by Alex Aster
Still, no one had said anything about looking at the boat—omens and foreboding didn’t exactly have fine print. So, Tor swam down the mast, all the way to the deck, where all of the enchanted items had come to rest, covered in ribbon-like seaweed and mossy algae.
That’s when he saw it. The gleam of something silver. Something tucked beneath a dislodged board.
It looked like a ring. No, possibly a pin. A coin?
If only he could hold it, just to see what it could do. No one would know… He could simply reach down and grab it.
No. He stopped himself, barely.
Even though Tor didn’t necessarily believe in curses, mostly because he’d never heard of any actually happening outside of lore, he didn’t exactly want to be the one to test if the stories were true.
So, with a bubble-trail sigh, he turned around and decided to collect shells instead. For half an hour, he floated on his stomach, eyes trained on the ocean floor, looking for the sparkle of a particularly nice one. He waited patiently, watching the current shift the sand—and like a blanket being pulled away, an entirely new array of shells was revealed. Then, he dove down to collect the ones he liked best before the sand could reclaim them.
This time, when Tor went for another breath of air, the sky had changed. It had gone from dawn’s light pink to morning’s blue, which meant it was time for school.
He released the fistful of shells he had found down to the seafloor, a lightning bolt of disappointment running through his stomach as he watched them go. Still, he knew he couldn’t keep them. Of course he couldn’t. Engle was the only one who knew Tor still swam.
Ever since his teacher had sent a letter home detailing his lack of work ethic—or, more accurately, lack of work period—Tor’s parents had made it abundantly clear he had to focus solely on his training from then on.
Which, unfortunately, did not involve water.
He dragged his feet on his way to shore. Sun burning the top of his head, Tor squeezed the ends of his swim trunks dry, then got dressed. Without a towel to use—which definitely would have aroused suspicion—his socks ended up caked in sand and the very tips of his shoes held sloshing water. But he didn’t mind. No, he liked it. Ground-up shell between his toes made eight hours of class seem almost bearable.
Azulmar Academy was built right into the side of a mountain students called Point, since its peak resembled an arrowhead. The school’s back walls were a sparkling gray granite, and large fires burned in the main hall, visible from the always-open, colossus-sized front doors. It looked rather warm and welcoming.
The teachers, however, did not.
“Boy!” A thunderous voice came out of a woman barely four feet tall. Students liked to joke that Mrs. Alma had some gnome in her bloodline, but they weren’t serious. Everyone knew gnomes had gone extinct long ago, in the last ice age. Engle swore he saw a frozen one once, at a market in the city of Zeal.
Tor swallowed. “Yes, Mrs. Alma?”
She pointed her disturbingly long, curved fingernail at him and wagged it back and forth the way a dog might move its tail under happier circumstances. “Went and ran off early yesterday, did you? Left three entire pamphlets unread!” Mrs. Alma had terrible eyesight and a habit of losing her glasses, so it was usually pretty easy to skip out on work. When Tor wasn’t running off to the beach, he was daydreaming about it.
At Azulmar, a student only studied that which was relevant to their emblems—their gifts.
And Tor hated his.
If anyone took a look at his daily schedule, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t blame him. As a natural-born leader, like his mother, Tor’s lessons consisted of studying years’ worth of past political events, documents, and decisions. Not only were these papers long, but the people with leadership emblems never seemed to be good writers, which meant countless hours of reading sentences that never seemed to end, and about events that were more boring than stale bread.
Really, though, it wouldn’t have mattered if his classes were as thrilling as those of the elixir students, who spent their days stirring bubbling chemical concoctions. Any ability unrelated to water didn’t interest Tor in the slightest. Swimming was the only thing he had ever been passionate about.
To make matters worse, his emblem’s class was the smallest in the school. There were just two of them.
She, at least, seemed to like the subject matter.
Melda Alexander came skipping through the school’s front doors. “Not to worry, Mrs. Alma. I’ll give Tor my outline of the chapters he missed.”
Mrs. Alma turned to face Melda, but stopped about ten degrees too short, making it look like she was addressing one of the gray gargoyles that flanked Azulmar’s entrance. Her expression changed completely. “That’s very kind of you.” Mrs. Alma favored Melda more than any of her other students. Maybe more than anyone ever. The woman turned vaguely in Tor’s direction. “Don’t let it happen again,” she said, then shuffled away, grumbling.
Tor sighed and faced Melda. “Thanks.”
She squinted her sapphire eyes at him. Blue was an extremely rare eye color, and Tor thought it was wasted on someone as snobby as her. “Just to be clear, I’m only helping you because I don’t want any bad karma affecting my Eve wish,” she said, before gripping the pendant she always wore between her fingers and turning on her heel toward class.
Lessons that day were the same as every day before. In the six years Tor had been doing leadership training, he spent most of his time alternating between pretending to read and staring at the clock, wishing he had an hourglass emblem so that he could make the timepiece’s hands move to noon with his mind.
But Tor had a plan that he hoped would change everything. He looked down at the emblem wrapped around his left wrist and smiled. With any luck, he would be free of it by the next day.
The moment Tor spotted Engle in the lunchroom, his best friend said, “Did you really bring your wish to school?”
