Upstream From Nowhere — Act 1: The Dormant Lighthouse

Chapter 1: A Flowering Miracle

Only two things in Finnistone are more stubborn than Edel: the current and the wind. He faces them from the top of the abandoned lighthouse, feet hanging loose above the drop.

He squints, just a little. The current, seamless as far as the moonlight reaches, slams against the cliff below. And the wind, not to be outdone, catches the rising spray and flicks it against the same rock face. It's an endless clash from which the island had been slowly receding, leaving a deep, cavernous overhang spanning the upstream side. But there was something else gnawing at the island; Edel would rather deal with the wind.

The salty, sideways rain creeps above the cliffs, warding off vegetation and islanders alike. The lighthouse stands alone, its stone aged unevenly. He sits on one of four stubs that had once been columns, curving inward to meet in a stone dome that sheltered the great pyre.

Amberose, a worried mother by any mother's measure, had repeatedly told him that the rest of the structure would collapse any day, but he kept returning. The tower, once a beacon of welcome, felt like the only place that belonged to the times before. He liked the isolation. That, and stubbornness.

He watches the current drag foam around the bend of the island until it's engulfed by haze. Anything caught in it is gone for good—whether a tangle of seaweed, a loose wicker full of fabrics, or a body. A plain fact of island life they all learn growing up—one that marked him a quarter of his life ago.

At last, he yields his staring contest with the wind and turns back onto solid ground. He skirts the hole at the center of the roof, where the dome had caved and plunged all the way to the base. He heads down the steps, skipping over the ones he knows to be shaky.

On the third floor is an old map of the sea carved into the stone—the only one the Circle had not confiscated. On the map, the One-Way Sea flows top to bottom. Finnistone is at the center, which says more about whoever commissioned it than about the sea.

Edel knows it by heart, but there is not much else in the gutted tower. He traces his finger through a great 'X' connecting the corners, splitting the sea into four regions. The one above Finnistone—the one he had just been facing—is the only one with etched islands. The people of Finnistone can never reach them, but they know of them from sailors who drifted here. Like his father, though his island is not marked.

The moon shines through every crack in the stone, perhaps a sign of the Flowering's arrival. He can even make out the masons' names engraved beneath the map. Men long, long gone—stonework like this had been abandoned for generations.

Below Finnistone, the stone is bare. Downstream. The never-ending guessing about what lies there became another reason for Edel to keep his distance from others. To them, it's just a blank canvas to fill with stories. Everyone knows it would be a death sentence to attempt the voyage—the Circle made sure of that. Only someone foolhardy or desperate, if not both, would try. Like Ifa, his father.

Amberose wasn't one to dwell much on the past, but on rare occasions, she would speak fondly of Ifa. Now there was no one left to say anything kind about him, but echoes of his brief time on the island lingered. The ship-making ban; the anti-sailor doctrine; the snuffed lighthouse. If the pull of the sea was an unavoidable reminder of his mother, the Circle's rules were the same for his father.

When he turns toward the only window, cut to face upstream, a glimmer bleeds through the haze. Edel thinks it a trick of the mist. He had pictured it so many times, through that very window, that he believes his imagination must be spilling out into the night. But the shape swells taller than any raft Finnistone could build, with a dancing cloth that could only be what they call sails.

Could it be Ifa? He's embarrassed by his immediate thought. Someone from Ifa's island is what he meant. Either way, someone stumbled upon their island, in the dark, no less.

Edel can't look away; it's nothing like the drawings. It's the first arrival since Ifa's ship, and that ship departed before Edel was born. Before Amberose even knew.

He knows it won't last, but for a time, the island remains quiet, and it's just him and the approaching ship. It feels fitting, watching from the tower once meant to guide ships to the island. Idris Tormund, the Chief, had ordered the pyre snuffed after Ifa's ship arrived. Edel wonders if this new arrival will shake things up as much. Perhaps Idris won't get his way.

