Island of Zarada
The Larimar Quest
by Michele Evans
Nefertiti Press
www.IslandOfZarada.com
Copyright 2016 Michele Evans
ISBN-10: 0-9862946-4-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-9862946-4-8
Published by Nefertiti Press
http://www.micheleevansauthor.com
http://www.islandofzarada.com
Illustrations: Olga Volkova
Cover design: Kimberly Bizon
Author photo: Maxine Evans
Island of Zarada is a trademark of Nefertiti Press
All rights reserved All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
Dedicated to my magikal butterfly – Mira.
PART 1
Miranda’s Inner Conflict
Morning crept along the island of Zarada like a lazy tortoise, determined and impervious. In the early promise of sunrise, two red orange discs rose from the east, blazing down on the cracked terrain while a furry bondo yawned, climbed up from its underground den, and wobbled to the watering hole, finding it still dry.
Its tiny black eyes stared hopelessly at the crevices that ran along the pond bed in veiny channels.
Smelling death, its black nose twitched. Emaciated bodies of dead and dying animals, winged and hooved of various sizes, lay scattered in and around the waterless hole.
The field beyond the forest laid parched and the air stood still. The bondo wandered back to the edge of the forest to lick paltry drops of dew from the few remaining brown wisps poking up from the ground – all the water it would find until the next morning, if it could survive until then.
There was that noise again. The bondo perked its ears in the direction of the barn in the distance, hearing sounds it had become familiar with; metal scraping against metal, followed by a sliding door, and finally the click of a latching clasp. And he saw the figure that made the sounds – a Young Warrior.
Miranda had arrived at the barn to feed and groom her camion, which she rode to and from the Young Warrior Academy. Now that she was older, she was trusted to come and go on her own and she enjoyed the independence it gave her. She gripped the steel door handle and slid the heavy stall door open. In expectation of being fed, Cavalo let out a deep and resonant “REOW!”
“Hey, boy,” she answered, patting him on the back.
Miranda loved this glorious beast of hers that had the torso and hooves of a horse and the fur of a cat.
She adored his giant feline head with its long white whiskers sprouting on either side of a pale pink nose.
She marveled at his slanted grey eyes flecked with gold and the enormous white wings that carried her through the air.
She noticed the feed supply was low and the water well shallow. After scooping a small portion of food into the trough and pouring a slosh of water into his bucket, Miranda gave Cavalo a pat on the neck. “Sorry the portion’s small, boy. We have to conserve.”
Cavalo’s coat was matted. It was summer season, and the hottest one she could recall. A special brush was required, one that could penetrate his thick, matted coat. She surveyed the grooming tools hanging on the wall and, finding the one she was looking for, lifted it off its hook.
The long thin silver teeth sank into his deep fur. After a few strokes over one area, the knots began to give way. The brush glided smoothly and soon his caramel colored coat began to shine. She moved on to the next section and continued in an even rhythm while Cavalo munched his breakfast.
Outside, the two suns of Zarada pierced the air with their burning rays. The flaming orbs were well above the horizon, and the temperature was intensifying so rapidly that Miranda could feel the heat of Cavalo’s skin through his fur.
After wiping the sweat away from her face and neck with a handkerchief, she removed her summer cloak and hung it on a hook. She pulled up her chestnut hair and pinned it away from her neck. Her sheer blouse and knickers were more comfortable, but she was still so very hot.
The drought plaguing the island was reaching a crisis. Much of the stored food had been infected with a poisonous fungus and water supplies were dwindling. The crops were stunted and withered. There was no hint of rain; only a string of hot, dry days turned into weeks.
The High Council had just mandated a rationing program, so Miranda’s breakfast had become sparse. Her stomach grumbled in protest and she was thirsty all the time.
She had complained this morning when the bowl of grains had only amounted to a few mouthfuls, her sepia brown eyes searing into her mother. “Mom, I need more than this. I’m training today.”
“I know, darling. But that’s all we’re allowed.” It pained Athedra to deny food to her growing daughter. “I’ve even given you my portion.”
Miranda stared down at her empty plate, ashamed. “I didn’t know.”
As she brushed through the tangled fur, she thought about the other source of nutrition not found on the land, but in the water – sea vegetables. We have almost exhausted this year’s harvest, she reflected. The High Council must find a solution soon.
Her attention was diverted by a tapping sound. Cavalo stopped chewing, lifted his head, his ears pricking up. Peeking her head around the doorway, Miranda spotted the source, a doken. Its beak pecked at a spot where the base of the barn met the ground.
There were many varieties of dokens. This one had shining emerald green feathers and a glossy black head. It had been enjoying a breakfast of tasty insects until it noticed it had company. Startled by Miranda’s appearance, it crouched, stretched its wings, and flew off to perch in a nearby tree.
Just then a voice called out, “Miranda!”
It was her friend Satrah, wavy red locks and hazel eyes shining in the morning light. She approached leading Otho, her female camion. Otho had been ill the past few weeks and was not up to her usual frisky self.
