Another one passed on the left. Jenn squeaked.
The cloudbank thinned enough to reveal spindly rock spires surrounding us. The spikes protruded from the grey ocean like broken, decaying teeth. Around some, I saw broken masts and ship ruins.
“Never you fear, my friends,” Sir Liliford called from the steering wheel. “I’ve never led a traveler to danger. These are the Bolts of God! They guide us home.”
We sailed on for what seemed like hours, weaving slowly but expertly through the rocky spires and storm. The roaring waves pushed the ferry like a toy boat, but Sir Liliford used this to his advantage, sweeping in pirouettes around the rocks that had claimed so many other vessels. Then, when it seemed we’d never arrive, Sir Liliford called to us again.
“My sirs and ladies,” he said. “I ask you to direct your gaze to the bow!”
My heart skipped a beat. My skin flushed with goosebumps. At last, Dembroch!
We passed a thick cluster of rocky spires. The veil of clouds evaporated like magic.
And there, right in front of us, was an island. The island.
I couldn’t help it. I gasped. But it wasn’t out of amazement. It was shock.
Heavy, dark clouds blocked out the sun. Gloom reigned across the Norwegian Sea, making the waters a murky black, and over the island too.
Roughly elliptical in shape, the shadowy landmass loomed before us. Surf crashed into steep, craggy cliffs. Wind swept across blackened rolling hills and thick, dead forests. The land pitched and rolled like the most dramatic Scottish landscapes, rising to sharp bluffs in the west, sloping to inlets and narrow beaches in the southeast, but it all looked steep, harsh, and uninviting.
Far off, perhaps an island of its own beyond the one before us, was the clouded tip of a steep mountain. It was covered in snow and obscured by clouds of brewing blizzards.
I couldn’t take it all in at once. There was so much to see, and a feeling of dread was creeping into me. But one thing caught my eye, one tiny, beautiful thing.
In the middle of the haunted-looking island, or perhaps just a bit off center, were the turrets of a castle. Sticking out of the dead trees, the fortress’ towers looked like a crown upon the head of a giant human whose brow was just breaking the surface of the ocean. Golden flags flapped on spires, the one spot of color in the monochrome wasteland. This was surely the castle of Queen Coralee, the capital of Dembroch. But, even with the bright beacon of the castle, this place didn’t seem like a timeless kingdom. If anything, it seemed like a desolate one.
My heart sank. I knew without a doubt: we were here. This was Dembroch, the place of my dreams that I had so avidly longed for in my youth. And it had already fallen.
CHAPTER 7:
The Fallen Kingdom of Dembroch
The four of us sailed in silence. There were no sighs from Jenn, senseless chattering from Clay, or sarcastic grumbles from Meg. The sight of Dembroch, wasted away and barren, had arrested us and left us in shocked, horrified stillness.
I gaped at it. All these years, I’d imagined Dembroch as this beautiful island paradise of forests, waterfalls, and mythical creatures. After all, it had been called the Timeless Kingdom. But this was not a beautiful, enduring place of childhood fantasies. This desolate kingdom was a land of nightmares waiting to unfold. The forests and grassy meadows were withered and black. Riverbeds were gutted and dry. I half expected to see vultures over the trees or beady eyes peeking around trunks, but the creepy, dead island was empty, further perpetuating the eeriness. Not a soul, animal or human, walked its land.
I wondered if it had always looked this way. Surely the island had been beautiful once. Surely it’s unappealing appearance was a byproduct of whatever famine had befallen it. Surely?
Beside me, Meg tapped her wristwatch. I glanced over. Curiously, the second hand would tick forward one second and then pause for several more seconds before moving just one second more.
“A gear probably slipped,” I offered.
“Or it died,” Jenn said morosely, looking over Meg’s shoulder.
Meg groaned and pulled her sleeve over the malfunctioning watch.
Before long, we were a stone’s throw away from the southwest edge of the island, approaching a wooden dock extending from a sandy beach. Buttressed between steep, eroding cliffs, the beach rose to a hill, at the top of which waited a horse-drawn carriage without any attendants.
