The Last of the Firedrakes

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  I fiddled with my medallion, which I still wore round my neck, hidden under my clothes, as we walked quickly through the village of Pixie Bush. I was famished, and Kalen bought me an apple from a fae vendor’s cart. I hungrily polished it off, as I followed Kalen to an ancient oak tree.

  It was the most massive tree I had ever seen. The branches and leaves were spread so thickly that you could not see past the first few boughs. There were other oaks like this interspersed throughout the village between the tiny cottages, but this one was by far the tallest and largest. The width of the trunk was the size of a whole room.

  At the base was a small opening. Kalen climbed inside and gestured for me to follow. I caught a glimpse of the inner recesses. It was hollow and lit up with a faint light. I followed Kalen into the trunk of the enormous tree. The inside of the oak was absolutely massive. A steep spiral staircase ran all the way up through it, carved from within the trunk.

  As we climbed the steep stairs, it was not dark and gloomy, as I had first expected it to be. It was dimly lit with tiny lamps that glowed and flickered at regular intervals. I looked at one closely. It was a small glass ball, attached to the inside of the tree, and little lights were moving around inside. I stopped to investigate one of the lights.

  “Wow!” I said. “These look like fireflies.”

  “Not fireflies,” said Kalen, “fire-pixies.”

  I stared at the tiny pixies buzzing around inside the ball of light.

  “Don’t worry,” said Kalen. “They are not trapped, they can leave whenever they want. It’s just a job.”

  I smiled to myself; this world was slowly becoming much more interesting and not all that bad.

  We climbed higher and higher and finally came to an opening in the side of the tree trunk, leading out onto one of the branches. I was about to walk through it when Kalen stopped me.

  “No, princess, not yet. My mother’s house is on the topmost branch,” he said, with a hint of pride in his voice. “It has the best view, you know.”

  “Please call me Aurora,” I said absentmindedly. “All this ‘my princess’ stuff sounds silly.”

  Kalen smiled. “All right, Aurora,” he said.

  I was still curious, and I decided to have a peep out onto the branch just the same. I peered through the opening. In the middle of the bough where the branches spanned out wider, balancing precariously between two broad branches on a wooden platform, was a small cottage with a little thatched roof and creepers covering the walls, like the cottages on the floor of the wood. I was spellbound. It was a life-sized tree house.

  “Who lives here?” I asked, entranced.

  “The Bettlebirds—they are not a very nice family. Mother has been trying to get them out of this tree for years,” he said, continuing up the spiral staircase, with me in tow.

  We passed another few openings leading out onto the branches. I peeped out quickly once or twice. All the branches had a little cottage built between the leaves, spaced out at regular intervals.

  When we reached the topmost branch, we stepped out of the little door onto an extremely wide branch of the massive tree. There the sun shone brighter, and the tiny cottage looked absolutely magical.

  The bough served as a small pathway that lead to the treehouse, which looked like the others except that the roof was bright green and made of leaves. It blended into the foliage surrounding it perfectly. Vines crept haphazardly up the walls and onto the roof. The windows revealed a cake and some freshly baked bread cooling on the windowsill. The smell was heavenly, and I was famished.

  “Here we are,” said Kalen. “This is my mother’s house.”

  He went up to the door and knocked once.

  It opened almost immediately, and a pleasant-looking woman with curly gold ringlets, a round face, and dancing blue eyes hugged Kalen fiercely and ushered us in. I looked around the little cottage in the trees. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen—quite large from the inside, sparsely furnished with a fluffy green sofa and a cream-colored rug that covered the wooden floor. It was homely and cozy, and a lazy fire was struggling to stay alight in the small fireplace, where a little pot was hanging, bubbling away.

  After the initial happiness of seeing Kalen alive wore off, his mother began shouting at him. She looked very angry.

  “What did I tell you about leaving the forest? Without the magical boundaries, it is not difficult for the guards to capture you. How could you, Kalen, how could you? What if something had happened to you? What if the Black Wolf had not managed to get there in time?” She paused for a moment. “A lovely boy, that Rafe,” she sniffed.

