The Larimar Quest (Island Of Zarada Book 1)

by Michele Evans

  Every sword was fashioned with a knotty wooden handle clasped with a short cylindrical steel band. From inside these bands a rose colored beam of swirling light shot up several feet high, tapering to a fine point. In unison with the others, Miranda gripped her weapon with two hands, and raised it in the air.

  “Swords down!” The girls flashed their swords to the ground in a downward motion, and waited. Madeeka continued to pace as she barked out every word. “We use two swords; the one in your hands, which transforms, and the ones locked away, which can kill!

  As a peaceful society, we practice the art of self defense. May the day never come when we must use the swords of destruction against a violent intruder.” Madeeka stopped pacing and turned to face the group. “But if that day comes, we are prepared to fight!” She raised her fist, already victorious. “And win!”

  She passed her steely gaze over each girl, testing her mettle before continuing. “Raise up!!” she commanded. The girls turned to the right, pointing their swords fiercely to the sky. “Ready!” cried Madeeka. In perfect unison, the weapons sliced down and blazed through the air.

  Madeeka jumped and performed a dizzying flip, kicking outward in mid air, away from the platform, and landed squarely with two feet on the ground. Her gruff voice echoed loudly as she bellowed, “AZUKE, SHARNUE, LUKAH!”

  These words provoked three different maneuvers that required a combination of complex flips, dizzying turns and rapid sword slices.

  Madeeka watched for smoothness during transitions and accurate performance of technique. The air buzzed with hundreds of whooshing sounds; and when all the moves were completed, the girls stood still and waited.

  “READY!!!” Madeeka cried.

  The girls turned to face each other in pairs and held their swords up into ready position. “SPAR!!!!” screamed Madeeka. The lights from the swords danced, jumped and spun in a frenzy as the sparring ensued. The real test had begun.

  Anaya, a tower of strength, had just attained Master Warrior level. With her lithe movements and ruthless technique, she was feared and respected by every other Young Warrior there. She easily out-jumped, out-maneuvered and outwitted her opponents in speed, cunning and skill. In the flurry of light that the swords created, hers could be picked out immediately as the most agile.

  Madeeka observed Anaya with pride, but knew she could be ruthless – not always a desirable trait in a warrior. Power without discrimination led to corruption.

  She wasn’t as impressed with Miranda. What stood out in Miranda's style was not so much a lack of ability, but simply a lack of desire. She exhibited grace without drive, competence without passion, skill without focus.

  Today, her partner was Satrah, one of the most accomplished Young Warriors. What Miranda did have was a pure heart. But without drive and confidence, Madeeka thought, she will make a poor Sultana. Satrah was steady and concentrated, and trying to engage her opponent; but Miranda’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.

  Miranda defended herself well enough against Satrah’s attacks, but it was more playtime than anything, a fun part of her day. She couldn’t take it seriously. She lost focus for a moment, and happened to catch a glimpse of Anaya, who was swiftly capturing her opponent.

  She was so amazed by Anaya’s expertise, she didn't realize she herself had been captured and was now paralyzed. Satrah's sword, having touched Miranda's shoulder, had encased her in a field of swirling light. A few moments later, the sparring was over. Half the girls were trapped, each helplessly frozen in a cocoon of light.

  “TRANSFORM!” commanded Madeeka.

  One by one, each imprisoned girl was changed by the power of their victor; one was turned into a tree, another a table, and still another a cup of tea.

  Satrah smiled playfully at Miranda, who twinkled back with her eyes. Satrah knew what Miranda liked best to be transformed into. She recited a spell in the old language.

  Suddenly, Miranda was transformed into an iridescent blue doken, who promptly squawked, flew through the passageways, out the door, and ascended into the open air.

  Reluctant Future Sultana

  Alone, under the umbrella of endless blue, Miranda let the layers of worry peel away and dissolve. Feeling the wind change, she adjusted her wings to its subtle currents, enjoying the lightness of her body and the perfection of balance as she glided effortlessly, smelling the salty breeze. As she approached the rocky mountainside, she tilted her wings to avoid the rough edges, gliding and swooping, enjoying the ride.

