by Alison Baird
“But if Ailia came off a flying ship, then who is she? Why, she could be anybody!” Jemma gasped.
“So I’ve said before, Nell—if that really was gold thread her clothes were worked with, she must be a lady. Maybe even a princess!” said Betta.
“A princess!” Jaimon snorted. “Of what country? If anyone were missing a princess we’d surely have heard of it!”
“So I said.” Nella nodded. “And so I say still.”
“But she must be told the truth.” Betta’s voice was firm. “Her folk may be looking for her now, Nell—these people in the flying ships may be her blood kin.”
“Yes, it is possible. But let us tell her when she is stronger. Not now.” Nella’s voice had changed its tone: no longer firm and defensive, she was almost pleading. She turned from the others and went back into the house, signaling an end to the discussion, and after a moment they followed her. No word was spoken. The two older women were too steeped in memories, and the young people too full of wonderment at what they had learned, to say anything at all.
“So she’s not our cousin,” said Jemma at last in an undertone to her brother. “I can’t quite believe it with a part of my mind, and yet—it does make sense. She always was different from the rest of us, somehow. Not so much in looks or anything, but in the way she thought and felt. She didn’t fit, with us or with any of the Island folk.”
“What do you mean?” responded Jaimon, not troubling to lower his voice. “Didn’t fit? She was part of our family! I don’t care where she came from. She’s ours now. You only have to look at her face to see how glad she is to be with us!”
His sister looked long at him. “You were always closer to her than to me,” she said presently. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not jealous or anything silly like that. But the two of you had such a lot in common. I think of all of us she felt closest to you. It was very hard for her when you went away to sea, Jaim.”
“I know. And I thought about it a good deal. I knew she must be lonely, and I wrote to her whenever I could. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Nonsense. Of course you should, and Ailia would say the same. She knew it was the thing you wanted most in the world. She’d have gone away herself if she’d had the chance. I only said that, Jaim, so you’d understand how she felt. And how would it have been different if you had stayed?”
Jaimon made no reply, but an astonishing answer resounded through his mind. We might have married. Cousins do, sometimes. And now I know she’s not even my real cousin . . .
Jemma watched his face again, then said: “I suppose she hasn’t really come back to stay with us, after all. She’ll want to go back to her own folk, whoever they are. The ones in the winged ships.”
“Her own folk? But she’s not Zimbouran,” objected Jaimon. “She doesn’t look at all like one. If she came off a Zimbouran sky-ship then perhaps she was a prisoner, and all her own folk are dead.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair, leaving tufts of it standing upright, and said, “The Zimbourans—what did Ana and the others say about the Zimbourans? That they had tried to capture Ailia . . . Why? Is she important to them for some reason? Enough so that they took her prisoner twice, and are trying to find her once again? If so, we must hide her from the flying ships.”
“Or perhaps Ailia is right, and the Zimbourans aren’t the only ones that build such ships,” said his sister.
“But who else could build them?” he argued. “They’re not from this Continent, and all the other lands were conquered by Khalazar.”
“I don’t know, unless . . . Oh, Jaim, you don’t suppose there are still Elei left in the world? So many other strange things have happened . . .”
“Elei!” he snorted. “Does she look like an Elei?”
“I don’t know. What did the Elei look like?”
There was another long silence, which was broken presently by the sound of the front door and two voices, a man’s and a child’s. “Ah—there’s Dannor back from the wharves,” Nella said. “He will be so glad to hear that Ailia is recovered!”
The voices came closer, and Dannor Shipwright entered the room, along with a small blond boy who began to jump about in excitement when they told their news. “She woke up! She woke up again!” he cried, and before they could stop him he ran into the sickroom still shouting.
“Lem?” said Ailia, smiling and putting her feet on the floor.
“No, that’s Dani,” Jemma told her, stooping and putting her arms around the child.
Ailia blinked. “Baby Dani—but of course, it’s been so long, I had forgotten Lem would be much bigger now.”
