by Ken Liu
“Then you must also know that some of the stars are no more, that some of the worlds up there have been destroyed, and millions of voices silenced all at once by those who crave power above all.”
The elder’s face fell. “I have felt those shocks in the Tide, as if a great tsunami swept through a coral reef, leaving devastation and bleached skeletons behind. The color of life drained from the currents, and only the bleak pain of mourning remained.”
“Some have turned to the dark side of the Force and wish to drown the galaxy in a rising tide of suffering. It is up to those of us with knowledge of the Force to stop them, to restore balance. But the deaths of the Jedi have caused much knowledge about the Force to be forgotten, and that is why I seek your knowledge, so we can defeat the dark side.”
“I’ve already told you: there is no ‘light side’ or ‘dark side,’” said the elder. “The Tide is beyond the power of anyone or any group. It is those who seek to master it, to control it—whatever excuse they make up for themselves—who bring suffering. Our knowledge is not to be shared.”
“Knowledge can be used for good or ill,” said Seeker. “I study the Force not to gain power but to bring balance and justice back to the galaxy. You’re pacifists, but evil must be confronted, and you can help. My teacher’s last words to me were, ‘Pass on what you have learned.’ It’s a duty.”
The elder sighed. “We will never convince each other.”
Seeker drained the doco nut bowl. “Then why teach your children about the Tide at all? Why not let the knowledge sink into the abyss of oblivion?”
“We don’t teach anyone about the Tide until they have proven themselves to be free from the desire to master it.”
Seeker looked into the empty doco nut shell for some time, apparently trying to make up his mind. “Then let me prove it. Give me the same tests that you give to your children.”
Elder Kailla gazed at Seeker. “You would be willing to be treated as a child to gain this knowledge?”
“There is no shame in unlearning what I have learned in the search for wisdom.”
The elder shook her head and laughed. “I can only wish that someday you’ll also be pestered by a student as persistent to learn what you do not wish to teach.”
The village was abuzz with excitement. For the first time in living memory, an off-worlder was going to attempt the ancient trials used to select those who would be granted the privilege of studying the art of riding the Tide.
Tonn was especially excited. He had been chosen to administer the trial for Seeker.
The first trial was also the simplest one, cloud walking.
Seeker looked puzzled. “You mean I must…walk in the sky?”
“No,” said a laughing Tonn. “The name is a metaphor. I’ll show you.”
The villagers from Ulon Atur left the island on the backs of a flock of wind-trusters and headed for the open sea to the south. Aya, who was still mourning the death of Deek-Deek, rode with Elder Kailla. Seeker rode behind Tonn on Coni-Co and peppered him with questions about how one “piloted” a giant bird. Tonn enjoyed playing teacher.
At Elder Kailla’s signal, the flock splashed down in the calm sea near an atoll that was barely poking out of the water.
“This atoll, called Ulon Ipo-Lito, is said to be the remains of a sunken island that once hosted another settlement like ours. For generations, it has been the proving ground for the cloud-walking trial.”
“Come into the water and watch,” said Tonn. He dove off the back of Coni-Co and disappeared beneath the surface with barely a splash. Gingerly, Seeker took a deep breath and followed him into the sea.
Underwater, the atoll expanded into an undersea mountain that descended into the murky depths. The tip of the mountain, the part bathed in the bright sunlight filtered through the clear water, was about a kilometer all around. Covered by colorful corals and swaying kelp, the mountain was also studded with small caves from which streams of bubbles emerged. The swarms of bubbles did look like swirling clouds around the peak of a high mountain.
Tonn swam straight for one of the bubble streams and grabbed on to the side of the mountain. There, he pried off two rocks and tied them to his ankles with strands of seaweed. So weighed down, he looked back at Seeker, grinned and gestured at his mouth, and then bent over the stream of bubbles and gulped them down as if he were eating them.
After he’d had his fill, he began to hike around the underwater mountain along what appeared to be a well-worn trail, letting streams of bubbles out through his nose. When he got to the next bubble cloud, he opened his mouth again and swallowed more air.
