull’s wing, only one thing was certain: He would end up far from home.
For some, that was enough.