Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  Taya turned into a hawk and soared, crashing through the boughs into the sky. She glanced behind her to see an eagle pursuing. Taya flapped madly, flying as fast as she could. In the clouds, her twin’s beak caught Taya’s talon. Taya screamed and slammed her neck into Ayat’s body. Ayat opened her beak to squawk, and Taya’s talon came free. The two birds battled. Claws slashed, scratched, yanked feathers, tried to catch an eye. Shrieks echoed in hollow beaks. Flapping pinions churned the clouds. Wind roared in Taya’s ears and filled her nostrils. Earth and heaven spun around her.

  Ayat tore a clump of feathers from Taya’s breast, and the blood fueled Taya with rage. She shrieked and lashed forth, beating Ayat with her wings, scratching her with claws. Finally, she managed to close her beak around Ayat’s neck. The evil twin struggled but could not free herself. Instead, she turned into a boar.

  Ripped free from Taya’s grip, the boar plummeted. Just before it hit the treetops, it became a falcon and began flying again. Taya dived and thudded into the falcon, pushing it through the treetops. The two birds crashed through the branches, leaving behind clouds of feathers, and hit the ground.

  At once, both sisters turned into lions. But Taya was the quicker cat. She leapt onto Ayat, pushing her to the ground, and closed her jaws around the twin’s neck.

  Ayat froze, not daring to move, not morphing, just lying still. Her eyes were clouded with defeat. No matter what animal she became now, Taya could kill her.

  Ayat became human again.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”

  Taya sighed inwardly. No, she could not bring herself to kill her twin, not even if that twin had tried to kill her. With a grunt she too became human. The two identical women stared at each other.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” Taya said softly. “I should have learned to live with you, not tried to exile you.” She sighed. “I suppose there is no one real Taya. We are both parts of the same person.”

  Taya rose to her feet. She turned around and began walking away, wondering if she would ever see her twin again. A stirring in the bushes behind her made her pause and look back.

  A crocodile was rushing toward her, snapping its jaws.

  Taya cursed. With no time to flee, she turned into a turtle and whisked into her shell. The crocodile’s teeth closed around her, but Taya’s shell protected her. The crocodile, in turn, became a python and constricted her.

  Taya boiled with rage, panic tickling her as her lungs began aching for air. She tried to change into a larger animal, but she didn’t have the space. Stars floated before her eyes. Her lungs felt ready to burst.

  Like air, all thought disappeared.

  * * * * *

  Even before Taya opened her eyes, she knew with a chilling certainty that her troubles were only beginning.

  When she did open her eyes, she instantly regretted it. What she saw froze her blood. Stonesons surrounded her, pointing their fingers at her. At any moment, Taya knew, they could perforate her with magical stone darts. Behind the Stonish soldiers, ruin sprawled like a nightmare. Yaiyai lay broken on the ground, its inhabitants mutilated. Ooor lay under a bush, his face kicked in. Eeea was impaled on a spike. Taya shut her eyes again.

  She felt a hand caress her hair. “Now, now,” said a soft voice, speaking Woodword with only the slightest accent. “Don’t cry. Tears make things sadder than they truly are.”

  Taya recognized the voice. She kept her eyes shut as she whispered, “I should have plunged your sword into my crotch, not my stomach.”

  Rough fingers pulled her eyelids open. Taya found herself staring at Lale’s scarred face.

  “Sit up,” he commanded.

  Taya considered defying him, but knew it would be futile. She sat up. Lale fitted a bucket over her head.

  “A precaution,” he explained, “in case you turn into a bird. Do so, and the bucket will fall and trap you. From here on, you are never to so much as tilt your head. Each time you do, I will pluck off one of your toes. Try to escape, and I will cut off your lips.”

  Taya remained still and straight. The bucket on her head was heavy and cold. It stank like an old chamber pot. A sudden image of her without lips shot through her mind, and Taya shoved it away, her stomach churning.

  “Why, Lale?” she whispered. “All this just to catch me?”

