Chapter 7 The Wave

The light in Zorrik's eyes glowed brighter and brighter, and then began to swirl. His breathing deepened and slowed until his body felt like it might float away. Then he turned from the mirror and picked up a small seashell from his shelf, before moving to his tiny kitchen. There was a basin sitting on the counter with a shallow pool of water in it. He carefully set the seashell into the water, but it didn't sink. It only broke the surface and started to slip to the bottom of the basin, but then it stopped and floated back to the top. Zorrik took another deep breath and held it. Then he reached toward the water, feeling a vibration between him and the liquid, and slowly a stream began to swirl up from the basin. The seashell road on top of the tiny wave until it was about a foot in the air. It stayed there, hanging in the air for a few moments, and then just as suddenly as the water had risen out of the air, it fell back into the basin, splashing over the edges and onto the counter.

Zorrik let out his breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had returned to their normal deep amber. He looked down at the seashell and then scooped it up out of the basin. He put it back in its place on his shelf, and then mopped up the water on his kitchen counter. He looked around his small dwelling and then opened the shutters on the only window in the room. Though the walls of the Royal Palace obscured much of the view, he could still make out the deep purple and pink of the lightening sky. As much as he would have liked to watch the dawn come, he was tired now and needed rest.

Zorrik pulled on some light sleeping clothes, as the early morning had grown chilly now, and then lay down on his stiff mattress. He pulled the sheet over him and quickly fell into a deep slumber.

Tall sandstone pillars, topped with green, leafy trees, filled the horizon as far as the eye could see. For millions of years, wind and water had swept through the surrounding canyons, carving the mountains there into narrow, otherworldly shapes. Though the footing was unsure and the soil sparse, the vegetation held on and even grew thick in some places. On the canyon floors, along the rivers, the trees were even thicker, creating a maze of jungle that grew all the way to the sea.

On the beach, the sounds of children playing and laughing were drowned out only by the crashing of waves on the sand. Small huts were built on platforms and stilts right on the water, and below each house sat a long canoe, carved from a single tree trunk. Some of the canoes were plain, but many of them were decorated, painted in the vibrant reds, blues, and greens of sea dragons. The boats were empty now, but soon enough they would be full of fish, the fishermen and women of Zytherion hauling in their catches. But that was for another day. Today was for celebrating. It was a major holiday for the Zytherian people.

Elders were already filling the large meeting house that sat on its own platform in the center of the village. The finishing touches were being put on large, though not quite life-size, models of sea dragons, and special species of fish, only eaten this time of the year, were being smoked in big pits on the beach. As the children laughed and played in the water, a few of the adults tried to round them up to help, but they all knew that the mission was pointless. The children would play until it was time to eat and listen to the stories of their ancestors and the sea dragons.

One of the children, a small boy with inquisitive eyes, wasn't playing with the others. He'd dug in the sand and swum in the cool waters of the sea for a while, but had since grown bored. Now he was sitting on the platform, above the steps that led to the beach. He watched the master craftspeople as they painted the last of the articulated, wooden sea dragon models. He was old enough to go fishing with his family now, and though the creatures could be shy, he'd been lucky enough to see a fully grown, bright red sea dragon on their last journey out. The models were impressive, but he didn't think anything would ever be as amazing as seeing the real thing.

"Zorrik!" he heard his mother call from the beach. "We're almost ready to eat."

He looked back at her and waved, then hurried down the steps to get a plateful of fish. The line for the feast lasted for half an hour, but once everyone had either eaten or had a plate in hand, the villagers made their way to the meeting house. The elders had been given their plates first and were now ready to tell their stories as the others ate and listened eagerly. Zorrik was in the front row, his interest in the culture of his people deeper than even his love for fish. His plate sat in his lap, almost forgotten, as the first story started.

The elder told of the days their people used to ride the dragons, how the creatures would let them float on them like boats. He was deep into the exciting parts, and the village was listening so raptly that barely anyone noticed the wave. It was the elder that heard it first, abruptly stopping his story mid-sentence. Murmurs went through the crowd, and then they all heard it.

Someone on the beach was yelling, "Wave!"

Zorrik's heart began to thump hard, and he swiveled his head, looking for his mother. Suddenly, everyone in the meeting house was scrambling to their feet, and the small boy was sure that he'd be trampled. He finally managed to get to his feet and out the door of the meeting house. It was chaos outside. Many people were running for the beach, but others had stopped and were staring out at the sea. Zorrik looked for his family, but there was still no sign of them. Then he turned and looked at the water. Waves and storms were not rare, and his people always weathered them, but even at Zorrik's young age, he knew that this wave would be different.