  Then the warning signs set in; the loss of wing power, the dulling of her senses. Realizing she would soon transform back into her original form, she turned back and headed for home. She soared over the rocky terrain, then passed over the forest. Soon she saw her house up ahead; a small cottage made of wood and stone, with picture windows, topped with a crude but sturdy metal roof.

  Gliding gently toward a tree, she gripped a thick branch with her talons and folded her feathers in. Athedra was below, lamenting the garden patch, which had turned into a dusty collection of dried sprigs.

  “Squawk!” cried Miranda, cocking her head.

  Athedra glanced up briefly, then looked back at the weeds and shook her head. “Oh dear. Not again.”

  The bird descended to a shady spot next to her mother, where she lay down and entered a trance.

  Athedra put down her spade and sighed. “Oh, Miranda.”

  The bird seemed lifeless. It didn’t move for some time. Then it convulsed, squawked, and morphed into a series of unidentifiable shapes before Miranda’s form finally emerged. She lay quietly in a sleeplike state.

  Athedra caressed her cheek. “Miranda ... sweetheart ... wake up now.”

  Miranda opened her eyes. “Hi, Mom.”

  Athedra ran her fingers over her daughter's forehead, tried to smooth the impossibly tangled hair, then glanced at the garden. Frustration lined her face. “Miranda, look at these plants. They're all dead. What are we going to do?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” she said as she sat up, messed up her hair more, in rebellion and said, “The whole island is dying. Soon we’ll be dead, too, I imagine.”

  “Miranda! Really. It’s not funny.”

  Freya, Miranda’s little sister, came running out. “Mommy! I can’t find my dolly.”

  Athedra gave up on the plants. “I’m coming in now. There’s nothing more I can do here.”

  Miranda started toward the door. Athedra caught her by the arm. “Look at me.”

  Miranda reluctantly met her mother’s eyes.

  “You are going to be our next leader.”

  “So?” replied Miranda, with a roll of her eyes.

  “So – people are going to look to you for solutions to all kinds of issues. You will need to be strong enough to fight your opponents – and win. You have to want to win. The Sultana has to be a good warrior in order to inspire the rest of us. If there’s ever a war again, you may have to fight for your life and the lives of everyone on Zarada. Even if you don’t fight yourself, you’ll have to be tough, strong and serious. Lives will be at stake. And there will be other battles – battles of the mind and the heart. You have to be ready for the challenges that await you.”

  Miranda turned and walked inside. “Why do I have to be the one with all the answers? The High Council, The Brotherhood and the Priestesses can handle all that. They know more than I do. Anyway, I won’t have anything to contribute that they’ll want to hear. What can they learn from me? I’m just a kid and I want to stay that way. Let them make the decisions.”

  Greet and Thiya, their fairy housekeepers, were busy polishing the doorknob and were almost pushed into the wall by the brisk opening of the door, but flew out of the way in time. “Oh, sorry!” exclaimed Athedra.

  “We have wings!” squealed Greet.

  “That’s what they’re there for!” added Thiya.

  Freya giggled along with them.

  Normally Athedra joined in on the fairies’ humor, but she wasn’t in the mood tod
ay. She continued her line of thinking as she followed Miranda into her bedroom. “They will want to hear you, and you’d better have something valuable to say, or you’ll lose their respect. They will be patient with you at first because you are so young. But they won’t tolerate foolishness.”

  Miranda shook her head. “I never asked to be Sultana. Why do I have to do it? I don't want to lead, and I don’t want to have anything to do with war. I just want to eat.” In an attempt to escape the conversation, she went to the kitchen in the vain hope that there would be food.

  Athedra came in behind her and looked in despair at the plight of her empty cupboards. She swallowed hard with thirst. “Do you ever think about anyone else other than yourself?!”

