Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  The magic ached inside her, and she had to concentrate to contain it. If she relaxed, the magic would dissipate, and she would become human again. The constant effort was uncomfortable, like keeping tired eyes open or a stomach sucked in. Anxious to return to her true form, Taya left the stream and wiggled her nose over the ground. The scent of the warrior pack was strong. They couldn’t be a day gone.

  Taya leapt into a sprint, paws flying over rocks and roots. The clammy air filled her nostrils and her tail flowed behind her. The warriors’ spoor led her away from the stream, along an animal path, the oaks thick as walls on her sides. Dirt and damp leaves kicked up from under her paws with a rustle. The warriors’ scent intensified, till finally, beside a mossy boulder engraved with ancient runes, Taya smelled them steps ahead. She had never guessed they could be so close.

  She paused, tongue lolling, her fur a tangle of burrs and leaves. She stood on her back paws and, with a sigh of relief, let go of her magic. Her limbs stretched, her fur vanished, her claws receded. She was human again.

  It felt good to be herself, with her clothes and weapons and no tingling inside her. She leaned against the boulder, catching her breath. Absently, she brushed away the moss to reveal the runes. Blessings for travelers, she surmised—carved by ancient shamans. Well, Taya did not need the blessings of shamans. She had the fireflies to bless her. Her own fireflies. And if her mother didn’t like that, she could eat spoiled grubs and choke. Taya was tempted to smash the runes with her spear.

  The dim murmur of conversation, coming from ash trees behind, tore her from her thoughts. The warriors. Here were people who’d understand, Taya told herself. Here were people who’d respect power—who’d respect her. Here was where she belonged. With a deep breath, Taya brushed her deerskin leggings, tightened her lips, and stepped around the stone.

  The forest leapt at her. Taya yelped and dropped her spear. The trees leaned closer, pointing spearheads, staring with slanted green eyes. Goblins! was Taya’s first thought. She fumbled for her knife, but then noticed the tattoos on the leafy creatures’ faces. Her cheeks flushed. She clenched her jaw and lifted her spear.

  “Lower your weapons,” she demanded of the camouflaged warriors. “I am Taya of Yaiyai. I come sent from my mother, Eeea, shaman of our clan.”

  “Do as she says,” came a deep voice from behind the Forestfolk.

  The ring of warriors parted, and a burly, bearded man stepped forward. Taya was tall as most men—embarrassingly tall, she often thought—but this man towered over her. A bear’s skull topped his large head, and his red braids tinkled with bones. His cheeks lacked the green stripes of a Claw, such as the other warriors sported. Instead, they were tattooed with black zigzags, marking him the higher rank of Fang. This was Uaua of the Aaee, Taya knew—leader of the pack.

  He gave her a hard stare. “Taya of Yaiyai. I left one of my warriors with your shaman to be healed. Where is he?”

  Taya inclined her head. She kept her voice quiet and respectful when she spoke. “My mother used all her runes and incantations, but his wound was too festered. Even a Healer couldn’t have helped him.” Taya pulled a leather bundle from her belt and held it forward. “I brought you his heart and courage to eat.”

  Uaua took the bundle and solemnly tucked it away. He spoke with lowered eyes and the low voice meant for the dead. “We will absorb his courage tonight and remember his brave deeds.” He looked up at her. “The pack thanks you, Taya of the Yaiyai, and prays the spirits grant you a safe journey home.”

  Taya did not move. Now was the moment, she told herself. I was born for now. She took a deep breath and spoke carefully planned words. “Fang Uaua, I’ve come with a purpose of my own, as well. With your warrior gone to the spirits, your pack is missing a Claw.” Taya raised her chin. “I want to replace him.”

  A mumble ran through the pack. A faint smile played across Uaua’s lips. “You want to join us?” he said.

  “I’ll make a good warrior.”

  “But you’re a girl.”

  The words were a spit in the face. Taya gasped with humiliation. “So? Seever of the Nine Knives was a woman. The Rider of the Leafwolf was a woman.” Taya pointed at two of the smaller warriors. “They’re women!”

  Uaua narrowed his slanted eyes. “I said ‘girl,’ not ‘woman.’ I don’t care what my warriors have between their legs, so long as they can toss a spear. But you”—Uaua jabbed Taya’s shoulder—“you are a spoiled shaman’s daughter, grown aboveground where the only beasts are birds and squirrels. What do you know about the forest floor?”

