Hidden Current

by Sharon Hinck

  I settled on the ground and traced my fingers through the water. Muffled by the canyon walls, the drums finished one pattern and began another. For most of my memory, those drums had provided the heartbeat of my life. Always present in the background. Strong and reliable.

  I glanced up. Brantley pressed his face against Navar’s neck and crooned praises. His formal tunic had already rumpled and gathered smudges from his climbing. Water splattered his trousers. Affection swelled under my ribs, followed by a sharp pang. In these past months, he’d become like the drums. Steady, trusted, and so constant that I hadn’t realized how much I relied on him until I pictured his absence. Yet now our traveling together was over.

  As if feeling my perusal, Brantley turned his gaze toward me. With a last pat for Navar, he stepped back onto land and settled beside me. “So did Saltar Kemp convince you to stay?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll help her for a few weeks while my ankle heals, but then I plan to go home and serve my village.”

  He drew a deep, satisfied breath. “A fine plan. Then again, and I hate to admit it, this”—his gesture took in my neat head scarf, clean tunic and leggings—“suits you. When I saw you in the center ground . . .” He cleared his throat. “You’re meant to dance like a bird is meant to fly.”

  I pulled my knees closer and touched the bandage around my ankle. “Not anymore.”

  Shadows danced in the depths of his eyes, and he rested a hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t stomach the compassion, so I pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t want your pity.” The words sounded harsh as they came through the tangle in my throat.

  He laughed. “Pity? I’ve never met a woman less in need of pity.”

  I searched his face, looking for the lie, but could find none.

  Instead, a warm smile met me openly. “You still don’t realize what you’ve done, do you? You don’t realize who you are. You’ve more courage than the wildest herder. Yet you also have a heart as big as the ocean.”

  His words unraveled the knot in my chest, and a flood of warmth swept me. His respect and approval meant more to me than the praise of a High Saltar.

  My skin flushed, and I adjusted a fold on my bandage. “I’m glad I found you before you left. I wanted to tell you that I’m grateful for all your help.”

  “Grateful?” He leaned back on his elbows, and as lines bunched at his brow, I feared I’d made him angry. But then he laughed hard enough that his blond waves of hair bounced. “All right. Grateful. I’ll take that for now.”

  “For now?” Confusion throbbed behind my forehead. He’d once been insulted by my expression of gratitude, but today he seemed only amused.

  He chuckled again. “I guess it’s how the Order trained you. When you’re focused on one thing, you don’t notice anything else around you, do you?”

  “I . . . I suppose.” What on Meriel was he talking about?

  He shifted, kneeling in front of me. One hand smoothed a wrinkle in my scarf and lingered against my face. “Carya of Undertow, we both have our villages to serve. I understand that. But we’re going to find a way to serve them together.”

  A honeybird fluttered beneath my breastbone. “Together?” My whisper floated on the breeze and hung between us.

  He shrugged and offered a crooked grin. “I’ve gotten used to having you around.” Then the mask of humor fell away, and his ocean-blue gaze grabbed mine, all the depths of his soul exposed for a fleeting moment. “I don’t want another day to go by without you in my life.”

  Heat rushed to my skin, my eyes widened.

  He brushed a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through a lot and need some time. I shouldn’t have spoken so soon,” he added with a wry grin.

  Together, he’d said. The picture flooded my imagination in vibrant color. The wings in my chest beat even more frantically, as if begging to be set free.

  He was waiting for my response.

  “I don’t know what to say. Of course I care for you . . .” And so much more. I admired him, trusted him, savored my memories of even the most brutal days on the trail because I’d been with him. I loved him. But even as I admitted the truth to myself, objections pinned my wings and placed my dreams firmly back in a nest. I had pledged to forsake all attachments. I no longer felt bound to serve the Order, but I wanted to—needed to—serve the Maker the rest of my life. Was this a horrible temptation I must fight, or was this a gift the Maker was offering me? What did Brantley and I have in common? And why would he saddle himself with a crippled wife who had no practical skills?

  His gaze never left me, and I was certain that even my years of dancer training were failing to keep my emotions from flitting across my face. Love, longing, doubt, uncertainty.

  His smile was tender and understanding. One callused finger rubbed away the worry lines from my forehead. “It’s a start,” he said. “I can wait.” He launched to his feet and helped me up. His eyes sparkled and his posture declared his confidence.

