I crouched and scooped up water, letting it run through my fingers. It was mere liquid now. How had it supported my weight moments ago? A fish splashed, catching the spark of the rising sun. A few seabirds cawed and swooped out over the waves. The brilliant human figure disappeared past the horizon. Had it all been a dream?

Hinges creaked behind me. Brantley emerged from the cottage, holding the Maker’s letter in one hand and rubbing sleep from his eyes with the other. “You’re up early. What did you find out last night? And why’d you leave this with me?”

He looked grumpy and disheveled, and my heart sank. Here was my first challenge, my first opportunity to tell someone the message with which the Maker had charged me, and I didn’t know where to begin. He would laugh in my face.

The lingering glow of the wondrous encounter coaxed me to set aside my fear, and I stepped forward. “It’s all true.” My words bubbled out. “I met the Maker. And He knew my name. I know it now. I’m Carya.”

In the rising sunlight, Brantley’s frown drew lines of shadow across his forehead. “Were you awake all night?”

“I . . . I think so. I finished the letter, then came out here to think. And He rode across the sea like the sun, and carried me to the sky above Meriel, and told me—”

“A dream?” Brantley pressed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Or a fever? You don’t feel warm.”

I placed my hand over his and met his gaze, willing him to believe me. “I don’t fully understand. But He spoke to me. He asked me to do exactly what Varney said: to remind the villages of the Maker.”

Brantley’s worried eyes studied mine, and he blew out a frustrated huff. “You’re a distraction. And you’re naive as a newborn. But the truth is, I’ve gotten used to you. I don’t want to see you harmed. If soldiers hear that you’re reviving these old myths . . .” A thread of desperation wove through his familiar tone of irritation. “Don’t do this. Please.”

The way his voice roughened almost made me believe he cared for me, even though he’d made it repeatedly clear he viewed me as a nuisance whom he’d only promised to help.

“You don’t need to worry.” I pressed my hand to his chest, trying to offer reassurance. His strong and steady heartbeat rose like distant drumbeats, inviting me to the steps of a new pattern.

“Well, I do worry.” A tendon flexed along his neck. “This course you’re on . . . you don’t understand the danger.”

How easy it would be to leave the letter with Varney, find my family in Undertow, and live a quiet life.

How impossible it would be to turn back, now that I’d touched the hand of the Maker, heard His voice of love, and ached with Him for the brokenness of our world.

“I have to try,” I said, stepping back from Brantley.

He thrust the bound parchment at me, as if it were a poisonous lanthrus plant. “I’m telling you, don’t take this on.”

A part of me wanted to beg his help. Yet the road before me would be full of danger, and I didn’t want him to bear the cost of this calling along with me.

And I hadn’t even told him the rest of my mission. If he knew that I would ultimately return to confront the Order, he’d probably send me to live with mad Dancer Subsun.

“Brantley, if you had seen Him you’d understand. I could read the letter to you—”

“I’ve got herding to do.” He stalked away.

I understood his anger and frustration, but it still hurt. We’d built trust between us in our flight from Middlemost, yet now he wouldn’t even listen.

While he and Navar were fishing, I used my old dancer hood scarf to bind the Maker’s letter to my chest beneath my tunic. The leather covers, my tunic, and my cloak would hopefully protect the pages from any weather.

After breakfast, Brantley banked the fire and left a pot of fish soup warming beside it. “Doesn’t look like Varney will come back until we’ve cleared out. Ready?”

Although exhaustion weighted my limbs and my eyes felt heavy and gritty, I nodded and walked outside.

Brantley bounded to the shore and stepped onto Navar’s waiting back. “We should make it to Windswell by nightfall.”

I managed a weary grin. “I’ve heard you say that before. You keep telling me we’re almost there, but then we aren’t.”

He laughed, some of his dull anger toward me washing away. “Ready to try standing today while we ride?”

“I’d better not. If I fell, the letter would get wet.”

A cloud blew across his features. “Right.” He didn’t even offer his hand as I stepped onto Navar and settled into my place near her neck.

We rode in strained silence for the first hour. The warm sun lulled me, and the repetitive swoosh of water brushing past soon had my eyelids drooping.