Seeker could no longer hold his breath and swam up, breaking through the surface with a loud splash.
“Once you begin the trial, you may not resurface until you’ve walked all around the mountain, relying only on the bubble clouds for your air. If you do surface, you forfeit.” Elder Kailla’s expression was smug, as though certain that Seeker was not up to the task.
To her surprise, Seeker nodded, took a deep breath, and dove back down.
The villagers watched from the backs of their wind-trusters with anticipation. Almost all of them had attempted the trial—though not all had passed—and they knew there was a large element of natural talent involved. Some Lew’elan children seemed to have an intuitive grasp of how to breathe underwater, trusting that the clouds of bubbles would replenish the air supply in their lungs. Others could not let go of their natural fear of drowning and never developed a sense of comfort with living on the edge of death.
Tonn was now fifty meters away from where he had started. He paused and looked back to see what Seeker would do.
Seeker glided through the water toward the first of the cloud bubbles. As he swam, he shucked off his robe. When he arrived at the underwater mountain, he had taken off his robe and held it over the bubbles like a blanket over a smoking bonfire.
“What is he doing?”
“He’s not even trying to breathe the air.”
“He must be terrified.”
The confused villagers above the surface chattered at each other.
As bubbles collected under the robe, it swelled like a balloon. When Seeker judged the balloon to be big enough for comfort, he stuck his head under the robe, into the air pocket, and took a big gulp of air. Then he grabbed onto the bottom edge of the robe like a floating jellyfish, and, aided by its buoyancy, leapt along the sheer face of the underwater cliff to the next bubble cloud, where he replenished the robe balloon and breathed again.
The villagers were stunned into silence.
“That’s cheating!” said one of the girls after a while.
“There was no rule against using the clothes he’s wearing to help,” said Aya. As the one rescued by Seeker, she felt a duty to defend him.
By then, Tonn had recovered from his surprise. Grinning, he took off his tunic and imitated Seeker’s technique. The two of them bobbed along the underwater mountain, leaping from cloud bubble to cloud bubble, looking for all the world like a pair of jellyfish out for a leisurely stroll.
“Grandmother, is what Seeker is doing really against the rules?” asked Aya.
Elder Kailla shook her head. But Aya found her expression hard to read.
After about fifteen minutes, both Tonn and Seeker had made their way around the mountain and surfaced.
“It’s an unorthodox solution,” said Elder Kailla.
“But it worked,” said Seeker, treading water as he swept the wet hair out of his eyes. The robe, still filled with air, bobbed on the surface.
“The point of the task is adaptability. You were supposed to learn that the Tide is always there to sustain you, that you must trust it and let go of your preconceptions,” said Elder Kailla. “By trusting the Tide, you can breathe underwater.”
“Trust doesn’t mean that you can’t shape and craft your environment, as well,” countered Seeker. “It doesn’t mean that you can’t gather small pockets of power and concentrate them i
nto something greater.”
“The natural flow of the Tide isn’t to be shaped, but to be adapted to,” said the elder.
“Islands stand in the sea and direct the flow of the Tide around them. How is a man’s robe any less natural than an island? In the grand flow of the Tide, everything shapes everything else. Adaptation doesn’t mean mere acceptance.”
“I can see your teachers must have had a lot of trouble with you,” said Elder Kailla. She didn’t sound disappointed, however.
“You’re right about that,” said Seeker. His tone turned nostalgic. “I argue with my teachers a lot.” Then he grinned. “Since we’re arguing, does this mean you’ve agreed to be my teacher?”
“I haven’t done anything of the sort!” But Elder Kailla had to fight to suppress a grin of her own.
Aya gave Seeker a thumbs-up when she thought her grandmother wasn’t watching.
“Now that you’ve passed the first trial—sort of—you’ll face the second trial: a long journey on the back of a wind-truster,” said Elder Kailla.
