Maiden of Fire

by Ishabelle Torry

  One dark brow raised as Jalomar spoke to Megan, his gaze never leaving Ramona. “Explain yourself.”

  Megan waved her hands in the air. “Asteroid. Hello. Duh!”

  He moved closer. Ramona instinctively blocked his path to the group, Megan swift to act as backup.

  Their notion made him laugh aloud, followed by his men's chuckles of amusement. “You can stand down. I wish no harm.”

  Ramona cleared her throat into her fist. “I believe what my friend meant to say is where are we? Is this still New York? It has to be, right? It couldn’t have shifted or something?”

  From behind the crowd, Francis, an older man with a crooked back and slight limp, pushed his way through. He eyed Jalomar and his men cautiously, smoothing strands of white hair from his dirty face. “Continents don’t shift that fast. The asteroid hit only a couple of days ago. By all logic, this place should be devastated.”

  Judging by Jalomar’s baffled expression, Ramona suspected she wasn’t going to like his answer. “Where are we, sir?”

  He gave a short bow. “I am Jalomar, Supreme Ruler of the Western Hemisphere. You will come with me. Questions will be answered once all are rested.”

  Chapter Six

  The survivors made their way up a sturdy wooden ramp, which stretched across a moat into an ancient looking castle Jalomar called Dilseacht. Ramona scrutinized the outline of the structure; the flaming torches strategically placed along the stone protective walls offered dim lighting against the nighttime background. Despite the darkness, it was easily recognizable as medieval in style. Built into the mountain, two outward towers boasted an impressive parapet, where armed guards patrolled diligently—the epitome of impenetrable.

  Everywhere she looked echoed Medieval, right down to the lowly stable boy. The people’s diversified clothing ranged from early Roman-like Toga styles to plain, wool kirtles layered over an ankle length, cotton tunic for the women, to medieval tunics, doublets, and breeches for the men, but nothing of what could be considered relatively modern. She crossed her fingers. Oh please, just one pair of jeans.

  Ramona, Meg, and the two children stalled in the back of the line. Villagers encircled them as they entered a large courtyard. They stared and whispered amongst themselves as they closed in. Someone pulled at her hair. “Stop it!” she yelled, clutching the crying infant tighter.

  Jalomar pushed his way through the crowd. “Cease! Back to your previous whereabouts. All of you!” The gathered mass dispersed on command.

  For fuck sake. Was she trapped in a M. Night Shyamalan nightmare? Ramona bit at her lips, a nasty habit since childhood. “What the hell was that about?”

  “Merely overexcitement.”

  A rush of new people exited the castle. Jalomar met them at the stone walkway leading inside. Ramona concentrated on hearing their hushed words, but they spoke too low for their voices to carry. All eyes turned to her simultaneously, and then Megan, before bouncing between the two children. A minute later, they began to escort the other survivors inside, one by one. Ramona, Meg, Breandra, and the baby were last.

  Jalomar and an older gray haired woman approached. Unsure of what to say, Ramona nodded her head and acknowledged their presence. Jalomar motioned toward the older woman; she curtsied. “This is Greselda, Dilseacht’s chamberlain. She will be taking you ladies and the children, and assigning you bedchambers. A bath, clothing, and food will be provided for you as well. If you require anything, merely ask.”

  “Sleep,” Ramona mumbled. “I need a freaking bath and some bedding.”

  Greselda gasped. “Milady!”

  Jalomar chuckled. “I do believe we've misunderstand the lady's meaning, Gressy.”

  Meg erupted into whoops of raucous laughter. “Yeah, you bet you have.” She leaned closer to whisper in Ramona's ear. “I'd choose your words carefully, Virgin Queen. I think you just asked to be laid.”

  Ramona's face burned; she choked on her own spit. “I…umm, what I meant…forget it.”

  “Are you all right, milady?” Greselda asked, her aged brow wrinkled with concern. “Be you ill?”

  Ramona’s gaze met Jalomar’s. Is he cheesing? “I’m fine. Just tired and hungry. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Well then, off with you, lassies. Follow me.” Greselda clucked her tongue and shooed them off with a flick of her wrists.