In due time, we docked. Sir Liliford lowered the gangplank and ushered us off the ferry.
“Follow me, my friends,” he called, walking down the dock and toward the shore. “Your queen awaits your arrival.”
My friends shambled after, but I stood frozen for a moment. Everything I’d ever wanted was beyond this beach and slope, and the glimpse I’d gotten had already shaken my expectations. What would I find over the hill? Did I want to know?
Meg noticed I’d stopped and hollered for me to catch up, her tone clearly indicating that I had dragged her into this and if she had to follow the ferryman, so did I.
We crossed the sandy shore to the steep hill, tracing a trail through patches of dead, leafless shrubs until we stood at the top of the hill beside the horse-drawn carriage. The horses considered us with nervous trots of their hooves.
My eyes were drawn to the island beyond. It hadn’t changed, but I still couldn’t believe it. Dembroch stretched out before us in all its haunted forsakenness. There were no birds or rustle of life. Everything was still and quiet. Far to the east, white steam shrouded the land and rose to the sky. A path twisted to the north, following the natural curves of the land toward a gaping canyon and gnarled forest. Tiny, blue-tipped towers were just visible above the twisted limbs, at least two or three miles away.
“Is this…Dembroch?” Clay asked.
“The main island of the three,” Sir Liliford said matter-of-factly.
“Three?” I repeated.
“Ah yes, a brief refresher on the lay of the land,” our ferryman said. “The Timeless Kingdom is made of three islands: Dembroch, Ryderwyle, and Whittlesea. We stand upon the largest, called Dembroch after the realm’s namesake. The two smaller isles, Ryderwyle and Whittlesea, are separated from our main island by a channel of the sea.” He pointed to northwest. “You cannot see it from here, but beyond the trees and the waves is Whittlesea. It is home to our pages, philosophers, and high thinkers. The isle is only accessible during low tide across a sand bar.” Then, he pointed at the snowy mountain to the northeast. “The mountain right there is Ryderwyle, perhaps the most dangerous area in our territory.”
“Dangerous?” Jenn asked feebly.
“Notwithstanding its current weather conditions, it is home to the Horror Hollow,” Sir Liliford said simply. “Many a beast lives—or lived—in the Hollow. As such, it is also where the kingdom’s defenders train. Or did before the winter descended. And the skybridge was destroyed. And the monsters relocated here. And all the defenders died.”
I tried not to let these last details perturb me but I felt fear creep through me like snow slipping down your collar and onto your back.
“Why is it snowing?” I asked, trying to distract myself.
Sir Liliford seemed surprised I did not know. “Have you not heard? An errant knight caused the winter storm to assault the isle. He has since perished and left us with yet another problem to solve.” The ferryman shook his head. “Now, chop chop. It’s off to see the queen.”
My heart did a somersault of joy and shock. The queen? We were going to see her? Right now? I suddenly felt self-conscious how round my belly had grown and the stubbled cheeks I hadn’t shaved in a few days. Would she remember my letters? Did we have to meet her right now?
Sir Liliford instructed us to board the carriage. It had room to seat eight and carry all their luggage, so we barely filled it. Sir Liliford took the reins and gave them a flick. The horses whinnied nervously and, with a tug, we were off.
CHAPTER 8:
The Famine of Timelessness
We rode ac
ross the barren, rolling hills and meadows, crossing rocky ravines where rivers once ran and a wide field full of gnarled, brown vineyards. Not a single vine bore fruit.
“It has been a difficult time as of late,” Sir Liliford said. “The season has been harsh.”
“A famine?” I asked, remembering Page Hybore’s words.
“Of sorts,” the ferryman replied.
“Are the vineyards your main source of economy?” Clay asked.
“As well as fruits and fishing,” he added. “The Civium cultivate the land and, from the surplus, have me sell the wine, fish, and fruits to the Scots as an independent farmer.”
“What do you do with the money?” Meg said, her tone far from generally curiosity.
“The kingdom keeps a small fund for transactions with neighboring countries and our sister kingdoms, such as the purchase of meats and fabric. I broker most of these transactions.”