Seeker sighed in relief. “I love flying.”
Elder Kailla ignored him and continued. “But, considering that you’re an experienced pilot and not a child, your challenge must be more difficult than the trial given to younglings. You must circumnavigate the globe.”
Aya stared at her grandmother, her mouth agape. “But, Grandmother! He pilots that metal bird…he doesn’t even know how—”
“You will teach him,” said the elder.
“What?” Aya asked in confusion.
“The trial will be hard but also fair. Aya, you’ll fly with him as a guide to teach him what he must know to survive. However, your role is to guide and pace, not to protect or aid. Do you understand the distinction?”
“But…Deek-Deek—” Aya couldn’t continue. She wasn’t sure she would be ready to ride again so soon.
“Happiness turns to sorrow; sorrow is reborn as hope,” said the elder, her voice tender and compassionate. “Trust the Tide, little one. You will take Tigo-Lee, my mount. She’s gone around the globe more than seven times.”
Aya bit her bottom lip and nodded. Seeker looked at her and smiled.
The elder went on. “Since our guest likes to do the unexpected, Aya, you’ll also be there to make sure that he doesn’t take shortcuts.” She turned to Seeker. “Just in case you’re thinking of other tricks, let me say that this is a test of physical and spiritual endurance. Gliding with the Tide is not an easy path.”
“I understand,” said Seeker, his face solemn.
Elder Kailla nodded, satisfied. “A wind-truster may spend its entire life on its wings, braving winter storms and summer typhoons, only skimming the surface from time to time for food. It’s dependent entirely on the winds and must find the right current to carry it from one aerial stream to another, gain enough height from updrafts to coast through dead zones, and pick the perfect moment to turn away from the edge of a storm without being consumed by its heart.
“To circumnavigate the globe with a wind-truster is to learn the insignificance of the individual bird in the grand wind that is the weather system of all of Lew’el, which is an echo of the insignificance of the individual rider in the grand web that is the Tide.
“Aya will also make sure that you pass through the Doldrums, if you make it that far.”
“What?” Aya piped up again. “That’s impossible—”
“It is the Tide, not you, that gets to decide what is impossible,” said the elder.
“But the Doldrums! No off-worlder has—”
“That’s enough!”
Aya looked as if she still wanted to argue, but Seeker cut in. “It’s all right. I’m not afraid of hardships; they always teach you something.”
“You can ride Coni-Co,” said Tonn. He had grown to like Seeker even more after the first trial. “He’s young, but he knows the winds as well as any full-grown wind-truster.”
“Thank you,” said Seeker, smiling warmly at the boy.
“If you ever find it too hard to go on,” said Aya, “just let Coni-Co know. He’ll head for the nearest land and get you help.” She paused and then, after a moment, added, “I won’t make it easy for you. You’re being tested.”
“I’d expect nothing else,” said Seeker. “Only by pushing against limits can we find out who we truly are.”
At last, the morning for the trial arrived. The sun peeked above the eastern horizon, and the entire sea was liquid gold. It was a calm, cloudless day, perfect weather for flying.
The villagers brought out half doco shells full of sweet juice and platters of fatty marlin flesh for Aya and Seeker to fill their bellies. They also brought out strips of dried fish wrapped in doco tree leaves and bundles of fresh doco nuts for the two to carry as supplies.
The entire village gathered on the beach, with their wind-trusters lined up behind them. Before them, Tigo-Lee and Coni-Co stood proudly, Seeker and Aya on their backs. The birds appeared to be well rested, and their oiled feathers gleamed.
Elder Kailla whistled loudly, and the call was taken up by all the other wind-trusters.
“Go!” she shouted.
And both wind-trusters took off, heading into the rising sun.
It took some time for Seeker to adjust to piloting a wind-truster.
“It’s not quite like piloting a machine,” he yelled to Aya. “I have to move my body in sync with Coni-Co’s. Good thing he’s pretty patient with me.”
