by Keira Drake
“Come, Vaela,” he calls from a few feet ahead, oblivious to my meditations. “We are nearly there.”
I smile and hurry along to join him. The terrain begins to slope gently uphill, giving way at last to a flat field of reddish-brown grass that leads all the way to the edge of the cliff.
I stand at the precipice, feeling as though I have discovered the end of the world itself. The sea below glimmers in the faltering sunlight, breakers rolling into the rocky shoreline in graceful, golden curves. A small harbor, dotted with gleaming white sails, is visible about a mile to the north.
Noro moves behind me, wraps his arms about my waist, and places a soft kiss on the nape of my neck. A familiar warmth spreads through me, a mixture of love, quiet desire, and contentment.
He pulls me closer. “It is beautiful, no?”
“Yes,” I say. “I only wish we could stay.”
“I wish this, too.” He turns me around and gazes down at me, tracing my lips with his fingertip. “How I will miss you, miyake.”
He kisses me, gently at first, and then with an urgency that makes my heart ache. Tears slip down my cheeks and I cling to him, the world dissolving into the merest, faintest memory. The sinking sun surrenders unto darkness, the waves crash upon the rocks below. Only Noro and I remain, lost to the bliss and agony of love.
CHAPTER 25
A SALTED BREEZE AND A SPILL OF PALE YELLOW light announce the coming of dawn, but I have been awake for some time. I lie curled in Noro’s arms beneath a heavy blanket, watching as the last few stars wink out of sight in the hazy morning sky. I would stay like this for a hundred years, if only it were possible.
But the world does not stand still for those who wish it so, and soon enough Noro begins to stir, breaking the spell. He plants a sleepy kiss on my cheek and gets up to kindle a fire, prepare our breakfast, and begin the day.
We are quiet this morning, and quick to depart. As we leave our makeshift camp, I follow Noro down a little trail that leads to a pathway carved into the cliff side. The path meanders ever downward at a gentle grade, and though it is not steep, it is treacherous. The steps and ledges are narrow at best, gapped at worst, and I hold my breath as I pick my way to the bottom.
When at last we reach the shore, my relief is almost a tangible thing—and I cannot help but to marvel at the magnificence of the beach, which is darkly beautiful with miles of glittering black sand stretching out in either direction. To the south, great jagged rocks jut out from the sea, forming a breakwater of sorts that serves to protect the small marina. Wooden docks stretch over the water, with a fleet of sailing ships moored alongside. The boats are small, sloop-rigged vessels—larger than the pleasure craft I have sailed upon, yet not nearly as big as the commercial fishing boats of the Spire.
I wait near the shore as Noro makes arrangements with a man at one of the docks. The Aven’ei looks none too pleased about sending one of his vessels to an island that, in his likely opinion, probably does not exist. He glances my way a few times, a sour expression on his face. Finally, after ten minutes or so, he points to the far end of the harbor and returns to his work.
“Is it settled then?” I ask, as Noro returns.
“Yes. Though I can’t say he ever expects to see his boat again. He did indicate that the winds have been blowing strong and true these past few days—we ought to reach your island within four or five hours, I should say.”
“So quickly?” I say, surprised. “I thought it would take the better part of the day.”
“No—and I’m glad, for my return trip will be easier if I do not have to sail after dark.”
I look out over the sea, shielding my eyes from the bright morning sun. “I know you’ve said the Aven’ei do not sail for pleasure—nor venture very far out to sea—but still, I can’t help but wonder how no one has ever happened upon the island by chance. Particularly if your vessels are capable of such speed.”
Noro shrugs. “The Aven’ei hold no love for the ocean, Vaela. We sail to fish, and our grounds lie to the north. Your island is far to the south and east—we have no purpose there.”
I scan the sailboats nearest the shore, feeling a twinge of nerves. “But the vessels are quite seaworthy?”
“They are the only boats on the Continent, at least to my knowledge,” he replies, pragmatic as always. “But I believe ours will serve just fine. Thirty miles is not so great a distance, especially in fair weather.”