“As an independent farmer?” I assumed. “Why?”
“Dembroch is one of the world’s best kept secrets, of course! We pretend to be a small farming and fishing community in occasional need of protection from seafaring hostiles, but we are so much more.”
I felt my brain cloud with confusion.
“Why?” I asked.
“Much of the work done on Dembroch is unprecedented,” Sir Liliford replied, “and beyond the understanding of the outside world. If our true nature was known to the world at large, many a beggar, crook, and monger would be upon our dock, begging for our services, even demanding. We have dealt with this firsthand and, as a result, actively avoid revealing our true presence to the world.”
My brain seemed to short circuit.
“What do you do exactly?” I asked, trying to get a straight answer.
Sir Liliford gave me that funny, green-eyed smile he had.
“Why, we aid those who need our help,” he replied as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.
I stammered, trying to ask too many questions at once. Sir Liliford cut me off with a shake of his head.
“Perhaps you’ve never heard the full account of our origins,” he offered. “Allow me to weave you the tale. Long ago, Christians fled Roman persecution and found the shores of Dembroch. The mage and his wife, the only residents at the time, welcomed the vagrants and provided them sanctuary. Those values were the founding tenants of the kingdom when King Peter formed the monarchy, and the same values we observe today.”
“Which are…?” Meg grumbled.
“Shelter and healing,” the ferryman replied, unphased by my sister’s tone, “for the injured, afflicted, or cursed. They are called the Hospites: good-spirited, strong-hearted individuals from the world beyond who are incurably sick, unfairly afflicted, or untenably, tragically cursed. We permanent residents, the Civium, seek out these poor souls, the Hospites, and offer them a temporary home while we heal them. If they stay long enough in our kingdom, they live in the village of Amaranthine.”
“Why is this place any better at healing than a hospital or surgeon?” Meg asked, crossing her arms.
“Come now, do not play the fool,” Sir Liliford said. “You know of the magic.”
“Right,” Meg said with an arrogant chuckle. “Does your kingdom have trolls and fairies and elves too?”
Sir Liliford didn’t even turn around.
“There is magic in this kingdom sure enough,” he said, his tone still even and cool.
“No way,” Clay said, laughing boisterously.
“It is all around us, accessible to you and me if we know how,” Sir Liliford continued. “Some can bend and manipulate the magic to do their will, others bottle it for later uses. But the magic of Dembroch has one specific effect that is given to all, one that requires no manipulation to access. It’s in the very air we breathe, coursing through the land.”
He paused. We waited. I half expected him to start laughing at our gullibility.
Then, with all the seriousness of a doctor diagnosing an incurable disease, the ferryman said, “The magic of Dembroch suspends time.”
There was silence for a moment as the words sunk in. Then, Meg laughed. Clay joined in, his chuckle boisterous and unbecoming. I shot them a look.
“What?” Meg replied. “You can’t be taking this guy seriously.”
“I would not lie to such stellar, formidable dignitaries,” interjected Sir Liliford. “Do any of you possess a standard, analog watch? Look upon its face. You will see the suspension of which I speak.”
I looked back at Meg, raising an eyebrow. She smirked back but didn’t look at her wristwatch because she knew as well as I that her wristwatch was still ticking forward one second, then pausing—or suspending—for several more seconds. It was the only proof we had that we were truly in a timeless realm or that magic existed. Besides the chroniseal that had transported us to Scotland.
“But,” Jenn, ever the logical one, finally said, “look. Up in the sky. The sun has been moving. The shadows are changing. Time is still moving.”
“Nature of the world beyond continues on,” Sir Liliford agreed. “The globe spins. The planets, stars, and moon continue their paths. But on this island, time stands still. We are locked in a beautiful summer day until the world itself stops. Nothing grows, nothing dies. Time is averse. Suspended. That is why Dembroch is called the Timeless Kingdom, and that is also why we offer shelter to Hospites. No matter the injury or malady they face, their fate is forestalled the moment they step on the shores of this kingdom. Their injuries stop progressing, their diseases stop spreading. We can heal them while their bodies have stopped aging.”
