The blue suntear tales o.., p.1
The Blue Suntear (Tales of Ymahlia Book 1), page 1
Tales of Ymahlia:
BOOK ONE
There was once a girl who loved the Sun.
Every morning, she would awaken and stretch her small, thin arms to welcome the sunbeams streaming through her window, hands unfolded to greet the new day. She would dash outside and sprint through the open fields, dancing through the grassy plains and vibrant meadows. Once she grew tired, she would sit down in her favorite thinking spot, on a bough at the edge of the forest, and speak to the Sun. The Sun loved talking to the girl, so much so that every day when it was time for it to leave, it would shed a tear onto the girl's lap.
One day the girl watched a tear from the Sun fall towards her. She caught the glowing drop of golden sunshine in her small hands and asked the Sun a question. "Why do you cry when you leave every day? There's no need to be so sad."
"Oh child," the Sun said. "I am not sad. I cry for joy because I get to speak with you each and every day."
After that, the girl took each tear from the Sun and vowed to keep them safe, for they symbolized what she and the Sun deemed most precious. She placed them in a beautiful box, safe and protected- for she knew that if Man were to get their hands on the box, they would use its contents for their own means. Because of this, on the day the box grew full, she told the Sun that she could no longer speak with it. For the first time in its radiant presence, she began to cry.
But the Sun told her not to fear. "Keep the tears," it told her. "They will remind you of our time with each other. And though we may not be able to speak to each other anymore, I will always shine down upon you." The Sun shed one last tear for the girl as it began to leave, the largest tear it had ever shed. Instead of radiating with warm light, the last tear of the Sun was blue. At night, the Sun's tears also dimmed, to regain their light in the day. But in the midst of darkness, the girl found that the last tear's light never faded.
THE BLUE SUNTEAR
Chapter One: Wit
A storm heralded the night before Wit left Depthimont, a terrible and wonderful warning of the trials about to beset him. Wit paid little heed to the vocal sky, but the sound would soon echo in his dreams, his nightmares, his memory of the events that would soon unfold. Instead, he parted his lips and informed his host of the discovery that would spur him on the path across a wide, sunless world.
"There’s a Suntear in The Knight’s House.”
In a small shack built of sea vines and driftwood, floating on the tremulous ocean waters, Old Man Maehken raised a bushy grey eyebrow. A flap of coarse fabric offered wafts of air from outside, lashing in spastic flutters with each burst of harsh wind. The roof was leaking under the weight of the heavy sea storm outside, but the only thing the old man worried about keeping dry was the pot of fire he kept, feeding husky reeds to the gentle flames. He roasted a good-sized pair of fish on a copper spit across the heavy pot, oil popping and hissing as it dripped from the cooking flesh.
"And how would you know what's inside Holsten’s place?" he asked.
Wit sat cross-legged on the reed mat floor of the old man's shack, his tousled brown hair dark and sticking about, as if a great wind had just blasted it from his face. He was young, teenaged, wiry and nimble, and his senses were sharp and quick. The only clothing he wore was a pair of short, ragged trousers and a cord about his neck with a rare turquoise Mirror Hermit shell. His eyes were tawny gold and wide with youth, and his mouth was curled into an almost mischievous smirk. "I saw it through one of the windows," he answered the old man. "Climbed all the way up the Black Mast a few nights ago. It hangs down from the center of the house…always glowing, even at night."
Maehken’s eyes widened, pushing away his bushy eyebrows. "Does it, now?”
“Yeah,” Wit confirmed. “It’s the blue one, I’m sure of it.”
The old man was quiet for a moment, thinking. “How could the Blue Suntear be here, of all places in the world?”
“Not sure,” Wit allowed himself the smallest frown. “But I need it, if I’m going to find the others.”
“I agree. Each of the Suntears are special, but it’s been said that the Blue Suntear is particularly powerful.” Old Man Maehken stretched his aging bones and shrugged his wool coat closer about him. "If it is the Blue Suntear, then it is without a doubt the most valuable thing in that place. Possibly the world. You should be more careful, Wit. If Holsten and his men see you, they'll toss you headfirst into the shark pen."
Wit pursed his lips. The shark pen wasn’t his favorite subject, and he didn’t much like the idea of being thrown into it. "Don't worry about me," he waved his hand. "They'd never catch me, they don’t care enough. Nowadays, people don’t even see me."
"Fey sees you," the old man chided. "She comes to me all the time, complaining about how you gallivant around, trying to steal a boat to the mainland."
Wit's face twitched at the mention of Fey’s name, then grew sour with resentment. "’Steal’ is a strong word,” he grumbled. “It’s borrowing, and I only do it if I have to. And I would never steal a boat, anyway. Fey needs to learn to keep her nose clean, or she’ll get in trouble.” He sighed through his nose. “I never asked her to bother with me."
"You never had to," the old man muttered.
"What was that?"
"I said Holsten will never have any of it.” He flashed the quickest wink. “You're lucky I'm so old or I might have said something by now."
"No you wouldn't," Wit said.