Hands grabbed my shoulders and tugged me upright, and I startled awake. “Wha-a . . . ?”

Brantley did nothing to hide his exasperation. “You were about to fall off.”

The cloudy depths of the ocean stared up at me, and I shuddered. If I’d sunk below the surface, I would have died, but even more terrifying, the Maker’s letter would have been lost.

Brantley lowered himself behind me. “Lean back. I’ll hold you.”

With his arms around me, I surrendered to my exhaustion. In spite of his frustration with me, Brantley was a good man. A very good man, I thought muzzily as I drifted off.

Sometime later, I was tempted to change my assessment. I opened my eyes and thought I was having another vision of flying over the world with the Maker. Then I woke fully and gasped. The ocean was a terrifying distance beneath us. I swiveled my head side to side, panicked.

Brantley’s chuckle rumbled against my back. “Figured you wouldn’t mind letting Navar glide if you weren’t awake to see it.” He leaned forward and peered around to check my expression. “We’ll get there faster if we let her glide.”

I swallowed, squeezing my legs against Navar’s back in a death grip, about to protest. Then I thought better of it. What good were my bold intentions of confronting the Order’s lies if I couldn’t show courage about smaller things? “Good plan,” I said, with only a small quaver.

He patted my shoulder. “Atta girl.”

Even terrifying challenges can become routine in time. Navar lowered to the surface, folded in her fins, gathered strength from the current, then soared again, expanding smooth wings and catching an invisible draft of air. The first few times, I fought back a scream. But soon I grew accustomed to her flights, and used the opportunity to scan the shoreline with a bird’s-eye view.

A day on the ocean had mellowed Brantley’s mood. “We’ll get there while the subsun is still high. A fine way to catch your first glimpse of Windswell.”

“You love your village.” I wondered if I’d feel the same when I was reunited with my family in Undertow. What would it feel like to have a place to belong that wasn’t the Order?

“A fine place. Until the day soldiers came for our girls.” His voice darkened.

My spirit tensed, wishing to hold back this story. Yet I had to know. “What happened?”

“He wouldn’t let them take his daughter. I don’t blame my brother for fighting. I would have done the same if I hadn’t been out to sea that day. Still it was foolish. They ran him through and tossed him in the sea.” Pain rasped in his throat. “Going up against a stronger force only ends in tragedy for everyone.”

No wonder he held disdain for my plans. He had wisdom born of experience. I squared my shoulders. I had truth born of the Maker. “Nolana said that . . . wait, what is her true name? Brianna never told me.”

“Orianna. A tiny bundle of mischief, much like her mother. An amazing woman.” His voice warmed with affection when he spoke of Bri, and an odd pang jabbed my heart.

“Cole loved her from the time we were all younglings. Everyone does.” Navar dipped sharply, and Brantley threw an arm around my waist to secure me. “They’ll love you, too. Windswell will be grateful you helped Bri and Orianna escape.”

“Or they’ll hate me for being a dancer from the Order.” We’d hidden my background in our stops at other villages. Although a few people had guessed, no one had confronted me. We wouldn’t have that luxury in Windswell. Not if Bri and Orianna had reached the village safely and told their tale. They knew me for who I’d been.

“I’ll set them straight.” Brantley kicked a splash of water skyward, and the droplets seemed to laugh as they scattered.

His good mood was infectious and helped me put my worries aside.

“See that crooked pine?” he asked a few minutes later.

I shielded my eyes and turned to see where he was pointing. “That one?”

“Marks the edge of the bay. Windswell will be coming into view right around that bend.”

Navar glided down to the surface and sliced through the water, swimming rapidly. Brantley sprang to his feet. His eager posture made me wonder if he’d dive in and try to race Navar.

Windswell nestled beside a gentle cove that curved inland and protected the area from the larger waves that rolled in from the outer sea. Children frolicked along the shore, in and out of the water like playful frogs. Set back from the rim, neat cottages clustered under the shade of persea and citrus trees, and flowers dotted footpaths and yards. There were no constrained rows of containers like the gardens of the Order, but I’d started to appreciate the asymmetry of plants growing where they wished.

A late-day breeze tickled strands loose from my braid, and I struggled to tuck them back into place, eager to make a good first impression.