Miranda was pleased. “Satrah!” She ducked back into the stall, hung up the brush and led Cavalo outside.
She stroked Otho’s nose. “How’s she doing? Better?”
“Yes,” replied Satrah, stroking Otho’s honey colored fur. “Aren’t you well, girl?”
The two camions greeted each other by placing their noses close together. Cavalo affecttionately licked Otho on the forehead.
Miranda noticed that the other Young Warriors had arrived. The ones who had left their camions in the barn overnight came on foot and those who kept their camions at home rode in. They were now converging in the field adjacent to the large barn, joking around in an easy way.
Anaya was the only Young Warrior who didn’t always show up. Her mother, Selexi, was the daughter of the Sultana, and as a result Anaya got away with many transgressions. “I wonder if she’ll come today,” said Satrah.
Miranda, knowing who she meant, shrugged. “Selexi doesn’t like her to spend time with us.”
“The High Council must be unhappy about that. They want us to form a united group. They’re always going on about it.”
Miranda nodded. “My mom says Selexi does all kinds of things that are against the rules, but the Sultana doesn’t do anything about it.”
Miranda tried to push it out of her mind, but the mere mention of the name “Selexi” brought painful memories back to the surface. Every second generation a new warrior was crowned Sultana. The law stated: “The first girl born after the second new moon of the Corn Year will inherit the throne.”
It was a title that had been expected to pass to
Anaya, because she had been conceived first. But Miranda had been premature; and now it was her birthright, indeed her duty, to rule.
It should have been an honor, but her destiny felt more like a curse than a blessing. Selexi claimed that since her own daughter was supposed to have been born first, it was only right that Anaya should be given the title despite the surprise birth order.
“Shh. Here she comes,” whispered Satrah.
Anaya strode by with her camion as if she owned the barn. “What’s the holdup?” she complained.
Satrah rolled her eyes.
“We’re right on schedule,” Miranda replied.
Anaya sighed impatiently as she moved along, behaving as if the schedule should revolve around the moment she was ready and not a moment sooner or later.
When they were very young, Miranda and Anaya played together often. But Selexi didn’t like it and would snatch her daughter away. “Your being the next Sultana is just a technicality,” she would coarsely bark at Miranda. “It really belongs to Anaya. Everyone knows it.”
Being denied Anaya's friendship was hard enough on its own; but what was intolerable was the continual resentment, and the gnawing feeling that Anaya and her mother were out to get her. Added to that was the fact that Miranda didn't really want to be Sultana. She dreamed of being like everyone else, without this burden weighing her down.
Enough, thought Miranda. It's not up to me. But then she paused, and a tempting thought crept into her mind. Maybe I don't have to be Sultana. What if I just give it to Anaya willingly? Wouldn't that solve everything?
Satrah recognized the look she had seen on Miranda’s face many times. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Miranda scratched Otho under the chin and shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’ll bet I can guess what the topic is.”
The last of the girls were moving away from the barn. Miranda took Cavalo’s reigns and began walking. “Time to go,” she said.
Satrah nodded. They mounted their animals and trotted toward the open field.
The Warrior Academy
As the next Sultana, Miranda had been given the role of leading the other Young Warriors during training. There was no hesitation in following her; she was unassuming and nonthreatening. In fact, some of the girls thought she was too passive to be Sultana. But they preferred her to the aggressive Anaya, who sometimes took the lead when none of the Elders were watching. Assertion might be a desirable trait in a leader, but Anaya was also mean spirited.
During one sword training session, Anaya had taken her superiority too far. She had been paired with Arlia, a small girl who was timid and weak.
“Lift up your sword, and fight!” Anaya commanded under her breath, hoping no one would hear the cruelty.
When Arlia lifted her sword tentatively, Anaya insulted her further, and made the mistake of raising her voice. “You must be slow, stupid or both!” Her laughter resonated through the air.
Madeeka, the Warrior Elder, took Anaya off swordplay for the day and ordered her to run around the circuit until she dropped from exhaustion.
Miranda made sure everyone was present. “Let’s go!” she shouted, tapping Cavalo with her foot, and they broke into a gallop, leaving a haze of dust swirling in the air.
It was a breathtaking sight. Thirty Young Warriors on galloping camions charged across the golden field, sprinting faster and faster, until they gained enough speed to lift off the ground, a flock rising into the air, wings beating quickly to gain altitude.
It was something Miranda had seen many times before; but when she flew at these heights, her heart pulsed several beats faster. She soaked in the panoramic view of her cherished home. From high in the air was a stunning view of the Trothe Mountain Range, which leaned dramatically away from the Topaz Sea. Beyond that was the secret passageway, which led to the training ground.
The island was naturally split into two by the mountains. On one side were the castle grounds and the village, where day to day activities took place. The other side housed the Warrior Training Academy.
As she gazed across the landscape, Miranda admired the vast forest that bordered a pristine beach in one direction and dead ended into the mountain range on the other, and sadly noticed that the treetops were shriveling and were more brown than green. The exhilarating ride, usually sweet and joyous, was tinged with angst. How would they survive another season without rain?