“You’re a fast learner!” Aya shouted back. “Tell me what it’s like to fly your metal bird.”
Aya and Tigo-Lee set a leisurely pace next to Seeker and Coni-Co. Aya wasn’t flying slowly for Seeker’s benefit. Wind-trusters could spend so much time in the air because they conserved energy whenever they could. Except when taking off or when diving for food, wind-trusters barely flapped their wings. A wind-truster sought to glide on the strongest currents, to hang on to the barest of updrafts, to coast for as long as possible.
“It’s not as fun as riding a wind-truster, but there are some things that are the same….”
The best thing a rider could do for a wind-truster was minimize the burden imposed on the bird, not fatigue it by shifting weight around and throwing the bird’s center of gravity out of balance. It was yet another subtle way riding a wind-truster echoed the psychology necessary for gliding with the Tide: the rider had to flow with the bird, rather than trying to impose his or her will over it. The best wind-truster pilots were also those who learned to move in sync with the bird, to anticipate a turn in the wind before even the bird had sensed it.
“So you could fly an X-wing because you knew how to fly a skyjumper?”
“A skyhopper. But yeah, the controls are similar. In fact, I used to go to this place called Beggar’s Canyon….”
Aya loved to hear about Seeker’s adventures in the rest of the galaxy. The sea was vast and boundless, but the galaxy seemed infinitely more so. She wished she could see some of the reefs and islands he was describing, or even islands he had never been to.
Around noon, with the sun directly overhead, Seeker guided Coni-Co to fly above Tigo-Lee. The shade cast by the giant bird’s four wings provided welcome relief to Aya below.
“Don’t do that,” said Aya. She frowned at the rider above her. “Do you look down on me so much that you think I need to be protected from the sun?”
“Sorry,” Seeker said. “I meant no insult, and I should have talked to you first. It’s natural when flying in formation for members of a team to take turns drafting.”
“Drafting?”
“The heat creates an updraft over the sea, so if I fly above you, you get more of the benefit while I provide you with shade. We’ll switch off after a while so that I get the benefit of the updraft while you shade me. We’re equals.”
“But I’m supposed to be your guide.”
“I once carried my teacher on my shoulders. That didn’t make him any less of a teacher. A lot of things in life are bett
er when you build some balance into them: shading others and being shaded, being uplifted and uplifting others. Wielding the Force is about being in balance.”
“Huh.”
Aya sensed a new way to navigate the Tide, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it yet.
True to Aya’s prediction, the journey did become much harder.
When the wind-trusters grew hungry, they descended to snack on schools of flying fish or mats of floating aquafungi. Seeker and Aya took advantage of these opportunities to replenish their supplies with an occasional fish or fungus ball as their mounts skimmed the waves. The raw flesh of the flying fish was chewy and tough but quite tasty, and the fungus balls were filled with fresh water.
However, these snacks were not enough to fill the bellies of the wind-trusters, and occasionally, they had to dive into the sea for bigger prey. These dives were especially challenging for the riders, as they had to hang on to their mounts without moving throughout the entire ordeal. As the giant birds plunged from hundreds of meters above the sea straight down into the watery realm, kicked and paddled through the turbulent currents in pursuit of their prey, snapped their beaks about the sleek form of a marlin or scaled porpoise, floated up to the surface, and beat their wings and pumped their legs furiously to gain speed and, eventually, altitude, the riders had to hold their breaths for minutes at a time and flatten their bodies against the sleek streamlined torsos of the birds to minimize drag.
After the first time Coni-Co dove for a baby marlin, Aya could tell that the experience had taken a heavy toll on Seeker physically. He emerged with the blood drained from his face, shivering uncontrollably and coughing and hacking water from his lungs. She worried he would fall from the wind-truster and tumble into the sea. His condition vividly reminded her of how she had felt the first time Deek-Deek took her on a dive. However, though she was terrified and sympathetic, she had to remind herself not to interfere. It was, after all, a trial, and he had to endure it or fail.