  Folktales kept Lord Jalomar awake. Over the years of his ancestors' reigns, every book discovered had been saved—a reminder of a past none could remember. Having read all of the books in the library during his youth at least a dozen times, he easily recognized the term New York when Ramona's pouty pink lips uttered them. Full, pink lips in the shape of bow. Through the layers of dirt and stench, he recognized Ramona’s beauty. Picturing her heart shaped face full of blushes brought a grin to his face—again. Never had he seen such red hair. Compared to the handful of redheads in his kingdom, hers was a true, fire red. Not the brassy copper common among his people. But it wasn’t only the brilliant color of her locks that intrigued him, it was what she’d spoken of—the legend. There was hardly a soul alive who could name the disastrous rock that smashed into Earth over a thousand years ago, much less name the great cities of the ancestors. Yet, she had done both upon exiting her prison of brick.

  A knock at the door announced Kald as he strolled into the library. “Have you heard the rumors, milord?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Jalomar rested his feet on the open book, cluttered desk “Aye, I have. What do you think about it?”

  Kald shrugged. “I’m undecided. But the villagers are convinced. Rightfully so, I suppose.”

  “Do tell?” Jalomar scoffed, his head resting back against clasped hands. “What is so convincing to the people?”

  “Have you forgotten the times we find ourselves in, milord? At any given moment, Labelle and her army could descend upon Dilseacht again. Our numbers are dwindling with each attack. The people are slowly losing hope. Not to mention the young lady’s hair is an enigma. Surely it marks her as—”

  “It’s only hair, man!” Like you haven’t considered the same. Still, he couldn’t afford to lose control of the situation before the facts were confirmed.

  “Aye, milord. But the color of fire. Just like the maiden.”

  Jalomar stood, his six-foot-five frame towering above Kald’s five-foot-six stature. His mind retrieved long forgotten tales of his youth. Fairytales. Stories. Myths.

  Or so he’d thought.

  “One day, little lord, our world will come to know the love of a warrior soul born of fire. She will set mankind free, breaking through time and space to bring us salvation again.” The final words of his nursemaid, Gwenny, as she tucked him into bed and kissed him goodnight for the last time, before meeting her death at the hands of Labelle that same evening. It was the first time he’d heard the tale of the Fiery Maiden—and the Vespa’s predictions.

  Vespa. He shivered. These supernatural beings were rarely perceived, but their majik legendary. They held the power to manipulate the Earth, exploit nature, and foresee the future. No one knew from where they came, but it was long suspected they dwelled between dimensions. “What you say be true, Kald. Labelle’s dark majik has indeed thrust us into a dark era of man. But can one sorceress really cause the summoning of the prophetic Fiery Maiden?” He paused. “If such a thing exists. Until I know, I cannot allow one little woman’s arrival to upset the entire castle and our way of life.”

  Bewildered eyes widened, silently accusing Jalomar of blasphemy. “Milord, do not doubt the prophecy. It could bring misfortune!”

  “It already has. I have a castle full of superstitious louts to keep in line, all because of a woman’s hair color.”

  “It’s not superstition, milord. The Vespa have spoken of this time, and many warning signs have come to pass.”

  The fireplace sputtered and cackled as it searched for a source of fuel to keep burning. Jalomar grabbed a couple of the smaller precut logs from the corner, and then tossed
them into the fire pit. “And what are those signs exactly, Kald?”

  Kald cleared his throat. “Milord, I wish not to speak ill of your heritage, but your mother’s birth tainted by human blood was the first sign. Your grandfather’s lust and ignorance set the prophesy into motion.”

  Jalomar’s lip twitched, and he balled his fists at his sides. “Watch your tongue. I am your lord.”

  “Right now, you’re not the lord, Jalomar,” Kald said boldly. He held his ground like he had done many times in the past when they were youths. “I am your friend, and I tell you the truth. Your grandfather Ganth’s capture of the Vespian Lady Vye, triggered the arrival of the Fiery Maiden.”

  “Dammit!” Jalomar roared. He couldn’t very well punch the man for being right. It was all there. Ganth’s capture of Vye, the birth of the three sisters—his mother Analah, Labelle, and Cynthe—and the arrival of a woman from the old world with hair the color of her namesake.

