Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  She licked her suddenly dry lips and spoke in a small voice. “Hello.”

  The crowd erupted in wild acclamation.

  She said hesitantly, “My name is Aeolia.”

  They began to chant her name.

  Aeolia looked back over her shoulder in distress. Ketya gestured her on. Aeolia returned her eyes to the crowd.

  “It seems I am the Esiren Firechild,” she said. “I understand you want me to save you from Sinther.”

  The crowd roared even louder. These people worshiped her blindly, Aeolia realized. They were fools if they adored her so! She was nothing but bad luck. In the past few weeks she had sparked several wars, had killed more men than she could count. She looked down at them—thin, woebegone people, with almond hair and honey eyes, as her brother would say. Her foster-brother, who had betrayed her. Her foster-brother, who had beheaded Ketya’s family. Her foster-brother, Lale’s best friend, from the land she had once so craved, from the land that wanted her dead.

  Mind reader, the boys had chanted. Mind reader, go back to Esire where you belong. Almonds and honey, scores of them, millions of them. Her kin.

  “Could it be?” Aeolia whispered. “Could I have finally found myself?”

  Looking down at them she knew it was true. Esirens, her kin, her true parents.... Homeland....

  She realized tears were streaming down her face, fear and love swirling in her breast. She took a deep breath. If I do this, she thought, it is not for glory, it is not for hate, it is not for a million pleading strangers. I will do it for one orphan refugee, for one half-breed outcast, for one butchered ogress, for one pinned butterfly. And for one very frightened sixteen-year-old girl, who has finally found her home. Like fireflies, we will light the darkness, together.

  “I will take you to Esire!” she said. “I will save you from Sinther!”

  Even as they roared, Aeolia heard Ketya sobbing behind her, and she too cried for Esire, for a new home.

  She said, “We leave tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  Milky dawn poured through the window, spilling over the room, outlining bed and wardrobe, chest and rug, washstand and mirror. Aeolia stood still amid the furniture, as if she too were one. She had stood thus most of the night, eyes drooping, not daring to sleep. She needed to be tired today.

  The sun soon peeked over the horizon, dim behind gray clouds. The fireflies fled from its light and disappeared. When the last had vanished, a rap came on the door.

  “Who’s there?” Aeolia called.

  “It’s Ketya,” came the reply.

  Aeolia smiled. The long night had been lonely; it would be nice to see her young new friend. She opened the door.

  Ketya greeted her with a sober nod. She wore a woolen riding skirt and carried another over her arm. Her normally effervescent face was pale.

  “Is something wrong, Ket?” Aeolia asked.

  Ketya nodded and stepped inside. “Elorien wants to meet us by the stables before we leave. She wants to give us horses for our journey.”

  “Really? That’s very nice of her. She already gave us dresses.”

  “Dresses don’t eat people.”

  Aeolia smiled. “You’re afraid of horses.”

  Ketya shook her head violently, her ponytail flicking. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Good, because today I have a scary task for you. While our people are gathering to leave, I want you to help me save Hyan Redfort.”

  Ketya’s mouth dropped open. “Save that fat pig?”

  “Steal him, rather. I have use for him.”

  Slowly, Ketya nodded. “This has to do with your beloved, doesn’t it?”

  “Will you help me, Ket? Say you will.”

  “I’d do anything for you.”

  Aeolia smiled. “Thanks, Ket. Here’s what I need you to do. Go to the dressmaker and get a big gown, the biggest they have, with matching shoes and a wide-rimmed hat. I will be sleeping under a tree outside Old Raven Tower. Bring me the gown and wake me silently.”

  Ketya nodded. “Got it.”

  Aeolia dressed swiftly. The gray woolen dress was thick and warm.

  “Okay, let’s go, quickly.”

  The girls stepped out into the corridor. There they parted, each heading in her own direction. At the end of the corridor, Aeolia hurried down a carpeted staircase. She passed through the library and exited a pair of bronze doors. Morning mist was rising from the grass outside. Aeolia walked quickly, past marble dragon fountains, through flocks of meandering peacocks, along flowerbeds and topiary. With each step another butterfly took flight in her belly. If her plan failed....