I nod. “Right. Well. I suppose we ought to be on our way then.”
He looks at me curiously. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” I say. “Well…no.” I look back at the cliffs, at the sprawling beach, at this strange and beautiful place I have come to love. “I just find it hard to leave, now that it comes to it.”
“It is for the best,” he says, and gives me a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Now let us go, before your sweet, sentimental heart works to change your mind.”
Noro is a handy sailor, managing the sheets and sails with very little help from me. He moves fore and aft, his eyes on the horizon, his hands working the rigging with practiced ease. Having spent his first ten years in the seaside village just north of the marina, the mechanics of sailing and navigation are as natural to him as breathing. And though he claims not to enjoy his time upon the sea—he insists that no Aven’ei does—I sense a relaxation in him that I have not seen before. Out here, upon the ocean, we are beyond reach of all the things that strive to tear us apart. There is but wind and water, sun and sky, Noro and myself.
As Noro predicted, we are within sight of the island in less than five hours. I sit in the bow, kissed by the salty spray as the sloop cuts across the water. And as the great cliffs of Ivanel loom larger and larger, my heart grows heavier. Noro and I will soon be parted. My throat tightens as I turn to look at him; in his smile, I can see that his thoughts mirror my own.
When we round the island and come to the little bay at the rear, a knot forms in my stomach. How different Ivanel appears in the summertime; how lush and warm and inviting, and how familiar it seems to me, though this is only the second time I’ve seen the shoreline. Mr. Cloud’s fishing boat is tied to a post near the shore; it bobs to and fro in the gentle swell, and I am heartened by the sight of it, remembering the groundskeeper’s warm bright eyes and his habit of carrying bread for the Achelons. I wonder if he is here, or if he has returned to the Spire.
A momentary panic grips me—what if there is no one here? I have not seen a single heli-plane since I was captured by the Topi those many months ago. Why should the Spire occupy this island, if not for the purpose of facilitating the tours?
The more I think on this, the more logical it seems that we shall find the island abandoned. What then?
Noro secures our vessel to the post and steps out into the shallow water. He extends a hand, gesturing for me to climb down. “Come to me, Vaela. I will carry you ashore.”
I climb into his arms, feeling like a distressed princess in one of Yuki’s adventure novels. And the gallant warrior bore the maiden safely to the shore, where he kissed her with the passion and brilliance of a thousand suns—and from that day forward, they lived a life of love eternal and happiness unceasing.
I smile to myself, looking up into his face as he sloshes through the soft white foam. He glances down at me and frowns, then sets me down on the wet sand out of reach of the lapping waves.
“Do not look at me that way, miyake. You make this harder than it already is.”
“I can’t help it.”
He takes my hand. “Our parting will come soon enough. Let us not endure it twice.”
I swallow. “It’s this way,” I say, gesturing toward the winding path that curves away from the shore. The path where once I walked with Aaden, when my parents still lived. How strange it is to be here with Noro. How very much has changed since that frosty winter day.
Standing outside the facility, it is plain to see that Noro is impressed by the size and sophistic
ation of the building. He runs a palm along the smooth beveled glass of the entrance door, then takes a step back and cranes his neck to see the full length of the vast outer wall.
“Is it as you expected?” I ask.
“It is very…large.”
I laugh. “It is, at that. And it contains many marvelous things, you know.”
“Such as?”
I tick off the amenities on my fingers. “An indoor swimming pool, two racquets courts, electric heating, cedar saunas, and, of course, toilets.”
He makes a face. “You and your toilets.”
I push experimentally on the door handle; there is a soft click, and the door opens slightly.
“Well,” I say, “it’s unlocked, at least. Shall we go in?”
He follows me inside, gaping at the enormous glass dome above the lobby. “What a thing to build into a roof,” he says, a note of admiration in his voice. “The craftsmen in the Spire must be very skilled indeed.”
