Chapter One
I stood on the precipice, not knowing that this
humid day would be the one when I finally met the man who held the key to my
past. The key to who I was. Beyond just an orphan in Killybeg. That day,
oblivious to my destiny, I was planning an incredible journey, though it wasn’t
the one fate was planning for me.
Can I really leave behind everything I know? I wondered miserably.
I’d been plotting an
adventure with my best friend Wyn for as long as I could remember. “The Great
and Mighty Voyage,” he called it. Going across the sea, leaving behind our
boring existence to do, to be something grand … it was my greatest dream. So why was it that now, when Wyn
was finally taking it so seriously, making plans, counting money, I felt a
nervousness in my bones that threatened to undo me?
I looked down from
Diamond’s Peak, the ocean, a great unknown, glittering to my right, the waves a
sapphire as deep and clear as the gems mined all over Lorrha. Nestled into the
shadow of the little mountain I stood upon, the town of Killybeg stretched out
before me like a well-worn blanket. Familiar, comfortable – almost
stiflingly so – and yet …
“Ruby!”
My dark curls swirled
across my vision as I spun back toward the bakery, and my breath hitched. The scones!
My dusty leather boots, my
only pair of shoes, scrabbled over the rocky ground to the squat, white stucco
building, which sat overlooking the ocean and town like a beacon to weary
travelers and townspeople alike. That is, if the town ever had any visitors. It didn’t. At least not that I could remember. No
matter how long I watched the waves, no boats ever breached the horizon. A
remote, craggy outcropping in the far western corner of Lorrha didn’t exactly attract
exotic visitors. Not even people from the East cared to visit Killybeg, not
when it was flanked by a haunted wood and about a million miles of bog.
When I arrived in the
bakery, Sarah stood in front of the oven, a tray of blackened lumps in her
hands. “You’ll daydream us both to poverty, dearie.” She wasn’t scolding; she
never scolded me. Instead, she sounded almost wistful.
“I’m so sorry!” I cried,
wringing my hands on the dirty white apron she insisted I wear over my clothes.
As if my tattered dresses could be any more ruined by a bit of flour. “I was
just … I just put them in, and then I was thinking … and … I’m sorry.”
“It’s my own fault, child.
You’ve been working long enough today.” Tiny wisps of tawny hair escaped her
bun as she sighed and hung the tray out the open window, letting the ruined
scones fall to their death. The sea breeze pushed its way into the tiny bakery,
bringing the temperature down to something near bearable. It had been Sarah’s
own husband, God rest his soul, who first had the idea to perch the bakery on
the sea cliff overlooking the town. Killybeg could be stifling hot in the
summers, but that was no excuse to turn off the oven, he said. And so, thanks
to the ever-present breeze, the townspeople had bread to eat no matter the
temperature.
“Just let me make a new
batch,” I suggested, guilty, moving toward the wooden counter that ringed the
tiny room. It was the second time that week I’d ruined the scones, and I hated
disappointing Sarah. Not to mention Maisie, who had been the first to take in
the little impoverished orphan from elsewhere. Parents dead by the savagery of
the sea, I’d been the most pitiful thing in the world, or so Maisie said.
That’s how I’d ended up in her tiny azure cottage, Sarah and Wyn next door. The
two older women, together, made one formidable pair of mothering hens. And here
I’d disappointed them both. Again .
“No, no, child.” Sarah
stepped in front of me and shooed me toward the door. “You’ve been up here
since dawn. Go find Wyn. He’s in the fields, I think.”
Guilt, as heavy as a lob of
dough, settled in my stomach, but the nurturing, motherly smile Sarah threw my
way
I stood on the precipice, not knowing that this
humid day would be the one when I finally met the man who held the key to my
past. The key to who I was. Beyond just an orphan in Killybeg. That day,
oblivious to my destiny, I was planning an incredible journey, though it wasn’t
the one fate was planning for me.
Can I really leave behind everything I know? I wondered miserably.
I’d been plotting an
adventure with my best friend Wyn for as long as I could remember. “The Great
and Mighty Voyage,” he called it. Going across the sea, leaving behind our
boring existence to do, to be something grand … it was my greatest dream. So why was it that now, when Wyn
was finally taking it so seriously, making plans, counting money, I felt a
nervousness in my bones that threatened to undo me?
I looked down from
Diamond’s Peak, the ocean, a great unknown, glittering to my right, the waves a
sapphire as deep and clear as the gems mined all over Lorrha. Nestled into the
shadow of the little mountain I stood upon, the town of Killybeg stretched out
before me like a well-worn blanket. Familiar, comfortable – almost
stiflingly so – and yet …
“Ruby!”
My dark curls swirled
across my vision as I spun back toward the bakery, and my breath hitched. The scones!
My dusty leather boots, my
only pair of shoes, scrabbled over the rocky ground to the squat, white stucco
building, which sat overlooking the ocean and town like a beacon to weary
travelers and townspeople alike. That is, if the town ever had any visitors. It didn’t. At least not that I could remember. No
matter how long I watched the waves, no boats ever breached the horizon. A
remote, craggy outcropping in the far western corner of Lorrha didn’t exactly attract
exotic visitors. Not even people from the East cared to visit Killybeg, not
when it was flanked by a haunted wood and about a million miles of bog.
When I arrived in the
bakery, Sarah stood in front of the oven, a tray of blackened lumps in her
hands. “You’ll daydream us both to poverty, dearie.” She wasn’t scolding; she
never scolded me. Instead, she sounded almost wistful.
“I’m so sorry!” I cried,
wringing my hands on the dirty white apron she insisted I wear over my clothes.
As if my tattered dresses could be any more ruined by a bit of flour. “I was
just … I just put them in, and then I was thinking … and … I’m sorry.”
“It’s my own fault, child.
You’ve been working long enough today.” Tiny wisps of tawny hair escaped her
bun as she sighed and hung the tray out the open window, letting the ruined
scones fall to their death. The sea breeze pushed its way into the tiny bakery,
bringing the temperature down to something near bearable. It had been Sarah’s
own husband, God rest his soul, who first had the idea to perch the bakery on
the sea cliff overlooking the town. Killybeg could be stifling hot in the
summers, but that was no excuse to turn off the oven, he said. And so, thanks
to the ever-present breeze, the townspeople had bread to eat no matter the
temperature.
“Just let me make a new
batch,” I suggested, guilty, moving toward the wooden counter that ringed the
tiny room. It was the second time that week I’d ruined the scones, and I hated
disappointing Sarah. Not to mention Maisie, who had been the first to take in
the little impoverished orphan from elsewhere. Parents dead by the savagery of
the sea, I’d been the most pitiful thing in the world, or so Maisie said.
That’s how I’d ended up in her tiny azure cottage, Sarah and Wyn next door. The
two older women, together, made one formidable pair of mothering hens. And here
I’d disappointed them both. Again .
“No, no, child.” Sarah
stepped in front of me and shooed me toward the door. “You’ve been up here
since dawn. Go find Wyn. He’s in the fields, I think.”
Guilt, as heavy as a lob of
dough, settled in my stomach, but the nurturing, motherly smile Sarah threw my
way
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