“So then…we’ve stopped aging?” Clay asked incredulously, touching his chest.
Sir Liliford nodded.
“If this is true,” Jenn mumbled, glancing at the scorched land around us, “does the kingdom always look like this? For all time?”
“No, no, my dear,” Sir Liliford said with a chuckle. “Dembroch was once a lavish land full of people. But much has changed. The magic I spoke of has been dying. As a result, the vegetation has perished. The food supply has run short. Water is scarce. Time fights to reclaim the land.”
I nodded, grasping this detail. That must have been why Meg’s watch was moving. If this timeless magic had been at full strength, her watch would have been frozen.
“What about the Hospites?” Jenn asked, sounding surprisingly interested in something other than our imminent demise.
“Gone,” Sir Liliford said, his tone growing somber. “Many perished before we could save them. Others fled the kingdom in hopes of saving themselves before it was too late. Even many Civium have fled. Less than a dozen remain on the isles.”
“Page Hybore’s family?” I asked.
“Hidden, like most of the other Civium,” Sir Liliford replied.
“Is there a way I can see them?”
“Perhaps. But first, the queen.”
“What about the defenders?” Clay asked. “Did they run away too?”
I looked at him from the corner of my eye. Had he forgotten what the summons read?
Sir Liliford didn’t mince the words.
“Most of the original order perished some twenty years ago in the Siege of the Shallows,” Sir Liliford said. “One hundred strong became six. Shortly after, another one hundred Reserves were called to the isles…all of which have perished over time. The last of them were lost recently in the Clash at Cliffside Tower. You four are the last.”
Jenn gave one of her trademark morose groans. Clay gulped. Meg just sat there with her arms crossed. I sat back in my seat, the terrible reality sinking in. We four had been called to Dembroch to save it…but it seemed to have already fallen beyond repair.
“Take heart, my sirs and ladies,” Sir Liliford said, his tone unreasonably cheerful. “Our kingdom rests in your hands, and I have no doubt you will succeed. The seer has seen your actions and the queen has vouched for your formidable skill and strong hearts. If anyone can save the kingdom, it will be you f
our.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You said the magic is dying. As in not gone yet. Why?”
Yet again, Sir Liliford gave us all a look, as though we were pulling his leg and feigning ignorance. Nonetheless, he explained.
“A witch attacked our kingdom decades ago,” the ferryman revealed. “Though she was imprisoned after the Siege of the Shallows, the damage was done. Her actions caused the kingdom’s magic to fail and it has dwindled ever since.”
I felt my eyebrows crease—I’d almost forgotten that Page Hybore had mentioned a witch. Was all of this because of her?
Meg chuffed arrogantly. I could tell she was waiting for the opportunity to make a joke about the magic and prove the ferryman a fool.
“What can we do to fix it?” I asked.
“The queen knows,” Sir Liliford said. “And the magic isn’t even half of it. There are a great many other terrors burdening Dembroch. You four have your work cut out for you, but the queen will set your right.”
Sir Liliford gave the horses another flick with the reins and we hurried on. As we did, I mulled over what the ferryman had said, trying to understand. If he was to be believed, Dembroch was everything I’d wanted in my youth, but nothing I wanted in my adulthood. In fact, that very moment, the information wasn’t sitting well in my mind. It all seemed impossible, like a beautiful lie meant to ensnare the weak-minded. Magic? Timelessness? A witch? I had believed in magic once, even hoped in my youth that Dembroch had it, but I had forgotten these fantastical beliefs long ago. I had grown up. The prospect of magic was now naïve, childish, and farfetched. But then, how else could I explain the watch transporting my friends and I to Scotland in the blink of an eye? What else could explain Meg’s watch ticking forward a second, then pausing for several more?
Either way, I decided, the real problem wasn’t the magic. It was this witch. Magic or no, she’d singlehandedly rid the realm of its prior defenders and sent the rest of the kingdom’s citizens running. Only a few remained, and they’d needed ex-defenders to come help them.
The Age of Knights & Dames Page 5