Prologue - The Stone-Skipping War
Prologue
The Stone-Skipping War
Fifteen Years Ago
No one could say for certain how the competition had started.
At first, it was nothing more than a group of children standing by the lakeshore, not far from the festival grounds. Music from the central square drifted toward them on the breeze, mingling with the scents of roasted meat, fresh pastries, and spices from stalls representing half a dozen different lands.
Most of the adults were busy greeting acquaintances, talking business, or at the very least pretending they weren’t talking business during a festival.
Which left the children free to be children.
And when children from different peoples and different lands were left together long enough, whatever happened next rarely needed much of a reason.
“Mine went farther!”
One of the boys shouted as the stone he had thrown skimmed across the water several times before finally sinking beneath the surface.
The boys behind him erupted into cheers.
The other side immediately answered with boos.
Lyra stood at the front of the girls’ group, a flat stone she had just picked up from the shore clutched in one hand while the other rested firmly on her hip. She looked far too serious for someone taking part in a game whose rules had been invented only a few minutes earlier.
The black-haired boy on the opposite side stared back at her with the same stubborn determination.
He was much taller than she was.
That was hardly surprising. Lyra was only eight, while he looked several years older. But the difference in height did absolutely nothing to convince her that she ought to concede.
“You haven’t even thrown yours yet,” she said.
The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow. “Then throw it.”
“I was about to.”
“Then do it.”
Lyra narrowed her eyes at him.
“It would be easier if you’d stop talking.”
Laughter came from behind her.
A girl with milk-tea-colored hair stood nearby, one hand covering her mouth. Her blue eyes had curved into crescents, making it perfectly obvious that she wasn’t trying very hard to suppress her laughter.
The black-haired boy glanced toward the girls, then back at Lyra.
“I’m not stopping you.”
“You talk too much.”
“So do you.”
“Because you started it.”
“I—”
“Just throw it!”
Someone behind them shouted before the argument could circle back to where it had started.
Lyra finally tore her attention away from her opponent and turned toward the lake.
She rolled the stone between her fingers a few times.
Flat enough.
Thin enough.
An uncle from one of the caravans that had stopped in her town once told her that if she wanted a stone to travel far, she shouldn’t throw it up into the air. She had to send it forward instead.
And if she wanted it to touch the water more than once, she had to make it spin.
Lyra adjusted her wrist.
Then she threw.
The stone shot from her hand.
Touched the water once.
Bounced.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Then finally disappeared beneath the surface, noticeably farther out than the previous stone.
The girls’ side went silent for all of half a second.
Then they exploded into cheers.
“We won!”
“Lyra won!”
“See!”
The eight-year-old lifted her chin a little, thoroughly pleased with herself.
The black-haired boy stared at the spot where her stone had vanished.
Then at his own stone.
Then back at her.
His expression changed immediately.
“Again.”
“What?”
“That one doesn’t count.”
Lyra blinked.
“Why not?”
“Your stone was flatter.”
“Then pick a better one.”
“You picked first.”
“You picked a bunch before I did.”
“But—”
“You lost.”
The boys behind him began protesting while the girls behind Lyra laughed even louder.
What should have ended there did not.
No one could remember afterward who stuck their tongue out first.
But once one child did it, the others quickly followed.
Within moments, an ordinary stone-skipping contest had turned into two groups of children standing on opposite sides of the lakeshore making faces at each other.
The dragon boy standing off to one side looked left.
Then right.
Then quietly moved a little farther away, apparently having no intention of joining either side.
The milk-tea-haired girl beside Lyra watched the scene with remarkable calm.
“They look angry now.”
“They’re not angry.”
Lyra answered without taking her eyes off the black-haired boy.
Unfortunately, he heard her.
“Who says we’re not angry?”
Lyra looked at him. “You’re angry?”
“I’m not angry!”
“But you just said—”
“I said—”
“Fight! Fight!”
A delighted voice rose from the crowd.
Both sides went silent at once.
Lyra turned toward whoever had shouted.
So did the black-haired boy.
The culprit quickly took a step backward, but it was already too late. Two or three others immediately picked up the chant.
“Fight! Fight!”
“Whoever lost at skipping stones has to—”
“I didn’t lose!”
The black-haired boy shouted.
Lyra turned back to him. “You did.”
“You cheated.”
That made her stop.
“I did not.”
“You picked a better stone.”
“You could’ve picked one too.”
“You knew how to make it bounce.”
“And you didn’t.”
“That’s cheating!”
Lyra frowned at once.
That wasn’t fair.
Just because he didn’t know how to do something didn’t mean she had cheated.
“You lost and now you’re making excuses.”
The black-haired boy’s face turned slightly red.
“I didn’t lose!”
“You did.”
“I did not!”
“You did.”
He stepped closer.
Lyra didn’t move.
The children around them began cheering again.
The dragon boy standing farther away let out a quiet sigh.
No one paid him any attention.
“Say that again,” the black-haired boy challenged.
Lyra tilted her head back to look at him.
“You lost.”
That was probably the exact moment when their little game lost any chance of ever becoming an ordinary stone-skipping competition again.
The boy charged at her.
Lyra saw him move before he reached her.
