Voyage of the Elawn

by Ted Neill

  “We will be able to see inside,” Gabriella said, her voice echoing from the inner chamber beyond the doors.

  A ledge ran along the spur, from the doors and to the base of the grassy verge. The ledge would make a footpath, but a narrow one. Gabriella had no desire to walk it, but she realized that the only place to moor the ship was a tree at the bottom of the verge. Mortimer let the Elawn drift up beside it, leapt overboard, then secured the line.

  Gabriella wondered what she should bring. The map, of course. A bag for treasure? She emptied a satchel of maize ears and slung it over her brother’s shoulder. She emptied another and placed the wyvern egg in it before securing the bag across her chest. Mortimer followed her example, taking an empty bag and filling another with supplies: extra rope, resin torches, and a lantern. Finally he added the ember box to light the torches.

  They dropped the gangway onto the grass. Gabriella told her brother to be careful, then took his collar in her fist. Mortimer went first along the ledge, his body pressed up against the mountainside. Gabriella followed the trapper, telling Dameon not to look down. She tried hard not to as well. The spectacular view out over the city and miles out into the sea was more than enough to remind her just how high they stood. She felt particularly vulnerable on the cliff, but the mother wyvern did not attack them. Perhaps she had seen Gabriella place the egg in the bag she carried. The dragon circled the tower a few times before perching on the rocks of the promontory across the valley. With a claw she cleaned her teeth.

  Gabriella’s hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat by the time she reached the doors. Since the wooden footbridge had rotted away, the floor within the doors was high—level with Mortimer’s shoulders. He lifted Dameon and Gabriella up first. They lowered a rope for him to follow. Adamantus easily made the jump in a single bound. As the elk entered, Gabriella noticed the wyvern take wing and cross the gorge. While the others went farther inside, the mother landed on the ruins of the building at the edge of the spur. She was keeping as close as possible to her egg. Gabriella shivered and pulled the bag with the precious cargo closer.

  One by one, they entered the mountain tower.

  Chapter 14

  The Mountain Tower

  Darkness swallowed them. As her eyes adjusted, Gabriella could make out a large chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. Doorways lined the far wall. The sound of their feet echoed off the bare stone. Dameon stood so close to Gabriella that his body pressed against her and made it hard for her to walk. Adamantus went ahead of them, the clopping of his hooves creating the impression that the chamber was filled with cantering horses. Dim light streamed down from skylights and cut shimmering columns into the darkness.

  Mortimer took a deep breath, and his exhale was a ghostly hiss that even made him recoil. “You say this place has been empty for centuries?” he asked Adamantus. “Because I don’t feel like we are alone.”

  Adamantus had stopped a few feet ahead of them. Even in the dim light, Gabriella could see his body tense. He extended his nose to search the air for a scent. “That is because we are not.”

  Gabriella moved towards Dameon, but it was too late. The bolt of lightning came so suddenly it overwhelmed her, a searing hammer that flung her through the air. She knew she was flying at the wall. She knew she must have hit it but the pain she felt throughout her body overpowered the sense of impact, even time. She could have been sprawled on the floor for minutes, hours, or days. She would have guessed weeks if she had not opened her eyes and seen her brother’s face as he shook her.

  “Gabriella, wake up.”

  Adamantus stood in front of them. Mortimer was shouting, but Gabriella could not make sense of his words. His sword, still nicked from the wyvern’s horns, was drawn. Dameon’s touch hurt her, yet she was still too weak to say so. She moved to stop him. He reached up to catch something falling from her grasp as her arms weakened. The egg, she remembered. It was still in her arms. She had lifted her arms to protect it.

  Then a second blast struck her.

  This one was not as powerful as the last. Dameon instead caught the brunt of it. It had come from a different angle than the first, from another corner of the room. Enough of it still hit Gabriella that the pain returned—her skin felt as if it had brushed the surface of the sun. Her body writhed. She could not control her arms. They shot out to her side. She was blasted up against the wall again while the egg tumbled away. She retained enough of her senses to hear the egg fall. It made a noise, almost like a tree branch breaking in the wind. A lightening-shaped crack split it from end to end. It wobbled as it rolled, rocking back and forth until it disappeared down a fissure in the floor.