  Lale laughed. “You flatter yourself, woman. You think I came here solely to catch you? No. I came to conquer the Forest, and I came to conquer Heland. In time, I will conquer Esire and behead your little slave friend. No, catching you was simply a side benefit.” The prince laughed. “It was quite an unexpected surprise, actually. While we were destroying this miserable village, a bear dragged you over to me unconscious.”

  Taya tightened her lips. Ayat!

  “I was so pleased with the bear,” Lale continued, “that I killed it and turned it into a rug.”

  So Ayat was dead. Taya felt strangely sad.

  “Why don’t you kill me, too?” she asked.

  “Death is too benevolent,” Lale replied, “the eventual fate of every man or woman. I want you to suffer more than that. I’m taking you to my father as a curiosity. What he will do to you I cannot guess. I know only it will make you envy your wretched kin. But first we go to Heland. And you, my dewdrop, will accompany me as my pet.”

  Rough hands pulled her to her feet. Taya kept her head stiff, careful not to tilt the bucket. Swords poked her back, and Taya began walking, her feet trudging through sticky snow. She kept her lips tightened, forbidding despair to overcome her. She let only one question fill her mind, repeating it like a mantra, so no other thought could find its way in. One question that determined life and death, one question she dared not ask for fear of the answer she might get. One question everything now depended on.

  Where in the world was Aeolia?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Esire

  Light snow fell outside, covering the city of Woodwall with a brittle sheet. Aeolia reached out the window, letting the snow glide onto her hand. Soft as baby’s breath, it melted as it touched her warm skin. She withdrew her hand, placed it in her lap, and gazed into the gilded mirror. Her cheeks were dabbed with rouge, her lips were tinged with crushed raspberries, and her eyelids sparkled with faint gold powder. She wore an ivory-colored chiffon gown and a diamond necklace.

  “I almost don’t recognize myself,” she said quietly to Ketya.

  Ketya smiled silently and continued combing Aeolia’s almond hair. She frizzed the edges, fastened them down with a platinum pin and arranged the curls over Aeolia’s head.

  “Oh, Ketya!” Aeolia sighed. “You make my hair look so pretty. I remember times when it hung over my eyes.”

  “You must look like a lady now. You’re going to meet a king.”

  “And have done nothing to deserve it!” Aeolia exclaimed and rose to her feet. She left the mirror and resignedly dropped backwards onto her canopy bed.

  “Please, Lia,” Ketya said. “You’re wrinkling your gown.”

  “It’s not mine, Ketya! Don’t you understand? All these gowns, perfumes, jewels.... I never wanted all this cosseting, I just....”

  Ketya placed her hands on her hips. “Enough you nearly gave Queen Elorien a heart attack, barging into her court in dirty rags and covered with cinder!”

  The two girls burst into a fit of giggling.

  “I’ll never forget the look on the old woman’s face,” Aeolia said through her laughter.

  “She nearly fell dead backwards!” Ketya wiped a tear from her eye. “She must have thought we were two beggars come to slit her throat.”

  “At least the rags were comfortable. I don’t see how anyone could breathe in these corsets.”

  “I agree. Numbskulled men.” Ketya sniffed loudly—a funny, nasal sound.

  “Why are you oinking?” Aeolia asked, and they both burst into laughter so wild they rolled around on the bed, struggling for breath. They didn’t even notice the door open unti
l they heard a voice.

  “Miladies?”

  A guard stood in the doorway, wearing a golden uniform and eyeing them uncertainly. The two girls quickly gathered themselves and blinked at him innocently.

  “Lady Aeolia is wanted in the king’s hall,” the guard said.

  “I’m not a lady,” said Aeolia.

  Ketya nodded. “Can’t you see? She can’t even fit into a corset.”

  “I can too!” Aeolia cried. “And at least I don’t oink.”

  Ketya hit her with a pillow. Aeolia squealed, grabbed her own pillow and hit Ketya back. The two were laughing again.

  “I’ll wait outside to accompany you when you’re ready,” the guard said, confusion suffusing his face.

  “Spirit, Ketya!” Aeolia said when he had left. “I can’t believe all this is happening. I’m going to see a king, and he actually wants me to....”

  She fell silent, and their laughter died. Aeolia stared at her lap and twisted her fingers.

  “Come,” Ketya said. “Let me help you lace those shoes.”

