5000
She rose with the sun. There were few sights more beautiful than sunrise on the shores of Glorion, and the sun seemed to rise on this day with new vigor and hope. The sea yawned before her, a bold and bright blue that in this hour appeared a gilded indigo. The full clouds, an iridescent white by day, were now steeped in the coral and lavender dyes of dawn.
It was a new year, a new millennium, an entirely new age. Then again all the same, it was just a new day.
“Leara.”
She turned and smiled brightly at her mother, who approached and knelt beside her on the pale gold sands. Anorrah mirrored her daughter’s smile, just as the two of them had always mirrored one another’s night-hued hair and sea-blue eyes. Leara’s eyes had perhaps not yet been dimmed with age nor deepened with its wisdom, but in every other way, she was very much and very visibly her mother’s daughter.
“Leara,” Anorrah repeated, laying a gentle hand upon her daughter’s knee. She saw so much of herself in Leara, but also so much more. “You so remind me of your father, when you sit like this and look out on the sea.”
“Because he is always looking outward, and away?”
Anorrah’s lips lifted into a halfhearted smile. “Because he is a man of vision. And his visions have always been far-reaching, crossing worlds and oceans, always hungering after the horizon. After that which lies beyond it.”
“Well, I don’t hunger after much. The worlds beyond the sea may well be beautiful, but so is our own. And I am happy here,” Leara avowed. “I’ve the greatest mother in all the world, after all.”
Anorrah laughed as she returned her daughter’s embrace. “And the greatest father!”
“Of course,” Leara hollowly agreed. “He is doing very great and very important things on his faraway island, for the good of the world.”
“He is, though,” Anorrah insisted. “Truly.”
“I wouldn’t know! He never speaks to us about them.”
“It is not our place to know. Not yet, at least,” Anorrah professed. She held her daughter close; there was so much that Leara did not know, so much Anorrah hoped she’d never have to know, about her father and about the world. But her daughter was hardly a child any longer, and hardly needed a mother’s arms to keep her from that wide, dark world of knowledge.
After a wordless while, spent together watching the sun crest the rim of the sea, Leara gently disengaged herself from her mother’s arms. “Caliphria had asked me to wake her, while it was still early. Said she wanted to see as much as possible of this bright new day,” she spoke, leaning down to kiss Anorrah’s forehead as she rose. “Happy new millennium, Mother.”
“And to you, love,” Anorrah’s warm blue gaze returned her daughter’s kiss. “Your father promised that he would be here today, to join us celebrating the new age.”
“I know he did.”
“There is still hope that he’ll arrive! The day is young yet.”
“It won’t be young much longer,” Leara replied, her soft voice lowering to a murmur with the words that she next spoke. “And neither will I.”
She then turned inland, heading home.
Anorrah remained on the shore awhile afterward. The sun had since crested the sea, but no ship yet crested that distant horizon, as she continued waiting, hoping that it would. It was not so much for her sake; she had long since resigned herself to Crion’s ways, and years ago had come to peace with it. But her daughter had reached no such resignation, no such peace—Leara would have still welcomed his love, were he here now to give it. She did not need it or demand it, and indeed had grown into a strong, happy woman without it. But surely she would welcome it.
A lucky thing, Anorrah mused gladly a while later as she returned home, that there was at least a father figure in Leara’s life. Gorovan was standing at the entrance when she arrived, as if expecting her. He smiled to see her. They exchanged the bright but broken smiles of twin souls who harbored impossible depths of shared pain, the kind of pain that breeds deep friendship but leaves very little room for anything more. It was perfect that way, for the both of them, and for each of their daughters. His golden-haired Caliphria was as a sister to Leara. Gorovan had been Crion’s closest friend since early childhood, and he had been living together with Anorrah in this beachside villa since before the two girls were born. Crion visited home once every several moons, or years. But in the interim, an interim that was more like an eternity, Gorovan was the man of the house.
Anorrah also had a son: Leara’s elder brother, Kevriel, had been born and raised here as well. But he had always had a hankering for the yonder. It was not that he did not love his home; he loved this place dearly, and found it quite beautiful. But he was convinced that some speck of his soul had been tossed to the wind, once—by accident, mayhap by fate—and landed on a distant shore. He would not be complete until he found it.
His mother would laugh when he spoke in that way. That was so whimsical, she’d say. And yet she respected his yearnings. And once he’d reached a proper age, she had allowed him to indulge them. Now a grown man, Kevriel spent his days upon the sea, aimlessly wandering and exploring, and returning home less frequently than his mother would have liked. For the past few years, the tranquil villa by the sea had thus served as home only to Anorrah and Gorovan, and their two young but quickly growing daughters.