  I suppressed a giggle; at least now I knew where Kalen inherited his fast talking skills. I smiled at the plump fae lady, who suddenly looked surprised to see me, as though she had forgotten I was there.

  “Oh!” said Kalen’s mother. “Who is this little one?”

  I smiled because the fae lady came up to my shoulders and had to look up to talk to me.

  “This is my friend, Mother—the Lady Aurora. She was also in the dungeons at Lord Oblek’s castle. Rafe rescued her as well,” said Kalen, turning to me. “Aurora, this is my mother, Penelope Plumpleberry.”

  I smiled. The name suited her.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Plumpleberry,” I said politely.

  “Oh, you can call me Penelope. Everybody does.”

  “Mother, I promised Aurora she could stay with us for a night,” said Kalen.

  “Of course,” said Penelope, bustling around the little cottage, making tea and cutting up the cake. “Will you have some, Aurora?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, please,” I answered eagerly. My tummy was grumbling, and I was so hungry.

  “Finn has gone out to attend to some errands. Come and sit here, and we can talk freely,” Penelope said, patting the cushion next to her. “Kalen, bring the tea and cake.”

  I sat down on the proffered cushion.

  “Yes, Mother,” said Kalen, bringing over a little tray and setting it down in front of me.

  “Now tell me, my dear . . . what exactly happened to you? Maybe I can be of some help,” said Mrs. Plumpleberry, turning to give me her full attention.

  I sipped on my delicate cup of violet tea, which happened to taste rather nice, gathered my thoughts and prepared to start my story once again.

  “Well . . .” said Kalen. He obviously couldn’t resist being the one to talk, so he proceeded to tell his mother everything: who I was, where he met me, and the fact that Rafe was taking me to see my granduncle, the Duke of Silverthorne.

  “So you see, Oblek thinks I am the lost princess, and Queen Morgana now knows I am alive and wants to get me out of the way permanently,” I finished.

  Penelope looked stunned, much like Rafe had in the woods earlier, when I told him who I really was.

  “Please say something,” I urged, leaning forward a little.

  She looked at me, her eyes bright and questioning.

  “It was thought that all three of you died that day,” said Penelope slowly, “but obviously your parents found a way to save you.”

  “How? How could they have saved me if they both died?”

  “I don’t know, my dear,” said Penelope. “What I do know is that the whole west wing of the castle of Nerenor burned to the ground. Your parents disappeared, and Morgana assumed the throne of Illiador.”

  “Disappeared? You mean, died?”

  Penelope looked away. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, although their bodies were never found.”

  A spark of hope leapt in my heart.

  “But if I’m still alive, isn’t it possible that they could be, too?”

  Penelope shook her head. “I am sorry, my dear, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. Your parents must be dead. If they were not, they would have returned by now, or someone would have seen or heard something. No one has even whispered that Elayna or Azaren could be alive.”

  I hung my head, the memories of my dream fresh
in my mind. I could see Morgana coming at my mother to stab her. I didn’t want to say anything about the dream to Penelope and Kalen. Somehow it seemed too private to talk about. At least now I knew I hadn’t made it all up, and I wasn’t crazy. But why had the dream begun occurring only recently?

  “How did Morgana know I was alive?” I asked.

  Penelope shook her head. “I don’t know, my dear,” she said, putting her hand on my arm.

  “Do you also think Morgana will kill me if she finds me?” I asked finally, although I think I already knew the answer.

  “Yes, that much is certain,” said Penelope. “If Morgana knows who you really are, then she will not stop coming after you. You need to get out of Illiador before she does.”

  Suddenly I didn’t feel so grown up. I stupidly wished that I could go home again, to my mother. But that was not possible anymore. My parents were dead, my real ones and my adoptive ones. I looked down at my feet as tears welled up in my eyes. A few stray droplets ran down my cheek, but I wiped them away, sniffing a little.

  Penelope must have felt sorry for me because she leaned over and gave me a hug. I hugged her back, eager for a little maternal warmth.