  Taya’s tongue clove to the top of her mouth. No one had ever spoken to her thus. Blinking furiously, she swept her hands over her clothes. “Enough to claim these trophies!”

  Uaua tossed back his head and roared with laughter. “You might have trapped a wolf with a carcass and rope, or even shoved a spear up a boar’s bottom while he was drinking from the pond. But you’re too weak to fight a man in battle.”

  Taya could not believe her ears. All her life, she had suffered the scorn of Yaiyai’s clanswomen for being too tall and strong. And now this warrior would call her weak!

  Talin had warned her against her temper, but Taya could not curb it now. It was all too impossible, too maddening, too... unfair! The pain and humiliation fused into anger, washing over her, burning her skin, blinding all thought. Her nails dug into her palms. Soft, hissing words slipped past her lips.

  “I can beat you.”

  Uaua snorted. “Is that a challenge?”

  Taya tightened her lips and managed to stare at him unblinkingly. “A test. If I best you in unarmed battle, you let me join.”

  Uaua regarded her in silence. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Go home,” he said and turned to walk away. “I don’t fight girls.”

  Taya could not let him leave. She would not return to her clan a failure. Death was preferable. She raised her voice and called after him. “You’re not afraid of fighting a girl, are you, Fang Uaua?”

  Uaua stiffened. Slowly, he turned to face her. He had no choice now, Taya knew. She had insulted his courage—the worst insult one could give a warrior. He would have to fight her now. To decline would be to validate her words. She leaned on her spear and gave him a small, lopsided smile.

  “If I beat you,” he said, “will you stop whining and go home?”

  Taya nodded. “I will. But if I win, you let me join.”

  Uaua grunted. “All right. But I warn you, I won’t be gentle.”

  “Nor will I,” Taya said softly and tossed her weapons into the leaves.

  She began rocking on her feet, sizing up her opponent. Uaua had obviously seen many battles. His beard was braided a dozen times, once for each of his kills. His chest and arms bore tiny, pink scars. Two of his teeth had been bashed in, and a finger was missing from his left hand. His muscles were very big.

  Taya swallowed hard. She wasn’t afraid, of course. She was never afraid. Her fingers trembled from exhilaration, she knew—not fear. So what if Uaua was strong? She was stronger. She was the Firechild. She could do more than just borrow animal traits. She could become whole animals. Even Talin couldn’t always beat her. Yes, it was good that she had challenged him. It wasn’t stupid at all.

  The first blow struck her temple, knocking her down. Pain exploded, and blood blinded one eye. Dirt and leafmold filled her mouth. Squinting, Taya saw Uaua standing above her, his fists turned to hoofs. She rose to her feet.

  Uaua smirked, and Taya tightened her lips. How dare he mock her? She’d show him. She clenched her fists and prepared to use her magic. But before she could draw it, Uaua’s hoofs vanished and his fingers sprouted wolf claws. Taya leapt away, but Uaua was too quick. His claws tore through her mantle and shoulder.

  An iciness filled Taya. She stubbornly ignored it. She was not afraid! Snarling, she sucked the air for magic, clenching her fists. Why did it have to take so long?

  As she stood still, Uaua spun, lashing a lizard’s tail. It s
lapped Taya to the ground. Uaua came plunging after her, an eagle’s beak jutting from his face. Taya yelped and grabbed the beak an inch from her throat. Uaua struggled wildly, shaking his head, and Taya slammed her knee into his groin.

  He grunted, and Taya scurried free. She needed her magic, now! But Uaua gave her no leeway to draw it. He lashed a squid’s tentacle and grabbed her ankle. As she fell, another tentacle caught her. More tentacles encased her like a shroud.

  Taya did not struggle. She had to concentrate. Uaua spun her slowly, till he stood behind her. Even slower, he pulled her against him. His tentacles became hard, sleek mandibles. One came clanking to her throat.

  “Now,” Uaua grumbled into her ear, “I eat your heart.”

  Taya’s magic crackled the air. A wet, wiggling fish squirted out of Uaua’s grasp.

  Uaua could imitate animals. Taya became them. In midair, she shifted again, becoming a hawk. She flapped around Uaua’s head and landed behind him, became a lioness and knocked him down. She leapt onto him, stretched into a python, and began constricting him.

