by Ravek Hunter
Everything was a blur after that. He remembered Wodanaz playing his golden flute and singing fanciful tunes. There was dancing on the tables and bawdy songs and raucous laughter from the patrons of the lounge. More were always arriving as the word got out that Wodanaz was entertaining. All the while, Myrllin encouraged both Qel and Havacian to perform small feats of magic, like creating dancing flames or fireworks in the air. Havacian created a light mist throughout the lounge during one of Wodanaz’s dramatic tales and sent hundreds of floating water bubbles spinning around the room that others would pop, sprinkling their friends with water to everyone’s enjoyment.
Qel never drank so much of his family’s wine, or any wine, in his life, and if things had stopped there, even then, they could have departed with their self-respect. But there was more, much more. Myrllin never let up and continued to encourage them to greater and more challenging feats. Qel did things that he had no idea were possible, let alone something he was capable of. The power he wielded was absurd as he shot magnificent orbs of fire and jets of flames into the air high above them, lighting up the night as if it were daytime. He even produced a line of half-clad dancing women, formed by flames, swaying seductively on the wall of branches that kept the patrons from tumbling off the side of the platform. Havacian somehow conjured a thick pillar of water underneath each of them to keep Qel’s flaming women from burning the branches that sizzled and steamed, covering the lounge in a smoky haze. The crowd cheered them on and asked them for more . . . and they gave more. The spice in the pie, as his mother would say.
Inexplicably, he and Havacian each managed to commandeer the lift discs, and under their own power and control raced them up and down the length of the Tower. Qel remembered jumping from one to the other as they moved together at impossible speeds and laughing about not spilling his wine when he landed. Until that moment, Qel had no idea that his family vintage could cause people to lose their minds.
He cringed under his blankets, recalling more and more details of the previous night. At least they survived it and managed to find their way back to the inn, although he remembered none of that part. He survived it anyhow; he would have to check on Havacian in his room. Qel wondered what his master would say when he got the report about their behavior in the lounge of the Tower. He didn’t want to think about it.
Finally emerging from his bed, Qel was still a little shaky on his feet. He stood a few moments to regain his balance and then took his time washing and getting dressed. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten for several hours, and with food as the goal in mind, he left his room to find Havacian. To his surprise, his friend was already up, staring up at the ceiling from a chair in the sitting room that connected their bedchambers in the suite.
“Do you remember what we did last night?” he said when Qel entered.
“Some of it,” Qel replied. “Too much of it.”
Havacian visibly shuddered. “There’s going to be hell to pay, you know. I hope the Masters don’t recall us.”
“The Tower knows where we are staying,” Qel said, “if they want to send us a message.”
Havacian sighed. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, I suppose. Are you hungry?”
Qel let himself laugh. “I could eat a whole hartebeest myself.”
~~~
Qel and Havacian were just finishing up with their breakfast when Aelrindel walked into the inn. He had a grin on his face as wide as the Primal Sea when he spied them sitting at a nearby table. “I heard you two had an impressive evening at the Wizards Tower last night,” he said while taking a seat at the table with them.
Qel was bewildered. “How could you know that?”
“Two Atlanteans stood toe to toe with Wodanaz and his brother Myrllin in a contest of magical feats and . . . drinking.” Aelrindel laughed. “Word is all over the city after your little light show last night.”
Havacian visibly sank in his chair. “We are definitely going to be recalled now, Qel.”
Qel glanced at his friend and then back to Aelrindel. “No one knows who we are, I hope? Our names?”
“You don’t remember, do you?” replied Aelrindel dubiously.
“Remember what?” Qel was feeling irritable now. Apparently, the entire city remembered more than he did about last night.
“Well,” Aelrindel cleared his throat. “With all the commotion you boys were making up there, more than a few citizens became concerned. Some were quite a bit more influential than others, and before long the High King ordered his Griffon Riders to investigate. From what I heard, you two were just getting off a wild ride on the lift discs and fairly close to passing out when they arrived. Myrllin assured them that everything was fine and requested that they return you to your inn to sleep off the effects of the evening.”
Aelrindel leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and displayed his infuriating smile again. “And that’s how you got back to the inn last night.”
“Are you saying that the High King’s elite Griffon Riders took Havacian and me and flew us back to this inn and put us in our beds?” Qel was incredulous.
Havacian just groaned.
“The innkeeper’s staff put you in bed, but yes, the Griffon Riders flew you here,” Aelrindel finished triumphantly. Qel had a feeling he had planned this entire conversation just to watch them squirm. This was the dark side of Elven humor.
Havacian groaned a second time, and Qel thought he might be sick.
“I guess we are done here,” Qel blustered. “I’m surprised we haven’t been run out of the city or had a visit from the Atlantean ambassador. Surely this will be viewed very badly at the Enclave. Our masters will probably fetch us back, strip us down to initiates, and keep us locked up in the Enclave for another twenty years!”
“I doubt it,” Aelrindel replied coolly.