Many years ago, there had been talk of discontinuing the warrior training when the mothers of Young Warriors had a biannual meeting to discuss their daughters’ progress. Selexi had designs on weakening the army so she could more easily take control.
“It has been many years since we have fought in a war,” Selexi remarked one day. “We are friends with all our neighbors. Why do we still need to train our daughters for fighting? Seems like a waste of time to me.”
“What if we’re attacked?” asked Athedra. “We must have warriors ready.”
“We’ll never be attacked,” Selexi replied. “The other islands are terrified of us. Our daughters would use their time more wisely learning other skills.”
“All the women before us have been trained as Warrior Women,” remarked Yivea, Satrah’s mother. “Our mothers and their mothers before them. It is our tradition and the only defense we have if intruders were to land here with foul intentions.”
“Besides, how do we know for sure that other islands aren’t secretly training armies?” added another voice.
Many nodded in agreement.
She knew she couldn’t win this one. “You are all a bunch of foolish birds,” she said, defeated.
Noticing that they were approaching the secret passageway, Miranda signaled to the group. The Young Warriors pulled the reigns to the left, and turned toward a low area of the mountain range. Just above and around the Academy spread thousands of acres of untamed wilderness. A year ago it was a thriving ecosystem, covered in colorful flowers and fruit trees and teaming with wildlife. Now it was a barren wasteland, peppered with dying plants and an array of odd weeds that could withstand the lack of rainfall. The animals that lived here before the drought had either left in search of food and water or had perished.
Switching on their lamps to prepare for the darkness beyond, they headed down toward what looked like a mess of tangled vines against the bottom of a rocky cliff. Normally lush and overgrown with plump green foliage, there now lay a mass of dusty dead twigs, intertwined. Without losing speed, they plunged right into the thick of it. Instead of hitting solid stone, as it appeared they would, they easily penetrated the brittle overgrowth, some of which splintered in to the air, flying in their wake. Other branches still had enough flexibility to spring back into place after the Young Warriors had disappeared behind them.
They descended into a dark tunnel that threaded through the base of the mountain, their lamps lighting the way in beams of white as they soared downward. Miranda, eyeing the landing spot, aimed Cavalo right for it, hitting the ground at a run. As the others followed, the sound of their hooves pounded against the earth, studding the air in a storm of staccato drumbeats. The sand swirled up and around them as they galloped briskly around the nuanced curves that led to the Academy.
Exiting the mountain tunnel at a hard gallop, they ascended to another pathway, this one more structured and lined with a hard metal archway that stretched into a hallway. At the end of this hallway was a doorway that led to the caverns that made up the Academy. When Miranda passed her hand over the lock, it recognized her and opened, allowing them to file into the school.
Magik and Sword Training
The Magik Training Hall was a cavernous room bordered by roughly hewn clay walls and ceilings, dug out of the earth by the ancestors, with a thick patina that had been spread over the surfaces to keep them from crumbling. The room had twenty-four tables set in neat rows, on which they practiced of the art of magik. Tutors assisted the students and meticulously made sure the wands were sig
ned out and returned during each session.
Magik was a dangerous undertaking. It could produce miraculous healings for the body, and solve material woes, but could create undesirable results or even do irreparable damage when used incorrectly. There were multiple levels of proficiencies and varying intensities of the wand to master. These Young Warriors were at an intermediate level, working on perfecting transformation and the manifestation of small objects.
Every woman on the island was capable of invoking magik powers and every household was equipped with a magik wand, kept under lock and key, to be used only for emergencies. They were strictly forbidden to use magik without permission except in self defense. There were laws in place to keep the island from becoming a circus for any whim of the moment, without which it would surely be a life of chaos.
The main purpose of The Academy was, like any school, to prepare the youth to be productive members of society; they studied all subjects with equal measure. The Elders always emphasized that their warrior skills needed to stay honed so they would be able to defend themselves, no matter what role they played in daily life. And so everyone on the island was also a skilled warrior.
Magik training was followed by two hours of academic study comprised of history, science, math and literature. They broke for a midday meal, which these days were more of a snack than the hearty fare they were used to. All day they complained of thirst, but were given only a few mouthfuls of water.
The last part of the day was spent on Sword Discipline. The girls filed into even lines, facing Madeeka, the island’s Head Warrior. She paced back and forth on a raised platform like a caged animal, stomping out a fierce rhythm; poom poom poom.
Large boned, with a sinewy body, Madeeka had the gait of a rhinoceros. She had fought and won many battles for Zarada. A beet red scar formed a jagged line from the bottom of her right eye to the top of her upper lip. Her grey eyes, luminous in the sunlight, pierced like cold metal, missing nothing. Coarse white hair gave away her advancing age, but her physique was as healthy as a youth and she displayed her robust lungs, shouting out her first command of the day. “Swords up!”
The Larimar Quest (Island Of Zarada Book 1) Page 1
