by Beth Wangler
The sight of all their faces makes my throat close. Speaking to the sultan and royals was one thing: They were the enemy, and I’d known my whole life that I was going to address them. Speaking to my own people is different. What if they hate me? What if they won’t believe?
A tiny hand slips into mine. I look down into Pitka’s wide eyes. Her hair is a riot of curls; I need to braid it later.
Pipit smiles at me. “Storytime with Raiba?”
And just like that, it’s easy. I’ve been doing this for years. In a loud voice, I tell the story of Nhardah the Firstborn.
“His story is not over,” I add. “Nhardah will not die at Aivenah’s hands. Aia will defeat our ancient enemy and redeem all creation, including the Firstborn. Gather together now with your families. Let us thank Aia for Nhardah’s sacrifice and pray for Nhardah’s deliverance.”
Voices rise in praise and petition. Each person on my boat, even Bathatyz and Tatanda, takes their turn addressing Aia.
Aia, You have done so much for us, but the world is still not right. Remember us. Remember Nhardah.
When the prayers wind down, Yorchan pulls us aside. “Forziel and I finished writing our song.”
“What song?”
“We started writing it on Ira, commemorating what Aia’s done this week,” she answers. “Can we share it with everyone?”
We ask Yori to share it with us first. She does, and it’s far better than I would have imagined. We call the rest of our people back together.
Yori and Forziel start singing, hesitant at first. As they continue, the melody becomes clearer and rings across the water.
“We were thrown in a pit.
We were bound by chains.
The sun up above
And the whips from behind
Burnt our backs.
Our infants, they cried
And we joined in their tears.
A month went by,
They were torn from our arms,
Lost for good.
Hæ-Aia: To the one who can save.
Hæ-Aia: To Thaies far away.
Whispers in the night,
Rumors through the dark.
When all hope was lost,
Light broke forth
Blinding as the day.
Our Champions arose
To fight the Izyphorns:
Fires rose up high,
Plagues burst out,
Crops turned into dust.
Hæ-Aia: To the one who saves.
Hæ-Aia: To God, with us today.
In triumph, we set out
To cross over the sea.
With gifts, sent away,
Begged to leave—
Finally we’re free.
The Iranines were scared
And threatened us with war,
But He spoke long ago;
Tolak finished the boats
Just in time.
Hæ-Aia: To the one who saves.
Hæ-Aia: Thaies, with us today.
The aivenkaites burst out
And set the sea to roil.
Our boats tossed around,
Hope seemed lost,
We were near the grave.
The Champions flew forth.
The Firstborn’s voice rang out.
A pact was arranged,
Nhardah fell,
Bound our ancient foe.
Hæ-Aia: To the one who saves.
Hæ-Aia: Thaies paves our way.
Hae-Aia: To the one who saves.
Hae-Aia: We are saved always.”
Their voices fade. We end the ceremony and continue toward our homeland. Far off, fins appear in the sea. A majestic creature leaps from the water, twists, and slips back below the surface with hardly a splash.
Tomorrow, Savi, Yorchan, Forziel, and I will board another boat. We will continue teaching our people about their past, about Nhardah, and about Aia. The Firstborn’s legacy will not fade. One day, by Aia’s grace, Nhardah will again walk Orrock and Aivenah will be vanquished once and for all.
For now, Aivenah and his accomplices are bound by Nhardah’s exchange. Without the aivenkaites, there’s nothing left to stand in our way.
Now is the time of Maraiah.
Epilogue
All day, the shape grows on the horizon. It started off gray but slowly turned the most vibrant green I have ever seen. It’s the green of Ira’s hills just after the spring rains, only deeper and thicker.
“This is it,” Forziel breathes, steering us toward a flat piece of coast. “The people on Tekoa, the last island? They said this would be it.”
I fold a threadbare blanket, one of the many life-sustaining ones we purchased on the Tasos Archipelago, closer around myself and will the boat to move faster.
The hull scrapes against rocks in the shallows of the shore. Yori lowers herself over the side of the boat and splashes into the clear water. She shrieks and flounders to the shore. On the white sands, she turns and wrings water out of her skirt. “The water’s freezing!”
The other boats bump against the land next to us. Several men from our boat follow Yori and catch a rope that Forziel throws them. They form a line and heave us higher, till the keel cuts into the sand.
We scramble down a rope ladder. Cool, soft grains slide through the rags I’ve wrapped around my feet for warmth. I kneel and scoop up the moist granules, letting them coat my skin and slide between my fingers.
A year and a winter at sea, three boats lost, months feeding off of flying fish and foam miraculously turned to flakey cakes, deeper sunburns and more frigid cold than I’ve ever known—
Finally, we’re home.
I wish Nihae and Elesekk had lived to see this.
Someone shouts with joy. Those who’ve climbed ashore jog over. A deep, clear river flows gently into the sea. “Come on,” Yori laughs. “Let’s see where it goes.”
Everywhere else we’ve landed, many people have greeted us. Some were welcoming, some threatening. I see no one here—a whole land, open for us. Just as Aia promised.
The boats will wait to be unloaded later. We scramble along the edge of the river. It remains clear as glass, but amber stones replace the sand at its bottom. Beside it, plants grow up with thick round leaves, buds of every color, and woody stems standing straight instead of gnarled. The flora grows so close together that we can’t step between the plants; we have to walk over them.
Even in my best dreams, I’ve never seen anything like it.
“This is it,” we rejoice. “This is Tion Beriath!”
A whoop sounds overhead. Forziel loops over us on his axex, and the other beasts soar with him. “We’re home!”
We don’t go far before rejoining the rest of our people. There will be time later to explore. Now we should set up camp, so that we won’t have to spend another night on a boat.
Even the blessed region northeast of Izyphor, where the kaites raised me, was less fertile than this. We will thrive here. Elcedon must have been like this.
I throw back my head and laugh. Finally: Peace.
Something whistles through the air. Sand sprays at my feet. A spear embeds itself in the shore.
We are not alone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beth Wangler has loved stories since before she could read.
Growing up, she had a voracious appetite for books and loved nothing better than losing herself in a story. On one particular day around third grade, Beth paused in reading to realize that she could add books to the world, too. She’s been writing ever since.
Wangler predominantly writes speculative fiction, though she occasionally branches out into poetry or historical fiction. She writes to entertain, to share hope, and to explore truth. When not writing, she teaches History and English, reads, and crochets.
Connect with Beth Wangler on her website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or Goodreads.
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