The Fog of Forgetting (10 page)

“Don't listen to her, boy,” Tinator taunted. “Why
not
give up?”

Knox felt himself shrink under Tinator's stare, but he lifted his sword defiantly in another challenge.

Tinator swung his head back and forth, as if there was no point in it. Knox was reminded of a large branch swaying in the wind.

“I've seen your kind before,” said Tinator. “Bold but careless. Is there anyone else who wants to show me what I already know to be true?” He calmly sheathed his sword, dismissing him.

Knox's face burned with humiliation. If there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he wasn't afraid of a fight. Why couldn't Tinator see that? He centered his weight, surprised at how much heavier the sword felt now. A strange feeling took hold of him, similiar to how he felt when he hit Chase, as if he was watching his own body but not controlling it. Before he knew it, he was sprinting toward Tinator, sword raised. He swung hard. Tinator repelled the stroke with a small knife, already drawn in anticipation of his attack. Knox's sword glanced off the knife, but not before it sliced into the unprotected crook of Tinator's elbow, opening a deep gash. At the sight of blood seeping to the surface, Knox dropped the sword.

“I—I'm sorry—I didn't mean–” he choked, confused.

Tinator covered the gash with his hand. “Of course you meant it—did you not heed your first lesson? Intent is the greatest weapon of all.” He closed his eyes, keeping one hand firmly cupped over the wound. After a few moments, he dropped his hand, stowed his hunting knife, and flexed his arm. The bloodstain and the tear in his shirt were still there, but the gash had sealed itself.

Knox rubbed his eyes with his fists.

Seaborne sauntered over to him and smiled. “You did well.”

“Did you see that?” asked Knox. “The blood. The cut! It was deep. Now it's gone!”

“The daylights are strong here. The vessel is not easily wounded,” Seaborne replied, as though everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes was the most natural thing in the world.

W
hat the heck are are you talking about?” asked Knox, shaking his head at Seaborne. “Everybody on this island is certifiable, and now I'm going crazy, too.”

Seaborne surveyed him quietly for a minute, then said, “Tinator's daylights are very strong.”

Knox thought maybe—somehow—he'd been hit in the head because Seaborne wasn't making any sense. Seaborne put a hand on his shoulder and pointed him toward the stream.

“Drink.”

Knox did as he was told. The water was cool and delicious. After a few palmfuls, he felt revived and turned back to face Seaborne.

“What were you saying?”

“I was saying that Tinator's daylights are very strong. I'm not surprised you felt them.”

Knox pulled the collar of his tunic to his mouth in his usual habit, but spit it out when he tasted fur. “I felt
something
out there, that's for sure—but
daylights?
What the heck are they?”

“The daylights make us who we are. They are the essence of the divided
atar
, the great life force that resides in all living things and connects all life forms to others, including you and Tinator and everything around you.” Seaborne squatted beside Knox.

“The daylights are in the trees and in this stream that bathes their roots and in the sun that warms them and in the wind that spreads their seed. In us, the daylights influence every choice and desire. All creatures on Ayda feel their daylights intensely; it is how they learn where they belong and to which Keeper they owe their allegiance.”

“Keeper?”

Seaborne cocked his head. “Before, you asked about Rothermel. He is the Keeper of Melor and the protector of all who feel their daylights most distinctly among green, growing things.”

Knox pondered this for a minute, then asked, “Do I have daylights?”

“Of course, but until now you have been unaware of them. Such is the way with outliers. Your daylights will gain in strength the longer you are here. And if you are lucky, someday soon, they will speak to you clearly and you will hear them.”

“So you're telling me that it was my daylights that helped me fight?” Knox questioned.

Seaborne nodded. “Tinator is descended from the first Aydans. He is very powerful and can summon his daylights at will—bring them to the surface, if you like—so that your daylights would respond in turn and you might sense them with ease.”

“Whoa,” said Knox, reliving the current of energy that had swept over him. He looked sideways at Seaborne. “How powerful are you?”