Sure enough, horns sound across the island, drawing closer. He rushes out and sees torches sweeping the area toward the cliffs. The entire Circle must be astir. He feels his way to the right spot on the edge, filling in the shadows from memory, and scrambles down into one of the hollows on the wall. He has to curl up on a slant, his feet tipping toward the water, but at least he's out of view.

Yet somehow, the ground above him trembles from footsteps.

"Edel?" It's Aster, calling from above. Despite their distance in recent years, Aster just knows how to find him. "It's been a long time since we last talked."

"Are you here to escort me out?"

"I've been worried about you," Aster says. "Ever since mom... you know."

Edel stays silent, filling in the word. Died. It's what a Circle member would say.

"Look... I still have hope, too," Aster continues, composed as always. "I came to tell you that I'll use my position to talk to the sailors. I'll try to find out what may have happened to her."

The silence stretches, until Aster exhales loud enough to cut through the wind. "Happy Flowering, Edel."

The footsteps go. Edel stays put, watching as dots of light along the shore below move like fireflies drawn to the ship.

Chapter 2: An Introduction of Sorts

Edel pops out from the hollow when he's sure no one is around. The cliffs are desolate again, and his mind back to numb, the rush gone. He slowly plods back home.

It must be close to dawn by the time he reaches the family home at the edge of town. He wades through the overgrown backyard. When he was a child, it was the most vivid garden in town; Amberose grew rare flowers from seeds Ifa had brought from other islands—including asters and edels.

He lies down, but when his legs stop, his mind takes over. Where was the ship headed? Did they know about Finnistone, or had they stumbled upon it? By now, Idris Tormund must have isolated the ship, guarding the port night and day.

Edel feels bound to do everything he can to learn of his mom's fate. If he wants answers, he'll have to ask the sailors directly—but how? He could try sneaking into the dock from the side cliffs, but defying Idris this openly chills him. He turns in bed. The ship is tugging at him. He wants to see it again. No, he has to. Stillness feels like betrayal.

When he leaves the house, the chatter from town surprises him. The sun hasn't poked out yet, but the ship has awakened the island. The danger with sailors was that people liked them. Amberose said that Ifa's sea stories drew crowds that spilled outside the tavern. Ifa made the unknown sound both thrilling and dangerous, in a way that sparked the young to prove their bravery. In contrast, Idris could only promise a life of fishing, farming, and toil, of storing grain and rationing it to last the seven or eight years until the next Flowering. He'd send his men every night to disperse the crowd.

Edel moves lightly. "Happy Flowering," a passerby tells him. As he nears the dock, he starts avoiding the main paths. He makes it to the cliff flanking the dock, and crouches between the bushes to watch. The ship looks even bigger in daylight, with a central sail that rises to his level. Thick lines stretch from the sides of the deck, pinning it to the dock. But what draws him most is a rough wooden bird jutting from the bow, its wings outstretched, frozen mid-beat. Edel can't figure out its purpose, but it makes the ship look alive.

The deck bustles with activity. People come and go along a wooden plank, rolling barrels and carrying provisions. Their clothes are dyed in reds, blues, golds. It reminds him of Amberose's flowers swaying to the wind.

A few Circle members, in their gray robes, gather beyond the gate. He can't make out what's going on between the two groups, but if he's going to make a move, the Circle being outside is as good as it will get. Go, he tells himself, before the chance is gone.

But he freezes.

It wasn't the first time. The day the fishing rafts clashed in a storm, severing the tether of one, he froze. All motion drained from his body when a family friend, a nurse, showed up at the door with the news. Aster's screams replay vividly in his mind. His brother tried to run for the beach, ready to throw himself into the water. But the nurse caught him, effortlessly holding his small body in a tight hug until he exhausted himself.