  * * * * *

  Esire’s royal hall was an opulent place, and Aeolia gazed at it in wonder. Marble columns engraved with leaves supported a high, azure ceiling. Golden tapestries hung on all walls but one, where embedded was a huge firefly wrought of gold—the Esiren firefly. Aeolia thought the wealth excessive; that emblem could feed a town for a year.

  King Reyn sat slumped in his begemmed throne. A samite robe cloaked his spindly frame, and a jeweled crown topped his hoary head. Topaz necklaces hung around his flabby throat, and agate rings adorned his bony fingers. Silver wires inlaid his lank beard. Even Lale, Aeolia reflected, for all his faults, was not so flamboyant.

  “Your Majesty,” she said and curtsied.

  “The so-called Firechild,” muttered the old king. “Rise, girl.”

  Aeolia straightened, and the king gave her a piercing stare.

  “Prove it,” he said.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Go on, link to me! Show me your magic.”

  Grumbling under his breath, the king shut his eyes. Aeolia shrugged one shoulder and linked to him. His mind and body were tough and gnarled as an old oak.

  Yes, yes, he thought, his eyes closed. I can see myself through your eyes. We share senses. You truly are a Firechild.

  Aeolia released the link, glad to escape the king’s old body. Reyn opened his eyes and frowned.

  “When people link to me,” he said slowly, “it is customary for them to ask leave before letting go.”

  Aeolia stiffened. “Of course, Your Majesty. It won’t happen again.”

  “I hope not. We can’t have you being insolent, what with all this trouble we’re in. Our border towns are being lost like an old man’s thoughts, and Sinther is only getting stronger. Just today we’ve received word he’s conquered the Forest.”

  Aeolia winced and bit her lip. The Forest, conquered, after a war she had sparked. Everywhere she went she brought ruin.

  “And you want me to fight him....”

  The king leaned back in his throne. “Well, I sure can’t.”

  Aeolia sighed. Sinther had long been killing Esirens to catch her, and by fleeing him she had only caused more destruction. It was her duty to face him, she knew.

  “I will try,” she said. “I will try my hardest.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Well, Queen Elorien has promised me use of her fleet,” Aeolia said. “As soon as the army’s mustered, we’ll sail secretly into Grayrock, surprising Sinther and circumventing his infantry. We’ll be in the Citadel before he’s realized anything is amiss.”

  “And what will you do then?” Reyn asked.

  “He can’t hurt me if I link to him,” Aeolia said, and a chill passed through her. “I guess I’ll simply chain him up.”

  * * * * *

  She didn’t spend much time planning the campaign. It was too easy to put aside such scary thoughts and simply be happy. It still felt strange wearing gowns and jewels, but the winter gardens tempted her, and her friends were pleasant enough company to make her forget her responsibilities. Who could think of war while surrounded with such peace? I had known slavery so long, Aeolia thought. Let me enjoy idleness.

  She walked alone through an orchard of oranges growing sweet despite the cold, their roots feeding from Woodwall’s hot underground springs. She wore a blue muslin gown with a line of tiny silver bells around the waist. At times she spun with her arms spread out, just to see her dress twirl and hear it chime. She picked an orange, peeled it and bit into a segment. The sweet taste burst in her mouth. She still couldn’t fathom she was allowed to eat as many fruit as she pleased, whenever she pleased.

  She blushed to think of the luxuries and adulation she received in this dreamland. From the lowliest peasant to the loftiest lord, everyone adored their Firechild—except perhaps the king, whom Aeolia still thought a sour old curmudgeon. She delivered speeches every day (though she trembled each time anew), attended royal feasts, mingled with all the nobility. She might not have been a lady, but she was treated like a goddess.

  Finishing her orange, Aeolia spotted Talin walking through the trees.

  “Talin!” she said cheerfully, rushed forward and embraced him.

  “There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Aeolia noticed his face was grave. She withdrew from him and took a few sulky paces backwards.

  “There is bad news,” Talin said.

  Aeolia looked away. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “What’s the matter, Lia?”

  “I’m tired of bad news,” she pouted. “My whole life has been full of it. Go away, leave me to walk in the orchard.”