At that moment, Mr. Cloud comes striding into the room from the far hallway; he drops a handful of papers at the sight of us, his mouth falling open in surprise.
“Hello, Mr. Cloud,” I say politely, stepping forward to help him gather his paperwork. “Might you remember me? I am Vaela Sun.”
“Miss…Sun?” he says, his blue-white eyes goggling, either in disbelief or due to my changed appearance. “But… how? You were lost! You were all…lost!”
“Not all,” I say quietly.
“I shouldn’t believe it if my own eyes didn’t tell me true,” he murmurs. He looks at Noro as if noticing him for the first time, and pulls himself up sharply to his full, staggering height. “And who is this? Are you held captive by this individual, Miss Sun?”
“Only in my most willing heart, Mr. Cloud. May I introduce to you Noro Zensuke, who rescued me from dire circumstances after the heli-plane crashed, and whose people welcomed me with open arms and great compassion.”
Mr. Cloud is astonished by this admission, his expression altering from suspicion to open curiosity almost instantaneously.
“An honored guest, then,” he says. “Welcome to our facility, Noro Zensuke.”
Noro smiles. “Are you certain that the Spire would welcome one such as me?”
“As to that, I cannot say,” Mr. Cloud replies. “But we are not in the Spire, now, are we?”
“I suppose not,” Noro says. “I thank you, then, for your hospitality.”
“And…you are Aven’ei, yes?”
“I am.”
“How extraordinary,” Mr. Cloud says. “In my life, I never thought to meet a native of the Continent. Surely you will stay a night or two here at Ivanel? Regale us with the story of how you came to know Miss Sun?”
“I thank you for the invitation, but I must return to the Continent.”
“Are you certain?” Mr. Cloud says, clearly dismayed. “You have only just arrived! Why the hurry?”
“The urgency is mine,” I say, though it pains me to think of sending Noro on his way. “I wish to return to the Spire with all haste, if it can be managed.”
Mr. Cloud nods emphatically. “Of course. Of course, Miss Sun. Mr. Zensuke—you must at least allow us to deliver you back to your people. We can prepare the heli-plane in no time at all—”
“Thank you, no,” Noro says. “I would prefer to return in my own vessel.”
“Oh, but it’s perfectly safe, I assure you,” Mr. Cloud says, then covers his mouth with his left hand. “Oh, Miss Sun, forgive me! I don’t know how I could have said such a thing!”
“Do not think of it, sir,” I say. “I know you meant no offense.”
“Well,” Mr. Cloud says, “I will alert the other staff that you are here. Only a few of us are left now, put in charge of closing down the facility. The tours have been discontinued indefinitely, of course. Another month or so and you might have missed us entirely.”
I give him a smile. “It sounds like we are most fortunate to have found you still in residence.”
“All right, then,” Mr. Cloud says. “I will see to the arrangements at once. It was an honor to have met you, sir—I only wish we had the luxury of time and conversation.”
Mr. Cloud bows deeply, then hurries back toward the hallway from which he came.
I turn to Noro, my heart heavy in my chest.
“Not here,” he says. “Let us say our goodbye out of doors, beneath the sun and sky.”
In the field overlooking the sea, I sit beside Noro on a bench of stone. I know he must not linger; I know he must go while the weather is fine and the wind is strong. I know this. But I cannot bring myself to say goodbye.
“How lovely you look, sitting here in the sunshine,” Noro says. He smiles, but his dark eyes are full of sadness. “I can never decide if you are most beautiful in the light of day, or in the starlit shadows of the night. It must simply be that you are lovelier with every passing moment.”
“Noro,” I say, but I can manage no other words. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I begin to sob.
“Do not cry, miyake. I love you—I will love you always. In the moment of my death, it will be your face that brings me peace.”
“Don’t speak of such things!” I say. “You will live a long life, with me beside you.”
“Vaela, you must not return to the Continent.”
“Noro, stop!”
“I cannot lose you to the Topi. Promise me that you will not come back.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes and shake my head. “I would never make such a promise. Oh, Noro, have you no hope at all that the Spire will intervene?”