  She crossed a small stone bridge, over a bubbly stream where goldfish swam, and entered a courtyard. Gaunt men in chain mail fenced over the gravel, filling the air with clanging steel. The men waved at her, and Aeolia reluctantly waved back. It seemed the whole palace knew her already, which meant her movements were observed, which meant her plan might be uncovered. Aeolia did not fear returning to prison. It was the thought of never seeing Talin again that was unbearable.

  Past the courtyard and the soldiers’ barracks lay a barren lawn. Several naked trees rose from the yellow grass, shivering in the wind. A tumbledown tower rose above them, piercing the gray sky. Unlike the rest of the palace, this tower was cold and sinister and dank. Holes honeycombed its brick walls, and its tiled roof looked ready to collapse. The roiling clouds made it seem to tilt. Old Raven Tower, it was called. The palace prison. Aeolia shuddered at the thought of entering it.

  The turnkey at the tower door—a wiry man wearing ringmail and a leather skullcap—eyed Aeolia suspiciously.

  “A dreary place for such a lovely girl,” he observed.

  “A quiet place,” Aeolia said.

  “They making you crazy in the palace?”

  Aeolia nodded. “I came here to lie under the trees and nap.”

  The man smiled. “You can be sure no one will bother you here. Sleep tight.”

  “You too,” Aeolia mumbled and lay under a nearby cottonwood. She folded her arms beneath her head and shut her eyes. Having stayed up half the night, tiredness soon overcame her, and dreams began to float behind her lids.

  Before sleep claimed her completely, she summoned her magic and linked to the guard. Sharing all feelings, Aeolia’s weariness overcame the guard’s vigilance, and as she fell asleep, so did he.

  The link disappeared as she slept, and dreams came to haunt Aeolia. They were strange dreams, of a cavern where friends lay frozen and cold, and death lurked in shadows, reeking of evil. Talin and Joren, the two men of her life, stood behind her, calling her to return. Aeolia ignored them. She walked into the darkness, forsaking light behind, till the shadow engulfed and claimed her.

  “I’m here, Lia,” a voice whispered.

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” Aeolia mumbled. “I’m sorry, Talin, I had to go, I had to leave you, Joren, I’m sorry....”

  Hands clutched her shoulders and shook her. “Lia, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

  Aeolia opened her eyes. Ketya was kneeling above her, her face drawn with concern.

  “You had a nightmare,” the girl said.

  “No... it was not like a dream, it was....” Aeolia blinked and shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yes, a nightmare, that’s all.”

  She rose to her feet. The turnkey lay snoring on the ground beneath the tower. Her plan was working.

  “Here, tell me if this is all right,” Ketya said. She unfurled a pink gown, wide as a sail, with matching slippers and a plumed hat.

  “It’s perfect,” Aeolia said and took the outfit. “You did well, Ket, thank you.”

  Ketya beamed with pride. “What should I do now?”

  “Stay here and wait for me. If the turnkey wakes up, hit him over the helmet with a rock.”

  Ketya nodded. “Sure thing!”

  Aeolia smiled; it felt good to have such loyal help. She stepped toward the slumbering turnkey and knelt beside him. Carefully, she unslu
ng the keys from his belt and drew the dagger from his boot. Holding the keys in one hand, dagger in the other, Aeolia entered the tower.

  A rickety staircase wound upwards, missing a wooden stair here and there. Sunbeams slanted from holes in the round wall, falling over cobwebs, dust, and mice. A raven burst to flight from a rafter, flapping in circles while crowing raucously, shedding feathers. Aeolia swallowed. It’s too high, she thought. Then she smirked. I jumped off a wall to save Talin. Surely I can climb this.

  She placed her foot on the first stair. It creaked menacingly. Cold sweat beaded on Aeolia’s brow. She paced up slowly, the stairs creaking. Spiders and mice fled from her feet. The floor dwindled into a small, gray coin. Aeolia’s head spun, and her breath came fast and shaky. She forced herself to stare straight ahead, never down.

  The next stair cracked underfoot and plummeted down. It crashed against the floor. Aeolia recoiled and stood trembling. She swallowed and took several deep breaths. Gingerly, she stretched her leg over the gulf, reaching for the next stair. If this one fell, she knew, she would fall with it. She breathed in relief when it held, and kept climbing.