Edel is no longer that child. He starts descending with controlled moves, trying to be quiet. He makes it halfway down, but his heart pounding makes him lose focus, and his foot slips. He reaches for a branch, but it snaps, launching him into a tumble against rocks and branches that feel like claws. He tries to get a hold of something, anything, but the cliff ejects him into open air, and he's now headed for the water. Disoriented, his instincts kick in. Right before he smashes into the surface, his eyes lock on the nearest wooden post. The cold seizes his muscles, but there's no time. He forces his eyes open underwater, scanning for the post. Breathing is a secondary concern at this point. He fights through the shock and latches onto it just before he is dragged past it.

Strong hands grab him and haul him out of the water. He collapses on the dock, gasping for air. The world sways and tilts around him. He tries to stand, but his body won't cooperate. He only chokes. A crowd gathers around him, eyes wide, but he can't look at any of them—he's made a spectacle of himself.

The strange sailors break the circle around him to let Circle members through. Idris himself stands over him, fists clenched and shaking. Rolling back into the water starts to seem like a good idea.

"You are just like him," he says. "Get him up."

Two Circle members lift him under the arms and lead him outside the dock, leaving a trail of water behind. He's bleeding—his right hand, he thinks. Once they're out of sight of the sailors, they lay him on a blanket. One of them inspects the cut gently and reassures him it's not deep. He checks for broken bones next, but Edel was lucky—at least on that front.

"He should be fine, Chief," the gentle one says. "He's just shaken."

Edel sits up but looks down.

"Edel, child," Idris says. His voice is calmer now. He crouches and grabs Edel's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Has it occurred to you that this is here for a reason?" Bang. He slams the gate with his other hand, and Edel flinches.

Idris's nails dig into his chin, and he recoils at the touch. Edel looks away, but his gaze lands on Aster, watching silently among the other Circle members, and somehow that feels worse. He looks away again. Beyond the Circle members, he glimpses a hooded figure run straight at the dock fence, plant a foot halfway up, swing the other leg over, and drop to the other side without a sound. He blinks, and it's as if nothing had happened. He shakes his head. Did anyone else see that?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Idris keeps pressing, his voice sharp, but Edel doesn't answer. Anything he says will make it worse. He can only hope Idris gives up soon.

Idris stands, and his nails finally let up. "Next rainy season, you'll do the night shifts at the fishing rafts." That was Amberose's job. Perhaps Idris thought he needed a reminder of her fate.

Idris turns to his men. "Walk him to the road. Make sure he stays away."

Aster tries to help him up, but Edel stands on his own and starts walking, hiding a limp. Aster and another Circle member follow him closely, drawing out the humiliation. When Edel reaches the road, he hears Aster telling his companion to head back.

Aster catches up and steps in front of him, blocking the path. He's still the taller and broader one. They were twins, born two Flowerings ago—people called it a Flowering miracle—though they never looked alike. Aster had Ifa's bright hair and easy smile, according to Amberose, while Edel had her darker eyes and quiet face.

"The chief keeps records of everything," Aster says. He picks a strand of seaweed from Edel's shirt. "Sailors, cargo, conversations. If there are answers anywhere—"

Edel shoves him, meaning it to hurt. Aster takes it.

"You're just Idris's puppet."

Edel storms off, away from everything and everyone.

His feet take him to the wind-struck cliffs, back to the lighthouse. He curls up behind a pile of rotting timbers in a corner. They had been there since Idris Tormund declared, in a stroke of genius, that the tower, being one of the few stone structures on the island, should be remade into the island's holding cell. The idea was quickly abandoned, and with it, the materials. But maybe Idris had been onto something after all. It's where Edel has served his self-imposed sentence for the past three and a half years. Exhaustion overtakes him.

Day fades to night. It's almost dawn again when the ache of his bruised body—or hunger—wakes him. What happened washes over him like the upstream winds.

After their mother's disappearance, Aster unraveled. They were only eleven, but he swore he'd follow her downstream and find her himself. Nobody knew what to do. It was Idris Tormund who stopped him. He drew Aster in and managed to channel that ferocity into service for the island. New tasks, structure, peers. It kept him busy with new purpose.

