I moved on to the geography section. An expansive selection of books, varying in colour and thickness, occupied several shelves. A purple book caught my eye. I had to move closer to read its shimmering title, written in glossy gold.Design of the Waterways, twenty-first edition. I noticed that the publication date was eleven years ago, a year or so before the attack.
The queen and princess beheaded, powerless people from Ilma either turned to ash or turned to slaves. I wasn’t sure which fate was worse.
I sprawled the book on the table and went through chunks of text at an unusual speed. I skimmed through the history of the waterways, the agreements, the rules and regulations. I flipped through a detailed description of the waterway system, the tunnels and their dimensions. I read that the main channels’ measurements were three meters high and three meters wide. I imagined the speed and power at which water had travelled, the force of it. Now empty and dry. The Naaris didn’t leave the water stations intact, and even if they had, the Water Wielders’ powers were no longer tethered. They would still be unable to convert seawater into potable water.
I found it ironic that a book namedDesign of the Waterwaysdidn’t come with any designs. But as I was about to place the book back on its shelf, I noticed that the back of its hard cover was thicker than the front. When I opened it to the last page, I glimpsed a side compartment, in which I found a frail piece of paper. I unfolded its several layers.
A map.
The map was drawn beautifully, with detailed markings of the water outfalls. It also included depictions of the passageways, region coordinates, and to-scale measurements.
But was it beyond the Wellspring Oasis that the Seer expected me to venture?
The only thing I could relate my presumable hometown to the Wellspring Oasis was the closeness between the two.
Was my home somewhere close to the Wellspring Bridge? I would knock on every door if I had to.
And so I found myself following that vague lead.
I riffled through my bag and took out Aegir’s map of Lyrantheia. My finger found Kalnar. It was no more than a dot on the continental map. No streets, no boundaries, no sense of scale. I needed something more region-specific.
“Huh?” Before setting the map aside, I was surprised to see that Aegir’s map included the Unnar Caves. Most maps, especially recent ones, didn’t mention them at all. The living caves that Sand Priestess Constance had told us about—about how they were forgotten over time. The two favoured rumours contrasted one another—the first one went something like this: The caves hold something valuable, or rather invaluable, that after one finds it, it would lead to a passage to Dunehaven. A reward, hence the name Dunehaven. The other one went like this: Whoever enters the Unnar Caves does not come out. Some say the caves can choose to hide themselves, revealing their mouths only to those who truly believe they exist.
I abandoned the map and moved back to the shelves. My eyes roamed along the titles, until at last, I spotted a book on Kalnar. Its crisp, faded pages depicted regions, streets, and landmarks. I focused on the streets, the ones closest to the Wellspring Oasis. I read their names aloud, with the hopes that my tongue would justclick. It didn’t.
The more time I spent down there, the more I imagined myself knocking on every house in Kalnar, each tap stealing a piece of my brittle hope with it. I took notes on the uncertain, serpentine path that led me to the outskirts of Kalnar. I noticed a praying hall marked as one of the landmarks, not too far from the Wellspring Oasis. Praying halls meant that there would be houses close by. People.
I decided I needed to know how long it would take me to get there, so I worked out the distance and time calculations, just like we used to do during the teachings of geography and mathematics. If my calculations were correct, the praying hall was only one day, maybe a day and a half, away from the orphanage. The Wellspring Oasis, a few more hours to the west.
I knew that the oasis was close to the place I’d lived in for five years, but I never thought it wasthatclose.
By tomorrow night, I’d have an important decision to make. Return to the Sand Castle or blindly explore the city of Kalnar. The former felt like I would be going back to step zero, whereas the latter seemed irrational—far-fetched, even. But my options were sadly limited, unlike the buildup of my frustration, which seemed never-ending.
I stretched my neck and my arms, letting out a long huff of exhaustion. My lips pursed as I folded the Seer’s words, hiding the crumpled parchment in my pocket. Then I reached for Aegir’s map. My drowsy eyes snapped open at the two words that snatched my attention—a name lost in between many others.
Wrathwater Depths.
And right above it…Riptide Falls. My heart hammered against my rib cage. I blinked, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into different ones as if it was all a trick of the mind. But they didn’t—my answer was inscribed on the same map I’d been carrying in my bag for the past two days.
Beyond thedepths, beyond thefalls.
Good gods.I swallowed. Was it a mere coincidence? Or were the Seer’s words spoken truly? Did my answers lie on…Mistgeil Island? Was it there where people did not dare venture?
This changed things a great deal for me. For starters, the destination was now even more daring, the journey closer to impossible. To go on prohibited territory,by myself—the mere thought of it was nerve-wracking enough.
I vividly imagined thousands of Naari soldiers standing in my way, guarding the border of Ilma. I imagined myself being dragged away by fiery soldiers clad in red and black.
My lungs turned tight.
It was times like these that made me think of my surname as ironic. My heavy chest and cloudy thoughts gave me the need to sit down, face in my palms.
Why there?I kept asking myself. Yet I knew deep within my heart that there was only one way for me to find out.
CHAPTER 40
After breakfast, Selmira and I took a stroll towards the stable. With the sun fully risen and the bells tolling at a crescendo, nostalgia washed over me like a warm blanket. The curious children’s laughter, too, stirred whispers of old, innocent memories.
Later that morning, I sat on the guest bed, legs crossed. I placed the books and maps to my left, sewing material at my front, and to my right, the blemished Sand Warrior uniforms.