  The Fiery Maiden had come as prophesied to save mankind from Armageddon. Again.

  Only one question remained: What was he supposed to do with her?

  Chapter Seven

  Even the comfort of a clean bed and nightgown couldn’t keep Ramona from tossing and turning. Or was it the snoring Megan beside her who had insisted on sharing a room? Either way, her mind refused to wind down. Moonlight flittered through the thin slats of the wooden shutters as a blanket of peace coated the castle. She’d survived Armageddon. But how? A feasible explanation escaped her. It was like a jigsaw puzzle with no guiding picture to piece it together had been handed to her, and she was willing to bet her Pink Floyd CD collection Jalomar held some of the missing pieces back. He’d clammed up when she’d mentioned the asteroid and New York. The entire trek through the forest on their way to Dilseacht was spent in awkward silence and circumspect stares between their respective parties.

  Exhaustion closed her eyes as she pulled the covers up over her head. She’d question Jalomar tomorrow, but not until she got a good night’s sleep. Several more attempts to find a comfortable position had her flinging the blankets aside and slipping her flip flops on. She needed answers now. After a quick peek into the adjoining room where Breandra and the infant slept peacefully with Lena, the appointed nursemaid to the children, she quietly shut the door behind her.

  Twisty halls and ridiculous amounts of staircases left Ramona dizzy by the time she found a wandering guard and asked for specific directions to Jalomar’s room. Instead of instructions, or even an escort, the guard shooed her off back to bed. So there she stood with hands on hips, contemplating if she should throw up on his boots, or shove past him and keep up the search. “Thank you, sir,” she finally said, sidestepping him.

  The guard grabbed her arm. “I told you, Maiden, return to your chambers. It is the middle of the night, and the lord doesn’t like to be bothered.”

  She smacked at his hands. “The name’s Ramona. And don’t touch me.”

  He promptly released her. “I apologize. I intended no disrespect. But roaming the halls after dark is prohibited.”

  “What…why?”

  “I don’t question Lord Jalomar’s rules. I only obey and enforce them. Please, return to your bedchamber, Maiden.”

  Ugh! There it was again. Maiden. Was it supposed to be a new form of title in an apocalyptic world with castles and lords less than a week later? Ludicrous. She turned and walked away, realizing she would get no help. Three steps in, she heard the guard calling after her, but kept going.

  “Maiden! That’s not the way to your bedchamber!”

  She laughed when she rounded the corner. “The lord forbids roaming the halls after dark,” she mocked. “Blah, blah, blah!”

  Just because an asteroid had demolished most of the world, civil and human rights did not end with the impact. And she was going to make sure she told Lord Jalomar all about it. Unlike countless others, he’d been lucky enough to find a safe home within the obvious ancient castle, but it didn’t make him a king. “That’s right, buddy,” she said aloud as she came to a dead end and sighed. “Tomorrow, I will tell you how it is.”

  Morning arrived shortly after Ramona closed her eyes, or so it felt. Meg and Breandra had already headed downstairs to the main hall for breakfast. Lena fed the baby before Ramona awoke and was now instructing her on bottle preparations. If that’s what it could be called—a whittled cow horn lined with a leather insert full of goat milk.

  Finished with the lesson, Lena offered her services to Ramona. “I can help you dress, if you like, milady.”

  Ramona looked down at her nightgown. “I’m afraid this is the only thing I’ve got. And it’s not even mine. Greselda let me borrow it last night.”

  “Oh nay, milady. It’s yours now. Did no one tell you your wardrobe was filled late last night?”

  “I have a wardrobe?”

  Lena giggled as she scampered across the bedroom to a large wooden cabinet in the far corner. “Here, milady.” She opened the double doors with a wide smile. “You must have been sound asleep when Greselda filled it.”

  Or wandering through the castle.

  Ramona went to the wardrobe and peeked inside. Lena hadn’t been kidding. It was stuffed chock-full. A plethora of feminine colors filled the hangers, complete with a dedicated shelf of slipper-like shoes in matching tones. She wrinkled her nose. “They’re all dresses.”