  Miranda crossed her arms in defiance. Athedra sighed, then spoke quietly. “I hope you never have to lead us in times of conflict. But you must understand that even though the High Council and Priestesses may have more experience, you will still be Sultana. If you don’t lead, you will be voted out. If that happens, Anaya will replace you. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Miranda thought it wasn’t such a bad idea, but she didn’t say it out loud. It would upset her mother. Perhaps the way to solve this is to go through with the Coronation, but be a poor Sultana. Then Anaya could take over and I would be free of the grip of its hold on my life.

  Deamons and Red Larimar Stones

  Candlelight danced in golden patterns, casting shadows across the walls of Miranda's bedroom. She stood in front of the mirror, pulling a shell brush through her long chestnut hair, her silvery blue eyes looking back at her. Outside the window two full moons rose, casting a rosy tint on the objects in her room. Below the mirror, on the vanity table, sat old family photos; a few were set in ancient, handcarved wooden frames, others in poundedbronze casings. She focused on one then another. Unflinching faces stared back at her; silent mouths and piercing eyes, frozen in time.

  There was the one of her father, posing on the beach after returning from a long trip at sea. And the charming shot of Freya, her arm around Athedra in the garden during a year when ripe fruits and vegetables were bursting with life. And there was the one she loved so much – the five of them having a picnic by the river. Her mother, her father, herself, Freya and her grandmother Angala.

  She settled her eyes on a picture of Angala, whom she called Babu. Surrounded by a fine brass frame inlaid with a mosaic of opal, young Angala stood at the bow of a ship, her hair blazing every which way in the whipping wind. Her proud face, strong and wise, looked past the camera to some point beyond. A pewter charm lay against her chest – the figure of the Rain Goddess, a gleaming stone inlaid at her heart.

  Miranda looked deeply at her grandmother’s brazen eyes; and as her gaze moved to the pendant, she was pulled in, transported to the world of the picture….

  Miranda, only 5 years old, feels herself being lifted up. Bitter winds bite against her face, her cheeks are pink and feel numb. She feels ruddy hands lift her up, place her into a lap, and looks up to see it’s her grandmother. Angala feeds her sweets, sings to her.

  “Grandmother, where are we?”

  “You finally found me, Miranda. I have been waiting so long for you, but I knew you would come. Here, have another.” She holds out a pink candy.

  Miranda takes it and pops the sticky ball in her mouth, savoring the sugary flavor.

  “But, where are we going?” Miranda asks, feeling herself slipping away.

  “Follow me,” Angala says as she begins to float off in the other direction.

  “Don't leave me, Grandmother.”

  Angala fades, but her voice is clear. “I'm just over here. Come along.”

  Miranda tries to follow the voice, but can't find the floor. The fog rolls in, blinding her. She trips and falls into a puddle. Wetness soaks her cloak and the cold water finds her knees. She’s held there as if by a weight. Unable to rise, she lifts her face, grimacing, eyes wide, searching.

  “Grandmother, where are you? ... Come back!”

  Miranda jolted upright. Athedra, gently shaking her, said something, Miranda couldn’t tell what. She was breathless, as if she had run for hours. She held onto her mother, and realized she was laying on the floor. She must have collapsed.

  “Another one of those visions?” Athedra asked.

  Miranda nodded and clutched her mother in the darkness.

  “Is she dead?” Miranda asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me about the Deamons again.”

  “Oh, Miranda, you don’t need to have these images floating in your head. It’s just going to make this worse.”

  “Tell me.”

  Athedra sighed. “The Deamons live on the summit of Sarona. They guard the precious Red Larimar stones that we need to make rain. Any intruder that’s caught is killed and turned into a Deamon.”

  “When did she go there last?”

  “When you were ten.”

  “I miss her. Do you think she’s a Deamon now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe she’ll come back.”

  “Maybe she will. You need to sleep now.”

  Miranda was always exhausted after these episodes. Athedra helped her into bed and the moment the covers were upon her, Miranda drifted off.