  “If you want to find out more, then you must travel to Eldoren with Rafe. He is right, Silverthorne will know what to do,” said Penelope finally.

  “But can you please tell me a little more about my family before I go?” I asked. “I’m still confused how I am related to the duke.”

  Penelope nodded and proceeded to tell me what she knew.

  “You are part of one of the most powerful families in the whole of Avalonia. King Ereneth, your grandfather, is a descendant of the Firedrake dynasty, the first and longest reigning dynasty, which began with the first king of these lands, Auraken Firedrake. Ereneth married Fiona Silverthorne, your father’s mother, who was the sister of the Duke of Silverthorne, one of the most formidable families in Eldoren.”

  “So who was my mother?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “Elayna was a daughter of the royal house of Gwenfar-ith-Aran of the fae,” said Penelope, slowly.

  “Fae,” I whispered. “My mother was fae?”

  Now I was really shocked. I had presumed that my mother was a mage like my father or just an ordinary person. But fae! Who’d have thought?

  Penelope nodded. “And not just any ordinary fae, your mother was one of the Immortals.”

  “Immortals,” I squeaked. “If she was immortal, how could she have died?”

  Penelope smiled. “Most of the fae have very long lives, spanning centuries, and those of the royal house of Gwenfar-ith-Aran are immortal. But even immortal fae can be killed using the right weapon.”

  I nodded, thinking back to my dream where Morgana stabbed my mother with the dagger.

  “So, if a child is born of a fae and a mage, what do they become?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Well,” said Penelope thoughtfully. “They take on either trait or power, or the magic can skip the generation completely. If you do have the potential for fae magic, I should be able to sense it.”

  My eyes widened. “So,” I said, “can you sense anything?”

  Penelope held my hand in hers and closed her eyes. I could feel a sort of tingling sensation in my hands when she touched them.

  Finally she looked at me and shook her head. “No, nothing,” she said, hesitating. “But do not be distressed, Aurora dear, you’ve probably taken on your father’s magic. The magic of the mages is different from that of the fae. The Duke of Silverthorne is a very powerful and experienced mage, and he will be able to sense that.”

  Kalen nodded. “Yes, the duke is very influential in Eldoren and is chief advisor to the king. Silverthorne Castle is the only place where you will be safe.”

  “This is true,” said Penelope. “If Oblek tells Morgana you have escaped, it is only a matter of time before she sends the Shadow Guard to hunt you down.”

  “Who are the Shadow Guard?” I asked. A twinge of fear ran down my spine. I didn’t like the sound of anything hunting me, especially something with a name that began with shadow.

  “They are the scourge of Illiador; Morgana’s personal guard, loyal only to the queen and the archmage. They are not only mages, but also hardened warriors, enhanced by a powerful magic. They’re trained by Lucian himself. We need to get you over the border to Eldoren as soon as possible,” said Kalen.

  “But I want to see the night market.” I knew I was being childish, but I really wanted to visit the magical fairy market. I didn’t think I would ever get a chance like this again.

  “Please,” I pleaded, looking at Penelope, and back at Kalen.

  Kalen must have felt sorry for me, since he seemed to agree. He turned to his mother. “Yes, Mother, maybe we can see the market tonight and tomorrow morning we can head off to Eldoren.”

  “Is it far?” I asked. I was not too keen on riding for hours, to who knew where.

  “No, not really, it’s just on the other side of the Cascade Mountains,” said Kalen. As if popping over the mountains was a simple feat.

  I was horrified.

  “You want me to travel over a mountain? On what, horseback?” I squeaked.

  Kalen grinned. “Not used to riding, eh?”

  “I know how to ride, but how many days will it take?” I asked, hesitantly.

  “It’s not too far. We are right on the border,” said Kalen. “About five to seven nights, depending on the weather.”

  “What! Seven days? Where will we sleep?” I asked, horrified at the prospect of traveling over mountains on horseback for a week.