They were a family, in the most meaningful sense of the word, and it was as a family that they celebrated the new millennium on this day.
Daerion, the city that they so happily called their home, was host to great festivities throughout the day and well into the night. But the four hurried home before dusk, well sated with food, drink, and merriment. The city center was further inland; from their villa by the sea, they could sooner and more easily spot any ships that might arrive.
Anorrah brought mugs of mulled nectar to warm them against the raw but temperate chill along the coast. They sat at the edge of the tide, such that the waves lapped up playfully near to their feet, occasionally licking their toes but never venturing any further than their ankles. The breezes lifting from the sea were brisker this evening than usual. Each of them hoped that these winds might be speeding a ship toward their shores, but theirs was a tenuous hope.
“Perhaps the winds have held him up,” surmised Caliphria, wondering whether the same winds that caressed her cheek on Glorion were gusting in the opposite direction further out to sea. If they were, she thought, she would very much like to feel those gusts against her face instead of these tame beachfront zephyrs with which she was all too familiar.
The sanguine sun seemed to dim as its lower lip brushed the ocean. It was as if the great expanse of water quenched its fire, quenching in turn Leara’s already slender hopes.
“It is only another day, in the scheme of things,” she sighed. “It will still be the new millennium tomorrow.”
“Knowing Crion, he won’t return until the next millennium has begun!” Gorovan quipped in good humor, his auburn eyes more solemn than his words; he knew Crion all too well.
“Well. Father is so absorbed in his work, he has likely lost track of what day it is.”
“Let us not hold it against him. It is very important work,” Anorrah interposed.
Leara bit her lip, chiming in on another note after a while’s pause. “In any event, I am sure that Kevriel wishes he were here.”
“I doubt it,” Caliphria challenged. “I, for one, envy Kevriel. I would rather be upon the open seas today, venturing out to foreign lands and islands. What better way to celebrate a new epoch than by exploring new horizons?”
“You and Kevriel never did get along, love,” Gorovan reminded her. “What makes you think he would invite you on any of his adventures?”
“Oh, we had our share of petty quarrels as children. But we are both grown now,” Caliphria contended. “It’s been a while since last I saw him, and I trust that he’s matured since then, and that we could put that behind us. In the spirit of adventure.”
Her sky-hued eyes settled expectantly on her father, but he slowly took a long draught of his nectar and continued to look out to sea as he swallowed.
“Oh, come, Father—you’ve always let Leara go on these journeys whenever she wanted!”
It was true; Kevriel had agreed to bring Leara with him on some of his shorter voyages, in his earlier days of wandering. He had recently become less receptive to her company on the sea. For he was traveling farther and wider these days, and ever the protective elder brother, he did not want her coming with him on these more distant and more perilous expeditions.
Leara had been disappointed at first, but lately was content to stay on Glorion. Her thirst for adventure was not so avid as Caliphria’s. She missed her brother, but she did not much miss the world she might have seen with him. She had seen plenty of islands, some more exotic than others, and had ventured to some of Glorion’s faraway coasts. But no place she’d seen had ever been as wondrous or as captivating to her as her own native Daerion.
“Leara is not my daughter, love,” Gorovan noted to his daughter.
“She may as well be!” she retorted.
“But Anorrah is her mother, and Anorrah allows it.”
Caliphria scowled, her azure eyes darkening. “You want so badly to protect me, but truly, I don’t think anything dangerous lurks beyond those shores. Is it dangerous out there, Leara? Surely you would know, from all you’ve seen,” she reckoned, turning a desperate gaze toward Leara.
Her words had not been spiteful, but they’d smacked of a softhearted sisterly jealousy.
Leara parted her lips to reply, but Gorovan broke in before she could.
“Come, Caliphria. Don’t resent me for loving you too dearly,” he implored her. “As your only living parent, I have to love you twice as much.”
That always did well to silence her.
He had not meant it callously, but rather with all the warm sincerity of a dedicated father. Ever since Crusea’s passing, Gorovan had taken it upon himself to ensure that no similar harm should befall their dear daughter. Granted, Crusea had died in labor, which was quite unlike the perils of the world beyond the sea. But Gorovan was nonetheless determined to keep Caliphria close and safe, for as long as he possibly might.
The sun had slipped halfway into the sea. The first day of the new millennium was nearing its close. Already, the first ending within this age of promised new beginnings.