“You doubt it? You doubt it? Who are you to doubt anything?” Qel exploded on the elf with a fury he had never felt before. He and Havacian were facing severe repercussions for what they had done, and it wasn’t entirely their fault. And this elf was telling him that he doubted anything would come of it. Didn’t he just say that they were flown back to their inn by the High King’s elite Griffon Riders? They were in serious trouble, and he knew it.
“Be calm,” Aelrindel spoke softly, soothingly. “Don’t you know what you have done?”
Qel was out of energy, exasperated, and defeated, and he replied calmly, “What have we done besides act like fools for the world to see?”
“You have spent an evening with Wodanaz and Myrllin, the two most prolific figures of our age and many ages besides,” Aelrindel told them. “If anything, you will be hailed as friends of the famous duo.”
Qel was doubtful. “That remains to be seen.”
“So how about I take you to the apple groves as I promised?” Aelrindel’s sprightly mood was not catching.
“Sure,” Qel replied blandly. “That would be great.” Somehow the appeal of the famed apple groves had lost its luster, but at least they would be away from Avalon City for a while.
“Great. I’ll tell you some good news on the way.”
Aelrindel led them to the stables to obtain their mounts. To Qel’s surprise, the horses had been readied for their departure, and they rode from the inn with little delay. Avalon City was crowded and busy this time of day, inhibiting their movement as they made their way around the market and through the northern districts of the city. Here, many of the natural structures were grown quite large and complex. Aelrindel explained that they were mostly government and administrative complexes, with the most important offices at the lower levels and the lesser ones set higher among the branches and canopy above. After what seemed like a long time, the crowds thinned and the noise reached a tolerable level, allowing Aelrindel to speak without shouting.
“My father returned yesterday and asked me to travel to Ys. Apparently, strange things are happening in the city, and he asked me to investigate the rumors on behalf of the H
igh King. How would you two like to join me on another adventure?”
Qel was feeling sorry for himself up until then, and the idea of escaping the city and possibly the wrath of their masters before they could be summoned appealed to him greatly. “When can we leave?”
“Qel . . .” Havacian began.
“Do you really want to go back to Master Curatei and the rest of the Enclave a failed wizard barely into Discovery?” Qel chided. “I certainly don’t. If we can leave the city and get on a ship to Ys before an initiate from the Tower can find us, then technically we haven’t done anything wrong.”
Havacian rolled his eyes. “Except evade their summons. You know it must be coming.”
“Well, they don’t know we are evading anything. We’re simply moving along to a new destination.”
“What happens when we run out of money?” countered Havacian. “As soon as we show our faces in the Wizards Tower in Ys, or anywhere for that matter, the summons will be waiting for us.”
“Then we will make our way on our own,” Qel retorted. “I’m sure two talented wizards of the Imperial Order can earn a few coins doing something useful to get by.”
“Perhaps we can open for Wodanaz. You can create pretty fireworks, and I can juggle balls of water. What a pair we would make!” Havacian was being sarcastic and irritable, Qel knew. In the end, Havacian would not want to return to Atlantis after their night of overindulgence any more than Qel did.
“Boys, boys,” Aelrindel interrupted. “Everything will be fine. I’m sure of it. I have already booked passage on a ship to Ys that departs in two days. I reserved for the three of us in case you wanted to join me. Let’s enjoy the groves this afternoon, and we will worry about getting you on the ship without the Tower discovering your deceit once we return.”
Chapter 18
Child of Gold
SY 5485 - Five years earlier
Lysithea was standing alone at the heart of her apple grove. She stared up at the stars that shone bright in the blackness of the cloudless sky. The evening was mild, allowing her the opportunity to wear one of her favorite outfits—a very long, light blue evening gown with many layers of solid and sheer silks that trailed behind her while she strolled her beloved orchard. Despite Lysithea’s outward appearance of serenity, her delicate hands were clenched together tightly in front of her gown, betraying her anxiety.
This was going to be a special night. That was her hope, and she nervously said a quiet prayer to the goddess Gersemi that it would be so.
The apple grove where she waited was a sacred place among the Nymphs, and any other night she would have been entirely at home and at ease here. She was the queen, after all, and this was her alone time to meditate on the essential challenges facing her realm on a daily basis. At least that was what her closest staff and advisers thought Lysithea was doing. It was only a small lie, and it relieved her of explanations that she was not ready for yet, especially right now. Besides, why shouldn’t she be entitled to a little privacy in her life when she wanted it?
Queen Lysithea barely had to reach with her mind to feel every branch and leaf stimulated by the light breeze so clean and fresh during the springtime eve. Even the soft soil beneath her feet that nurtured her grove felt comforting and warm. Long ago, the Elves from Avalon gifted this grove to her ancestors, and the first Nymph Queen built a fabulous palace around it from which to rule. According to legend, the first Nymph—the goddess Gersemi—blessed the grove, altering the fruit it bore to produce a very particular golden-hued apple with unique properties that would benefit the Nymphs and those that pleased them. The apple became known as Gersemi’s treasure, and it was the Nymphs’ most prized possession. Just as it had been for her mother and grandmother and every Nymph Queen that came before her, the grove was part of who she was, a physical extension of her well-being. And so it would be with her daughter one day. Her daughter. She smiled at the thought.
