“That’s what elves do when they’re nervous.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Shhh. There she is,” he whispered.
They stopped. In the light of the moon, Miranda stood, facing the statue, tears glistening in her eyes.
Findy’s eyes widened. “It’s just like….”
Astriella put her finger to her lips. “Shhh! I know!”
Where Are the Saronians?
The Deamons’ Lair was a damp maze constructed with grey rocks, which over time, had become covered in mold and fungus. The structure was riddled with cracks and crevices, allowing diffused light to filter in from the outside. Even so, it was dismal and dark and bitterly cold. The sun penetrated enough to make the Deamons’ environment visible to the eye of a living creature, but it certainly was not habitable for any warm blooded being, including fairies, warriors and elves.
Deamons were not alive exactly – they were like ghosts. They didn’t care if it was light or dark, hot or cold. They couldn’t feel the sticky drops of moisture that oozed down from the low ceilings or smell the putrid odors that seeped up from the stagnant moisture that pooled on the bottom of the lair.
They weren’t bothered by the lack of light. In fact, they were sensitive to too much sunlight. Full exposure to it for long periods killed them. So they thrived in their dank world.
The underground caves, and the tunnels which connected them, had been carved out thousands of years before by the ancient race, the Saronians. The caverns had been used to store harvested stones, the trade and sale of which was their primary livelihood. At that time the stones had a myriad of uses, along with prompting rain. The Saronians used to live in dwellings that surrounded the field and spent their lives cultivating and caring for the Red Larimar plants. They propagated and harvested stones; used them to trade for goods they needed from communities on neighboring islands, including the Zaradians … until the Deamons came.
The Deamons arrived one day, seemingly out of nowhere, killing off many of the Saronians. The ones who were able to escape fled into the mountains where they presumably still lived. But no one had seen them for a very long time. Since then, the people from the Island of Zarada, as well as other lands, had been forced to sneak in and steal what they needed in order to survive.
The Deamons were heartless, mindless creatures. From the beginning they allowed the field to become wild and overridden with weeds and pestilence. Luckily the Red Larimar was hearty and still grew despite the neglect.
At one time the High High Council considered invading the summit with an army. But they couldn’t get a majority vote. Not enough members were willing to take the risk. So they had become reluctant thieves.
Satrah had been forced into a chair-like form, which hovered above the ground. She struggled to free herself from the binds around her wrists and ankles. Even her forehead was strapped to the back of the chair, restricting any movement.
A Deamon carrying a long, thin, black, tapered wire approached her.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” she demanded as she struggled against the bindings that were cutting into her skin.
The Deamon gave no indication that it heard her plea. It only drew closer, and set the sharp tip of the wire upon her cheek. Satrah began to cry out as the Deamon applied pressure and inserted the wire into the side of her face just below the ear.
The Young Warrior shook with fear, but felt no pain as the wire slid effortlessly into her skin, re-emerging just below the eye.
There was no blood. The only perceptible difference was the draining of the color from her face, leaving her skin a sickly shade of green.
The poison in the wire made her throat thick, and left her paralyzed. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a faint whimper.
Anaya’s Journey
Anaya insisted on traveling alone, as her mother trusted no one. She took the sea route secretly determined by Selexi. It was the smoothest way to Sarona, of course; clear skies and calm waters all the way. She slept well, ate heartily, and landed on the opposite side of Sarona without a scratch.
Selexi had gotten her this far – but her mother had no control over the rest of Anaya’s journey. Once disembarking, it was up to the Young Warrior to reach the summit successfully by her own wits. It just so happened that it was a bit of a trek to the summit from where she disembarked.
Her side of Sarona was more desert than woodland. Expanses of sand stretched out for miles ahead of her and the air was dry, with little shelter from the sun. She rode her camion by night and slept under the shade of desert brush during the day.
When she approached the base of the summit, Anaya realized she would have to fly up to reach it. She spotted a sizable cave about half way to the top. Mounting her camion and ascending toward the opening, she entering the mouth of the cave at a gallop, hoof beats echoing back at her from the rock floor. It was dark. She stopped and lit a torch, exploring the shadowy recesses. What she discovered was a staircase that wound itself upwards, presumably to the lair.
It became more and more damp as Anaya and her camion climbed. For several hours they ascended, using the torch to light the way. Water dripped from the ceiling and trickled down the walls. Her camion’s hooves slipped on the wet moss that covered the steps. When she reached the top of the staircase, the way was blocked. A large metal grate with a thick lock covered the entrance to the lair.
With a few swings of her sword, she broke the lock, which had become rusty and brittle with time, and pushed the gate open, leading her camion up into the passageway where they found themselves in the heart of the lair.
She heard muffled cries that grew louder and louder and she moved toward them. When she knew she was close, she stopped and peered through a crack in the rock wall to see the room where Satrah was kept.
In one corner sat a giant glass chest overflowing with shimmering Red Larimar stones. The Deamon who had taken the stone out of Satrah’s pocket opened the chest and tossed it onto the pile.