“Your mother would have loved to see this day,” Gorovan surmised, drawing his daughter into the strong curve of his arm.
Caliphria shuddered in a fragile sigh. “I know you miss her, Father,” she murmured, “with every fiber of your heart. As would I, were I lucky enough to have any memories of her. But let us today be grateful for the family that we have found in each other.”
She smiled and outstretched an arm toward Leara, welcoming her into the embrace. Anorrah drew nearer as well, reaching her arm around Leara to lay a loving hand on Caliphria’s shoulder. The picture was cloyingly sweet, but on Glorion there was no limit to expressions of affection. On Glorion, a four-part embrace on a calm twilit shore was very much a natural thing.
The accidental, adoptive family settled comfortably alongside one another, swapping lighthearted comments and jests, the emergent stars glinting in laughter above them. The nectar was up, but they instead now warmed themselves with levity and love.
They might have all fallen asleep on these shores, had Leara’s heavy-lidded eyes not presently glimpsed a spot of billowed sail against the deep backdrop of low, darkling blue.
Her sharp, indrawn breath stirred the others to wakefulness, and they all fell apart from each other as Leara scrambled to her feet. She waded out into the shallows, gathering her skirts up in her hand. These she twisted into a loose knot of white silk, which she poised artfully against her hip, so that both hands were free to wave in greeting as the welcome ship drew near.
The others lagged a bit behind—Caliphria wouldn’t want the saltwater to damage her dress, and she didn’t think she could manage it as skillfully as Leara had hers. She frowned, a little.
Leara’s breathless smile widened into a grin as the great craft pulled closer. A nimble form leapt suddenly from the deck and into the waters a slight ways ahead of her; she recognized it well.
“Have I missed it?” Kevriel called as he waded toward his sister.
“Of course you’ve not missed it—it’s going to last a thousand years!” Leara answered, her dark eyes bright beneath the same-hued gloaming sky.
“Dear sis,” he greeted her, sweeping her up in his arms. “I’ve missed you, then, if not the millennium. How goes everything in Daerion?”
“Happily and well, as always. I can’t say I haven’t missed you, but we were not at all expecting you today!”
“I live for the unexpected,” Kevriel proclaimed. He hollered up to the men on deck to anchor the ship in the usual place, and urged all the crew to return to their homes and their families. He thanked them for their hard work, their loyalty, and their company, and wished them a happy new millennium as he moved with his sister toward the shore.
“Mother,” he uttered once they’d reached it. His homecoming was not complete until he fell into her arms.
“It’s so unspeakably good to see you,” Anorrah spoke, stepping back to regard her dear son, his beloved face framed by her pale, doting hands. Her smile collapsed into a pout. “Though you’ve caught far too much sun, love. It’s downright burning you.”
“Not burning,” Kevriel disputed. “Bronzing.”
His mother laughed lightly through her nose, and wagged her head. “Well, burnt or bronzed or otherwise, this is a face I always love to see,” she enthused. “I thought you’d be wrapped up in your adventures, and that the turn of the millennium would be the last thing on your mind!”
“It wasn’t exactly at the forefront,” he confessed through a broad, gleaming grin. “Especially not during my time on Margos. The women of that isle are entirely another species, I tell you; they wield their blinding beauty like a weapon, and their beds are bloody battlefields.”
Anorrah arched her brows.
“In a good way, Mother, I promise. I just mean to say that they are very voluptuous.”
Caliphria, from her safe distance, found herself watching and listening to him quite closely. She wondered why his talk of Margos so displeased her.
“But that aside,” Kevriel continued. “Home has been hard to forget. And I thought that this might be a special day, and that I ought to spend it with special people—those I love the most.”
His raven eyes alighted unbidden on Caliphria. She had grown.
“My dear, good boy,” Gorovan greeted him, clapping him on the shoulder as he pulled him in. “It’s good to have my son back.”
“Still just as much your son, but boy no longer,” Kevriel pronounced.
“I stand corrected,” Gorovan submitted, standing back a bit to consider this adoptive son of his. “You have grown, indeed. Just when I thought you were done growing up!”
“Never done!”
Kevriel then reached into the sack at his side and pulled out a small scroll, which he placed in Gorovan’s hand.
“From Father,” he explained, his eyes now deepening, his voice now lowering to a muted tone. “A letter, for you and my mother to read. The last time I stopped at Shelta, a couple of moons ago, he wrote this and asked that I give it to you. He said that something most momentous had happened on the island very recently. That Lastor had made an important discovery, and that… that after this discovery, the entire project might soon come to its conclusion.”
