To Fly the Soaring Tides

Weeks of surviving on fish had the girl’s stomach twisted in knots, but a lush forest thrived at this new destination. She could not, however, callously plunder it for its bounty. On the other side of this island was a fully developed and impressively built village of wood. As she approached, the gates cracked open and a small group of men wielding wooden spears walked towards her cautiously. They wore clothes of dull color with leather sewn around their vitals—more like hunters than guards.

“Hold there, traveler,” An older man spoke in a gruff voice through his coarse beard, “I am chief of this village, Sam. What business has brought you here?”

Many places Cira had been didn’t see much in the way of visitors, and greeted them with suspicion, but it was only natural. She gave them a variation of the same spiel most received, “I’m a travelling sorcerer, looking to trade my services for food. Call me Cira.” I also accept treasure, just not today.

She pinched the sides of her silken dress and performed a curtsy. Some of Cira’s robes were enchanted but she chose a simple green dress today because the forest excited her so. Most of a sorcerer’s image was in the hat anyhow. And as a healthy young woman, she had a smile that set others at ease.

The men exchanged looks and breathed a collective sigh of relief, “A sorcerer, I see. That explains the strange clothes and your… home? We don’t get many travelers around these days. I can’t say there’s much work for a sorcerer unless you plan to stick around after the festival.”

An important part of travelling was indulging in local customs. Cira’s father taught her never to let a chance celebration pass. As such events usually didn’t happen often, it was a sign of good luck to stumble upon one. Allegedly. That said, Cira had her apprehensions. Luck wasn’t often good or bad, it was a mixed bag.

“A festival, is it? What are you celebrating?” She asked, moving closer so nobody had to yell.

“The history of our people and their efforts. The past and future of this island.” Cira noticed the chief’s companions all light up, a fire burning in their hearts when he started talking, “We hold it once a generation to celebrate our way of life, the essence of change and unity. It’s a time of rebirth. So those that follow may learn from our toils and bring ever greater prosperity to this island, we step down for the next generation to start over with a clean slate. It must truly be fate that you’ve arrived at this time. Would you like to join us for the festival?”

Cira twirled a lock of golden hair as she considered, “Your culture sounds fascinating. When is the festival?”

“In just three days’ time, at sunset.”

Using everything that she’d learned, the answer was obvious, “I’d be a fool to pass it up when I’ve been so lucky with the timing. Count me in.” And with that it was settled. Most destinations were either boring or dangerous, but this one was shaping up to be a nice stay. Cira needed a vacation that didn’t involve sitting at home among the clouds.

They were all happy to hear it and shared their own excitement to have a guest before Sam continued, “Come to think of it, we could use some help setting up. Won’t be very magical work but it’ll earn you some meals.”

With that, Cira was just as happy and readily agreed. A signal from their chief to someone in the watchtower and the gates rolled open, knocking rhythmically as the mechanism swung along its path. She marveled at the buildings inside, each one uniquely crafted with planks or precisely shaped logs. Every structure had its own flair to it. Some had pillars at the corners with intricate designs carved into them, while others had looming towers or grand doorways. Some homes hardly looked like wood at all.

Cira had never seen such grand displays of craftsmanship and could only imagine how many decades it must have taken to build. Everywhere she looked there were new details that somebody personally worked on. As if every inch of this village was handcrafted by an artist. Hundreds of them, from the looks of it.

“Is everything here made of wood? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a beautiful town.” It felt wrong calling this a mere village.

“Oh, you flatter us,” Sam replied, “Aside from some tools we’ve yet to replace for farming, cooking, and woodcraft of course, we make everything from wood. The trees in our forest grow sturdy and they grow fast. That forest you saw is only thirty years old.”

Cira’s eyes widened in surprise. The forest had looked like old growth when she looked down on it with her spyglass. Gentle streams nestled behind verdant canopies, hosting a rich variety of plants and wildlife. One could hear the songs of different birds from as far away as the village center.

It was a sprawling pavilion paved entirely in wood, lined with benches and garden plots. People going about their daily business strode past smiling, exchanging pleasantries or admiring her dress.

Many people she saw were building something or otherwise carving wood, while others did laundry by the well or shook out rugs. Suddenly Cira saw smoke nearby and the aroma of spiced meat filled the air.

“Since you’re here so early, why not join us for breakfast?” One of the other men asked.

“Good idea,” Sam agreed while Cira did the same mentally, “Then we can get you started with some work today. Of course, we’ll feed you more later on.”

Cira lived a relatively sheltered life, despite everything, and wasn’t suspicious about the offer for a moment. She lit up, readily agreeing and complimenting how great it smelled from afar. She didn’t have to worry about them poisoning it, of course, for these were good-natured people. It could also be said Cira was just a good judge of character, though that trait was known to vary from place to place.

Following the smell of impending food, they found themselves at a massive longhouse that looked like you could turn it upside down and sail away. She received a warm traveler’s welcome from the village after being introduced by their chief. On one side of the hall were children and the younger folk impatiently waiting, and the rest of the tables were crammed with adults. Cira thought everyone in the village must be here.

It was clear they had a strong sense of community, which wasn’t uncommon for places like these—so isolated from others. Likewise, places that received few travelers or didn’t conduct much trade tended to be extremely self-reliant. This much could be seen everywhere you look in this village, along with the pride the people here took in it.