Edel knows it saved him, even if it meant losing his brother. Their views on Ifa and Idris—on who was to blame for their fatherless childhood—were irreconcilable. To Aster, Idris was only protecting the people of the island; to Edel, Idris was the one they needed protection from. Edel had no intention of retracing these thoughts, but seeing Aster stand there while Idris scolded him, his face as blank as the rest, cut him more than the rocks.

He inspects his bruised hand, ignoring the tears. It's still raw, but at least it's not getting worse. And then his mind jumps from one hand to another—the hand of the hooded figure at the dock.

Chapter 3: The Foundling

They say Hera was devoted to her son. He had a gift for planting—he could read the clouds and smell when the soil was ready. When her husband died of illness, it was the boy who pulled the family through. People noticed his harvests, and he began to find favor among the townspeople. They thought their misfortune had turned.

Then, one season, a ship of sailors came to the island. The boy and his friends took to the foreigners quickly. They lingered near the newcomers, listening to their songs and stories of other islands. Soon they began building their own vessel, convinced the sea held something greater than the fields ever could.

Hera begged her son not to go. She knew what leaving meant. But the boy wouldn't listen. In the end, she gave him her blessing—he had already left in his heart.

The day of departure came, and people saw her running toward the dock, shouting his name. By the time she reached the pier, the ship was already drifting past the bend. She called after him until her voice broke, but her son was gone.

Worried passersby tried to help her up, but she wouldn't move. It was only when a sailor came to the pier and started tending to his own vessel that she stood. She shouted at him, cursing him, the ship, the sea—all of it.

But then a baby's cry stopped her. It came from a small bundle lying on the dock beside the sailor. She fell silent, staring, and asked him whose child it was. He said he'd found her abandoned in a basket somewhere upstream. Hera dropped to her knees, pleading with him not to take the child back onto the sea. She said she would raise her on the island, where it was safe. He agreed.

People said the two were made for each other—the mother who'd lost her son downstream and the foundling who'd come from upstream. She cared for the baby as if she'd found purpose again, but the grief never truly left. They said that if you passed her cottage at night, you might hear her weeping.

As years passed, she began to lose her memory. The neighbors said it faded backward, as if her mind let go of the hardest years first. When people visited, she would ask if her son was back from the fields yet. The girl—still a child herself, but grown enough to care for her—would hold her hand when they walked to the market. Her skin was darker than everyone else on the island, and people whispered. She must have come from far, far upstream. Sometimes, Hera would look at her and ask, "You are my son's wife, right?" and smile, proud but lost. The girl never corrected her. "Of course, Mother Hera."

One day, Hera simply stopped waking. They buried her near her cottage, between the fields and the sea.

The foundling kept to herself. Her skin marked her as foreign, though no one could say from where. She was the only one on the island with unknown origins.

That's how Amberose told the story, anyway. Edel wouldn't be thinking of it now if it weren't for what he saw the day before—the same dark skin on the hand of the hooded figure who slipped over the dock's fence.

It could only be her. Mira. It made sense that she'd be looking for answers beyond the island too. If he could find her, maybe his spectacle had not been entirely in vain. Hera's old cottage is along the shore, a long walk past town. He sets out, taking the same path away from the cliffs as the night before.

He's on his way when the Circle's horns cut through the wind, announcing a town hall meeting. The people surely had many questions about the ship. He usually dreads such gatherings, but curiosity tugs at him this time. He'll stop by before looking for Mira.

On the street, he catches a rumor that the ship has already sailed. That can't be—it had only just arrived. He wants to know more, but his stomach growls, and he realizes he hasn't eaten since before he first sighted the ship. He swings by home to eat, and is relieved, but not surprised, to find Aster gone. His brother hardly comes home anymore, spending nearly all his time at the Circle compound. He must be at the town hall already.

The crowd thickens near the main square, overflowing into the surrounding streets. The chatter is overwhelming. Everyone is here. He stays near the back, hoping neither Idris nor Aster will notice him.