She wasn’t thinking about fighting.
She didn’t even know what the move she was about to use was called.
All she could hear in her head was the voice of a man from the caravan several months ago, laughing as the adults taught the neighborhood children a few tricks.
If someone bigger than you comes running at you, don’t try to stop them head-on.
Move.
Let their momentum keep going.
And if you can get hold of them, give them a little pull.
Lyra stepped aside.
Her hand caught the boy’s arm at just the right moment.
Then she pulled.
Someone yelped in surprise.
The larger body flew straight past her and lost its balance.
The black-haired boy hit the grass beside the shore with a heavy thud.
Everything went silent.
Lyra was still holding his arm.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
The dragon boy blinked once.
The milk-tea-haired girl covered her mouth again.
Then the cheering erupted louder than ever.
“She won!”
“She threw him!”
“Do it again!”
The black-haired boy sprang back to his feet almost immediately.
“You cheated!”
“I did not!”
“You dodged!”
Lyra looked genuinely confused. “Of course I dodged.”
“And you pulled me!”
“You were the one who ran at me.”
“You—!”
He charged again.
This time, Lyra didn’t manage to repeat the same trick.
So the two of them genuinely went tumbling across the grass.
The cheering turned into a mixture of laughter and startled cries. Some of the children began backing away, while others continued chanting “Fight! Fight!” with great enthusiasm and absolutely no consideration for the consequences.
No one knew exactly when the adults arrived.
The next thing Lyra knew, a pair of hands had lifted her straight out of the scuffle.
“That’s enough.”
Her father’s voice came from above her.
Lyra was breathing hard. Her hair had come loose from its tie and was sticking out in every direction, dirt stained the elbow of her clothes, and there was a small scrape on one knee.
On the other side, the black-haired boy was being pulled away by another adult.
He didn’t look much better.
“He said I cheated first.”
Lyra immediately pointed at him.
“You did cheat!”
He shot back.
“I did not!”
“You dodged and pulled me! What do you call that?”
“The caravan uncle said if someone bigger runs at you, you move out of the way!”
“That’s not fighting!”
“Who said I had to stand there and let you run into me?”
“You—!”
“Enough. Both of you.”
The adult voice was firmer this time.
Both children fell silent at once, though they continued glaring at each other.
Edric looked his daughter over from head to toe, then sighed when he saw the state of the clothes that had been clean and tidy that morning.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
Lyra looked down at her knee.
“A little.”
“Then why were you fighting?”
“He lost at skipping stones and wouldn’t admit it.”
“I didn’t lose!”
“Lucan.”
A voice came from the boy’s side this time.
The black-haired boy froze, though the look on his face remained defiant.
Lyra remembered his name for only a moment.
Lucan.
It suited him.
A good name for a sore loser.
“And you,” Edric continued. “You won the stone-skipping contest. Did you really need to fight him afterward?”
Lyra thought about it for a moment.
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
The girl pressed her lips together.
She didn’t have an answer that sounded particularly good.
At the time, it had seemed perfectly reasonable.
“He said I cheated.”
Edric sighed again.
Nearby, one of the adults was asking the dragon boy why he hadn’t tried to stop them earlier.
The boy looked at Lyra.
Then at Lucan, who still had pieces of grass caught in his black hair.
“I didn’t think I needed to.”
The adult frowned. “Why not?”
The boy answered with complete seriousness.
“She looked like she was winning.”
Lucan’s head whipped around.
“I did not lose!”
Several children burst into laughter all over again.
When Lyra returned to her family that evening, Aldren noticed the dirt on his little sister’s clothes before she had even reached the table.
Her older brother had just returned from the older children’s activities and, compared to her, was still impossibly neat.
He looked at the scrape on her knee.
Then at her messy hair.
Then at their father.
“What happened?”
Before Edric could answer, Aurelia set down the cup in her hand.
“Your sister got into a fight with another child.”
Aldren immediately looked back at Lyra.
“Did you win?”
“Aldren.”
Their mother’s voice was gentle.
It was also more than enough to stop the fifteen-year-old from asking anything further.
He cleared his throat.
“I was only asking.”
Lyra grinned proudly.
“I won.”
“Lyra.”
This time it was her father.
The girl quickly wiped the smile off her face.
But as Aldren walked past her, he lifted one hand slightly.
Lyra glanced left and right before quickly slapping her palm against her brother’s, careful not to let their parents see.
Or at least, the two of them thought their parents hadn’t seen.
From the other side of the table, Aurelia watched her children and let out a quiet sigh without saying a word.
The festival continued well into the night.
Lantern light shimmered across the lake, whose surface showed no trace of how many stones had been thrown into it that afternoon.
By the next morning, guests from distant lands had begun to leave.
Then months became years.
The girl who had won the stone-skipping contest eventually forgot the black-haired boy altogether.
The boy who had insisted until the very end that he had not lost forgot the girl who had sent him tumbling across the grass as well.
For the two of them, it was nothing more than one ridiculous childhood quarrel, far too unimportant to remain in their memories.
But for certain people who had been at the festival that day—
the incident acquired a short and simple name, one that would still be brought up from time to time for years afterward.
The Stone-Skipping War