Old Man Maehken closed his eyes. "No. No, of course I wouldn't. You’re family, Wit. You’ve always been light on your feet, and you’re smarter than I think you give yourself credit for. But that all seems to pale, compared to your ambition. You’ve spoken of it for years, ever since you heard the story. If I had known you would have taken it so seriously…but that’s beside the point. You want to find the Suntears…I believe that if anyone can do it, you can."
Wit’s expression softened. He didn’t often hear the old man wax sentimental, and the vote of confidence was touching. Of course, Maehken had been supportive from the beginning, ever since Wit was a child. Wit was old enough now to realize how much he worried the old man, too, and he hoped that whatever he had to do, it wouldn’t put anyone else in danger but him…and it would be dangerous. But Wit was never one to show fear in front of others; he hummed a short, confident note and stood, planting his hands on his hips. "Well, your belief has paid off, old man. I have a boat that I’ll be testing out tomorrow, and if it works –"
"Gopa?" A muffled voice called from outside the shack, barely audible above the pelting rain. Lightning flashed through the weave, with a thunderclap erupting so violently that Wit's bones shook, and he heard a startled cry from the source of the voice. Wit smirked, and he didn't bother looking to Old Man Maehken for permission before heading towards the woven door and opening it wide enough for a pale girl to squeeze her way inside. She was just younger than Wit, with wide blue eyes and a sopping wet trail of night-black hair that flowed past her heels and across the mat floor. She buried her face in Wit's bare chest, gasping and shuddering, and he masked his flustered surprise with a roll of his eyes and a pat of her head.
"It's just a storm, Fey,” he said. “It's not like a little water ever hurt anyone around here."
Fey looked up at him and pulled away, pouting. "I'm not scared of water," she retorted, her voice husky from the scream. "You know it’s the thunder that frightens me. It could break my ears and I’d never hear again." She folded her arms and turned away from him, her nose lifted into the air. "I don’t like it, and I don't think I like you very much either at the moment."
It wasn’t the first time Fey had thrown empty barbs at Wit, and he shouldered them with a shrug before settling back down in front of Old Man Maehken again. "If you say so. So, what do you think, old man?" He pursed his lips. “You’ve been awfully quiet about the whole thing.”
“I have.” The old man seemed uncertain. "I think I would be wasting my time, to try and change your mind. But aside from the more obvious risks you run, it's a bit early in the season for it, Wit. I don’t know what you have planned for Holsten, but there have been too many storms for safe travel. That being said, tomorrow is Market Day, and the trade will be coming if the storm hasn't made them postpone."
"I hope not," Wit planted his chin in his palm, staring into the spitting fire. He felt Fey slowly drift over and sit down beside him, her breath evening out as he felt her curious stare. "I'll need them for at least the first few stretches if I'm going to navigate during the day." His chest swelled with a scintillating emotion, bouncing around in his ribcage too fast for him to catch. "But if I can get that Suntear, I won't have to worry about the rest."
“You’re still talking about leaving?” Fey asked, suddenly repentant of her cold attitude. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be for another few years.”
Wit gave her a shrug. “Not sure when, exactly,” he told her. “I’m not ready just yet. But once I am, I’ll be saying goodbye to Depthimont for a long time.”
Fey’s brow creased uncertainly at Wit. It was no secret to the old man that his granddaughter was terribly fond of the boy, and she had taken it upon herself to look after him, to make sure he didn't do anything too foolish. He had no family of his own after all, and aside from her and Maehken, Wit seemed to have little acquaintance with the rest of the floating town. There weren’t any other children their age: everyone else was either too old or too young, leaving them to fend for them
"Gopa," she reached over to touch the old man's knobby knee. "Are the fish ready?"
They ate in silence for a while before Old Man Maehken addressed his granddaughter. "You’re empty-handed, my dear. You couldn’t find what I sent you out for?"
Fey pouted sullenly. "It wasn’t just the storm. There weren’t any bulb reeds at the Arch, everyone else has taken them."
Her remark was a solemn reminder that Depthimont had been built on a great island, once. Now the only thing keeping it from being lost was the Arch, the last fragment of the island remaining above water. The pillar had been worn away over time by wind and saltwater, and the old man had expressed his concerns for it more than once, fearing the day when the elements would finally condemn Depthimont to the distant horizon, or to the deep. It was also where the majority of the town harvested bulb reeds, a long plant that grew from below the surface and spawned large translucent bulbs filled with air. It was an exclusive export, and one of the most lucrative novelties the village offered the mainland, though they could only offer what few bulbs they didn’t need. The bulbs were sometimes used by divers to reach the shell-life that dwelled at the bottom, but the usual utility was to keep the village from sinking.
Old Man Maehken frowned, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard. "Odd that you found none, although I suppose they do grow sparse this time of year." He knocked at a spot to his left, where the mat floor had begun to sink low. “You’ll have to wake up earlier, see if you can beat the others to it before we lose the floor here. The planks beneath have rotted too much, they need binding.”
Wit sucked a bead of fish oil from his thumb. "I’ll take care of it for you," he volunteered. “I’ll patch it up before…” He sniffed, cutting himself off. “Anyway, I’ll help you get some tomorrow.”