“Lem is with his papa, down on the docks,” Dannor said, sitting down on the bed beside her. “He wanted to stay and watch the ships. How is my girl?” he asked, laying a work-roughened hand on Ailia’s shoulder. Dannor’s demonstrations of affection were never effusive, yet Ailia could sense his love for her now—As if I can feel his thoughts, she realized.
“Much better, Father,” she said, putting her hand on his.
He smiled. “Father? You always called me Papa before.”
She looked confused. “So I did—I had forgotten.”
“She can’t recall anything of where she’s been. So don’t be bombarding her with questions, Dann, she’s had quite enough of that for one day. And speaking of work, I should get our supper,” Nella said. “What there is of it.”
“We were paid today,” Dannor told her. “Ned gave me his wages to pass on to Betta. We can go to the market later.”
“If there is anything left to buy.”
Nella’s plea to Betta and her son and daughter had been accepted, by a wordless consensus: nothing was said of Ailia’s origins and the wreck of the flying ship. They continued to speak of commonplace things. Then Dani ran to Ailia and looked up at her with bright brown eyes. “You talked when you were sleeping.”
“Fever dreams,” said Jaimon, meeting his aunt’s eye.
“We listened to you talk,” added Dani.
“What did I talk about?” she asked.
“Lots of things. Stories. You had a dragon who was your friend, and you lived in a castle. And the castle was in a star. The Morning Star. You told stories when you were sleeping. Will you tell some more now you’re awake?”
Jaimon frowned. “Don’t pester her, Dani! Run along now.”
“Oh, let him be!” Jemma intervened. “Goodness knows we could all use a little fancy these days, life is that grim. Here, Ailia, I’ll brush some of those snarls out of your hair. It got dreadfully matted when you were sick.”
Ailia leaned back and tried to think of what she had said in her fever. The dreams were still there in her mind, vivid as any real memory, fantastical as any faerie tale. Some of the images disturbed her. But as Jemma combed out her tangled hair with firm capable hands, Ailia was composed once more. She began to talk slowly. Jemma listened along with her eager son, never interrupting, nor did her hands cease their soothing motions.
“The Morning Star . . . It’s very beautiful there. It’s always warm, because it is so near the sun. And the mountains there are taller than the ones here. And there are wonderful creatures—like the giant birds called rocs, that could carry off an ox cart if they chose. But all the beasts there are tame. And there is a great city, and a palace with glorious gardens.” Her voice grew soft and dreamy, her eyes widened as though she looked at things none of the rest of them could see. Jaimon, who stood near her, found himself staring at those eyes with a kind of wonderment: he had always thought them beautiful, but now that beauty had an alien quality he had not noticed before. They were so very large in her delicate face, and the violet-gray coloring of the irises (who else had he ever seen with purple eyes?) and the faint pattern of pale rays within them, like starbursts—these things struck him as utterly foreign, even unearthly. Was it the years of separation that made him see Ailia as if for the first time, or was it Nella’s unsettling revelation? It’s true—she’s not one of us, and she never will be.
He continued to study her, fascinated and disturbed. Who and what was she, this beloved stranger in their midst?
Ailia went on: “And the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. And the moon is blue—”
She stopped short, startled, as her aunt gave a sudden cry. “Why, whatever’s that?”
They all looked out the window. Above the roofs a fiery red glow flared briefly through the clouds—and then another appeared, away to the east. Betta exclaimed again: “It’s not lightning. It’s like fire in the sky—”
Ailia sprang up, and then reeled against Nella, who supported her. “An enemy is here,” the girl gasped. “A terrible enemy. I—I feel it.” She moved forward, swaying slightly, then stood very still in the center of the room, her fists clenched and eyes shut, as if she were praying.
They heard a rushing sound overhead, a flapping as of tremendous wings. Red light flared through the windows, and shadows leaped along on the walls. Jaimon ran to the nearest window. “There’s a fire up the street—I can see the smoke and the flames—” He headed for the door.