  Soon she heard moaning from above. It sounded like a lost soul, the wretched whimper of a caged beast. Aeolia banished sudden pity. She wanted him to suffer, she told herself. He deserved it. And yet she had to cover her ears, for his mewling pinched her heart. She cursed herself for her compassion.

  “You’ll be free soon enough,” she muttered and took another step.

  Before her foot had fallen, a rat leapt at her. Aeolia screamed and covered her face. The rat landed on her arms and jumped over her head. Aeolia lost her balance and wobbled, fell back a step, slipped and stumbled. Her head dangled over the pit. The tower spun around her. Panting, she groped for support. She caught the corner of a stair and shakily pulled herself upright.

  She breathed deeply for long moments, her heart hammering. The rat was gone. It was several moments more before her heart slowed. She resumed climbing, wondering if her scream had woken the turnkey or alerted other guards. If she was caught here, sneaking into Hyan’s prison, she might be hanged with him.

  Finally the stairway ended at an iron-barred door. The moaning came loud and heart-wrenching through it, along with the stench of sweat and garbage. Aeolia unlocked the door and opened it.

  Hyan sat blubbering inside in a pile of straw. The only item in the room was a small water dish. There wasn’t even a slop bucket. When the fat man noticed Aeolia, he knuckled his eyes and glared.

  “What do you want? Have you come to gloat?”

  “I’ve come to save you,” Aeolia said.

  Hyan snorted an oink. “Get out of here. Save me. Save me indeed!” He laughed, his jowls quivering, spit bubbling on his cracked lips.

  “They plan to hang you today,” Aeolia said, annoyed. “I’m your only way out. You have nothing to lose by coming with me.”

  Hyan gave her a shrewd, slanted stare. “And why would you wish to extricate me, hum?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Hyan heaved a long sigh. “I suppose not, hum.... You have some sort of plan, I assume?”

  Aeolia nodded and tossed him the pink outfit. “You wear this.”

  Hyan’s laughter snorted out of his nose before seizing him completely. It was a whiny, squealing laughter, containing more misery than mirth. The tower shook with it.

  “Will you be quiet?” Aeolia demanded. “Someone might hear.”

  Hyan slapped the dress with his palm. “Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”

  “Undoubtedly. But I’m also saving your life and returning you your dukedom.”

  “Bah! I am a duke. I shall wear no woman’s accouterments. I shall not be put to laugh.”

  Aeolia sighed. “You make me sad.” She turned to leave.

  Hyan grabbed her arm. “No, wait!” There was panic in his voice, and he blinked furiously. “Don’t leave me here, please! It’s so dark at night, and there are rats, I hear them. There isn’t even a chamber pot. Oh, Spirit....”

  Though he obviously struggled to stifle it, the duke broke down and wept.

  Aeolia had not guessed her bluff would work so powerfully. Hesitantly, she touched Hyan’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t really mean to leave you here, I—”

  Hyan shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me, waif. I am a duke, by the Spirit.” He straightened and smoothed his clothes. “Fine. I shall don the dress. My subjects await me appetently, and I must escape hastily for their sake. Even if that entails unmanning myself. A duke must make certain sacrifices, for the good of the people and all that. But, hum....” Hyan went from condescending to sheepish. “Truth be told, I’ve never seen a woman with stubble before.”

  “That’s why you’ll shave,” Aeolia said and handed him her dagger.

  She waited, tapping her foot, while Hyan fumbled with the blade. She thought of all the things that could go wrong. Elorien might notice she was missing and look for her. The sleeping turnkey might wake, and Ketya be unable to knock him back to sleep. A second jailer might come to change shifts. Anything like that, and her plan was doomed, and she would never see Talin again.

  Finally Hyan was done, wiping away specks of blood and muttering. “This is no way for a duke to shave, hum.... You are fortunate I’m in a magnanimous mood, or I would have sent you to the stocks for this blunt blade....”

  “Are you done?” Aeolia asked. “Good. Now into that gown.”

  Hyan ponderously obeyed. Aeolia stuffed his old shirt into the gown’s bodice, enhancing his bosom. When Hyan set the plumed hat on his head, Aeolia couldn’t help but laugh.

  “That’s it!” Hyan said. “I’m not doing this.”

