Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  “It’s right here,” Ketya said, leading Aeolia past a wall of cypresses into a vast lawn speckled with white statues. Aeolia saw the palace ahead, its golden towers twinkling. A large, round disk was set into one tower, ticking rhythmically. A clock, Aeolia surmised; she had heard of such mechanisms. She experienced a moment of insecurity. The grand building, with all its gilt and wonders, made her feel small and insignificant, a mere fledgling girl, not a warrior woman like Taya. What chance did she have saving her friends from an entire army? Still, she had to try. She had to rescue Talin.

  The girls skidded to a stop before the palace gates. Aeolia felt herself go cold, seeing the huge gatekeeper.

  An ogre.

  This ogre was younger, cleaner, and thinner than her old master, but still Aeolia trembled with fear. Memories of her slavery rushed back into her, and she could feel the cane all over again.

  “Hello!” the gatekeeper said gleefully. He giggled. “You funny ladies, all dirty.”

  This ogre seemed harmless, childlike. But weren’t all ogres monsters? Weren’t they all cruel? Aeolia held her spinning head. So many old truths were shattering around her.

  “Hello,” Aeolia said to the beast hesitantly, speaking Ogregrunt.

  “You speak Ogregrunt!” both Ketya and the ogre said, mouths dropping open.

  Aeolia nodded. “Is Hyan inside?” she asked the ogre.

  “Grumbolt think so, but Grumbolt not allowed let strangers or statues in.”

  Ketya linked to Aeolia and thought, He seems weak in the head.

  Aeolia nodded, thought back, He’s like a child, I think. Ketya released the link and turned to face him. “Listen, Gatekeeper, you must let this girl in. She’s very important.”

  The gatekeeper rubbed a bandaged finger. “Oh no, oh no, Grumbolt learned his lesson, never let anyone in again.”

  Truly, this ogre was different from the ones who had enslaved her. He did not seem like something that would beat her. Aeolia’s fear eased somewhat. She said gently, “Is that your name—Grumbolt?”

  The gatekeeper nodded.

  “Well, why can’t you let us in, Grumbolt?”

  “Last time Grumbolt let in statue, he bit Grumbolt!”

  So that was why the young Healer was painted white, Aeolia realized and suppressed a smile.

  “Listen, Grumbolt,” she said. “That statue only wanted to help, he is a friend of ours, and—”

  Grumbolt scowled. “He friend of yours? Then you go away! Grumbolt no want you here.”

  The gatekeeper took a threatening pace forward, and Aeolia and Ketya scurried backwards.

  “I think it’s hopeless, Lia,” Ketya sighed.

  Aeolia chewed her knuckle, considering. “Wait. I think I have an idea.”

  She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her magic tingled through her. She reached out her mind and linked to Grumbolt.

  Grumbolt, she thought, do you hear me?

  The gatekeeper looked around wildly. “Who’s that?”

  This is your conscience speaking, Aeolia thought.

  “Who... ?”

  Your conscience, Grumbolt. That means your brain.

  Grumbolt scratched his head. “Really? Grumbolt no think he had one of those.”

  Listen to me carefully, Grumbolt. You must let the girls in. Do you hear me? You must let the girls in.

  “Duhhh... you sure?”

  Positive.

  “Oh, all right.”

  Mumbling beneath his breath, Grumbolt swung the gates open. He called out to Aeolia and Ketya. “Okay, funny ladies, Grumbolt’s brain says let you in, so go quickly before it changes its mind.”

  “Why, thank you, Grumbolt,” Aeolia said as she walked through.

  Grumbolt muttered something in reply, but Aeolia and Ketya were already climbing the marble stairs. Butterflies fluttered in Aeolia’s belly; it was not every day a slave girl dashed uninvited into a palace. If it weren’t for Talin, she’d have turned around and fled. As she forced herself onward cold sweat beaded on her brow. She reached the top stair and paused outside the oak doors. Her hands shook slightly as she laid them on the doorknobs. With a deep, shaky breath, she swung the doors open and stepped inside.

  The main hall was a vast, glittering cavern. Gilded columns supported a round ceiling like a second, golden sky. Between lavish tapestries, parti-colored light slanted from tinted windows, falling upon scores of sumptuously dressed nobles. At the hall’s far end sat the queen on her begemmed throne. Beside her sat Hyan Redfort. As the two dirty, shabby girls stepped inside, all eyes turned to stare. A hush fell over the crowd.

