To Fly the Soaring Tides

Cira hardly woke up with enough time to bathe before heading back into town for breakfast, but there was plenty left over when she arrived. Work that day was different now that all the lumber was in place. They worked together to build towers out of stacked logs throughout the village. If one connected the dots they formed two circles through the village, all ending at the clock’s spire in the center of town which rose above even the longhouse and the watchtower.

Compared to most things here, the festival towers looked like a shoddy rush job, but there was something beautiful about how all the pieces fit together to form twisting towers without any pieces connecting, each piece locking in the last. They still reflected the diligence these people took in their work, but they could be easily removed later. Cira was enjoying learning about their way of life—even if it was temporary, everything was done with care and consideration.

“How are you holding up, new girl?” One of yesterday’s lumberjacks asked as he hoisted a log above his head and placed it on the tower.

“I’m ashamed to admit, I can hardly keep up,” Cira replied. Her job was to hand stronger people logs, “All of you villagers are amazing, seriously.”

She made a mental note to start exercising more, but who’s to say if it would stick. Half the point of magic was to not work as hard anyway. She could apply that logic here but thought it would be rude after they turned her down for sorcery work. Hard work was in the spirit of the festival.

“No need to be ashamed, Miss. Wood’s just not heavy to us anymore, we’ve all been moving it our whole lives. As you can see, all of us here in Heron Village start working when we’re young.”

He was referring to the attentive water girl approaching them with refreshments. What were the boys too young to carry logs doing? Snacks, of course. Now that Cira noticed, only so many snacks could go around through the workday. Some of the boys with nothing to do were moving logs, four sets of hands at a time, not getting much done but trying their best.

The next day was spent connecting those dots with rope spanned between the towers multiple times over. The village women had spun it from a plant found in the forest into a lightweight but thick rope the pleasant color of saffron.

“What is all the rope for? Are we going to hang things from it?” Cira asked one of the people helping her.

“We just string it over the whole village,” he explained, “And when it lights up on the night of the festival it’s a truly incredible sight.”

“It lights up?” She was honestly surprised. This island was far less developed than most, woodworking skills aside. “Is it magic?”

The man chuckled, wearing a grin of fond reminiscence of the festival he saw as a boy, “Maybe you’re right. It sure is magical under the night sky.”

She appreciated the easier workload that day as her body was on fire from the last two days of hard labor, and this time she managed to bathe before a hard-earned night’s sleep in her bed. Everybody finished early and was planning to rest up before the big day.

After breakfast the next morning, Sam suggested she take the day off, as most would be doing the same. “We’re very grateful for your help, Cira, and we can’t tell you how much it means that you’ve decided to join us. Feel free to hang out around the village or explore the island today. The celebration starts at sunset in the pavilion, and make sure to wear your nicest clothes.”

He was an endearing old man overflowing with hospitality and despite the hard work, Cira really enjoyed her time in this village. There was talk of sorcery work after the festival, mainly chopping trees, so she was even considering an extended stay.

Being cooped up in the village had her itching to explore the forest, however, so she ran home and put on her hat with the extra wide brim then packed herself some fruits to snack on. She wasn’t scared of a boar, but you never know what you’ll find in an unfamiliar forest. She stopped at home to pick up a wooden staff and started hiking up the charming hillock she could see from her yard.

A menagerie of birds accompanied her, and she stopped every so often to look at the local flora, jotting down a picture in her notebook here or picking a couple flowers there. While a far cry from a botanist, Cira fancied herself a gardening enthusiast. Besides, she also fancied herself an alchemist, so studying the flowers was beneficial to her.

Cira stumbled across a patch of mushrooms growing in the shade of what had to be the biggest tree in the forest. Its canopy was dense enough to block the sun and cast so wide that she caught a chill walking beneath it. The glossy surface of the false brimhorns caught her eye. She couldn’t resist picking the light brown mushrooms as they were a somewhat rare and potent base for stabilizing a lot of tricky potions.

Around noon Cira started looking for a place to eat lunch and heard a rhythmic chipping, like the swinging of a pickaxe. Cira followed it to a clearing where she found a young boy hitting a rock against a boulder.

With such a small frame, Cira was light on her feet, but she also had old habits drilled into her from childhood. She approached silently and got a look at the kid’s work. He was in fact hitting one rock against another, carving an image into the stone wall.

“Is that a bird?” She asked.

“Bah!” The kid fell backwards, startled, “Wh-when did you get here?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Cira chuckled, “I was just admiring your work. Do you like birds?”

He looked down and spoke bashfully, “Birds are alright, I guess.” She noticed the bird wasn’t a heron, this village’s namesake.