A small boy prepared to dive from the tangleroot, but spotted us. He whooped, and soon all the children stopped their play to watch us approach. A few swam out to meet us, while others ran toward the homes.

Navar held her long neck high and proud at the admiring oohs and ahhs of the children.

“We’re home,” Brantley said with a depth of warmth and satisfaction I’d never heard from him before.

I adjusted my cloak. Would he drop me on land and go off to fish? How would I explain my presence? Part of me smiled and greeted the children splashing near us, while the other part of me battled the riotous currents in my stomach.

A small girl jumped up and down. “Uncle Brant!” With her hair wet and darker from playing in the water, it took me a moment to recognize Nolana—no, Orianna.

We slid into shore, and Brantley sprang onto land. “There you are!” he called.

Bri’s tousled blonde hair glinted as she ran from the gathering crowd and threw herself into Brantley’s arms. She’d embraced him in Middlemost when he’d returned Orianna to her, but at the time I assumed she was his sister. Now I saw a different sort of love between them. Of course. After Cole was killed, she’d turned to Brantley for help. He was her hero, and clearly more. A strange regret pinched my heart.

Brantley greeted old friends from all directions, completely forgetting about me. I fumbled my way off Navar’s back, landing on my hands and knees on the tangleroot. As I stood, my foot caught in my cloak and I stumbled, drawing giggles from the nearby children.

My travel companion glanced back, and his open, joyous expression dimmed. “Bri, you’ve already met—”

“Why’d you bring her here?” Brianna’s sharp gaze cut me in two. Then she addressed the wider group. “She’s a dancer.” She spoke the title as if it tasted of poison.

My worst nightmare. The warm friendly faces around us closed up like the petals of a morning glory at nightfall. Murmurs spread, all in dark tones.

I pressed my hands over my chest and felt the reassuring bundle of the Maker’s letter. I wasn’t here to seek their love. I was here to offer them the Maker’s love.

“Hello. My name is Carya of Undertow,” I said.

“Teacher!” Orianna tore herself away from Brantley and ran to me. I scooped her up into a hug. When she raised her head, she grinned at the gathered villagers. “She looked out for me.”

Brantley walked back and stood beside me, facing his friends and family. “She helped them escape. She’s no longer with the Order.”

“Well, where will we put her?” Bri’s eyebrows pulled together. “She can’t stay with you.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Brantley and I had traveled alone together for weeks. Fear for my life had overcome any squeamishness about propriety. Besides, as a dancer, I had long ago renounced the possibility of romance.

“Grandmother will keep her.” Orianna pointed to a cottage set deeper into the woods. “That way.”

The girl took my hand and drew me forward, but I paused in front of Bri to offer reassurance. “I won’t stay long. I have a message to bring, but then I’ll be on my way.”

Her glare didn’t soften.

Brantley frowned and spoke in a low voice. “I told you not to cause more danger for this village. Just keep quiet. Once I find out the situation here, I’ll take you on to Undertow. Then you can do what you want.”

I understood his concerns, but I could never ignore the task the Maker had given me. Especially here in Windswell where the letter had been protected for generations. They deserved to be the first to celebrate its rediscovery.

Before I could argue, Brantley turned away and asked one of the men how often soldiers had come through town, and how they’d hidden Orianna. As the child tugged me out of earshot, he was getting an update on the fish herds. Now that he was home, it looked like nothing would pry him away again. And after I defied him and told the village about the letter, he’d be even less likely to help me find Undertow.

“Teacher, look.” Orianna released my hand and performed a beautiful fern pattern turn, humming a melody while she moved.

Instinct made me stiffen, ready to object. Music, carefree movements outside the Order, bare feet padding along uncovered earth—all were taboos that I’d been indoctrinated against for years. Then I remembered how much of my training had been shown to be false. I smiled and joined her in the final turn. “You remember.”

“Ah, this one can’t stop dancing.” An older woman leaned against her doorframe, bent with age, but with crinkles fanning from her eyes. “Come away in. One of the younglings said Brantley brought a guest. My name is Fiola.”

“I’m Carya of Undertow. Orianna thought you might have room for me for a few nights.”

Orianna grinned, and tried a high-spirited kick. “Grandma, she was my teacher once. The only nice one.”