  There was a silence, followed by a louder crack as the egg struck the bottom of the chasm it had fallen into, followed by thunder. Mortimer fell down to his knees at this noise. Adamantus buckled. Dameon, still stunned himself, his clothes smoking from the heat of the last blast, was unable to move his hands to protect his ears. His face registered the full pain of the mother wyvern’s roar. The mother had heard the crack of her egg, and her voice was terrible, all the worse from the effect of the echoes in the hall.

  The roaring mother violently threw herself against the doors. With the weight of a dragon behind it, the giant iron door budged and groaned like an off key horn. Gabriella strained to right herself. Dust fell from the ceiling. Mortimer was paralyzed between the danger behind them and before them. Gabriella twisted onto her elbow and looked between Adamantus’ legs.

  Sybil leaned against a column, one she must have been hiding behind before she had attacked. She was still in her soiled, ill-fitting dress. In a doorway across the room was Sybil’s other self, pointing her smoking wand in Gabriella’s direction with her left hand. It was too unreal. But as Gabriella’s hearing returned, she could hear the wild laughter of both girls.

  “Thought you could escape from me, did you? Thought you could leave me there did you? But you never realized you left me stronger than you found me! Now you will see what happens to slaves that betray us!”

  “That wyvern will make quick work of all of us if we don’t do something,” Mortimer hollered as the mother smashed against the doors again.

  “Silence,” Sybil shouted. She nodded to her twin. “Libys, see to it.”

  Libys, as Sybil called her, ran to the doors. The wyvern struck them again, causing one door to open wider. The whole of the dragon’s face appeared in the opening. Gabriella moved to cover her brother from the inevitable fireball. Libys stood in front of the door, undeterred. She raised her wand, and a blast of lightning shot forth. The wyvern fell away with a screech. The doors stood empty and smoking in her wake.

  The wyvern had tried to kill Gabriella and the others more than once, but the mother had also saved and protected them. Somehow Gabriella had come to think of the wyvern as their ally. Now her vision blurred with tears as she watched the beast tumble onto the rock outcropping like a bird that has struck a window. Her cracked, broken claws gouged the stone as she tried to regain her footing.

  Libys showed no fear of the mother dragon. She was too confident in her powers. The mirror image of Sybil moved behind the door that had swung open. Another blast of light, this one more sustained and bluish in color, pulled the door shut. With a final flourish, a yellow stream snaked its way from the end of the wand to an iron lever which groaned downward and fell into place behind the doors, locking them.

  As the mother recovered, the pounding on the doors resumed, but it was weaker now and the iron did not budge. The only light came from the skylights above.

  “Now, that that is taken care of, we may return to business,” Sybil said.

  Mortimer interrupted her. “Who are you?”

  “This is Sybil, the princess from Foyle Island. She cursed the island and destroyed the castle. She killed Ghede,” Gabriella gasped, fighting for breath.

  “Oh, are you still sad about your blue friend?” Sybil mocked. Gabriella crawled to her brother’s side and wrapped her arms
around him. He was rocking and keening softly. There were deep gouges in his arm where he had cut himself with his own fingernails.

  “Who is that funny looking boy?” Sybil asked.

  “Indeed,” her twin added. “Why does he shake like that? Did we perhaps poach his brains?”

  “Well, I’ve always liked poached eggs!” Sybil said.

  While the girls laughed, Adamantus lunged forward, his antlers lowered. Libys was the closer of the two, and although he could not reach both of them, his intent to kill at least one was clear. Sybil cried out to warn her twin, but Libys was doubled over by her own laughter. Libys turned—with only enough time to widen her eyes—but the elk crumpled with a loud bellow as Mortimer leapt upon him and drove a dagger into his shoulder. Both elk and trapper collapsed in a heap while Libys rushed to her sister’s side.

