Page 80 of Lore of the Tides

“His magic. I wonder how it will present. His grandfather—you’ve heard of him, I’m sure, his namesake? Finndryl Hwraeth the first had the power to manipulate the weather. He could call a typhoon while sipping his morning tea. Or so the legends say.”

“I couldn’t imagine containing magic of that magnitude.”

“Most can’t. It’s extremely rare. To this day, some call Finndryl’s grandfather an abomination.” Syrelle settled onto the arm of the chair opposite the one Lore perched on, his eyes on Finndryl, but his gaze far away.

“An abomination?” Lore could relate. “That seems cruel.”

“Some do, not all... The people of Freya Isle have always, and will always, call him ‘savior.’”

Lore sniffed back tears and took the bait, thankful for the distraction from her cyclonal thoughts. “Finndryl never told me the story about his grandfather. He mentioned him a few times and told me about the curse but...”

“I’ve heard the story of the Savior of Freya Isle more times than I can count. He’s even got a few songs dedicated to him that are so popular they’re sung in every tavern on the continent. There isn’t a bard out there who doesn’t croon his saga and sing it loudly.” Something flashed across Syrelle’s face. Lore could’ve sworn, if he was anyone else, it was diffidence, but Syrelle wasn’t shy. No, she realized that Syrelle must be shaping the story within his mind, making sure he told it well. Because Finndryl was here in this room, and Isla was Syrelle’s friend, and Syrelle wanted to do their grandfather justice.

As Asher would have. Lore waited patiently for him to begin.

“Despite him being regaled as a hero to most—his own queen didn’t care that he saved his home, anentireisland, from a devastating hurricane,” Syrelle began, his voice weaving a tale of injustice. “Freya Isle had cried out for aid, begged their queen for ships, enough to evacuate them from the island. Of course the wealthy fled at the first sign of the storm. But tens of thousands remained, their pleas ignored by Queen Riella.

“Freya Isle was a small island, colonized by Riella’s mother, Queen Jharaka. Riella viewed its inhabitants as incidental, their land neither fertile nor beautiful, their economy barely beginning to recover from the decades-long war. That they were a joyful people with a rich, vibrant history, a history her own mother had tried to erase, was irrelevant to the queen.

“So when they called for aid from their sovereign, Riella ignored them. Sending ships, harboring them during and potentially after the storm? She chose to leave them to their fate; the problem, as she so callously put it, would ‘take care of itself.’”

Lore massaged her bruised hands, a grim echo of her recent ordeal. “I detested Queen Riella before, but my feelings can, it seems, intensify. How did his grandfather save them?”

Syrelle’s voice grew softer, drawing Lore into the heart of the tale. “Hwraeth was born on Freya, but intent on carving out a better life for himself, he left as a young man. By then, he was living on the mainland with his wife. When he heard of the storm, he gave his wife a kiss and sought out a fisherman to take him home. Every fisherman refused, of course, the storm too fierce.”

“Wait, how did he get to Freya, then?”

“Hwraeth spent his life savings purchasing a boat. He took a fishing vessel meant for a crew, alone. He made it home just as the seas began to rise. He tied the ship to a dock, knowing it wouldn’t last, and began to climb.”

“Climb? Climb what?”

“The highest cliff. He broke his wrist and three fingers in the ascent. No ropes, just sheer determination. And he made it in time. He stood at the highest point of the isle and, for eleven hours, single-handedly shielded the isle from the largest storm in the Sea of Jewels’ recorded history.”

“Goddess,” Lore breathed, captivated.

“Indeed. Hwraeth managed to save thousands of homes and businesses from being swept out to sea or blown to bits by the highwinds. Saved even more from drowning. When the storm abated, he collapsed from exhaustion. The people of Freya found him, heart barely beating. They set his broken bones and brought him home to his frantic wife who, it’s said, almost broke his other wrist when she heard what he’d done. She didn’t stay mad for long, of course.”

Lore smiled, imagining his wife’s reaction. “So, what happened then? How did he lose his magic to such a vicious curse?”

“When Freya wasn’t wiped off the map, Queen Riella inquired. She heard of Hwraeth. A nobody, one of Freya’s own, who risked everything to save them all. His ordeal was straight out of a legend. He was a hero. The queen invited him and his wife, who was with child, to her palace. A golden invitation, a carriage sent to fetch them in style.”

“Oh gods, it was a trap, wasn’t it?”

“She was terrified of him. And probably more jealous than she was scared. So yes, she set a trap. At a banquet in his honor, they were seized and dragged before the throne. She falsely accused them of treason and cursed them, a blood curse so foul it took six of her most powerful alchemists to enact it.”

“As thanks for saving her subjects, she stripped him of his power and cursed his bloodline,” Lore said, aghast.

Syrelle hummed his confirmation. “And not only that, as further punishment, she imprisoned him and his pregnant wife in cages hanging from the rafters in her ballroom as decoration until they perished from starvation.”

“Wait, perished? Something isn’t adding up.”

“Word got out, no doubt a Freyan maid or cook leaked the news. The tale of Hwraeth’s heroism spread like wildfire, and thousands showed up in protest. The queen learned that day that she may be petty, heartless, and cruel, but she could not kill a legend just because shefeltlike it. She freed them but never removed the curse.”

“She’d taken what she’d coveted,” Lore said bitterly. “His magic.”

“Right. Hwraeth was no longer a threat, not that he ever was,but evil like she is sees threats everywhere. He mourned his magic and the fact that his children and entire bloodline would never know magic as he had, but he made the most of it. Lived the best life he could.”

Lore’s brow furrowed. “Whatever happened to the fishing boat? Did it survive the storm?”

---