  When she heard him crying yield, she resumed her human form.

  The warriors were gaping. Taya gave Uaua a hand and helped him to his feet.

  “Th-the Firechild,” he stammered.

  Taya could barely stand upright, but she would not show him her exhaustion. She ground her teeth and managed a bow and lopsided smile.

  “And your new Claw.”

  Chapter Five

  Curing Chameleon

  After running all morning, Aeolia felt ready to collapse.

  She blundered down a dewy hill, her head spinning, mist swirling round her blistered feet. She had drained a waterskin and swallowed a bread roll back at the cottage, but what vigor that had given her was fading. Once again her stomach clung to her back, and her tongue felt dry and brittle. Her knees wobbled, she stumbled and fell. The tall foxtail brushed against her bruised back, and she cried in pain. Grimacing, she pushed herself up and kept running.

  At the bottom of the hill she glanced over her shoulder. A weak cry fled her lips. The Stoneson was close now, so close she could see the scar that rent his face. Tears welled in Aeolia’s eyes. She wanted to lie down in the mist, shut her eyes, and wait for the man to end her pain. But her legs kept running, even as they ached. She had to find Joren. She had to hear him say it wasn’t true, that he hadn’t betrayed her, hadn’t broken his promise like she had broken hers.

  Pebbles littered the valley, jabbing her soles. Thistles scratched her ankles, where once her fetters had been. A second hill rose ahead from the mist, and Aeolia struggled up its steep incline, knowing her legs would soon buckle. Hoary birches with bronze leaves crowned the hill, shadowing a cairn of mossy stones. Surmounting the crest, Aeolia thought she saw a man in the copse, and hope sprung inside her, but when she looked again the figure was gone. There would be no help for her here, and nowhere to hide. Somehow she’d have to hamper her pursuer, or die.

  Panting, she dashed behind the cairn. With shaky arms she pushed one mossy stone, to roll it over Lale. The stone went loose, rolled down the cairn, thumped into the grass and stayed there. Whimpering, Aeolia whipped around the cairn. Lale was steps away. Aeolia shoved the stone, wincing. She gasped with relief when it began rolling downhill. It hit Lale in the shins.

  Lale screamed, and Aeolia whooped with triumph. She returned to the safe side of the cairn and pushed another stone. This time it fell easily and rolled on its own. Lale, now limping, jumped aside belatedly, and the stone ran over his foot. His curses echoed in the valley. Heartened, Aeolia began pushing another stone.

  This stone, however, did not budge. It didn’t matter, Aeolia told herself; she had a whole arsenal. She pushed another stone. It didn’t budge either. Urgently, she tried a third. This time, the stone seemed to... push her. The entire cairn, Aeolia noticed in alarm, tilted in her direction, as if being pushed from the other side. Aeolia glanced over the top. Lale had his arms outstretched in the air, his eyes shut tight as if in effort. He looked as though he were pushing, but he still stood paces away.

  “This is impossible!” Aeolia cried. Regardless, the cairn tilted further. Aeolia tried pushing back, but to no avail. The entire heap threatened to crush her. Loose stones tumbled. Aeolia rose to flee, and as soon as she let go, the cairn collapsed. Stones buffeted her, knocking her down. She tried to rise and found her leg trapped under the stones. She pulled frantically, but her leg would not budge.

  From the corner of her eye, Aeolia saw something move, a figure in the trees, but she could not turn to look. Lale’s gray robes rustled above her, so close she could smell the ogress’s blood on the hem. He reached for his sword, and Aeolia saw that his hand was bandaged, the cloth bloody. She had crushed those fingers, Aeolia remembered, but it was a small triumph now. Steel hissed on leather as Lale drew his blade.

  “At last,” he said. “The Esiren Firechild, the one who can hurt him. I have come a long way to find you.”

  It was all over, Aeolia knew. For whatever reason, he would kill her now. She thought of the ogress, who had died to save her, and she thought of Joren, whom she would never see again. She shut her eyes and mumbled a prayer.

  A voice, coming from behind Lale, answered it.

  “Still beheading defenseless girls, are you, Lale?”

  Hesitantly, Aeolia opened her eyes. The voice had come from the copse ahead, but she saw no one. Lale searched in bafflement as well.