  “Aeolia, this is not how I know you.”

  “Perhaps you never knew me until now. Perhaps I never knew myself. Perhaps I was meant to be a spoiled rich girl.” She smiled at him, trying to make him laugh, but he remained sober.

  “Sinther is mustering an army,” he said. “Larger than any seen on the Island before.”

  Aeolia turned her back to him and stared down the empty path. She picked an orange from a tree, held it in both hands but did not eat.

  “What does he want from me, Talin? I never wished him any harm.”

  Talin circled her till he stood before her again. He silently took her hands.

  She looked at him. “I just want to love you, Talin. That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask?”

  He gazed at her silently, his eyes deep green and soft. Aeolia’s love for him burst in her heart like the fruit had in her mouth.

  “Ask me to marry you, Talin,” she said suddenly. “Ask me and I’ll say yes. We don’t need to have children, Talin. We don’t need to if they’d suffer for their mixed blood. But if you were to love me, Talin, love me like I love you, I would not regret a thing....”

  He looked at her, about to speak, but she hushed him with a finger to his lips.

  “No, don’t talk,” she pleaded, “because I couldn’t bear it if you turned me down. Here, what’s this? I see you want to speak. I will kiss you lest you refuse me.”

  She held his head in both her hands and kissed him desperately, holding him so tightly the orange in her hand crushed and dripped juice down his neck.

  * * * * *

  Milky dawn poured over the stars, glittering like pearls on the snow. The palace awoke under the clear sky to blaze with its own light. Guards stood straight and proud at their posts, their armor burnished and beribboned. Servants clad in their finest livery set tables in the gardens, topped them with damask and decked them with baskets of winter flowers: pink stock and deep blue irises, violas and pansies and poppies blooming wide in the cold. The flowers’ fragrance was soon joined by the smells of cakes and candies brought from the kitchens, elaborate sweets as lovely to view as to taste. The guests then arrived, lords and ladies dressed their best, bringing presents, flowers, and adoration. Minstrels played romantic tunes. Wine fl
owed like tears.

  Aeolia’s dress was white as moonlight on water. She wore her hair down, strewn with wildflowers, and crowned with a garland of wheat. Everyone told her she sparkled like the stars. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful and happy and loved, and these were new feelings for her, and they were frightening as they were tender. She sat at her window, gazing hesitantly at the celebration outside, holding her hands so hard they hurt.

  “Is all this for me?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ketya chided. “It’s for Talin too.”

  “I’m so scared.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Ketya patted her hand. “You should be used to a crowd by now.”

  “It’s not only the crowd I’m scared of,” Aeolia admitted. “It’s when the crowd leaves. You know, I’ve never.... I won’t know what to do.”

  “What makes you think I do?” Ketya cried, bristling.

  “No, no,” Aeolia said, laughing. “I didn’t mean to imply that you.... It’s just that I.... Oh, Spirit, Ketya, come with me!”

  “You don’t want me around,” Ketya laughed. “Trust me. Lia, you’ve fought more battles than half the knights here today. You needn’t be afraid of one little—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Aeolia interrupted her, her ears burning.

  Was Ketya right? she wondered. Perhaps she was so inured to pain she feared joy. Sem and the ogre had embittered her life, and the scars they had given her were still healing, and screamed at the touch of happiness like a wound screamed at the touch of a balm. But wounds could not heal without pain, Aeolia knew, and Talin was giving her the courage to face her past. She recalled her old dream, how she had left him for the darkness, and banished it from her mind. She would never leave her true love.

  Ketya hugged her. “Come, Dewdrop. The ceremony is about to begin.”

  Aeolia lifted her bouquet and stepped outside.

  She could never afterward truly remember the ceremony. It passed in a blurry haze of happiness, leaving only emotions and pictures as memories. There was Talin, dressed in Greenhill’s green, handsomer than ever. The picture of Ketya catching her bouquet, squealing in delight, was etched forever in her mind. The party was a feast of laughter and tears and kisses, there and gone like summer rain. Aeolia emerged from the wedding as from a dream, and only the ring on her finger, a thin band of white gold, testified its realness.