A LEGACY OF LIGHT

RUNE

"Rune," she whispered. "Where did you get that?"

He shrugged and winked. "I have my ways."

Cheese was a luxury these days. Years ago, when Rune had been a child, he remembered eating cheese every day. But since the war had begun and trade died, cheese was rare as gold.

But this night was rare.

This was Tilla's last night home.

They shared the cheese silently, sitting side by side, watching the waves. They drank the ale. They had eaten here many times, the cliffs to their backs, the waves ahead. They could always talk here for hours, laugh, tell stories, play with the sand, and whisper of all their dreams.

Tonight they ate silently.

When their meal was done, they sat watching the water. Rune wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell Tilla to be careful. He wanted to tell her that he'd see her again someday. He wanted to say goodbye. But his throat still felt so damn tight, and his lips so frozen, and his chest felt wrong, as if his ribs were suddenly too small.

Just say something, he told himself, staring at the waves. Just… just make this a good memory for her, tell her stories, or laugh with her, or… stars, don't just be silent!

He turned toward her, prepared to tell some old joke to break their silence, when he saw a tear on her cheek.

She was not weeping. Her lips did not tremble. Her eyes did not flinch. She only sat there, staring ahead, still and silent like a statue. Only a single tear glimmered on her cheek, not even flowing, just frozen there like part of the sculpture.

"Tilla," he said softly. "It… will be all right. It—"

She turned toward him, her face like marble in the moonlight.

"No, Rune," she said. "None of this is all right. None of this has been all right for years." She looked aside and her fists clenched in her lap. "This stupid, stupid war, and this stupid red spiral, and…" She looked back at him, reached out, and grasped his arm. "It wasn't always like this, Rune. I know. My father told me. Before the Cadigus family took over, there was trade here. Ships sailed this sea—tall ships from distant lands, ships with huge sails like dragon wings, and they brought cheese to Cadport, and fruits, and silks, and jewels, and my father had work then. He sold so many ropes to those ships. He showed me paintings of them, secret ones he keeps in the cellar. Stars, Rune! Those ships had so many ropes on them. It wasn't like today when we sell only a few ropes a year to farmers. And your father too, Rune—so many merchants visited his tavern, and they all wanted to taste his brew, and he was wealthy then. Both our families were wealthy; all of Cadport was. Only it wasn't even called Cadport then. It was called Lynport, and—"

"Tilla!" he said. He placed a finger against her lips. "You know we can't say that word. We—"

She pulled his finger away. Her eyes flashed. "And why not? Why can't we speak the old name of our town? Why can't we look at paintings of ships, but have to hide them? Why can't we ever say, Rune, that things were better then, that maybe the Cadigus family didn't help us, that—"

Rune leaped to his feet. "Tilla! Please."

His heart pounded. Memories flashed through him. Somebody else in Cadport—and stars damn it, it was called Cadport now, like it or not—had once spoken like that. The fool had drunk a few too many ales at the Old Wheel Tavern, which Rune owned with his father. After his tenth drink, the red-faced loomer had begun to blabber about the old days, the one thing you were never to speak of.

"Back then, now, I could sell fabrics all over the world," he had bragged, teetering as he waved about his mug of ale. "Ships came, picked 'em up, and I got paid silver. That's called trade, it is. And no bloody fortress rose on the hill." He guffawed and spat. "No damn soldiers on every street in Lynport. Yeah, you heard me!" He waved his mug around, spraying ale. "Stand back, scoundrels, I won't be silent! Lynport our town was called then, named after Queen Lyana Aeternum, not after that bloody bastard Cadigus or whatever the Abyss his name is."