“Don’t!” cried Jemma. “Don’t go out there, Jaimon!”
“They will need help putting out the fire—”
A great clamor erupted from the streets outside as they followed him to the door—all but Ailia, who remained where she was. Over the rooftops the shape of the domed High Temple appeared black against a red glow.
“Fires! There are fires everywhere!” shouted Jaimon.
Looking up, they saw something moving rapidly through the ascending smoke—a black, flapping shape. Then Jemma screamed. “All the ships in the harbor are on fire! I must go there. Lem is down on the wharves, and Arran—”
Jaimon pulled her back inside. “No—it’s too dangerous! It’s an attack of some sort. But how are the Zimbourans doing it?”
Ailia, still standing alone in the main room, flung her arms up toward the ceiling and gave a cry. Nella ran to her while Jaimon kept watch at the door. Suddenly he gave an exclamation.
“What is it now?” cried Nella.
“Rain! An absolute tempest, out of nowhere—it’s sending up clouds of smoke and steam. I can’t see a thing—”
“It will put the fires out,” Ailia whispered. She was panting and haggard, as if wearied by some great effort of body or will.
“Let us hope so, but they are burning very fiercely,” Dannor said. “What could have done this? Burning pitch perhaps, cast down from the air—”
“Firedrakes,” Ailia said. Her eyes widened in horror, and she spoke in a low voice, as if to herself alone. “There are firedrakes in Mera!” She clutched at her head, swaying on her feet. “I remember now! It has all come back to me—the war, the enemy—”
“What?” said Betta, turning her distraught glance from the door to her niece and back again. “What’s that you say?”
But Ailia said no more. Her face drained of color, and she fell sideways into Nella’s arms.
5
The Monster in the Dark
JOMAR, LORELYN, AURON, AND TALEERA stood together on the shore of a lone island, more rock than earth, with a thin band of trees lying between the sea and a mountain with a bleak, bare summit. They had been journeying for days, always high up in the sky so that they would not be seen by the people below—for the Merans had not beheld a dragon in many centuries, and the sight of Auron would have terrified them. By day he wrapped himself in cloud-vapor, flying blind and relying on sorcery to find his way. By night he went uncloaked, and his passengers could see below them islands of the Archipelagoes, and the glitter of the moon upon the waves. Taleera went with them, alternately flying on her own and resting upon the dragon’s broad back with Jomar and Lorelyn. On and on he had flown, swift and tireless as a footless alerion in the wind-world of Alfaran. When at long last he grew weary, he had descended to this small and sparsely inhabited islet and lain coiled atop the stony mount while Taleera roosted on one of his horns, and Jomar and Lorelyn slept propped up against his warm flank, sheltered from the wind. The climate had grown much colder as they passed northward. At daybreak they walked down the mountain, Auron and Taleera wearing human form, to speak with the Kaanish inhabitants on the shore.
There were perhaps fifty of them, and none had been born in this place. To its dreary shores they had come as fugitives after the fall of Kaan, and here they eked out a wretched existence, dwelling in caves at the mountain’s foot and in lean-to shelters of cut boughs and driftwood, gathering shellfish and auks’ eggs and anything else that they could find for food. Yet they would rather live and die in this desolate place than on the warmer isles of the south where the Zimbouran conquerors still reigned. Of what was now occurring on those islands they had no knowledge, but though years had passed they still feared to return.
“The Zimbouran lords killed and pillaged and burned,” they told the visitors. They seemed more comfortable talking to Auron, who wore his usual Kaanish form. “Entire villages were destroyed, and the island governors and their families slain—those who did not flee. The Emperor of the Archipelagoes is dead, some say, and others tell that he lives on in hiding. We do not know which tale is true.”
“Have you heard what happened on Jana?” asked Lorelyn in Kaanish, moving to stand beside Auron. “The island nearest the holy isle of Medosha?”