  “Of course they are, milady!”

  “Are there any pants hidden in there?”

  Lena’s eyes widened. “Nay! What would you need with men’s attire? Do you find the selection displeasing? Different colors perhaps? I promise these are the best dresses available, at least until Lord Jalomar has you fitted for more.”

  Ramona reached into the wardrobe and grabbed the first article of clothing her hand touched. A peach colored wraparound dress with white embroidered flowers at the hem. She couldn’t bring herself to disappoint the hopeful maid. “No. You’re right. They are all lovely, Lena. I’ll just wear this little ditty right here.” She stripped off the nightgown, letting it fall to the floor, and slipped the dress over her head.

  The maid’s cheeks pinkened. “Milady, you forgot the undershirt. This is a layered ensemble. You cannot wear it as so.”

  “What?” Ramona moved to the mirror beside the wardrobe. “Why? It covers everything?”

  “A proper lady is always layered and covered appropriately.”

  Ramona looked Lena’s clothing over. “Where’s your layers? If I have to wear a dress, I want a simple smock and boots. Like yours.”

  Lena curtsied, her mouth clamped tight in a thin line. “I shall fetch you one of my own to wear.”

  Once Lena shut the door, Ramona hurriedly removed the itchy fabric. Naked, she wandered into the adjoining room where the infant slept peacefully in a bassinet near the foot of Breandra’s bed. A makeshift cot filled the corner where had Lena slept. Ramona smiled when she spotted the rack near the fireplace across the room where her washed bra and panties hung to dry. She happily put them on. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank God you survived, bra.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jalomar’s temper rose as he reclined himself back on the chair’s two back legs, and waited for Ramona to appear. He’d summoned her to the library hours ago to discuss the events leading to her entrapment. Based on reports from his men and his own personal observations from afar as she settled in, he no longer believed her to be the Fiery Maiden. The legendary being was recorded to be a warrior, something her mannerism fell far short of. Aside from an obnoxious laugh and a foul mouth, she displayed nothing other than ordinary female qualities.

  A timid knock, immediately followed by the tardy Ramona, startled Jalomar and caused him to lose balance. The chair fell backwards with a loud thump; a last minute leap saved him from tumbling with it. “It’s about time, milady,” he growled.

  “I came as soon as I was able to,” she responded sweetly.

  He noticed her servant’s attire, minus the white
apron, but chose to ignore it. “I am certain you did.”

  She crossed her arms. “What's up? Your gofer said it was important.”

  “By gofer, I assume you’re referring to Kald. But aye, it’s a matter of importance.”

  “Yeah, then shoot.”

  “Shoot what?”

  She pursed her lips. “Say what you need to say, Jalo. Meg and I have plans.”

  Jalo? Did the woman purposely disrespect his title? He'd let the indiscretion pass. This time. She'd learn soon enough the customs of his kingdom. He returned his focus back to the task—dispelling the Fiery Maiden myth. “What were you and the others doing beneath so much rubble?”

  Emerald eyes mocked him. “Taking a vacation. What the hell do you think we were doing? We were taking cover for our lives.”

  “What were you running from? Whom were you escaping?”

  “Umm, the same as everyone else…an asteroid named Abaddon. Why the redundancy, Jalomar?”

  “Lord Jalomar, or milord,” he scolded this time around. He rounded the desk and snatched up an open text book. So much for an easy solution. She was obviously well learned and knew her history. “What kind of warrior are you?”

  “Warrior? More like a student.”

  He looked her up and down. Those puny arms could never hold a sword. A scholar fit perfect. “Who is your teacher?”

  “I've had several. What’s with the third degree?”

  “Third degree? Are you a potter as well?”

  She tapped her feet. “No. My turn for twenty questions. Why are refusing to acknowledge the bombardment?”

  “Why are you pretending to be the Fiery Maiden?”

  “Who?” She threw her arms into the air. “Is that what all this maiden calling is about?”

  “Aye, and you know it is. The legend of the maiden is common knowledge, and that unnatural color of hair you possess makes it easy to accomplish.”