“Not so. I was not born on Ayda. It took me many years to learn to draw upon my daylights, to hear their calling. As I told you, I came ashore to the east, in Metria, and for a long time I tried to deny my daylights and make those lands my home. I loved it very much, and the Keeper of Metria, who is called Rysta, raised me as her own.” Seaborne's forehead crumpled in thought. “But it was not to be. My daylights speak loudest and clearest to me in Melor. I am a Melorian at heart.”

Knox gave Seaborne a quizzical look. “What do you think I am?”

“I do not know, lad; it is too soon to say. By the time you are full-grown, you will know where you belong. There are four realms in Ayda: Melor, Metria, Varuna, and Exor. All who live within a land are there because their daylights insist upon it and they, in turn, are subject to its Keeper.” Seaborne glanced up suddenly, shading his eyes from the sun that continued to burn away at the cloudy sky. He stood up.

“Come now, the others will want to know you are all right.”

“How old were you when you found out you were a Melorian?” asked Knox, standing up, too.

Seaborne looked puzzled, as though Knox had just asked him when he learned to fly.

“I have no earthly idea.”

“Well, how old are you now? We'll count back. You don't look older than, I don't know, fifty?”

Seaborne's laughed. “Ahh, lad, you still see Ayda with eyes from beyond the fog. The daylights are stronger here so the body does not sicken or age as quickly as it does there. I am certain I am far older than fifty.”

Knox stopped. “How old do you think you are then?”

Seaborne paused in thought, counting on his fingers.

“I cannot say, truly—I was put on a ship as a cot boy during an age when men battled at sea, that much I remember. I can still see her name on the stern, written in gold: the HMS
Cavalier
. She did not deserve her fate, I will tell you that much; but then, not many do.”

Knox thought back to a time when battles were fought at sea, before airplanes and missiles. He snorted.

“That's ridiculous! You're saying you're two hundred years old! Nobody lives that long.” He couldn't wait to tell Chase.

Seaborne looked at him sideways, saying nothing.

Knox bit his lip. “Is that how you got the sword?”

Seaborne's expression tightened. “From my officer, the one I served—but that is not important. The daylights are what is important.”

They walked a few steps together in silence.

“So let me get this right,” Knox blurted. “On Ayda the daylights are like superpowers or something. They make everyone immortal?” His voice rose in excitement. “And I have some?”

“I'm not explaining this well,” sighed Seaborne. “
We
are not immortal— the daylights are. They give one's vessel strength and guidance, but they do not abide in one form forever. The daylights return eventually to their source and are reborn in another form. I will die one day, as everything dies, when my daylights fragment.”

“So they're recyclable. Is that what you're saying? But not for a long, long time?” asked Knox.

Seaborne frowned. “Re-cycla-ble? I do not know this word.”

“Forget it, it's okay. It's new—well, at least it would be to you, since you're, like, uh, really, very, extremely old,” stammered Knox, backing away and almost falling in his hurry to get back to the others.

Seaborne called after him, “I'm not that old!”

Knox sprinted across the clearing.

“Evelyn, let me see your cut!”

She removed the leaf pressed against her cut and lifted her finger. The skin was untouched; no visible cut at all.

Knox whirled around to Chase, who was still cupping his hand over his lip and nose.

“Chase! Your lip! Let me see it!”

Chase was in no mood to do anything for Knox, but his brother's wild expression made him curious, so he brought his hand down. His nose had stopped bleeding, and now his split lip had reknit with fresh, pink skin.

“Holy crap! They're working!” Knox jigged around on one foot. “The daylights are working! We're going to live forever!”

Chase and Evelyn exchanged looks.

“What are you saying, Knox?” Evelyn asked gently, as if she were talking to a lunatic.

Knox repeated everything Seaborne had told him.

“What a bunch of crap. No way,” scoffed Chase. He twirled one of Teddy's braids with his fingers.

Evelyn and Frankie remained silent.

Knox shrugged. “Look at how fast you and Evelyn healed … and my black eye. You said it was gone! And
something
helped me to fight Tinator.”

“You were cool, Knoxth,” said Teddy.