The meeting somehow hasn't started yet. Idris is nowhere to be seen, and the crowd seems restless. At the center of the square stands the future of Finnistone. Lynn, Idris's daughter, is on the platform with her shoulders back as if to make her small frame larger. She's far more composed than Edel could ever be. But she doesn't address them. She waits. The entire Circle stands behind her, spanning the front of the town hall. The only one missing, besides Idris, is Aster.

A sharp neigh behind Edel jolts him. He's shoved aside as the crowd splits, making way for Idris. Edel covers his face as the old horse passes. It's the island's only horse, once traded as a foal from passing sailors. Idris dismounts by the platform, more agitated than usual. Lynn steps aside, somehow looking like the calm one. Idris lifts his hands. The noise fades, one voice after another, until every whisper disappears.

"The sailors have gone," he declares.

The crowd erupts all around Edel. The rumor was true. He'd waited so long to see sailors with his own eyes, to learn about the sea, maybe even about his parents. The wooden bird, frozen mid-flight, flashes through his mind.

Idris holds his hands even higher before speaking again.

"The sailors were not interested in staying," he says. "They wanted to keep moving with the Flowering."

Edel doesn't believe him. And he's not the only one. Around him, townspeople murmur uneasily, but no one dares to challenge Idris openly.

Idris explains that the sailors were only here to resupply and that he'd made a few trades for the island's benefit. He leaves it at that. He and Lynn disappear inside the Circle compound, and the crowd begins to disperse.

Something is off. Where is his brother? He asks around. A Circle member shrugs. Another hasn't seen him since they both guarded the ship in the dock. A third recalls crossing paths with him near the Circle compound, not long before the sailors left.

Edel gives up and heads out toward the shore, toward Hera's old cottage. The path runs through one of the fishing zones. Most rafts sit on the sand, but a pair of fishermen—just back from the square—are releasing two rafts into the water, with a net stretched between them. The windlasses groan as they turn, letting out the thick braided ropes that tether each raft to the beach. Once deployed, the current does the rest. At day's end, fishermen will turn the handles together, hauling the rafts back against the current.

Fishing is the island's lifeblood. The farther from the shore, the better the catch. That's why they built the windlass system. Before the nets, small crews would ride the rafts out with fishing rods. Edel feels guilty that he can't remember the names of the other two fishermen who went out with Amberose that day.

As he follows the shore, the houses thin out, then vanish altogether. At last, he sees what must be Hera's cottage, its walls stained by years of damp salt air. Beside it, a girl salts fish and wraps them in cloth next to a stream. Even from a distance, he can tell it's her. The patches of white in her unruly hair are as unique as her skin.

Edel hesitates, but she's already turned to face him. She rinses her hands in the stream and rolls down her sleeves. As she does, he catches a glimpse of a red mark on her arm.

"Edel? What brings you here?" she asks, calm but wary.

They'd never been close. Sometimes they crossed paths near the upstream cliffs, but exchanged few words. They both seemed to prefer it that way.

"I saw you sneak into the dock," Edel says. "I wanted to ask if you learned anything; where they came from, or where they were headed."

"I saw what happened." Her gaze settles on his hand. "Are you hurt?"

His own brother hadn't asked. After Amberose's accident, Mira had checked on him once or twice. Those were the only times they'd spoken.

"It's nothing. I'm just glad you took advantage of the distraction."

"I wasn't there long," she says. "I warned them about the Circle... about Idris. Maybe that's why they left."

"But where to?"

Mira shrugs, looking at him in silence. Her gaze softens and she adds, "Sorry."

Edel sits down by the stream, suddenly aware of how tired he is. "Did you see Aster there?"

"In the dock? Yes, he came in alone. He was talking to someone—the captain, maybe. I thought he saw me, so I left."

"I can't find him."

She frowns. Even her eyebrows are streaked white.

They linger in silence again. Then Edel gets up. "I should get going."

She nods, and he starts walking.