Tor gulped, his hand instinctively moving to his pocket. Engle caught his sudden movement and raised his eyebrows, clearly curious.
“Well?” Engle asked, sitting across from him at their usual lunch table. Most of the school sat with their emblem groups, but Tor and Engle had been best friends for as long as they could remember, so they always sat together.
Engle had the gift of sightseeing, which meant he could spot a marble from a mile away—or a shark speeding through the depths of Sapphire Sea. Sometimes, when the weather was right, and his eyes weren’t itchy, he could even see through objects. Luckily for Tor, his see-through vision was still a little blurry.
Tor sighed and bent his head down low. “Yes. Don’t try to read it.”
Engle nodded. A wish revealed was a wish ungranted. Everyone knew that.
“Well, my wish is safe, back at home, where no one will find it, right underneath my hydroclops statue,” Engle said. He froze and laughed nervously, looking like he wished he could take back his last few words. “Um, don’t tell anyone that.”
Tor was curious at what Engle would want to wish for. As far as he could tell, his friend was happy.
“Secret’s safe with me,” Tor said.
“And with me.” The voice came from behind them, and they both startled, whipping around to see who had been snooping on their conversation.
Of course. Melda.
Engle’s shoulders tensed, then he rolled his eyes. “Should have seen her coming,” he mumbled.
“Yes, Grimelda?” Tor asked. Everyone called her Melda, but Engle had spotted her full name once on paperwork in the main office from all the way down the hallway, and Tor liked to use it when she was being especially annoying.
Her eyes squinted into a glare. “Just wanted to drop these off,” she said, leaving a stack of papers in front of him. Tor blinked. Her supposed outlines looked longer than the treatises themselves.
Then she made her way back to her table, books stacked where Tor should probably have been.
* * *
One of Tor’s favorite parts about Eve was that class let out early. He hummed happily as he walked up and down the three hills between Azulmar and the village. Rosa was far ahead, walking with the other chorus members. Engle, who was likely zooming and unzooming his vision for fun, was by his side.
Their town was one of many that existed on Emblem Island. It was named Estrelle after the person who had founded it and had been the scene of a great battle at some point. According to the many history lessons he had tried his best not to listen to but had somehow made it into his brain anyway, Estrelle had the advantage of sitting in the valley between an ocean and a mountain range. Something about that made them harder to invade. Or was it easier? He couldn’t remember.
A loud horn sounded from the town square below, and a few lulo birds emerged from the thick, colorful treetops.
“Hellooo to you, too, Chieftess Luna!” Engle yelled down to the village, waving. He could likely see her, even though they were still far away.
Tor sighed. His mother presided over all Eve festivities, wearing the traditional Emblemite clothing that he found slightly embarrassing. Still, he had to admit he was proud of her. She wanted to lead and was great at it, in part because of her emblem. It magnified traits that were already inside her, growing stronger with passion and practice. That was how it was for most Emblemites. Tor was surrounded by people who actually liked their markings. Rosa loved to sing, his father loved to cook. Engle loved to…stare?
Tor wasn’t like them though, and he feared his mother would never understand. So he had taken matters into his own hands.
His father was in the kitchen when they arrived.
“Engle! Sapphire pie?” Anton Luna motioned toward a gooey, blue-spotted dessert that had just come out of the oven. When cooked at high enough temperatures, precious stones were sweeter than any other ingredient. Sapphire had a creamy, rich flavor.
“Two pieces,” Engle said excitedly. “Actually, make it three.” He had the biggest appetite Tor had ever seen—and not only for his father’s delicious cooking.
Tor’s father offered him a piece, too. “No thanks,” he said, his stomach already full of nerves. By this time tomorrow, he could be free of his emblem. Even better, he could have a new one. The one he had always wanted.
Mr. Luna took a look at the clock, then slapped his hands together. “Festivities start in just a few, you two. Be sure to be ready.”
Engle leapt off the bar stool he had settled on, already having inhaled his three pieces of pie. “Better get on home then.” His eyes lit with anticipation. “I have to grab my wish.” They said goodbye, knowing full well that he would be back in just a few minutes.
Rosa walked in from the living room. Her mouth was twisted into a sour pout. “Why am I too young to wish?”
Their father grinned and crouched so he was her size. “Because if eight-year-olds’ dreams came true, we’d have cake for breakfast each day, and school would be replaced by firefly hunting.”
Rosa blinked. “That sounds amazing!”
Tor laughed. “What could you possibly have to wish for?” The minimum age limit for wishing was twelve—this was Tor’s first time participating.
Rosa held her nose up high. “I want to be a sightseer like Engle!”
Tor raised an eyebrow. “I thought you loved singing.”
“I do. I want to be a singer and a sightseer.”
His father stopped smiling. “Rosa,” he said, his voice stern. “You know the rules. We have one emblem, and one only. Anything more is too much.”
“But—”
“End of discussion.” He sighed, then patted her on the head. “Go get ready now, the both of you. We have a long night ahead of us.”