She passed one of the giant white owls that perched motionless nearby, a silent guardian dedicated to the protection of the grove. There were many of them among the trees, each nearly her height and three times as wide. Their glowing, seldom blinking eyes were the only warning that they were real and not decorations.
A sudden rush of wind rustled the leaves through the orchard from somewhere beyond Lysithea’s sight. The owl rotated its head swiftly in that direction, flapped its wings as if it were going to take flight, and then settled again. Lysithea sensed the presence of something else in her grove, and her anxiety heightened further with expectation. She didn’t need to see the source of the disturbance to know who it was that so boldly trespassed in her private orchard. She waited patiently, even with the troupe of butterflies fluttering endlessly in her stomach. More silent than a shadow, a beautiful man of pure perfection, garbed in flowing robes of silken gold, emerged from the darkness to stand close in front of her. Without a word, the queen rushed to embrace him, to trade soft and subtle kisses with hot breath upon each other’s lips. The owl looked away.
After a while, they separated just a little, and the man in gold spoke in the perfect tone and timbre of one who could sing the greatest ballads of Gades, or anywhere, expertly. “How are you this beautiful evening, my queen?” he asked while planting small kisses down the length of her long neck.
Lysithea laughed a lilting, playful laugh. “I am very well now that you are here, my love.”
She led him to a stone bench, where they sat close and spoke at length about many things, from the mundane to affairs of state. She loved this man her people knew as Senjit, a Golden Dragon currently in human form. He was Queen Lysithea’s secret friend, advisor, and lover for more than a century. They often met just as they did this night to keep each other’s company and enjoy their love together. Tonight was different, however; she had something important to tell him, and it would change both of their lives forever.
Senjit seemed to sense her anxiety. “What troubles you, beloved? You seem unsettled tonight. Much more so than usual when my touch causes your flesh to quiver,” he joked.
Lysithea didn’t know the best way to say what was occupying her mind, so she just came out with it. “Senjit, I am with child.”
“Pregnant?” He appeared shocked and elated at the same time. “I never considered that would be possible. But it is wonderful news!” Senjit pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
Lysithea was relieved that Senjit was happy but terrified by the unknown. “What do you think it could mean? Will the baby be a Nymph or Dragon? Or some hybrid of both? Or some terrible monstrosity created by two perfect beings?”
“We will simply have to wait and see. Whatever it is, it will be our child, and we will love it,” he assured her enthusiastically. “Both of us have a special innate power within, and our purity of love will create something beautiful from the two of us, I am sure!”
“I know what ‘it’ is, dear. Would you like to know? Or shall I just wait and surprise you?” she asked him playfully.
“Do you now? I suppose I should know so not to waste time on my knitting,” he teased back.
She smiled broadly. “A girl. We will have a daughter.”
“That is wonderful! Not really a surprise considering you are a Nymph.” He laughed. “In any case, I hope she is just like her mother. Unless she’s a Dragon. Then she can look like me. There is no more beautiful Dragon in the world than me, you know!” he laughed as if he were joking. Lysithea knew better than that. Senjit, at least in Dragon form, considered himself one of the most beautiful creatures on earth. And perhaps with just a tiny bit of jealousy, she had to agree.
She kissed his cheek. “And that’s just one reason I love you.”
Feeling alive and excited, the lovers fell into each other’s embrace and celebrated their joy together.
~~~
Dawn broke, sending its first rays of the new day through the open window of Lysithea’s bedchamber. She was awake already, unable to sleep much after Senjit departed. She couldn’
t stop thinking about all the things they talked about. They speculated endlessly about what their daughter would be like, her personality, her physical characteristics, what powers she would carry within her. That last part scared Lysithea a little for some reason.
So much talk about the future sent her mind wandering back to the past. Lysithea considered what she really knew about her lover’s past. Someday their daughter would ask questions about her unusual parents, and she was determined to have the right answers even if they would not likely be a subject she had to deal with for another decade or so. Lysithea tried hard to remember the stories Senjit had told her over the years and piece them together as best she could.
She recalled that he was raised by the Centaurs on the island of Chenech, one of four islands that comprised the Isles of Gades, until he was old enough to fly. The legend of his arrival was simple and well-known by the people of Gades. Senjit assumed it was true, but she didn’t think he really cared if it was or not. Apparently, his mother was an ordinary Dragon that arrived at Chenech Isle already pregnant and on the verge of going into labor. She was a very intelligent and kind Dragon who quickly befriended the gentle Centaurs on the Isle she settled.
Sadly, she lived only a few weeks after giving birth to Senjit for reasons unknown, and the Centaurs raised him as their own in deference to his mother, whom they held in high regard. Senjit never knew her by more than the few stories the Centaurs passed down and her name, Findyl, which was inscribed on a small monument at the site of her burial. Often, Senjit would visit the secluded glen within the forest and trace the name on the granite stone with his finger as if that would bring him some comfort. Lysithea accompanied him there on several occasions, and she thought the visits brought him nothing but sadness. Lysithea never pressed Senjit to know more about his past. Maybe there wasn’t much more to tell other than that he was raised well by the Centaurs, considered them his family and forever under his protection.