Another Deamon floated toward Satrah with a second wire and inserted it on the other side of her face. The panicked girl began to calm, and entered a trance. She finally stopped moving entirely, and stared blankly into space. Red concentric circles pulsed around her eyes. Bars rose up from above and below to encase her.
Anaya had been trained to protect the other warriors no matter what. She felt an instinctive urge to save Satrah, but stopped herself from acting on the impulse. Her mother would never approve of it. She heard Selexi’s instructions droning in her head: Help no one.
Still, she felt an obligation to abide by the code she had sworn to when she became a Young Warrior. She could release Satrah, but leave her there to figure out her own escape, then gather a bagful of stones from that chest and head back home before Miranda even knew she had been there.
She broke through the wall and charged at the Deamons, killing one of them, while the other whooshed away. The cage closing around Satrah locked into place just as Anaya reached it. She slashed at it, but her sword could not penetrate the strength of the bars.
She heard an alert howl and a team of guards immediately flowed in. Anaya was able to slay many of them, but was sorely outnumbered. She was subdued and thrown into a dungeon, but not before the amulet filled with potion was ripped from her neck.
Danger in the Deamons’ Lair
Miranda eased her way along the edge of the cliff, pulling a reluctant Cavalo along with her. Although they stayed tight against the wall, their weight caused the edge to crumble, sending bits of the ridge to the bottom, hundreds of feet below.
When she came upon the statue, she bowed her head, pleading silently, help me find my way. Her grandmother had walked this same path. What had happened to her? She grieved the loss of time she suffered without her grandmother. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at the statue imploringly.
Then she heard it, the sound of Astriella’s little wings buzzing. She turned her head, and saw the two of them. She grinned and
shook her head. “I told you to stay at the campsite.”
Findy rode up to Miranda. “We’re glad you’re okay.”
Miranda sighed. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Astriella shrugged. “Sorry. We couldn’t let you go alone.”
“Friends have to stick together,” chimed in Findy.
“Well, come on then,” said Miranda, opening her front pocket. “You’d better hop in here just to be safe.” Astriella flew into her familiar perch, much more comfortable than the satchel.
Miranda looked up to see the full moons, but it was obscured by a patch of clouds. “Those flowers said we could enter when the moons were full….” The clouds drifted past, and as soon as the moonlight shone full, the statue made way and, like Satrah, they were all pulled into the vacuum and deposited on the other side.
After brushing the dirt off, they gazed in awe at the great Larimar stones that they had come so far to find. They were dazed by the glittering field, a dazzling wonder to behold.
“Ooooh, pretty,” sighed Astriella, flying up to a large one. She could see her whole reflection in one facet. “I wish we could take some now.”
Findy’s eyes gleamed with delight. “Yes, and go before they notice us.”
Miranda said, “We have to enter the lair to save Satrah. Maybe there we’ll discover how to take stones without their knowing it.”
She looked around, wondering how best to get to the lair, and her sleeve brushed against a plant without her knowing. Soon they heard a faint flapping. Miranda pulled her sword out, ready to defend herself. The sound above them gradually grew louder, and soon they saw a trail of soft white fluttering shapes descending like feathers.
Miranda tried to mask her fear. “Deamons! Come forth! Show yourselves!” Astriella cowered more deeply into the pocket.
“A bunch of ugly things, they are,” declared Findy. Beast growled.
Down they came, about ten in all. Hovering, one of them spoke in a low, androgynous tone. “What do you want?”
“First of all I demand you return Satrah, the warrior you have taken. And secondly, with your permission, I wish to transport some stones back to the island of Zarada, so we can have rain. We are starving without it.”
“Ahh, yes,” it replied. “You are Miranda.”
“I am,” she said.
“We have your Anaya,” said the Deamon in a low rasp. “She wants stones, also. So many thieves are you.”
Miranda held her ground. “I am not a thief. I am asking you to give them to me. And in exchange we will let you live.”
The Deamons snickered darkly. “Why would we give you anything? You are an intruder in our field and we need stones to power our world.”
“You don’t need all the stones, surely,” Miranda boldly stated. “There are plenty for all.”
The Deamons let out an evil howling laugh as they descended. Crouching, weaving and turning, she pierced them as they attacked, their forms dissipating upon contact with the swirling light until one snuck up and grabbed her from behind with a metal trap.
Miranda couldn’t reach the Deamon with her sword, the arm of the trap being longer than her own. Another Deamon came from behind and wrenched the sword from Miranda’s hand as she was lifted into the sky, Astriella in tow. Findy and his pet were captured as well. “The ugly thing has us now!” Findy cried.
Miranda wiggled and struck the Deamon with her fists, but it was like hitting smoke. “Let go of me!” she demanded. She tried to reach her potion, but she was impeded by the grasp of the metal device. She finally got a hold of it, pulled it up and around her head, then lost her grip. She watched helplessly as it sailed to the ground. Whisked away into the sky, Astriella safely tucked into her cloak pocket, Miranda felt fear simmering inside her as they approached a structure up ahead: the Deamons’ Lair.
Miranda, Astriella and Findy were pushed through a maze of slimy rooms and corridors lined with crooked rock walls. Most of the structure was underground, but the dungeon cells were not. There were tiny holes to the outside created by cracks and gaps in the rocks, which let in the cold night air.