  Kalen looked confused. “We sleep outside. We will have to make camp. Don’t worry, I know how to light a fire to keep away the wild creatures.”

  “Wild creatures,” I repeated. “Camping outside!” This was not my idea of safe at all.

  “And we must get you some suitable clothes,” said Mrs. Plumpleberry, eyeing me up and down. “I think I have something that may fit you. My eldest daughter, Dewdrop, left some of her things here when she moved away after her marriage.”

  Kalen grinned again. “Try and get some rest, Aurora, tonight we will go to the night market.”

  7

  The Midnight Market

  Later that night, after I had eaten well and rested, we set out for the midnight market. I followed Kalen along the small path, from Pixie Bush into the very heart of Goldleaf Forest. The full moon shone brightly through the rustling leaves, and the forest path was dappled with dancing specks of silver that flitted ahead of us, guiding the way. It was strange how the whole forest seemed to be awake for the market. Birds chirped high above us, and little forest animals poked their heads out of the bushes just in time for me to see them before they disappeared again into the dense undergrowth.

  Mrs. Plumpleberry had healed my hands and my feet with a magical ointment she made herself. I had changed into a pretty linen dress, dyed a lovely emerald green, with wide bell sleeves. It was bound at the waist with a green-and-gold-trimmed sash and flowed down to my ankles. My feet were wrapped in soft muslin bandages, and I wore supple leather boots, which belonged to Kalen’s older sister. When I looked in the mirror after getting dressed, I was stunned at the transformation. In my normal jeans or tracks I looked like a gawky teenager, but in this dress I felt like a grown-up.

  The night air was chilly in the forest, and Penelope had very generously given me a brown woolen cloak to keep myself warm. I was grateful for her kindness and sound advice, and I hoped I would be able to pay her back someday.

  “Your mom is very sweet,” I said to Kalen, as we walked quickly down the forest path. “She seems to know a lot.”

  “Oh, Mother knows everything,” said Kalen, picking up a pebble. “She is a very old fae, after all.”

  “Is she? She doesn’t look very old to me,” I said, confused.

  “Mother is three hundred and ninety-three summers old,” said Kalen.

  “Three hundred and ninety-three years old,” I
repeated, aghast. Penelope didn’t look a day over forty.

  Kalen nodded. “Our race ages very slowly. She will only start looking old when she has completed a thousand summers,” he said. “She is one of the elders of the village—but her magic is still strong and she is a gifted healer. Many have come to her for help over the years. Once she even helped your granduncle, when he was injured in the woods not far from here.”

  It seemed to me that we had been walking for quite a while when I could suddenly hear voices and noises quite clearly in the quiet forest. We came to a large clearing, and the delightful sight left me spellbound. The forest was alive, radiant and subtly lit by pretty, different-colored lanterns hanging from the towering trees. Beautifully decorated stalls and multicolored tents had sprung up all over the place. Some were nestled between the tall trees, and some were haphazardly placed around the edge of the clearing, forming a slightly wonky circle. Fae of all sizes, shapes and colors wandered around, having a marvelous time. There were dryads, naiads, brownies, and little pixies with wings who flitted about the place in groups, laughing and eating at the food stalls.

  We came to a stall, which was manned by a small, funny-looking fae with a pointy nose and long ears. Kalen identified him as a gnome. He was selling some strangely colored liquid in glass bottles and was haggling unashamedly about prices with two old ladies, whom I thought were very sweet.

  As we walked through the market, Kalen chattered on.

  “Although some of the larger towns have shops that sell magical ingredients for potions,” Kalen was saying, “this is the only place you can find some of the really rare items.”

  I followed Kalen, who was entering a green tent, where the sign outside read: “Buy a plant for your home and garden.” That sounded quite interesting. Maybe I could buy a plant for Kalen’s mom—she had really helped me, after all—but I remembered I didn’t have any money.

  The tent was not what I expected at all. The inside was bewitched to look like a large greenhouse; like the forest, it was much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. The moonlight shone through the glass ceiling, and rows of plants and flowers lined the sides of the tent. We decided to explore.