  I wanted to explain why his dream would never work, prevent him from false hope, but I didn’t have the heart.

  When we reached the lip of the canyon, we walked to the trellised archway and watched the last rays of subsun paint the buildings of Middlemost. Far beyond in the woods, a forest hound lifted a mournful howl.

  Brantley shook his head. “That day in the clearing when you tamed the hound, I thought my heart would never beat normally again.”

  I sighed at the happy memory of discovering I was still a dancer, even apart from the Order. Perhaps I was still a dancer even apart from healthy limbs. “He was sweet.”

  “Maker, help me,” Brantley said under his breath. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  The bell rang from within the Order, a frantic stream of sound, far too early for dinner. “Something’s wrong.” I planted my walking stick and hurried as best I could into the Order. Brantley edged along my other side and offered his arm. The support helped me limp quickly over the cobblestones.

  Saltar Kemp met us in the entry hall. “The attendant on watch saw something strange. I’m heading up to the telescope now.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Brantley said, not waiting for my response. I stiffened. If we planned to work together, I’d have to talk to him about his bossiness. At the thought of the clashes ahead between us, a secret joy bubbled in my chest.

  My progress on the stairs was slow and painful, so Brantley swept me into his arms and carried me up the final flights to the roof. A young attendant squinted into the large brass instrument. When we approached, he backed away. “Look!”

  Saltar Kemp peered through. “Did you check the lens? It looks like a smudge.”

  The youth frowned. “The glass is clean. There’s something there.”

  “But that’s impossible,” she said.

  Brantley took a turn staring into the telescope and gave a low whistle. “Look at that.” His arm around my waist supported me as I positioned myself to take my turn.

  Through the curved lenses, the whole world seemed to expand and move toward us. Disoriented by this glimpse, it took me a minute to see what had caused all the excitement.

  Out to sea, some distance beyond the rim of our world, the outline of a large shape came into focus: shoreline, trees, a slope leading inland. My breath caught. “Another world.”

  “But there is no other world,” Saltar Kemp said quietly. She shook her head. “How much more do we have to learn?”

  Ignoring our consternation, Brantley leaned on the parapet and stared out to the horizon, as if he could see the new land with his naked eyes. “Meriel is free now. We must have drifted on the current near another world.” He turned and took my hand. “I’m going to explore it. Will you come with me?”

  Who could guess what this new discovery meant? What adventures or dangers waited on that new island? Could this be part of the Maker’s plan?

  I’m with you wherever you go.

&nbs
p; The gentle reassurance quickened my pulse. I peeked again into the telescope. A new world. A new love. A new direction. My future sailed before me and I was ready to dive into the current. I stepped away and took a deep breath. With my weight on my good leg, I twirled once, lifting my hands to the smiling sky. Then I faced Brantley and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

  GLOSSARY

  ALCEA FLOWER – Delicate, sweet-scented blossoms.

  ATTENDANTS – Servants who work in the Order.

  BRESH – A flaky, buttery roll. Luxurious treat eaten by dancers.

  CALARA REED – Well rooted, supple reeds growing near water. (Calara pattern is one of the most complicated.)

  CENTER GROUND – The huge open field in the very center of the island, where the dancers of the Order perform the patterns that keep the island turning around its core.

  COPPER FISH – Small, glittery fish that swim in large schools and provide food for rim villages.

  DAYGRASS – a soft, mossy grass that springs up overnight.

  FOLESHILL – A midrange village that refused to pay their Order taxes and incited a brief rebellion, which interrupted testing day.

  FORMS – Various levels within the Order’s school. First-form children are generally around seven years old and work up through the ranks to the fifteenth form (twenty-one years of age) and if successful can join the Order as dancers. Some dancers later become saltars.

  FOUNTAIN FISH – Pink-and-green-striped bronze fish, kept as pets or in fountains.

  HERDER – One who herds fish from the ocean waters so they can be gathered by rim villagers.

  LANDKEEPER – A person who gardens, farms, cares for plants.

  LANTHRUS – A plant with prickly leaves that cause blisters and fever, but when dried is useful for pain.

  MAKER, THE – The forgotten one who created the oceans, the island world, and everything in them.