"Really?" Fey looked uncertain. "But I couldn't find any –”
"They’re there,” Wit licked his crooked incisor with the tip of his tongue. “I’ll show you in the morning."
***
The storm lasted throughout the night, until Wit could see precious, fleeting light peeking through the gaps of the woven door of Old Man Maehken's house. Fey's grandfather always allowed Wit to stay through the night, and the boy had claimed a small corner of the little hut, where he'd folded his arms, tucked in his chin and immediately fallen asleep. Wit could fall asleep anywhere; he had to, with the life he led. It was something he had tried to keep away from Maehken, to spare him a number of things. He knew that his antics would threaten the peace the old man kept in his home, and Wit had no wish to burden him with his upkeep and well-being. Wit was often gone for days at a time now, and every time he came back, he waited for the old man to ask him about it. But Maehken never did, and Wit wasn’t sure whether to take it as silent approval or a dismissive lack of concern. Wit was more than capable of taking care of himself. But Fey had been right about one thing, though Wit would never admit it. A shower was one thing, but a sea storm was too dangerous to stay out in. Wit had no wish to be electrocuted by a stray lightning bolt, which was why he would have to be careful if he was going to be leaving for the mainland at this time of year.
But he knew he couldn't leave at any other time. Market Day was today, where an entire fleet of boats came to Depthimont to trade with the reed village's inhabitants in exchange for the numerous pearls found in the ocean's depths. Holsten and his men were always present for the trading. It was the best and only time for Wit to take the Blue Suntear without being caught. He had lied to Fey. He knew exactly when he was going to leave. It would be risky, with the frequent storms threatening the skies, but no better opportunity would arise. He had to leave by the end of the day, or he’d be stuck in Depthimont for another year…living on the fringe of a village in decay, like a ghost.
He crept silently out of the shack and clambered up onto the roof, staring out towards the horizon. There was nothing but ocean everywhere, but light spilled over the side of the world, pink and yellow rays wiping away the dark skies. Wit stood on his tiptoes, trying to peer just over the lip of the horizon, begging deep down inside his heart to see the Sun, to see where the light was coming from. But no one had seen the Sun in almost three-hundred years. That wasn’t to say there wasn’t light. If the sky wasn't pouring, then it was either shrouded in bright stars and moons or a gradient of dawn or dusk, with beams of glory stretching from a blue expanse of firmament. But the Sun? No one ever saw the fabled orb of radiance so blinding it was too bright to look at. According to traders and the old folk of Depthimont, there was simply no explanation for the Sun's disappearance. People had tried traveling past the horizon, but the Sun was always out of reach. Hidden, unwilling.
Maybe they were all ghosts.
He scampered swiftly over the woven rooftops of the ocean village, treading carefully to not alert any inhabitants. He was always quiet, always unassuming to others – and that was if he was even seen. Only a handful of fishers knew him by name, and of the few who treated him well enough, he had never gotten close to anyone but the old man. No one had taught him where to go, how to be. He’d learned it all on his own: watching, listening, feeling. His feet knew where to go, following the old reed pathways he'd memorized over the years as easily as if they were paved city streets.
Wit hadn’t been born here. He had been found as a small child in an abandoned row boat, left alone to his fate and destined to become a resident of Depthimont the instant Old Man Maehken found him by the docks. Old enough to be weaned but too young to remember where he came from, Wit grew to call the floating village his home. And true to Fey’s instincts, he did love it in his own way. The people were made of integrity, boisterous and hardy, each willing to work with their hands and happy to celebrate with each full net and basket. It wasn’t much, but it had always been enough…but with the Sun, Wit knew the world could be more.
Most didn’t think the Sun could ever come back, and fewer believed it never existed in the first place. They said the light on the horizon was some phenomenon from the stars, a breath of life drifting on the rim on the world. It couldn’t ever be more, they’d say, resigning themselves to the twist and turn of the cosmos in its muted course. But Wit’s heart couldn’t allow him to entertain such a notion: it was too bleak, too aimless, too antithetical to the blood in his veins. It was like a terrible itch or a deep bruise, constantly reminding him of something missing. Maybe it was because of his origin, being found the way he was, without a name or a delium in his pocket. At the end of the day, Wit didn’t question it. He knew what he had to do, and the older he grew, the more determined he became. The stories couldn’t come from nothing, and the ache in his breast couldn’t be satisfied by anything else.
First, he had to retrieve his boat.
As he neared the edge of the housing, he jumped down to the city base and made his way towards the north side. As he neared the Arch, he kept an eye out for bulb reeds. True to Fey's word, there were none to be seen above the water's surface. But what Fey didn’t search for was the awkward outgrowths under the surface, tucked into shadows and in hard-to-reach crevices.
Wit stepped out near the large cords woven about the Arch's closest arm, the lifelines that kept every panel of Depthimont in place. Wit lined his thumb up with the nearest sea stack, tongue in cheek as he measured the progress of the rock's degradation. The natural formation had slowly been wearing down, but it didn't look like the uneven top was about to tumble off anytime soon. But the old man had seen more wear away from the rock than Wit had, and looks could be deceiving. Clever and insightful as he deemed himself, Wit was too young yet to value hindsight much, though that was soon to change.