The hall bustled with life, people laughing together or talking about their work for the day, smiles on all their faces. They seemed especially excited about the festival and getting it ready. Cira tried to listen in but it just sounded like a lot of hard work and building. She was no stranger to manual labor, but it wasn’t her favorite. However, there were two very good reasons for her to overlook that spinning over a fire.

Wild boar was something of a delicacy to Cira, who didn’t have much freedom over her diet. It could often be too chewy or have a rather robust taste. But these were large, healthy boars that had likely been caught just outside the village earlier. She was inclined to believe it would be everything she had hoped for.

And it was. Though she found it a little hearty for breakfast, Cira savored the long-awaited meal and got to know some of the villagers. Most were farmers who took care of the stretch of land between the village and the forest, but sewing and basket weaving were common occupations here too. The hunters were comprised of villagers who had spare time and experience. Of course, all of them did some manner of woodcraft.

Everyone shared in this village, so everyone always had what they needed. Nobody went hungry. Leftovers were either scattered through the forest or used to bait the next meal.

As they chatted the morning away and engorged themselves with a proper feast, a whistle sounded abruptly from back towards the pavilion. Then another of a slightly different tone. Suddenly a chorus of chimes resounded, and Cira looked around to find she was the only one surprised.

“Is that… a song?” She asked.

“That means it’s time for work.” Sam said, “But you should see this! All the travelers love it.”

Everybody put their plates in a pile, there were presumably people that took care of that every day, and the chief led Cira back to the village center. What before she thought was a wooden fountain with no water now spun around. Carved figures of men and women were bobbing up and down, rotating as if dancing as they all spun in a circle around a narrow spire in the center.

“What is this…?” Cira could only stare in awe, having no idea what she was looking at.

“It’s our village clock.” Sam beamed with his chin turned up in pride, “One of our greatest achievements. It sounds at the beginning of our day here and once again at the end, when we stop working. Those flutes there bob and weave in sequence to form a melody.”

Sam pointed behind each wooden man where there was a hollow shaft—the flutes. They would periodically jut upward forcing air through, ‘singing’ in perfect time with the dancing statuettes. They surrounded the central spire, which earlier she noticed had carvings of the sun and moon around it. Now, they formed a moving picture of the day and night trading places through the day.

“I’ve never seen anything like it…” She had a vague understanding of how clocks worked. Gears turn consistently and with a specific timing to keep the mechanism running ‘on time’. Trying to imagine the genius that would have to go in to making a clock sing and dance at the same time twice a day was making Cira’s head spin.

“Travelers always say that.” Sam was rightfully proud, and Cira didn’t blame him for looking a little smug. It was just that impressive. “But thank you for your kind words. This is our people’s pride.”

Once the melody died down, the chief offered some clothes for Cira to work in, expressing how terrible he’d feel if she ruined her clothes helping them out. Hers were nothing special, just some leaf green fabric she traded fish for then stitched together. On her head there was even a pointed hat of the same green with a brim around the edge to keep the sun out of her eyes.

Admittedly, she looked like a sorcerer rather than a carpenter, and didn’t want to be rude, so she accepted the clothes with gratitude. Afterward, Sam explained that today everyone would be moving wood around the village. He left her with a new group of friendly faces who were busy sawing felled trees into pieces about as long as they were tall. She was instructed to help load carts that others would wheel off to different places around town.

It was exhausting work, but Cira gave up on the vacation and put her back into it, rising to the challenge. It was a challenge not of will nor magical prowess, but of strength and endurance. Sweat soaked through her clothes as the sun wore on and she could feel how bad her body would ache the next day. She quickly found herself taking a break under the shade of a yet-felled tree.

“Here, drink up!” A girl too young to carry logs handed her a wood-carved cup of water. These girls wore bright colors with flowers in their hair and straw sunhats, running around with pitchers for everyone to take breaks regularly. The kids were more excited than all for the festival. It was a sight they wouldn’t see again until they were nearing the end of their life.

How lucky I am to stumble upon once in a lifetime events like this. Dad said these memories were the treasures he sought most up here. Though I wonder how hard he ever had to work for them.

With the extra support, Cira was able to keep getting back up and hefting one log at a time into the cart. They weren’t massive stumps, but they weren’t small enough that the larger men could carry multiple either. Everyone had the same work to do, even if Cira was moving a little slower. The group she was helping didn’t pay it any mind though, applauding her efforts, “You sure know how to keep at it! Still, I can’t believe Sam didn’t make you a water girl.”

Midway through the day they had a picnic of more boar with a salad this time. The villagers all continued their work with gusto while Cira was slowly losing her momentum. It was a rare clear day at this low altitude and the sun spared no mercy for the thin, young sorcerer. Her weary body, unaccustomed to a full day of rigorous work in the heat.

She took another breather under the tree and the first water girl from that morning ran up right when the melodic chimes from across town rose up. The corner of the water girl’s eyes crinkled in a smile. She laughed and clapped her hands, “You made it! Great job, Miss! I wanna be pretty and strong like you too one day!”

Cira found the clock’s second song to be far more soothing. Its descending tune and slower tempo ushered in the time for rest.

A much more gratifying dinner followed after Cira and her new friends migrated back to the longhouse, then she made it home as the last light of day fell beyond the distant clouds.

Her humble cottage with its single tower was a silhouette against the dusk and the garden she’d kept for so many years soaked up the last of sun’s remnants to line her path in splashes of vibrant color. Wearing a strained smile, she used the last of her energy to crawl up the stairs and through the door, collapsing on the couch right inside with no hesitation.

I’m so glad I found a normal island for once, was Cira’s last thought as sleep took her.