  “Old Lale didn’t scare you, did he, girl?” the voice said, and it was as if the birches spoke. Aeolia strained her eyes, and then she saw the man. His clothes, his hood, and the scarf around his face were all speckled white and bronze, the same color as the birches. He blended into them like a chameleon. Even his drawn sword was the same color.

  “Who are you, Forestfellow?” Lale demanded.

  “An old friend,” the chameleon man replied, stepping out of the trees. He removed his scarf, revealing a young face, green eyes, and short auburn hair.

  “Spirit,” Lale swore softly, paling. “Talin Greenhill, whom I carried over my back so many times.... You were but a boy last time I saw you.”

  “And I’ve been watching you since,” said Talin, “waiting to catch you alone and unguarded.”

  Lale presented his bandaged fingers. “You challenge a man with a battered sword hand?”

  “Better than slaughtering a boy’s family before his eyes.”

  Lale took a step toward the younger man. “I should never have spared you that day,” he hissed. “A mistake I don’t intend to repeat.”

  “So we fight,” Talin said and raised his thin, speckled blade in salute. Lale raised his own sword—a wide weapon of dark steel, the word “Bloodtalon” engraved upon the pommel—and the two men began circling each other.

  Aeolia lay, her leg trapped under the stones, and for a moment she could do naught but take deep, dazed breaths. She was still breathing. Her heart still pounded. She might yet see Joren again. Steel rang, and Aeolia tilted her head and saw the two men dueling, dirt kicking up from under their boots. Lale’s Bloodtalon slammed against Talin’s thinner blade. Aeolia could scarce believe how close it had come to beheading her.

  As her heart slowed, she realized the chameleon man had created the perfect distraction. If only she were free! She pulled her leg gingerly, expecting the pain of broken bone. Miraculously, her leg felt only bruised. Aeolia mumbled a thankful prayer. With trembling hands, she began removing the entrapping stones. They tumbled away, rolling over the grass.

  She was dimly aware of the fight behind her, a hubbub of grunts and curses and ringing steel, of raining dirt and tearing grass. She could not judge swordplay, but when she glanced at the fray she saw smugness in Lale’s eyes. She tightened her lips and tumbled the rocks with more fervor. If Talin lost she would have to run again. She only hoped he could occupy Lale long enough to let her flee.

  Her leg could move now. When she pulled it hard it budged an inch, and the rocks above
it shifted. A hot droplet splashed against her face, and Aeolia lifted her eyes and saw Talin retreating toward her, his shoulder pinked and bleeding. She pulled with all her famished body’s might. Her leg moved an inch. And another inch. A scratch appeared on Talin’s arm. And another scratch. Stones rolled across the grass. Steel clanged. Dirt rained.

  Lale’s onslaught was a terrible thing, and Talin fell back step after step, till he stood above Aeolia, with the tumbled cairn behind him and nowhere to retreat. His blade whirred, and it was all he could do to check Lale’s blows. Aeolia could not bear to watch. She tumbled rocks with a fury, mumbling fervent prayers. She was almost free now, a speck away. Just one more tug, she knew, and she’d be free. Just one more tug. She pulled, and....

  Talin slammed into the cairn. New stones showered onto Aeolia’s leg, trapping her anew. She blew out her breath with frustration.

  Talin rebounded, trying to escape the stones. He spun in a semicircle, blocking Lale, and fled into the open. It bought him a moment’s respite, but no more. Lale’s offensive continued unabated, and another scratch bled on Talin’s shoulder. Aeolia frantically tossed the rocks, her fingers raw. The new pile was not heavy, and once again her leg was a tug away. She took a deep breath, preparing for the last, freeing pull.

  She pulled.

  Lale slashed.

  She was free!

  Talin’s blade flew from his hand.

  Aeolia stood up.

  The sword clanged down at Talin’s feet.

  She had to run, now! Lale approached Talin slowly, savoring his victory. The Stoneson’s back was turned to Aeolia, and she knew it was her last chance to flee. Lale raised his blade to strike Talin down.

  Will my troubles never end? Aeolia wondered as she lunged at Lale. She hung onto the crook of his arm, and clung.

  Talin scurried for his weapon, but Lale was quicker. He grabbed Aeolia’s hair with his left hand, and pulled her head under his right arm. As Talin swung back his sword, Lale brought his blade to Aeolia’s neck. Talin froze.