  “Stay here,” Aeolia whispered to Ketya.

  She began walking down the opulent hall, her footsteps loud in the silence, echoing in the painted ceiling. Golden sunbeams showered over her, glistening like fireflies. Dressed in rags, covered with cinder, battered and flustered and bloody, Aeolia paced toward the throne, hundreds of eyes following her in silent shock. Aeolia felt tears burn in her eyes. She bit her lip and clasped her soiled hands behind her back, but she never slowed.

  Queen Elorien spoke softly, her voice clear in the silence. “Who are you?”

  Hyan rose to his feet. “She’s my prisoner, that’s who! Guards, catch her!”

  The queen stopped the guards with her hand.

  “I’m no longer your prisoner, Hyan,” Aeolia said, her voice quivering the slightest. “Nor are the others. I freed them, Hyan, and I will free my friends as well.”

  “I’ll kill you!” Hyan screamed, but did not move.

  Her heart hammering, Aeolia turned to face the crowd of nobles. She spoke for them all to hear. “This man is a traitor. When he held me captive, I read his mind, and heard him plotting to assassinate the queen.”

  Hyan grabbed Elorien’s arm and hissed into her ear. “Arrest her! I’ll kill Smerdin if you don’t.”

  “Smerdin is free,” Aeolia said. “I have freed them all.”

  “It’s over, Hyan,” said Elorien. “You no longer hold my lover, the father of my children. You can no longer threaten or blackmail me. You’re finished, Hyan. Guards, seize this man.”

  When the queen’s guards moved toward him, the fat duke drew his jeweled sword.

  “Stand back!” he screeched, waving his blade. “You’ll have to kill me before you touch me.”

  The purple guards drew their swords and approached slowly. The Redfort nobles in the court drew their own weapons and surrounded their duke protectively. They were about to fight, Aeolia knew. She could not allow that. Too many people had died for her already.

  “Stop!” she cried, and was surprised at the power of her voice. Everyone paused and turned to stare. Swallowing hard, Aeolia slowly paced toward the duke, her bread knife in hand. With every step she felt calmer, stronger. Hyan blanched and sweat rolled down his face, but he managed puffing his chest.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” he said and clumsily brandished his sword.

  “I know you can’t hurt me,” Aeolia whispered. “I know that now. No one can hurt me anymore.”

  She took another step forward and slowly raised her knife.

  Hyan cowed back in his chair. “Help me, help me! Kill her!”

  His men did not move, just stared silently. They fear the Firechild now, Aeolia knew. Hyan blubbered incomprehensibly, his jowls quivering. Aeolia raised her knife above him. She slammed it down, knocking the butt against his head. Hyan slumped unconscious in his chair.

  Aeolia breathed shakily and realized her hands were trembling. She let her knife drop to the floor. She heard a sound behind her and turned her head. One noble, a Redfort, was running to the doors. A moment later, a second red knight followed. Soon all the Redforts were fleeing the palace.

  The remaining nobles, Purplerobes and Greenhills all, began to clap. Aeolia blushed and smiled hesitantly. The queen rose from her throne, stepped forward, and hugged Aeolia.

  “Please don’t, Your Majesty,” Aeolia said, lowering her eyes. “You’ll dirty
yourself.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks,” said Elorien. “Now tell me, girl, who are you?”

  “I’m... Aeolia.”

  Elorien smiled, her face creasing warmly. “Is that all you can tell me, child?”

  Aeolia sheepishly lowered her head, lost for words. Ketya rushed up the hall, bobbed a curtsy, and answered for her. “She’s the Esiren Firechild, Your Majesty!”

  The queen smiled at the vivacious girl. “And who might you be?”

  Ketya squared her shoulders. “Why, Your Majesty, I’m her loyal servant.”

  * * * * *

  “Get out, get out!” Ketya said, shoving maids out the bathing chamber’s door. “I’m the Firechild’s servant—and only servant.”

  The palace maids tried to protest, but Ketya slammed the door in their faces.

  “Pushy bunch...,” she mumbled.

  Aeolia laughed from her copper bath. “Ketya, they only want to help.”

  Ketya shook her head violently, her ponytail flicking from side to side. “You don’t need no Healers to serve you.” She grinned. “That’s what you have me for.”

