Chapter 4 of
Radiance
by Lauren Stinton
[Click here to read chapter 1]
“How do you know my name?” Radiance asked.
The man just looked at her. Then he walked into the waves and sat down right beside her, so close she could have touched him. Water coursed over his trousers. In just seconds he appeared to be completely soaked from the waist down.
Radiance blinked in surprise. She could not imagine Mr. Liam sitting down in the water with her, but this man didn’t seem to mind having the sea in all his clothes. He actually let out a little sigh like he’d been waiting to sit down all day.
“I heard your teacher say it,” he explained at last. “He spoke it quite forcefully, in fact. My name is Hawk.”
“Like the bird?” she asked.
There was a smile in his voice as he replied, “Yes. Like the bird.” He paused. “I know that I offended you today when you asked if I was a flamemaker. I don’t know how I offended you, but I’m sorry I did. There are times when I say the wrong thing, and I’m not sure how it happens, because much of the time I know good words and how they should be said.”
Radiance glanced at him again. He was staring out across the sea, and she decided to forgive him because he looked at the water the same way she did. Also, he was sitting in the sea with her, and she couldn’t very well be upset with a man who was willing to sit with her in the sea.
“What are you?” she asked. “Your gift, I mean.”
His beard moved, and this time she saw his smile clearly in the moonlight. “My name doesn’t give it away?”
“Your name?”
“I am a hawk. A bird that loves the wind.”
Only one gift would find the wind so interesting. She sighed. “Oh…you’re a weathermaker?”
He laughed. “You don’t have to sound that disappointed.”
She stared at him and then—several seconds later—started laughing too. Maybe it was the saltwater, but she felt so very relaxed here, like a real person. He turned and grinned at her. The moonlight reflecting in his eyes told her he was pleased with her response, and she decided to forgive him every time he said the wrong thing, not just this time.
“I talked to the innkeeper today, and he told me about your school.” Hawk’s voice changed. “I’m sorry about your parents, Radiance. Sincerely. It is very sad to grow up alone.”
There was something in his voice that made her want to study him closely. He sounded like he knew. Like he wasn’t only being sympathetic. He was looking out to sea again, and she thought—it was just a sense—that he might be able to understand her more than anyone else could. She eased toward him. “Are your parents dead too?”
He hesitated before shaking his head. “No, but I have not seen them in a long time. Since long before you were born.”
“Why? Did something happen? Did you fight?” She knew that happened with adults sometimes. They fought about things, and sometimes they were sorry about it later.
He leaned back, putting his weight on his hands buried in the watery sand behind him. “That’s a long story. Perhaps I will tell it to you sometime.” He frowned. “Look, Radiance. How long have you been at the Marble Town School for Girls?”
“A long time.”
“How long is a long time?”
“Years and years. I can’t remember living any other place. Where were you born? You have an accent.”
His head slowly turned, and he gave her his full attention. His eyes narrowed, and his head tipped to the side like he needed to study her from a different angle.
When he spoke next, she took a quick breath because she didn’t know any of the words. The language seemed to flow with the sea. It rose up and down like waves and somehow seemed salty and windy both at once. Because it reminded her of the sea, she instantly loved it.
“Is that the language they speak where you were born?” she asked.
His frown deepened.
A funny little feeling began creeping in behind her ribs, and she pulled away from him, just enough to see the whole picture of him, even his knees. “What is it?”
“Surely,” he began then seemed to run out of words. “Surely you know, Radiance. Don’t you know? You’re ten years old. That’s more than old enough.”
“I am eight years old,” she corrected.
He waved the correction away. “Eight years, ten years—the same thing in this instance. You don’t remember your life before the school? There must be something.” He rubbed his chin through his beard and asked, “Did you recognize any of the words I just said to you?”
Confusion burned in her chest, but she tried to ignore it. “Why would I recognize any of the words? That’s not my language. That’s your language. And you still haven’t told me where you’re from.”
“I am from Theraine.”
“Oh. I’ve never been there.”
He sighed deeply and murmured, “Of course you haven’t.”
“I never knew how beautiful the language is. It’s like the sea, isn’t it?”
He grunted. “More than you expect, I think.”
She patted the water as if it were a little puppy. “This is my first time to see the sea.”
“Yes, I know.”
Her brows jumped up. “You do?”
He was a quiet a moment. “I heard what you said just now. To the sea. About your parents. I’m sorry you feel tired all the time at your school in Marble Town. I suppose no one has taken you to see a healer about it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sick—I’m just tired. And I think they like that I’m tired because I cause trouble when I’m not tired.”
Hawk sighed again. She thought he sounded upset on her behalf, which pleased her very much.
“Oh, I cause plenty of trouble.” She nodded solemnly. “I’m out here, aren’t I? Mrs. Semos said we were supposed to be sleeping, but I’m not sleeping at all. We’re touring the outpost tomorrow, you see. It’s the reason my class is here.” Not because of the sea, but because of the outpost. Very sad.
“But I suppose you saw the sea for the first time and loved it and couldn’t stay away.”
All the air rolled from her lungs as she looked at him. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s it exactly.”
He turned back to the water. After a long moment, with the sea murmuring all around them and the promise of e’nethaine somewhere out there in the currents, Hawk said at last, “I know. I love the sea too.”
– R –
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Copyright notice: © 2019 by Lauren Stinton. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.