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” Aeolia said. “It was mean of me to laugh. You look very nice.”

  “Really?” Hyan looked over his body. “Well, I do look rather fetching, don’t I? I suppose I could get used to this, hum....”

  Aeolia sighed and began pacing downstairs. Hyan followed in his slippers, cracking several stairs on his way down, and punching one hole in the wall in an effort to steady himself. Finally they reached the ground, and Aeolia breathed in relief finding the turnkey still asleep.

  Upon seeing Hyan, Ketya fell into the grass with laughter, rolling around and struggling to breathe.

  “Come, Ket, don’t laugh,” Aeolia said. “Our people are waiting, and we are ready to leave. Let’s go.”

  Ketya rose to her feet, still giggling, and the three walked away from the tower. They took an inconspicuous route, passing around the winery along the palace’s outer wall, where roses grew tall and thorny. The clouds thickened as they walked, drizzling icy drops. Aeolia shivered and hitched on her dress as if she could make it warmer by wishing it so.

  The Esirens stood waiting outside the stables, dressed in rags, their scarce belongings slung over their backs. They began to cheer when they saw Aeolia approach. As she waved back at them shyly, she experienced a pang of guilt. They all adored her so, but if they knew who her foster-brother was.... Even Ketya, Aeolia suspected, would hate her if she knew. She bit her lip. She would have to keep her love for Joren secret. She would not bear it if they knew.

  Queen Elorien stood amid the crowd in embroidered lavender and a wide headdress against the rain. Aeolia and Ketya curtsied before her. Hyan bowed.

  Elorien frowned. “Who is this woman who bows before me?”

  Ketya was quick to reply. “She’s my mother, Your Majesty. She knows little of the ways of the court.”

  Elorien wrinkled her nose the slightest. “I dare say you have more of your father in you.”

  Aeolia felt it safest to change the subject. “Ketya told me about your gift, Your Majesty. I’m very grateful.”

  “Ah yes, the horses. Come along, girls, and choose the ones you like.”

  Aeolia bit her lip and smiled. She followed Elorien into the stables. The huge wooden building was full of hay, horses, stable boys, and swal
lows peeping in the lofts. At the doorway Ketya froze, her face pale, and refused to enter.

  “Come, Ket,” Aeolia said. “Don’t be afraid, they won’t hurt you.”

  Ketya shook her head. “They’ll eat me alive. I hate them.”

  “Well, I like them,” Aeolia said and began ambling amid the horses, searching for a favorite. All manner of horseflesh crowded the stalls: big shaggy warhorses, slim shiny coursers, palfreys and hackneys and even several ponies. Aeolia patted each one, fed them chaff, scratched their ears, let them sniff her palm. She thought them all lovely, and couldn’t find one she especially favored.

  “Have you made up your mind yet?” asked a stable boy.

  Aeolia hadn’t, but she hated to keep the queen waiting. She laid her hand on a shiny black gelding. “I kind of like this one.”

  “That’s the one, then.”

  “I guess so,” Aeolia said, when she heard a familiar whinny. She furrowed her brow, unable to place the sound. It had come from behind a pile of hay, from a stall she had missed. Aeolia walked toward it, stepped around the hay, and gasped in surprise. The hidden horse was a sorrel filly with a pink nose and a long, thin scar on her chest. Seeing Aeolia, the horse tossed her head happily and stomped her hoofs.

  “Stable boy,” Aeolia said, “where did you get this horse?”

  “It’s a strange story,” the stable boy said. “We found her only yesterday, hanging around the Dungeon as if her master were imprisoned inside.”

  “I’ll take her,” Aeolia said.

  The stable boy released the filly, and Aeolia hugged and linked to her.

  You followed me, girl, Aeolia thought affectionately. Thank you.

  Aeolia showed her horse to the queen, and led her to the door.

  “Do you like her?” she asked Ketya.

  “She’s not as big as the others,” Ketya said.

  “No,” Aeolia agreed.

  “What will you call her?”

  Aeolia thought a moment. “I’ll call her Acorn, because of her color, and because she’s tough.”

  Ketya smiled hesitantly. “I guess she isn’t that bad.”

  Elorien patted the girl’s head. “Are you sure you don’t want a horse, too?”