  Aeolia sighed. Healers, Esirens, Stonesons—what was the difference? Once she would not have known. If all were humans, would that not suffice? Now Aeolia was not so sure. She could see the differences between the races now. Stonesons were pale with silver hair and gray eyes; Healers were large and blond; Esirens had eyes of honey and hair like almond peels. And though they all spoke the same tongue, their accents were different: Stonesons spoke with a drawl, Healers’ vowels were brisk, and Esirens had a slight lisp and no true r’s to speak of. Forestfolk, meanwhile, spoke another tongue all together. And, most importantly, their magics were different: stone, body, mind, animal. Aeolia remembered what Talin had said in the Forest, about crossbreeds leading difficult lives. She had not understood his words then.

  She wrung water out of her hair, and as she stood up Ketya wrapped a towel around her.

  “Really, you don’t need to serve me,” Aeolia said, stepping out onto the parquetry. The girl’s alacrity was unsettling. Only weeks ago, Aeolia herself had served the ogress similarly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I like to serve you,” Ketya chattered. She lifted Aeolia’s hair to wrap it in a smaller towel. “Your hair is so pretty.... But oh—your back.”

  Aeolia turned to face her and took the small towel away. Ketya glanced at Aeolia’s tattooed hand and raised her eyes in wordless question. Aeolia nodded.

  “Lia,” Ketya said, shaking her head. “That—that doesn’t matter, I.... Listen. When Lale conquered our towns, we fled to Heland, thinking it safer than inland Esire, little knowing the Redforts worked for Sinther.” She grabbed Aeolia’s hands. “Hyan was saving us for Butcher Joren to come behead us because we are Esirens. Our only hope was that you’d come save us, Aeolia.”

  Aeolia bit her lip. Butcher Joren. “But... it’s all my fault,” she said. “It’s me Sinther is after, it’s me Joren is killing you for. Can’t you see? I caused your misfortune, I’m so sorry.” Aeolia felt a lump in her throat. “I should hand myself in. That’s the only way I can truly save you.”

  Ketya shook her head. “We never thought so, Lia. We love you too much. And Sinther hates us too much; even now he continues his conquests in Esire, even as he knows you are here in Heland. We don’t want to surrender, Aeolia. We want to fight. We want you to fight for us, to save us from the stone tyrant.”

  Aeolia turned away and shut her suddenly-burning eyes. “I don’t know who you Esirens are! I don’t know who Sinther is. I—I’m just a slave girl. I don’t give hope to anyone, I don’t want to fight anyone.... I can’t save anyone.”

  “You saved us, Lia. You saved me. Our savior....” To Aeolia’s surprise, tears swam in Ketya’s eyes, and her squeaky voice quivered. “Some people imagined you’d be a tall, powerful knight. Others envisioned the Firechild as a wise old hermit. I never thought of you like that, Aeolia.” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Ketya smiled. “You look exactly like I always imagined.”

  “Scrubbed red and with wrinkled toes?”

  Ketya laughed and wiped her tears away. “We’ll fix that in a second. Here, let me help you with your gown.”

  Aeolia approached the stool where lay the azure gown the queen had given her. She caressed the embroidered silk, gingerly fingered the pearls fringing the laced bodice. It’s too nice for me, she thought. It’ll look silly on me, like a golden saddle on a donkey. But she had no other clothes, and so she dressed quickly, as the steam from her bath dissipated. When she had finished, she gazed into the mirror. The gown fit awkwardly, too tight around her hips. The maids had wanted to send in a dressmaker, but Aeolia had refused; she had no time to dawdle with gowns and servants, not with Talin imprisoned, Talin who had loved her in rags and didn’t care for dresses and primping.

  “Come, Ketya, let’s go to the parlor. Queen Elorien wanted to see us there.”

  The two girls stepped out the door. They walked down a corridor, between suits of filigreed armor, portraits of old monarchs, and gilded candelabrums. After climbing a staircase, they entered a small chamber, its brocade curtains pulled back from the windows. A woolen rug covered the floor, surrounded by carved cherry chairs. On a marble table stood a compote of dusty fruit, while smaller ebony stands held seashells, statuettes, and pots of daphne and gillyflower. Aeolia thought of a certain turnkey who had only been doing his job when she had plunged a knife into his throat. Why should she live in such wealth while he lay dead?

  The chairs proved hard and uncomfortable, and the girls sat in the soft rug instead. Aeolia was absently fingering her dress, remembering the taste of Talin’s lips, when the door opened.