He smoothes a lock of hair away from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “I hope for you to live a long, happy life.”
“Then do not forbid me from doing so.”
He sighs. “I wish you would do as I ask, but I know you will not.” He stands, pulling me to my feet. “I must go, miyake.”
“I know.” I kiss his cheek, his forehead, his lips. “Let us not say goodbye. Let us only say that we love one another, and part with words of promise and possibility.”
“I love you, Vaela.”
“And I love you. With every breath, in every moment. And I will see you soon.”
He turns toward the bay, his fingers slipping from mine, and heads down the path. He does not look back.
CHAPTER 26
MR. CLOUD IS NOTHING IF NOT EFFICIENT. BY THE time I return to the facility, he has telephoned the Chancellery with the news of my return, instructed the pilot-inresidence to make ready the heli-plane, and directed the kitchen to prepare a four-course meal preceding my departure. The food is lavish, all rich, sumptuous Spirian delicacies—but after my emotional farewell with Noro, it might as well be made of ash. I taste nothing, eat little, and weep alone at the table.
Poor Mr. Cloud has a thousand questions for me; I can see it in his face. But he does not ask. He is ever the picture of dutiful service and grace, moving quietly about his business and pretending not to notice my distress. When it is time to leave, he accompanies me through the long hallway to the hangar.
“I can come along if you like, Miss Sun,” he says, as he helps me up the metal stair and into the heli-plane. “Unless you prefer to be alone.”
I look around the cabin, feeling as though I have fallen into some terrible dream. The interior is identical to the plane we took from the Spire. Echoes of the past surround me, stifling my very breath—my father gazing out the window in the back row, my mother sitting beside me, squeezing my hand in excitement. Aaden calling to me from across the aisle. Come here, Vaela, you can look out my window.
“No,” I whisper, turning back to Mr. Cloud. “I do not wish to be alone.”
He shouts a word of instruction to the steward in the hangar below, steps aboard the plane, and pulls the door shut behind him.
“You have a seat, Miss Sun. I’ll let the pilot know we’re all set.”
He disappears into the cockpit, and I turn to face the three rows of seating. Where
can I sit that will not evoke some painful memory? Which of these spaces does not hold the ghost of someone I once knew, someone I once loved?
“Is everything all right?” says Mr. Cloud from behind me.
“Fine,” I say, pressing forward and sitting down in the front row on the starboard side. Mr. Shaw sat here, I think to myself. Dear Mr. Shaw, ever at the beck and call of his beloved wife. How lucky she was to be adored by such a man. To live and die with him.
Mr. Cloud takes his seat on the opposite side of the aisle, and a moment later, the great doors of the hangar roll open. As the heli-plane moves smoothly into position to address the runway, a rush of heat flows over my skin—my face, in particular, feels practically aflame. The sensation is so unexpected—and so intense—that I somehow feel quite certain that I am about to die, or go mad, or something. I swallow involuntarily, the taste of fear like a bitter tang in my mouth. In my panic, I find myself gasping.
“Miss Sun! Miss Sun! Are you all right?”
My vision blurred, I blink to see a double image of Mr. Cloud kneeling before me, his twin faces each a portrait of concern.
“Please,” I say, grasping for his hands. “I’m afraid. Please.”
He moves to the seat beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder, drawing me close, just the way my father might have done. “There, there, sweet girl. You just breathe now. Everything will be all right.”
The heli-plane is picking up speed, bright sunlight flickering into the cabin as we race toward takeoff. I squeeze my eyes shut, clutching Mr. Cloud’s soft blue sweater so tightly that the wool is wound around my fingers. The sound of the engine fills my ears, the gentle vibration moves through every fiber of my body.
The plane takes to the sky, and I faint.
I revive a short while later, sitting up with a start when I realize where I am. Mr. Cloud is still beside me; I realize with some embarrassment that I have been resting against his shoulder for an indeterminate amount of time.