  Mortimer was quick to recover, his legs set in a wide stance, his fists raised in a fighting pose, his dagger dripping bright red blood.

  “Mr. Creedly!” Gabriella screamed.

  Adamantus staggered up, the blood draining from his wound while Mortimer edged closer to the princesses.

  “So this is how you cast your lot,” the elk said.

  “You would kill a child?”

  “She is a monster, twisted by the Servior.”

  “What would Omanuju say of you, elk?”

  “Don’t you dare speak for him! He showed you kindness when no one else did.”

  “And now he is dead. See where kindness got him? You and the girl are naïve. Power always wins.” He nodded at the twins. “They have it.”

  “You traitor!” Gabriella cried.

  Sybil had recovered from her shock and raised the wand towards Adamantus. Mortimer intervened.

  “Wait, Princess. He still has value. He is wise and knows much about the treasure we seek.”

  “Treasure?” Sybil and Libys said in unison.

  “Yes, a greater treasure than you can imagine, one that will make up for the losses of your palace.”

  “Mortimer Creedly, if you think I will cooperate . . .” the elk began.

  “You will, because you and the girl need the treasure. Like I said on Vasan, you and the girl are free to join me. Just remember, I am in charge.”

  “You are a traitor,” Adamantus growled.

  “Wait, I am in charge!” Libys shouted.

  “No, I am,” Sybil said, shoving her twin aside. “I was first.”

  “I am second–in-command then,” Libys said.

  “Fine,” Sybil said.

  All the parties stood staring, reassessing their alliances. Sybil finally broke the silence. “Why were you not with them when they came to Foyle before?” she asked Mortimer.

  “Dameon and I came in a separate airship. One that piloted itself.”

  “So you brought the ship! We found it in the garden, boarded it, and it brought us here,” Libys said.

  Mortimer nodded. “The ships, they are enchanted. If it brought you here, then it means you are meant to join us.” He made a shallow bow.

  “So it is to you, Mr. Creedly that we are indebted, for as our castle crumbled, we found that floating ship. It had been damaged by falling stones, but it was still worthy of flight. We leapt into it completely in desperation, completely ignorant of where it was taking us. And it took us into dangerous places, islands full of smoke and dragons.”

  “Which were terribly dangerous!” Libys piped. This time, Sybil did not laugh and rather rolled her eyes.

  “Indeed, how terrible it must have been for you,” Mortimer said. “How did you make it through alive?”

  Sybil straightened. Libys copied her down to her expression. “Why with these. A few blasts from our wands, and the dragons were running scared.”

  Mortimer’s eyes fixed on the wands for a long while. “You must be skilled mages.”

  “We are,” they answered in unison, giggling.

  “Once on the ship, all we wanted was revenge upon Gabriella,” said Libys. “The ship must have sensed our need and brought us to this place. When we saw you approach, we could not believe our good fortune!”

  “It seemed like forever while we waited for you to come through the doors so we could attack,” Sybil added.

  “And a well-executed attack it was.” Mortimer made another bow. He stepped closer to where Gabriella and Dameon huddled. “I have a proposal for you. I will split the treasure with you, two-thirds for you, one-third for myself. We can help each other, using both the Elawn and the Tantallon to carry the gold back.”

  “The Tantallon, as you call it, is finished,” Libys said. “Shortly after it reached this destination, it split in two. The damage it had sustained on our home island, the wear and tear of the winds, not to mention the dragons we encountered, were too much for it.”

  “No matter,” said Mortimer. “I am happy to see how we have already helped each other and may continue to do so. I brought you the Tantallon. I brought you Gabriella. And with Gabriella, I bring you the map to the labyrinth protecting the treasure. I brought you her brother, too—someone else to torture. Finally, I have brought you our ship, so you may leave this place.”

  Gabriella held her brother tighter. Her mind was a maze of confusion. Had even Ghede’s companion, Brigette, betrayed them by bringing the sisters there? Was everything she had taken for purpose a pattern she had imposed: the sanction of the gods, the will of the dead, the aid of Ghede and his kind?