Gorovan and Anorrah both blinked, practically in synchrony, at these words.
“I promise I’ve not read it. He forbade me anyway. As he ought to have, for we children aren’t privy to such secrets,” Kevriel reflected wryly, running a hand across his dark hair damp with seawater. “Sorry the letter’s a bit wet. Got doused when I jumped off the ship to greet Leara. Hopefully still legible, though.”
“Thank you, Kevriel,” Anorrah breathed.
Gorovan echoed her gratitude, then softly cleared his throat as he pocketed the letter. “And you remember Caliphria. She’s grown quite a bit as well, much like yourself,” Gorovan reported as he stepped aside and gestured toward his daughter, who stood a ways behind him.
Their gazes met; the stars stood still, a moment.
“So she has,” Kevriel concurred. To counteract the sudden feeling that he’d turned to stone, he tried to keep his stoned heart light, his tone lifted, lilting in silent laughter. A simper broke across his face as he stepped toward her. “I remember you as a little goldilocked mop of a thing.”
“And I remember you as an insolent brat!” she rejoined, though her own beaming smile betrayed her. She did not remember his eyes being so ravishing. “You don’t seem to have changed.”
“Oh, I’ve changed,” he assured her.
Those ravishing raven eyes locked onto hers and impaled her to her core.
Caliphria was glad that she hadn’t waded out into the waters earlier and greeted him there—if she were holding up her skirts just now, she surely would have dropped them.
“Have you, now?” she managed to utter over the stone that had lumped in her throat.
Kevriel nodded slowly.
She looked especially beautiful like this, he thought, with bated breath and blue eyes wide, her sun-gold hair pure platinum beneath the moon.
“But one thing hasn’t changed,” he claimed, inching one hairsbreadth closer. He leant in to whisper the words he spoke next. “I can still beat you to the house.”
At that, he turned and started dashing toward the villa, and she stumbled after him, their laughter lifting toward the smiling stars.
The three who remained by the shore watched the pair racing inland. Leara smiled like the starlight as she watched them. Anorrah and Gorovan blinked, this time in quite perfect synchrony.
The following morning, the three of them rose early and broke fast on the veranda looking out onto the sea. They shared among them a plump honeyed loaf, and there was plenty of mulled nectar left, which they now drank chilled, as a refresher on this balmy, sunlit morning.
“So Kevriel is better at keeping promises than Father is,” Leara observed. “And he never even really made the promise—but I suppose there are some unspoken promises among family. And Kevriel kept his. I’ve never been prouder to call him my brother. Love and family are built on kept promises, really.”
Anorrah pulled off a wedge of the loaf and started chewing, slowly, in pensive silence. She was thinking of Crion—not so much the promise he’d broken, but rather the letter he’d sent.
“I wonder what kinds of promises your brother has been making to my daughter,” Gorovan mused aloud in response to Leara, unable to suppress a certain smile at the thought, even despite himself. The letter weighed heavily on his mind as well, but the matter of his daughter and his adoptive son weighed yet more heavily on his heart.
“Whatever promises he’s making, he will keep them,” Anorrah reassured him, her lithe fingers absently tearing her wedge of bread into small pieces. “I know my son well.”
“And Caliphria will be getting to know him even better, I’m sure!” Leara chimed.
“It’s a reciprocal thing, besides,” Anorrah opined with a smile. “She might just as well be making promises to him, Gorovan; and who’s to say she’s not the one who will break them?”
“She’s not the one who’s spent the past years cavorting on voluptuous islands!” Gorovan retorted, though his wide grin evinced more faith in Kevriel than he let on.
“Well, I promise you,” a very satisfied male voice presently broke in from behind them, “that there will be no more island-hopping for this man, now that he’s found the most voluptuous little devil of an angel right in Daerion.”
The tangibly happy couple arrived and seated themselves contentedly beside each other.
“Good morning, Mother,” Kevriel chirped, his sun-bronzed arm glued, as it were, to Caliphria’s side. “Gorovan. Leara.”
“Yes, a very good morning,” Caliphria echoed hazily, apparently not yet completely awake.
The others paused a moment, loath to break the waking dream that these lovers had brought to the table.
“Well,” Gorovan interrupted the silence at length, raising his glass of iced nectar. “Here’s to a beautiful second day of the new millennium, and to what promises to be a beautiful new age.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Father?” Caliphria slurred as she snuggled closer into Kevriel’s shoulder, her half-closed eyes fluttering in bliss. “The most beautiful new age began and ended just last night.”