Yorda clutched her father’s gold signet ring tightly to her chest. Fighting back the tears, she stood straight and spoke, her voice piercing the moonlit silence. “I understand, Father. I will go to the Tower of Winds. And I will free you!”
How cruel a father I am to ask this trial of you. You must do more than free me, you must free this entire kingdom from the clutches of the Dark God. My brave daughter, you must climb the Tower of Winds and there claim the true light.
“The true light?”
It was her first time hearing the words. “What is that? Is it something in the Tower of Winds? Does it wield some power over the Dark God-over my mother?”
In the silence that followed, Yorda’s conviction grew. It must be true. That was why her father’s suffering was so deep. He wanted her to destroy her own mother.
The light searches for you, her father’s voice said at length. Be careful, Yorda. The queen is wary. She must not be watching when you go to the tower.
…How many times my heart told me that you were better off not knowing, your true eye closed, spending your days in peace.
“No father, that’s not true. I’m glad I know the truth.”
Then I pray the Creator will protect you and give you courage. And, her father added in a voice grown thin and weak, though it is not how I would have wished to see you again, I am glad we could meet once more, Yorda. I love you.
Then Yorda felt his presence leave, receding swiftly into the distance.
This was goodbye.
11
THE FOLLOWING DAY was the final day of the tournament. Yorda used the magic pebble before dawn had broken, and by the time she had finished her morning routine and come out to the trolley, Ozuma was already waiting for her.
That morning, Ozuma was wearing a fresh chain-mail vest and new gauntlets on his hands. While it was normal for a swordsman to replace worn equipment, to don new and untried gear the morning of such an important bout was a bold move. Yorda took it as a sign of confidence.
Yorda had placed her father’s signet ring on a silver chain, which she wore around her neck. She pulled it out now, showing it to Ozuma, and told him of the events of the previous night. Ozuma appeared genuinely startled when she produced the ring. He was clearly pleased. But not as pleased as he was to hear Yorda tell of the true light her father had mentioned.
Ozuma’s eyes opened wide. Yorda did not think the stoic knight capable of such surprise. “Sir Ozuma, do you know what the true light is?”
“The priest-king of the Holy Zagrenda-Sol Empire gathered many scholars together over the last few years,” Ozuma said. “Their purpose was none other than to define exactly what would be required to prevent the Dark God’s revival and destroy his child.”
“Did they discover anything?”
“Yes.” Ozuma nodded. “The Book of Light.”
“A book?” Yorda asked, somewhat taken aback. Demons were supposed to be banished with great swords or strokes of lightning-not books.
“It is a magical tome. In it are inscribed the spells that were used to stop the Dark God from rising in ancient times. Were a sword to be engraved with those spells and imbued with magical power, it could drive back the Dark God-or so they say.”
Suddenly, all became clear to Yorda. “That’s it!” she said, feeling her heart grow lighter. “The Book of Light is in the Tower of Winds, I’m sure of it! Why else would my mother hide it and surround it with guardians?”
“It would make sense,” Ozuma agreed. His face was stern, but his eyes sparkled the same as Yorda’s. “Because this book was created so long ago, no one knows where it rests-or if it has survived at all. If it is here, in the Tower of Winds, that would be a tremendous boon.”
Yorda clenched her hands into fists. “Then I will find it and retrieve it! I will drive back the Dark God!”
Ozuma’s lips drew together, and he stared at her. In silence, he shook his head. Yorda saw in his face the same emotion she had sensed in her father’s hesitation the night before.
“It is I who should go to the Tower of Winds,” he said at length.
“No,” Yorda cut him off. “This is something that I must do. That is why my father risked alerting the queen by appearing before me. That is why he came to me with this task.”
After saying her farewells to her father the night before, Yorda had lain in bed sleepless, consumed by her thoughts. She struggled with her father’s suffering and the love that still remained in her heart toward her mother. Now there was no doubt in her mind. “I am the heir to the throne of my kingdom. I must protect this land and its people from the Dark God. That is my duty as its future ruler.” Yorda stood straight and tall, her voice ringing clear. “You requested my help because of the revelation, and my help you will receive. But do not be mistaken. I do not act at your behest. Nor do I ally myself with the Holy Zagrenda-Sol Empire or take orders from your priest-king. I am merely carrying out my duties as sovereign-in-waiting.”
Ozuma blinked, as though looking at the sun as it emerged from behind a cloud.
“If I’m able to defeat the Dark God and ruin his plans of revival, then perhaps I will be able to save my mother as well.”
“Save the queen? How?”
“My mother is the child of the Dark God, she has said so herself. Yet she did love my father, and she did bear a child of her own. She is as much a woman of this world as a servant of the other. When the Dark God has been driven back, I pray that the darkness will release her. Like this country, a curse lies upon my mother. That is what I must try to break. That is my battle.”
Yorda smiled, feeling more in control of her own destiny than ever before. “That is why, Sir Ozuma, I would beg your assistance. Your skill as a swordsman is of great use to me.” Yorda extended her hand toward Ozuma, as a queen does to her loyal servant.
The wind whipped at Yorda’s hair as she stood staring up at the aging, desolate tower.
She could feel the weight of her father’s ring on her breast. When she picked it up in her fingers and lifted it, it sparkled in the sunlight.
The sky above was deep blue and free of clouds, and the sea below reflected its light. Tiny waves sparkled across the water as white flocks of seabirds wheeled in the sky, flecks of paint against the sky’s azure canvas.
She walked across the stone bridge, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder. She had heard a snatch of cheering mingled in with the howling of the wind.
The Eastern Arena was beyond the castle proper. That she could hear the roar of the crowd from this distance meant that their excitement had reached new heights on this final day of the tournament.
Just then, Ozuma and his final opponent would be entering the ring. The spectators standing in the packed gallery around the arena floor would stand as one and applaud. She wondered for whom they would cheer, which contestant had inspired more of them to wager their hard-earned coin. The outcome of this match could make a significant difference in the weight of their money pouches.
She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and began walking again. Though she had walked here a hundred times before, today the distance to the tower seemed much greater.
As she approached, she spotted the shadows-that-walked-alone gathering by the windows. She wondered if they had come because they sensed her, or if they always stood there to look out on the world beyond the tower, much as she looked out of her chambers at the land and sea beyond the castle walls.
Now she faced the stone idols before the door to the tower. Yorda brought her feet together and raised her father’s ring. Pointing the mark on the ring toward the idols, she spoke in a high, clear voice.