  Nothing made sense anymore.

  The doors shook and banged again with a renewed attack from the wyvern. This time, the iron moaned and bent inward as if a giant were smashing his fist against the outside. Dust fell from the ceiling to the floor with a hiss. Flames crackled against the iron as the wyvern breathed fire from the outside. The metal shrieked with loud popping noises as it expanded from the heat.

  “Well, let us not wait any longer,” Sybil commanded. “Let’s go treasure hunting.”

  Chapter 15

  Foyle Island

  The princess was weeping on the battlements. Below, the lights of the city twinkled and the noises of the party—her party—drifted upwards. The city was in celebration of the heir to the throne. Bonfires burned throughout the streets. Music played from all corners, making a discordant noise as the melodies jumbled together here, high up, on the walls of Castle Foyle. It was Princess Sybil’s curse that even at her own party, most of the city did not notice her, did not know her own unhappiness. Even those noble members of the court senior, accomplished, and connected enough to be invited to the royal celebration, paid her little notice, as they were caught up in the competition to gain favor of her parents. A fleeting word, a glance, from the king or queen would boost or crush an ego for these hangers-on and sycophants. So it was with little disruption that she had fled while the social climbers, the obsequious servants, the up-and-comers jockeyed for position.

  Sade had grown to know them all. He had learned to be observant in the intervening years since he and his brother had come to Foyle Island. At first they both labored as longshoremen where in the comings and goings of trade many of the city’s secrets were laid bare before them. In time, Sade had become a tutor to children of wealthy families and from there an interpreter, for he quickly picked up the Oceanic Tongue and many of those on Foyle did not speak the Common Tongue. While his brother maintained their contacts at the city’s feet, mingling among commoners, Sade soon learned the ways of personalities of the ruling class. Even the king knew him by name as an expert translator and useful advisor. So his power had grown and it was natural that he would be invited to the celebration of Sybil Foyle’s coming of age at the castle—with its grand foyers, its high windows looking out over the sea, and of course its majestic tree with the silver bark and blue leaves, a living jewel, the heart of the island.

  What a tree it was. Most islanders saw it as a mighty symbol of their heritage with thick, bountiful boughs and a high crown that caught the first and last rays of the sun each day. But it took a sorc
erer’s eye to see the raw power, the untapped enchantments, woven into its fibers. Full of life and light they were, but Sade knew that could be changed. He was actually determined to make sure it was.

  In the pocket of his cloak, he had the key. He only needed to wait for the right time. As he watched Sybil bury her face in her hands, her sorrow such a contrast to the cheerful, sparkling dress she wore, he knew the time had come. For he had watched the girl. He knew her discontent, her fear could bring this royal house down.

  “Why do you weep, your Highness?” he said, approaching her where she crouched between two balustrades.

  “Don’t call me ‘Highness.’ Leave me alone,” she said, running away. She came to a corner of the castle and turned into the round top of a tower where she fell to her knees beside a flag pole. It shook as the sea wind snapped the banner hoisted there displaying her house’s seal: a blue tree with a crown of stars on a field colored russet, like a sunset. It was a stubborn reminder of the responsibilities and obligations she could not hide from as a princess coming of age.

  There should have been guards about, but even they had slipped off for s sip or two of strawberry wine. It left the two of them alone. Sade followed her to the tower top. No torches burned there. The only light was that which shone from the bonfires below. Considering the play of light and shadow, one might imagine the city burning and the castle under siege.

  “Your Highness, it is not fitting for you to be so unhappy on your birthday.”

  “I said to leave me alone.”

  “I have,” Sade said, allowing some edge to creep into his voice. “I could have called the entire court to my side. I am sure your parents would want you back in your place at their table. But I have not. It is only me and I have respected your wish to be alone. Perhaps I understand you better than the others.”

  She looked up from behind her hands, her eyes glistening before she shut them again and sobbed, “I don’t want to grow up.”

  Sade knelt beside her. “I know,” he said. “For I see all.”