“Of course. My granddaughter told me all about you.” Fiola took my arm and led me into her neat cottage. Wooden plank walls stretched toward the thatched roof as if they were living trees supporting their branches. Dried herbs hung in tidy bundles high in the rafters. The arms of the chairs were worn smooth from years of use, and woven cushions invited guests to sink down for a rest. Shelves held pottery dishes and mugs, and colorful jars of elixirs or preserved food. The room exuded the same generous welcome as the grandmother’s face.

She guided me to a rocking chair near the hearth. “I’ll roll out an extra ticking, and you stay as long as you like. I’m ever so grateful you looked after Orianna.”

“The Order should never have taken her.”

Fiola presented me with a mug of tsalla, then settled into a chair beside me. Her pale eyes turned to me, tears welling. “I clung to Cole’s body until the soldiers carried him away and tossed him in the sea like garbage. I thought my heart couldn’t possibly beat any longer. Losing him and my sweet granddaughter was too much to bear. But then this little one returned to us.”

Orianna scrambled onto her lap, and Fiola pinched her cheek. “Off with you now, and let me get to know Carya.”

The girl skipped to the door, then turned back. “See you later.” Freckles lifted with her grin, and she ran outside.

“Are you hungry? I haven’t made supper yet, but I could stir up a batch of something for you.”

Her ready welcome reminded me of Ginerva, but Brantley’s mother was older, with bird-thin bones. Instead of a fluff of white hair, her head was crowned with a thin gray braid. Her smile was lively, but she looked too frail to lift a spoon. The suffering of Windswell had clearly taken a toll on her health.

“No, please. Don’t go to any trouble. It’s just lovely to be on land again.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you. What does a dancer do, who leaves the Order?”

“Mostly runs and hides.” My cloak suddenly felt as if it were weighted with the water of a dozen rainfalls. I shrugged it off, but that didn’t help. My shoulders still felt heavy. Her question reminded me of the mission given to me, and that I didn’t know how to begin.

Her chair creaked as she leaned back. “Well, thank the Maker, He got you out of that place.”

My head snapped toward her. Her mention of the Maker reminded me how Orianna had spoken of a grandmother who taught her about the Maker. Gratitude expanded inside my ribs like a deep breath. Somehow, the Maker had prepared a way and guided me to a person who still remembered Him.

I reached inside my tunic, unbound the letter, and pulled it out. “You know the Maker?”

Her eyes drooped. “Most are too afraid to speak of Him. They dismiss me as a foolish old woman, so I’m not a threat.” She tapped bent fingers to her heart. “But it hurts me here. Hurts me to see what our world is becoming, how we’ve forgotten Him.”

“This will help.” I handed her the bound parchments.

She opened to the first page, rubbed her eyes, then held the letter out at arm’s length, squinting. “Can’t make it out.”

I scooted to the edge of the chair. “It’s the Maker’s letter. Passed down from Varney’s grandfather.”

She straightened with a happy gasp. “I thought it had been lost. Varney, that scamp. I remember when he was a boy—such a nervous sort. Should never have gone to him. What’s he been doing with it?”

“He hid the letter away. Never showed it to a soul.”

She shook her head, then stroked the page, tears welling in her eyes. “What was hidden will be revealed. What was lost will be returned.”

“After I read it, I . . . this sounds impossible to believe, but I . . . I saw Him. The Maker. He asked me to bring these words to the villages.”

She clutched the pages to her chest. “But you can’t take this with you. If anything happens to you, to this letter . . . we can’t let it be lost again.”

After nearly falling into the ocean earlier in the day, I’d had the same fear. “Could we make a copy for you to keep, before I travel onward?”

Fiola gripped the arms of her chair and pushed to her feet, scurrying to a cupboard on the wall. She pulled out two small pieces of parchment and a willow pen. “We’ll need more.” She pressed one finger against her pursed lips, then brightened. “There is one in our village who was always the best with reading and writing. You’ll need to win her over first. She’ll have more parchment tucked away and could even help with the work.”

“Wonderful! Who is it?”

“My daughter-in-law. Brianna.”

My throat constricted. The woman who loved Brantley and despised me.