Findy and Beast were thrust into a cell, but Miranda and Astriella were taken to the main room where Miranda was pushed into a rusty damp cage. It was there that she saw Satrah in her hypnotized state, eyes wide and unblinking, a circle of pulsating bright red geometric pattern surrounding each one. Miranda reached for her sword, but remembered they had confiscated it.
Miranda grimaced. “Satrah! Satrah, talk to me!”
Satrah said nothing.
Next to Satrah was an animal, a deer of sorts, in the same kind of cage.
The leader Deamon floated in.
“What have you done to her?!!” Miranda demanded.
“We have prepared her for our feasting,” said the Deamon. “In a few days, she will be ready.”
“What do you mean?” asked Miranda.
“She will release her vital energy to us,” the Deamon answered with a hollow laugh.
“Explain what that means,” Miranda demanded.
The Deamon looked at Satrah. “We live off animals mostly, but they barely sustain us. When your kind comes along, we feast until we are full. We cannot store the energy, so we will take it from one of you at a time. And your animals will be our dessert.”
“What happens to her after you’ve taken her … energy?” asked Miranda.
The Deamon stroked Satrah’s face with its ethereal finger.
“She becomes one of us,” said the Deamon. “Only your kind can become us. The animals … they just die.”
“What do you know about a warrior from Zarada who used to harvest Red Larimar stones?” Miranda asked. “Angala.”
“Yes, I know of her. That was some time ago ... she was a clever one, that Angala … able to take the stones somehow,” the Deamon remembered. “Until we caught her in the act.”
“Have you seen her? Did you – take her – energy?”
“I almost captured her, but she escaped.” The Deamon suddenly lost its patience. “Enough talk! It’s time for us to have our meal. Would you like to watch?”
“No!” cried Miranda. “Let her out of there. Let us both out now!”
The Deamon ignored Miranda and howled in a rhythmic pattern that reverberated through the lair, announcing the feeding. All the Deamons answered the call with the same howling rhythm as they converged, huddling around the deer.
They began sucking the air in; and soon, red smoke trailed out from the deer’s eyes and was pulled into the bodies of the Deamons by the force of their inhalations. She could see the smoke swirling inside their translucent bodies until the deer turned into a grey shell and fell to the floor in a scattering of dust.
Potion’s Surprise
Miranda woke to a tapping sound. She had been locked in a prison cell the night before, and felt groggy from a long night spent on the chill floor. Perched outside her cell, trying to push its body through a gap between the bars, was that doken.
She was surprised to see that it had found its way to her and even more astonished to see that the potion she had dropped was hanging from its beak. It squeezed its way between the bars and fluttered over to her.
Miranda sat up and took the charm. “How did you know to bring this to me?”
The doken blinked and cooed.
Miranda studied the bird, puzzled by its intelligence. Remarkable.
The doken poked its beak at the potion. Miranda stroked the luminous black feathers as the charm swung in the air. “You may have saved our lives. Now, what can I transform into that will give me the best chance of saving everyone and allow me to gather stones as well?”
Miranda uncapped the bottle and raised it to her lips. Seeing this, the doken went wild. It flapped its wings against Miranda’s face, preventing her from drinking. Miranda ducked and pulled the bottle away from her face, almost spilling its contents.
The bird stood still again, then put its beak gently against the mouth of the bottle,
trying to drink.
Miranda looked from the doken to the necklace, then back again, and understood. She held the bottle out and offered the potion to the bird. It tilted its head back, opening its beak wide. Am I really going to give this, my chance to flee, to the doken? Before she could change her mind, Miranda tipped the bottle, allowing the murky liquid to slide into the bird’s beak and down its throat.
At first nothing happened. She began to wonder if she had just thrown away her only means to escape for the sake of a hungry animal. Then the transformation began. The bird went slack and dropped onto its side, convulsed, shuddered and made unintelligible sounds. It went through indecipherable changes; it became this animal, then that, each one larger than the last until the potion had completed its work and all was stillness.
Miranda was stunned. What she saw in front of her was the form of a dazed, elderly woman. The woman looked at her hands, then down at her body. Touching her own face with her hands, she smiled in relief.
Miranda removed her cloak and put it around the shoulders of the stranger, who placed her hands on Miranda’s cheeks, looking intensely into her eyes and uttering her first words. “At last,” she croaked. “Together at last.”
At the sound of her voice, Miranda’s face lit up; old emotions came flooding back as her burden of grief fell away.
“Babu?”
“Yes, my dear.”
Miranda threw her arms around Angala and tears flooded her eyes.
From the other side of Miranda’s dungeon wall, they heard scuffling. Near the ceiling there was a hole in the wall, covered in a crisscross of wires. She climbed up and looked in. It was Anaya. “Anaya, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
Miranda turned back to Angala. “It’s Anaya. We’re here together. In a way.”
Angala leaned against the wall and laid her head against it, her eyes sparkling with wisdom. “You’re bound together in more ways than you realize.”
The Larimar Quest (Island Of Zarada Book 1) Page 12