  Astriella Prepares

  Shards of shimmering gold sliced through the Fairy Forest. Silhouettes of dokens swooped in and out of the treetops as they cried to the piercing sun. A hungry nocturnal tiger mouse and her malnourished young pups settled into their stone cave to doze and keep cool throughout the scorching day.

  As dawn broke, the bondo emerged from under cracked leaves – his matted, brown fur swathed in dirt. He shook it loose with the little energy he had left, his frame thinning and his hunger acute. He sniffed for the puce worms and black insects that made up his breakfast. After an extended search, he dug one up and was about to sink its teeth into it, when another bondo jumped in front of him, threatening to devour the prize. Bristled, he bared long fangs and swiftly attacked, sinking his teeth into its rival’s neck until there was struggle no more.

  A whirring sound seeped down from the treetops. It was the unmistakable purr of fairy wings accompanied by a symphony of giggling and cajoling; small, glowing wings flitted here and there, trails of light painting sparkling swirls along the bottom of the canopy.

  The playful fairies were flitting out of their homes, built in the trunks and limbs of ancient trees. They had carved their miniature domiciles right into the wood, and furnished them with everything necessary for living; tiny curtains hung from peephole windows, minikin stoves completed every kitchen, and beds no larger than a child’s shoe were nestled into cozy corners.

  Astriella stirred under her coverlet as the sounds of morning trickled into the windows. A bell, which hung from her front door, was ringing, but she was still in a deep slumber. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again. Realizing she had company, she opened them for good. She knew who it was – Pongo, coming to pick her up for another big day, and the last one they had to get ready for the Sultana’s visit.

  Pongo let himself in. He flew from one window to another, briskly opening the floral curtains. “Astri-ella,” he sang. “Time to rise and shi-ine.”

  Astriella sat up and stretched her wings. “Mmmm. Alright!”

  Pongo admired his reflection in the mirror. “Did you get lost in dreamland pretty fairy?” He smoothed his hair and straightened his shirt. “Oh, my. My new pants got a wrinkle.”

  “All the preparation this week for the Sultana's visit has made my eyes thick with sleeping dust.” Astriella waved her hand over her eyes and the silvery “dust” flew away. Lifting out of bed, she spun into a sparkling flash, whirring out of her nightgown and into her day clothes.

  “Well, this is our last day to get ready, so put a flip in your zoom and a zing in your fling.” Pongo waved his hand to the door. “Get what I mean?”

  Astriella giggled. She was excited about finishing
the decorations. She poured water into her kettle. “There’s just enough water for one cup of tea.”

  “Don’t worry. The Sultana will solve this. We’ll have rain soon, somehow.”

  “But she’s very ill, Pongo. She’s old and dying and will leave us soon.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw her.”

  “You? When? How? Why?”

  Astriella giggled.

  “And what for?”

  “Oh, Pongo! Stop!” she giggled.

  The teakettle whistled in harmony with Astriella’s peals of laughter. She lifted it off the burner and poured the steaming water into a cup filled with crushed berry tea leaves. “Yes. Last season. As she was out walking with her cane, and because I was visiting with my friends in the castle.”

  Pongo applauded her thorough reply. “Very good.”

  Astriella took a sip of tea. “She looked deathly ill then. I’m surprised she’s well enough to come at all.”

  “She just can’t resist us.”

  “True. She has a soft spot for fairies.” Astriella set her cup down. “I think we’re going to have our rain problem solved not by her, but the next Sultana.”

  “Who is that going to be again? I forget her name. Miria? Matina? Something like that.”

  “It’s Miranda. She’s very young, and that means she will have fresh ideas.”

  “I will miss our Sultana.”

  “Indeed.” Astriella took a last sip of tea.

  Pongo bent one leg, opened the little door, and extended his arm toward Astriella. “Shall we?” She took his hand as he twirled her gracefully out the door. They leapt off her porch ledge to join the throng of fairies making haste to the Fairy Courtyard where final preparations were already well underway.