  “Grumbolt!” Aeolia said with a smile. “Hello.” She was glad that she no longer feared him.

  Bowing under the lintel, the ogre clumsily entered the room. “Hello, ladies. Ooh! You all clean now.”

  Ketya nodded. “Isn’t Lia’s dress beautiful? Blue suits her so well.”

  Aeolia lowered her eyes, abashed. “Your dress is nice too, Ketya.”

  Grumbolt furrowed his brow. He said to Aeolia, “Her dress don’t have pearls and ruffles on it like yours.”

  Feeling her cheeks redden, Aeolia changed the subject. “Say, Grumbolt, what are all those crumbs on your shirt?”

  Before Grumbolt could reply, the door slammed open. The queen stood at the entrance. Aeolia and Ketya stood up and curtsied, but the queen seemed not to notice them.

  “Grumbolt!” she said. “Have you seen the baron’s wedding cake?”

  The ogre looked sheepish. “Duhhh, what wedding cake?”

  The queen rushed forward and plucked a crumb off his shirt. “This wedding cake! Grumbolt, you dolt, the wedding is half an hour from now. Where are we going to get another cake?” Elorien sighed and turned to face Aeolia and Ketya. “If I were you I’d be careful; he eats everything sweet he sees. You should come to the wedding, by the way. There’ll be many young bachelors.”

  Aeolia said, “Well, Your Majesty, I....”

  “Already have a sweetheart?” Elorien said. “I supposed you might. A girl so lovely, you must be surrounded by suitors. Ah, innocent youth... a pretty sight on dark days like these. Dark days.... Civil war rages throughout my kingdom, just a week after that darned pebble-brained king conquers the Beastlands.”

  “What?!” Aeolia gasped, flabbergasted, then recovered herself. “I mean: Your Majesty, has Sinther conquered the Beastlands?”

  “Aye,” said Elorien. “Last moon some ogress kicked Lale in the rump, or so I’ve heard, and his daddy ordered the place conquered. The Spirit knows what that whiny, scar-faced boy was doing down there in the first place.” The queen sighed. “They’re invading the Forest now, and I shudder to think who next. Just when I need an army, that pillow of a duke Hyan starts with his little tricks. By the Spirit, tomorrow noon I’ll stretch his fat neck—if I can find it!”

  All those wars, Aeolia thought. All her fault. She had lured
Lale into the Beastlands and the Forest, in both places sparking violence. It was to kill her that Sinther had declared war on Esire. And now this—civil war in Heland, again her doing. She wreaked havoc wherever she went. Perhaps she should be locked up.

  “Why so sad, girl?” Elorien asked.

  Aeolia shrugged one shoulder and said nothing.

  The queen took her hand. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Follow me to the balcony. I’ve got a little something to cheer you up.”

  Leaving Grumbolt behind, Aeolia followed the queen out of the room. Ketya trailed inconspicuously behind. They passed through more lavish corridors, all lined with tapestries, jeweled chalices, and marble statues. Soon they reached a balcony, its purple curtains closed.

  “Go on,” said the queen, nudging Aeolia forward.

  Wondering what lay behind the curtains, Aeolia stepped out onto the balcony.

  Wild cheers assailed her, coming from scores of Esirens in the courtyard below. Aeolia shrieked and fled back into the palace.

  “Why are they following me, Your Majesty?” she asked in alarm.

  The queen smiled. “You saved them, Honeycomb.”

  “Saved them? But there are so many more now....”

  “Of course. The city was full of Esirens, hiding in every alley while their families languished in prison. With Hyan gone and you here, they all emerged from hiding.”

  “But what do they want, Your Majesty?”

  “Why, they want you to lead them.”

  “Me? I don’t know how to lead people!”

  “You did a good job of it up till now. These people adore you, child. Take them off my hands; the Spirit knows I have no use for them. As for me, I must be off. Grumbolt is loose, the wedding feast is cooking, and I forgot to post guards at the kitchen door.”

  As the queen hurried away, Ketya touched Aeolia’s shoulder.

  “Talk to them,” the girl urged.

  Aeolia nodded timidly. “All right, Ketya, I’ll try.”

  She parted the curtains and gingerly stepped onto the balcony. The crowd cheered. Aeolia twisted her fingers, quelling an instinct to flee back inside. Her knees quaked. Tentatively, she raised her hand, and the crowd fell silent.