  MERIEL – The name of Carya’s world (the island floating in a vast, featureless ocean universe).

  MIDDLEMOST – The largest city, in the center of Meriel, surrounding the Order.

  NOVITIATES – Girls training to become dancers of the Order.

  ORDER, THE – The organization of novitiates, dancers, saltars, prefects, and attendants that directs the course of the world through the dance. Located in the very center of Meriel, in a large edifice that encircles the center ground. They pass down the patterns through the generations.

  PATTERNS – Precise dances and formations named for various natural elements or plants. To be accepted into the Order, each dancer must prove she can perform any pattern flawlessly.

  PERSEA FRUIT – Knobby-skinned, meaty fruit with a pit.

  PREFECT – Support staff for the Order school, they enforce rules, help saltars, etc.

  RIM – The undulating outer edges of the island world.

  RIMMERS – Sometimes derogatory term for those who live in rim villages.

  RUTISH PLANT – A tuber that has a pebbly green skin and is good in stews.

  SALIS – A midrange village where castoffs from the Order sometimes found refuge.

  SALTARS – The leaders and top teachers of the Order.

  SALTCAKES – Dry, crumbly biscuits.

  STAR RAIN – A magical occurrence on rare evenings when stars burst in the air and glittering light rains down.

  STENELLA – Sea creatures with long necks and wide spreading side fins that can glide over the water as well as dive under.

  SWEET WATER – Ocean water that tastes sweet and citrusy. Loved by the rim villages, but feared and filtered by those in the inland towns.

  TANGLEROOT – The matted, intertwined vines that form the outer edge of the island.

  TENDER – Someone who cares for domesticated animals, especially ponies.

  TSALLA – Sweet ocean water brewed with herbs.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to C.S. Lewis, whose novel Perelandra captured my imagination so many years ago. I adapted his imaginative concept of floating islands. Eternal gratitude to my agent, Steve Laube, who suggested I write a fantasy series drawing from my background in dance. Fun ensued immediately. Deepest appreciation to my editor, Reagen Reed, who brings so much care, respect, and wisdom to making my stories stronger, and to copy editor Lindsay Franklin whose attention to detail polished each page.

  Immense thanks go to the friends who offered prayer support. You carried me through the years of work on this new series. Special thanks to writing buddies Chawna, Patti, and Michelle for in-depth edits, and to Amy, Angela, Beth, Jenni, Ted, and Joyce for reading the full manuscript and offering such helpful critique. I’m also grateful to writing buddies who shared insights on specific chapters or scenes. Thanks to Stacy, Brenda, Carol, Haleigh, Brennan, and John.

  As always, Ted, you continue to be the model for all my heroes. Thank you for your strength, compassion, and integrity. My love to Joel, Jennelle, Kaeti, Raphael, Joshua, and Jenni. You fill my heart. I couldn’t do this without your support and encouragement. And to Mom and Carl, the Hinck clan, and all extended family: I appreciate you so much. Huge thanks to friends who put up with me and my yammering about imaginary worlds and the struggles of writing.

  Above all else, thank you to my Maker, from whom all blessings flow. May the truth of His grace free souls as we discover or rediscover His letter.

  AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

  Sharon Hinck writes “stories for the hero in all of us,” novels praised for their strong spiritual themes, emotional resonance, and imaginative blend of genres.

  She earned an M.A. in Communication (with a major in theatre and thesis in dance) from Regent University and spent ten years as the artistic director of a Christian dance company. That ministry included three short-term mission trips to Hong Kong to teach and choreograph for a Y.W.A.M. dance/evangelism team. She taught classical ballet and liturgical dance for twenty years, and led workshops on dance in worship.

  She’s been a church youth worker, a dancer/choreographer, a church organist, a speaker, a crafting workshop teacher, and a homeschool mom. One day she’ll figure out what to be when she grows up.

  When she’s not wrestling with words, she enjoys serving as an adjunct professor for M.F.A. writing students, speaking at churches and conferences, and has taught at Minnesota Christian Writer’s Guild and the national conference of the American Christian Fiction Writers and Realm Makers.

  A wife, mom of four, and delighted new grandmother of three, she lives in Minnesota and is a member at St. Michael’s Lutheran Church.

  Feel free to visit her at sharonhinck.com.