“I know of it,” one elderly man said. “The governor there was spared, for he surrendered without a fight. But he was imprisoned, and many of his people were slaughtered. And Medosha has been desecrated. The Zimbourans have felled its sacred groves, and built themselves houses on the holy ground.”
“But the monks of the One Faith?” Lorelyn pressed. “What about them? Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing particular concerning them,” the man replied, “but I know that the Zimbouran governor’s first act was to put all priests of faiths other than Valdur’s to the sword. None escaped.”
Lorelyn turned away. She could see Abbot Shan’s face so clearly in her mind: bald, lined, kindly and patient. To her young eyes he had always seemed ancient and wise beyond imagining, but she realized now that he had likely not been so very old: no more than sixty years of age, perhaps. He should have lived to a venerable age; his wisdom and gentleness should not have been taken from the world. She had felt such certainty that she would see him again, that he was indestructible, permanent as the earth itself . . . The view of sea and shore before her faded in a mist of tears.
Jomar went and put his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. He needed no translation to know the cause of her grief.
“I knew,” she said in a voice drained of all expression. “I always suspected what their fate was, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. I let myself hope while . . . deep down, I knew.” And then suddenly she sagged against him and began to weep. He could find no words of comfort. Instead he tightened his hold on her, so that her whole weight might rest against him, and he ran a hand over her bright hair. Auron and Taleera did not go to her too, but discreetly walked away and let them be. In that moment Jomar realized that words were not, and never had been, needed after all. As Lorelyn’s stormy sobs turned to sharp tremors, then eased into silence, his hands caressed her shoulders and head, conveying his love to her through his touch.
A long time later they both sat and gazed out at the waves beating on the stony shore. They did not have to say what was in both their minds. It was not the wordless mind-language of the Nemerei that moved between them, but an older communing that predated both it and any form of language: the understanding that expresses itself through tenderness of look and gesture. Whatever happened from that moment forth, in life or in death upon the field of battle, they knew that they would never again be apart.
THE SKIES WERE CLEAR AS Auron and his companions flew on across the ocean: but as night fell again and they neared the coast of the Continent, a mass of clouds appeared ahead of them. It was strangely concentrated over one small region of the coastline, rising befor
e them in an abrupt barrier, and making a thick gray roof to cover the land immediately below.
“This isn’t just weather,” Jomar shouted as they flew above its buffeting winds. “It’s magic, isn’t it? But what’s causing it?”
He is right. There is some sorcery at work here, Auron said to Lorelyn and Taleera. But whether it is a device of our enemies or not, I cannot say. He dived down through the cloud layer, and they saw the ocean below them again gleaming dully like dinted pewter, and a dark coastline ahead with the shadowy peaks of mountains, and lower down a faint scattering of light where Raimar lay. But as they drew nearer they saw large patches of glowing red, like beds of coals—and were those columns of black smoke rising above the city?
At this point Taleera, who had been flying above them, came flapping down over their heads. ’Ware firedrake, Auron!
A gout of fire flared out through the sky ahead of them. The firedrake itself was invisible in the blackness.
“Look! More!” Lorelyn pointed as other red flares appeared. “They’re attacking the city!” Another parabola of flame burst from a firedrake’s jaws, this one lower down, just above the roofs of Raimar. Auron flew faster, and presently they could see fires breaking out on the ground, looking tiny and unreal as they thrust eager tongues upward. The gold leaf on the high temple’s dome reflected the ruddy glare.
“Can’t we help them?” Lorelyn stared down in horror at the spreading conflagration as they flew over the city. Part of the royal palace’s roof was burning, and one wing was already a black shell with flames streaming from its windows. But steam was also rising in white plumes, for a heavy rain was falling: it gusted into their faces and soaked their clothes. Auron’s wet scales gleamed like a fish’s in the light of the fires.
Someone summoned rain clouds to put the fires out, Lorelyn thought as she clung to Jomar’s waist. Not enemy sorcery, then . . . Could it be Ailia? Is she really here?