“It seems you have some talent,” He ostensibly did not, but it was important to encourage children to do what they enjoy. It could be said doing anything at all is a talent, but that was neither here nor there. “Everybody in the village works with wood, but do you want to be sculptor?”

Irritation flushed the kid’s face, “Wood is stupid. It doesn’t last. I want to make something that will be here tomorrow, and forever.”

Well, wood does rot, she thought, I like this kid. Maybe I should leave him with a gift.

“I suppose stone lasts as long as anything. I could make you something if you like.”

“Make me something…? Are you a sculptor?” He was skeptical.

“No, I’m not a sculptor, but have you ever seen magic?” The corners of her lips naturally turned up. She always enjoyed brightening a kid’s day with a little magic show. It reminded her of when her father used to show off. He had a whole grimoire of spells to entertain a child that he built up over the years raising Cira. This would be more of a present than a show though. Earth magic was notoriously unflashy.

“Magic?!” There were sparkles in his eyes, “That… That’s only in fairy tales! I saw you working with all the other grown-ups, you’re just another carpenter!”

She frowned, looking over her outfit. Her robes weren’t extravagant or anything, but she thought she at least looked like a sorcerer at this point. She’d been training for years and had a huge wardrobe of outfits painstakingly hand-sewn to fit the image of an elegant young spellcaster she had in her head. Do I need a pointier hat? They look funny when they don’t fold over though, she sighed.

“I don’t see much woodwork in my future, I assure you. The last few days have been plenty for me.” The boy just cocked his head and looked at her confused.

“Really? Aren’t you joining the festival?”

“Yes…? I told everyone I would at least, and everybody seems really excited for it.”

The boy shook his head and let out a sigh, “I don’t get you grownups… but whatever. Can you do magic or not?”

“Of course! I’ll even make you something that will last forever.” Joy welled in her heart watching that sense of wonder creep onto the kid’s face.

“Will it really last forever?” He asked with bated breath.

“Longer than rock, I’d wager. Come on, I’ll show you.” They walked around the boulder to the center of the clearing.

First, she checked the dirt under their feet, hoping she hadn’t just lied to the boy. This was done with a detection spell she’d learned years ago that pulsed through the ground to see what’s down there. Just as she’d hoped, there was iron, or something close enough to it. Raising her staff, a soft glow the color of sand emitted from the tip, then the ground started bulged and cracked.

As the kid’s jaw dropped to the ground, balls of raw iron burst up from clouds of dust like upside down rain. Cira could transmute it right out of the rock as is, and she gathered these iron balls before forming them together—the boy’s eyes grew increasingly large in kind. She then spread them out into roughly the size of her garden table and added heat. Raw iron will last plenty long, but melting the impurities out helped by a measure of centuries, or so her father used to say.

Once it all melted together, she formed a ring. Shaping it as she cooled it down, Cira marked eight ticks evenly around with one bearing an image of the sun, then a ninth that was an arrow. Next, she raised a fin up to a point starting from the center. After adding a sleek border and sharp lines throughout for aesthetic purposes, then a deep anchor below ground to make it truly permanent, she stood back and admired her work.

“It’s so cool!” The kid jumped up and down, then ran over and knocked on it with his hand. “No way! This thing will last forever for sure! But… but what is it?”

“A sundial,” She said, quite pleased with herself. She had put a lot of thought into this gift. The boy seemed to like birds and she used to as well once upon a time. Maybe he wanted to fly too one day. And he wanted something that would last forever.

“It’s a device to tell time using the sun, but it can also tell you which way to go.” She continued, “Do you see how the point of the shadow stretches towards the sun? That means it’s noon right now. At this time, the arrow here points North. It may change a little throughout the year, but you could come back tomorrow or in ten thousand years and never lose your way!”

With stars in his eyes, he struggled to find words, “This is the best. Thank you so much, magic lady!” He threw his arms around her. Well, around her legs at his height.

Cira suppressed a groan at being called ‘lady’ and accepted the gratitude, patting him on the head. Just a few years ago, she regarded any adult she met as elderly too.

“I have another drawing that I finished already. Do you wanna see it?” The kid asked, excited to show off his own work. He took her around the boulder again and there was a larger carving. It was harshly chiseled using nothing but rocks, but she could tell it was another bird. One with its wingspan stretched wide, flying over the clouds.

As Cira was about to praise the boy, she heard the bushes behind them rustle. While she didn’t think anyone in the village was trouble, there was a tinge of bloodlust in the air. Faint but unmistakable to her sorcerous senses. Looking down at her hands, Cira prepared to activate one of her enchanted rings in case the situation turned.