Knox gently fist-bumped his little brother and mumbled in Chase's direction, “Yeah, uh, I'm sorry about before. Don't hate me, Teddy—okay?”

Teddy nodded.

“It
was
brave, Knox—very stupid, as usual, but, brave,” admitted Chase.

“Brave, maybe, but needless,” said Seaborne, catching up to Knox. “Tinator was already aware of your strength—and your courage.”

“Sure he is—now!” crowed Knox.

Seaborne caught him by the elbow. “Mind yourself, lad. Perhaps one day you will become a great warrior like Tinator, or a great hunter, like Duon, but do not fool yourself. The daylights do not always have a choice when to fragment—sometimes that choice is made by another. Tinator could have killed you today with a flick of his wrist. Everything that occurred here today was by his design.”

“What about his arm?” Knox pointed out.

Seaborne sighed, exasperated. “If you persist in only looking at what is on the surface and not
seeing
, you will never find your way.”

“And where would that be?” Knox asked rudely. “Home?”

Seaborne frowned. “To the place you are meant to be, lad. That should be home enough for anyone.”

Back at the cabin, Tinator motioned to Chase to follow him out of earshot of the others. There, Tinator handed him the sword.

“I thought Knox won it. He drew first blood,” said Chase. He tried to sound like he didn't care.

“There are many different kinds of strength,” Tinator replied. “Such a blade as this is safest in the hands of one more reluctant to use it. Drawing blood is easy; deciding when it is necessary is not.”

Chase studied Tinator out of the corner of his eye, not sure he could trust this sudden kindness. His black hair showed no signs of gray, but his dark brown face was as worn as the tree trunks surrounding the clearing, and his high forehead was rutted by deep horizontal lines. Despite what Seaborne said, Tinator definitely appeared older than the other Melorians.

“So I should have the sword, but I shouldn't use it,” said Chase.

Tinator caught his eye and said gently, “Perhaps you'll be lucky enough never to have to.”

Chase did another double take. Maybe Seaborne was telling the truth, and the whole thing this morning really had been an act. He felt the reassuring heat of the sun on his back and lifted his eyes. The sky was a deep indigo blue above the tall tops of the trees. No clouds. No fog—at least as far as he could see. He decided to push this nicer Tinator with a question.

“Is it true that no one ever leaves Ayda?”

Tinator was silent.

“What about my parents, and Evelyn and Frankie's grandmother? How would you feel if Calla just dis—”

“Do not speak of such things!” Tinator cut him off, roaring back into his old, ferocious self. “Do not call misfortune upon my family!” He spit and ground the spittle into the earth under his moccasin. “May your words fall into the earth like rain and never be heard again!” He then stepped uncomfortably close to Chase. The top of Chase's head came up to Tinator's shoulder—a difference in size that seemed to have an effect on the older man. He turned away, studying the ground.

Chase waited and watched, wondering if Tinator expected the grass to answer. When Tinator faced him again, his expression was unyielding.

“Hear this, eldest. All that you once knew is forever divided from you. You will never return from whence you came, nor will your people find you. You are beyond their reach. Your survival here depends on how well you and your kin accept this fact. You must learn our ways if you wish to keep your family protected. Ayda lives under a shadow of menace. Nowhere is this felt more keenly than in Melor. Our enemies in Exor do not hesitate to reach across our border and take what they want, including children. You must be vigilant. What matters now is not the past; it is how you behave in the present.” He turned on his heel. “Enough talk—you have work to do to earn your keep.”

Chase followed him slowly back across the clearing. A puff of wind scattered his bangs, raking the grass and bringing with it the sweet smell of pine and earth. He inhaled deeply, then looked down at his outfit and the heavy sword at his hip. It was as if they were all in some kind of make-believe game gone dreadfully wrong—the kind of game he and Knox used to play, where they imagined they were pirates or knights and had to rescue one of their stuffed animals. But this was
real
. He really did have a sword at his hip. Knox had already been in a duel. If this was a game, it was deadly serious. He didn't know whether to laugh or start bawling.