Tor retreated to his room, closing the door behind him and standing with his back against it, for good measure. He felt as though there was a sea urchin lodged in his throat. Maybe he should be grateful for the emblem he had. Maybe he should forget his wish altogether.
He stood a little taller. No, he had waited too long. This wasn’t a rash decision; he had hated his mark for years, ever since he learned it would keep him from doing what he loved. Now he finally had a chance to do something about it.
When Tor was sure Rosa and his father were not going to barge in, he unearthed the leaf from his pocket and carefully unfolded it. To his relief, his wish was still visible, black ink against the vibrant green. Once an evergreen plant was written upon, it stayed fresh forever. He read the words out loud, in a whisper:
Instead of a leader, I wish to be a water-breather.
Rhyming wasn’t a rule, but Tor hoped his attempt at one would improve the chances of his wish being granted. Maybe the mysterious wish-gods liked poetry? It couldn’t hurt, he reasoned.
He knew it was time to leave the house when he heard the drummers—marching outside, their beats like bouts of thunder. Rosa opened the front door, and Tor watched the procession pass by, the sea of people resembling a current running through the streets. As soon as the singers came into view, Rosa readied herself, then jumped seamlessly into their group, her recognizable voice, high in pitch and sweet in melody, immediately braiding itself into the song.
Then it was Tor’s turn to join the madness.
His senses were all flooded at the same time. Into his ears, the music roared, plucks from a harp interrupted by beats of a drum, then put to rest by the echo of a horn being blown just ahead. Into his nose, the deep scents of fresh lavender-flavored croissants and flower-stuffed empanadas. Into his eyes, every color, a rainbow of leaves falling from the canopy of trees watching over the houses, orange baskets lifted high above heads, carrying lilac berries and golden apples. Onto his skin, the arms of fellow villagers pressed as they raced past him into the beautiful mess. Engle joined him on his right as the bonfire came into view.
His mother stood in front of it, in a headpiece made of a hundred feathers and flowers. Long ago everyone wore headpieces to the Eve celebration—and a few older villagers still did. Chieftess Luna’s own had been passed on for generations, made using plumes from birds that no longer roamed the skies. Red-haired ravens, blue-tipped vultures. And, the object of many a magical tale, a single silver falcon feather.
The villagers wrapped around the fire. Tor stood so close that its warm, thick breath stung his cheeks. As the last person found their place, the crowd fell silent.
“Happy Eve,” Chieftess Luna said, her words booming almost as loudly as her horn had. One of the advantages of being born a leader was having an exceptionally loud voice. Tor had one, too. But a gift was useless if it was never used. “We celebrate the passing into a new year, into a new chapter of our lives. The wish-gods watch over us now, as they have for a thousand years, listening to our pleas and purest desires. Tonight, they reward the best of us, showing their strength and generosity to those that deserve it.”
Tor swallowed. How could he have been so foolish? Of course his wish wouldn’t be granted. If he was honest with himself, Tor knew he was probably the least deserving person standing there.
But…
Maybe the wish-gods would see he was only acting out because he had been gifted the entirely wrong marking. If anything, Tor might be the exact type of person they wanted to reward.
Yes, that sounded right. He had been living with the wrong emblem for years, of course he deserved to have his wish granted.
Hope bloomed in his chest once more.
Chieftess Luna continued, “This new year, may we be bolder, better, truer than we were before. May we fight for love, and love the fight. May we protect ourselves, and protect our rights. May we always stand as Emblemites. And for as long as the sky and sea run blue, may your wildest dreams have the chance to come true. For wishing is the bravest form of dreami
ng.”
The village roared like a tidal wave, clapping and singing in approval. Even the fire grew just a little.
“Fetch the wishes.” There was a rustling as the villagers reached into their pockets. Tor already had his in hand, squeezed so tightly he risked tearing it in half.
Chieftess Luna smiled. It was almost time. His heart felt like a balloon ready to burst. In a few moments, his entire life could be changed—a new fate could be set in motion.
“Now set them free.”
Hundreds of wishes flew at the same second, an avalanche of leaves that turned the night air green. Tor watched his own leaf being eaten up, the corners crumbling, center burning, until it was gone. When the last wish was offered, the flames turned from copper to silver, for just a moment. Then, the fire disappeared altogether, leaving just a pile of purple ash.
Tor stood fixed in place as his fellow villagers made their way to the carts of food that lined the town square. Now that he had been freed of his wish, he felt somewhat lighter—but still full of enough anxiety to make his stomach lurch.
What would happen if his wish was not granted? He would surely have to continue his studies, continue to be molded by Mrs. Alma into the perfect future Chief… Maybe he would even have to finally follow his parents’ orders and stop swimming.
No. He swallowed past the rising lump in his throat. If his wish was to come true, he could not let those dark thoughts brew.
“This food is lightning.” Engle was holding three different flavors of spun sugar, a bag of pop-pop, and a large glass of creamed tea. The air was electric. It was Eve, after all, the night Emblemites had waited an entire year for—the feast to end all feasts. Farmers peeled golden apples at lightning speed to feed demand, and children reached hungrily toward the giant red ruby cake Tor’s father had spent days baking. The only thing Engle needed, Tor thought, was at least three more hands to hold more food.