On his way back to town, a thought won't leave him alone. What if Aster left with the sailors? He stops by the compound and asks to see him, but he's told Aster isn't there. Had he finally followed through with it and gone after her? How could he leave without saying anything? No—Aster wouldn't leave. Not without him.

He replays the hours since he last saw his brother. After their quarrel near the dock the day before, he'd gone to the lighthouse and stayed there almost until the town hall was called. By then, the ship was already gone.

Edel goes home, this time desperate to find Aster there. But he isn't—and there's no note either. He sits on the kitchen floor.

Chapter 4: The Tern's Flight

Edel can't stop thinking about what Mira and the Circle members said. As the sun sets, he finds himself aimless along the cliffs again, but he stays away from the lighthouse this time. He stops above the Circle's dock—now empty—and sits by the spot where he plunged into the sea... and somehow survived. Only two days had passed since the ship arrived, but it feels like long ago.

Memories of his brother keep finding him. During the last Flowering, he followed Aster as they sneaked into the orchards at night, gorging on fruit until their bellies ached. They fought often, and drove their mother crazy, but never stayed angry for long.

A tern lands on the rock beside him. It tilts its head at him, unbothered, before launching itself off the edge. For a moment it drops, but then it opens its wings and rides the wind away from the island. It disappears, chasing the last light of the day. Some birds did that during the Flowering, never to return. People called them death-wish birds—but despite the name, they're the reason some believe there may be land downstream.

Darkness falls with a thin rain. Is Aster really gone? The sea had taken his family—one, by one, by one. He feels his ribs bending under the weight of it. He rises.

---

A storm has built by the time he gets home. When he leaves, he's carrying two overfilled bags and a toothed knife. The streets are dark and ghostly. He makes for the fishing grounds, where a raft still floats offshore. He sets one of the bags down and steps into the water with the other. The water reaches his knees and holds him there. But then he pushes forward, gripping the tether rope with one hand and fighting to keep the bag above water with the other. He heaves the bag onto the deck and swims back for the second.

He draws the knife and kneels on the raft, reaching into the water with his spare hand. He grips the tether rope and pulls it toward him. The saw-tooth blade trembles as it meets the rope.

"Edel!" A voice from the shore. He flinches, and the rope slips from his grip.

"Don't do it!" It's Mira. How did she know he'd be here, in the middle of the night? But it doesn't matter.

"Go away!" he yells through the storm, fishing for the rope.

He grabs it again, but the rope jerks. Mira is in the water, pulling herself toward the raft. This wasn't supposed to happen. Doesn't she know what this means? He was ready to go alone, not drag anyone else with him.

She climbs onto the raft. "What are you doing, Edel? You'll never make it! Without a sail, you'll just drift into nothing."

"Then I'll drift the same way my mother did."

The raft pitches in the wind as the storm intensifies.

"Were you following me?" he says.

"I knew you'd try something stupid. You think you hide it, but you don't."

"You don't know me!"

"I know enough. And I know you won't last a week without water."

A horse neighs from the shore. Both freeze. Through the blur of the storm, they glimpse a rider coming down the shoreline.

Mira tugs at his arm. She pulls out two small ceramic pans capped with glass.

"What's that?" Edel stares; he's never seen anything like it.

"Solar stills. They can turn a bit of seawater into drinking water."

"Where did you get those?"

"Once I figured out what you were planning, I took them from Idris's collection."

Idris kept sailor souvenirs deep in their compound.

"You've lost your mind!"

Mira hushes him, pointing toward the rider.

"Nobody saw me, I swear," she says. "I don't know how he caught on so quickly."

Another neigh, closer. Lightning flashes, revealing the rider in a Circle robe, hooded against the rain.

"What now?" Edel says.

"Just go!" Mira says.

He hacks at the rope, again and again, until it snaps and the raft lurches free.

He's still holding his end of the frayed rope when he starts laughing. They drift away in silence, staring back at the fading lights of Finnistone until the storm swallows the island entirely.