As you stood there, shocked, you noticed that the quality of the sound in the fishing docks had changed. Gone were the excited screams and chattering of your crèche-mates. Gone was the anxious shouting of your teacher.
But what had replaced it wasn't the cries of gulls chasing the boats into port—familiar enough from your window higher in the city. This was…something else.
It was an almost complete lack of sound, you realized after a while. The only thing you could hear was a faint, gentle hum, which seemed to be emanating from that figure on the water.
Your breathing slowed, your mind cleared, and you felt absolutely certain that you could communicate with the spirit—right then and there.
Speak with me, spirit, if you will, you thought, curious to see if the figure would actually respond.
The figure turned on the water and looked directly at you, its face shining with that pale blue light, and then…
And then the sound of the docks returned, the gulls and the distant shouts of your crèche-mates, subsumed under splashing, fairly close and clearly frantic.
You turned from the water where the figure danced, and that's when you saw what had happened. Someone had fallen into the water and was struggling to stay afloat, right at the edge of the docks.
Your teacher and crèche-mates were searching for them intently, on the wrong side of the docks entirely. Only you could see them flailing in the water.
And then, they went under. What did you do?
It was the safest way to make a loud noise and get your teacher's attention. Once he was looking at you, you pointed to the drowning person's location.
And then…you slipped, falling from the top of the hill and crashing into the Worldsea. The chill of the water was a physical shock, but worse was the chill in your heart: you didn't know how to swim.
You floundered in the water, your limbs growing heavy, your lungs choked with salt and brine as you gasped for breath.
But you didn't give up, and as you continued to fight the current's pull, something happened.
Your limbs grew light and lithe, your strokes powerful and more sure. You practically flew through the water, heading toward your fallen crèche-mate.
Soon, you reached the place where your crèche-mate was drowning. With whatever power had saved you still surging through your body, it was quick work to grab the victim around one arm and, as you groped at a ladder set at the edge of the dock with one hand, to keep their head above water.
As you clambered onto the dry land and the safety of the docks, with your half-dead crèche-mate gripped tight, you looked out at the water, shivering. But there was nothing there.
Your teacher and crèche-mates gathered round, clamoring in a chaotic mix of sign and speech. But you couldn't explain what you'd just done. Of course, you couldn't.
Who would believe you that you had seen a spirit? And, even less likely, that the sighting was the only reason you'd been out on the hilltop, able to find your crèche-mate and save their life?
At last, your teacher quieted his charges. "Are you okay?" he asked. "What happened?"
To be honest, you don't remember exactly what you told your teacher. Whatever it was, he accepted it. Later, so did your parents.
You spent a few months trying to commune with the spirits again, slowing your breathing and clearing your mind, curious to know if you could, but you never got any response. And while there was talk, for a time, of getting you some kind of recognition from the king for your help in saving your crèche-mate, it never came to anything.
You grew older, and with time the experience became a memory. An important memory—one that you would always use to mark your passage from an ignorant child to someone who had seen a glimpse of the wider world—but a memory all the same.
Within Gigantea's walls, life went on as before—for you and all the city's other citizens. And outside those same walls, the waves of the Worldsea kept on sloshing, formless, eternal.
Next
"Hey there!" someone shouts, jolting you out of your memories. "Hurry up with that glue!"
"Coming!" you shout in reply.
You cast one last glance at the dancing light on the water. Although you've never forgotten the sight of that spirit, you've never seen anything like it since, either.
You shake your head, trying to dislodge the feelings the memory calls up. There's no point in dwelling on something that happened so long ago.
After all, soon you'll be reaching the age of majority. And even before that, there's the excitement of the upcoming Festival of Stories. This year, your parents have promised that you can go alone, if you like. And that's something to look forward to, if nothing else!
Buoyed by your daydreams of what you'll make of your future, you turn back to your errand and away from your past.
And behind you, unseen by any but the circling gulls, the sun's reflection on the waves shimmers on and on and on, tinged with the faintest of blue light…
Next Chapter
Chapter One: Festival of Stories
Even as a child in crèche, you knew the tales.
How in the Age of Stories, the gods and spirits walked amongst the people as equals. How your ancestors flew through the sky on spirit-drawn chariots, extended their lifespans with powerful concoctions, and held mastery over matter itself as they reshaped the world around them with a mason's hammer and handheld.
With their powers and the aid of their divine friends, the people in those long-gone days built glittering cities that met their inhabitants' every need, powered by living spirits bound by choice to metal and stone. Life flourished in every corner of the world, and none knew sickness or harm.
Of Course, It Didn't Last
The gods, jealous of humanity's ascendance, tore their divine power from deep within their own being and flung it outward. As they writhed in agony and ceaseless death, this vicious curse—the Rot—crashed down on the world and all those who dwelt within it.
The Rot traveled faster than thought, turning steel to water, wine to blood. It pulled the great continents and cities of old beneath the rippling sea, snuffing out the lives of millions in a heartbeat. It transmuted many more into hideous warped beasts, half man, half monster: bizarre, unnatural mockeries of life. Those who remained fled into the ocean that now spanned the world, in fear for their lives.
At last, one man found an island untouched by the Rot and used his skill and his wisdom to raise up the first glittering bits of masonry that would one day become your home. Today, that island holds Gigantea, its tower all that remains of the Age of Stories, a last, lone bulwark of long ago that thrusts from the Worldsea like a promise and a challenge and a prayer. At least, that's the language the king always uses to describe his domain, which his family has protected for hundreds of years at the cost of their own good health.
You brush your right hand along one of the city's smooth, seamless walls, reflecting on its coolness and the way its impenetrable black surface glimmers in the faint glow of masonlights—the pale yellow lanterns that dot the city's rooms and hallways. You've lived within these walls your whole life, and at this point you could probably recite the details of Gigantea's founding while standing on your head.
The skill of the alchemists. The unnatural magic of spirit users. It must have been breathtaking to wield such power!
As you stand in a dim hallway just off the market level's main plaza, you lose yourself to imagining what it must have been like to build the spires you've lived in all your life.
With a faint smile on your face, you head toward the stalls of the festival.
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