Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  Talin grabbed her wrist. He was leaning from the bridge.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said.

  Aeolia gripped him, digging her fingers into his hand. With his help she climbed the last rungs onto the bridge. She breathed in relief and stood shaking.

  “I guess I’m still thinking horizontally,” she said.

  Talin smiled. “You did very well. Come, let’s go find my cousin.”

  They walked along the bridge. It swung with every step, and Aeolia kept her fingers twined around Talin’s. Traversing the village, they crossed bridges, climbed ladders, swung on swings, and tiptoed across branches. Aeolia moved slowly, her head spinning. Wooden pipes wound around them. Treehouses clustered in branches high and low. Little clay bells, scrimshawed bones, and other charms hung from every branch. Aeolia spared these marvels little attention. She thought only of not falling.

  Forestfolk scurried around them like squirrels. They were a slender people with reddish hair and slanted green eyes. The children frolicked naked, while adults wore deerskin and fur, and sported trinkets of feather, bone, and snail shells. Their language, which Talin called “Woodword”, was quick and tinkly as jingling copper. Aeolia wondered how they heard words in its music. She must have appeared as strange to them as they to her, for many stared at her curiously. Aeolia lowered her eyes, feeling out of place with her mousy hair, round honey eyes, and ragged woolen dress.

  Finally Talin stopped before a rope bridge lined with wooden spikes. Aeolia was appalled to see animal skulls surmounting the spikes, crystals set in their eye-sockets. At the bridge’s far end sat a house even more horrid. The roof was woven of grass, but the walls were built of bones, row after row of them, held together with vines. Strange icons were painted onto the bones with what looked like blood.

  “What is this place?” Aeolia asked, clutching Talin’s hand.

  “The clan’s Core,” he replied. “This is where my aunt and cousin live.”

  “Your cousin lives here?”

  “It’s a holy house for the clansmen. They believe the spirits of their dead inhabit it. The shaman lives here so she can talk to the spirits and learn the future.”

  “I don’t believe in spirits,” Aeolia said, more to herself than to Talin.

  Talin smiled. “Nor do I, but to Forestfolk the supernatural world is as real as the tangible one. Come, let’s go see my cousin.”

  They began crossing the bridge, holding hands. It swung with every step. I don’t believe in spirits, Aeolia told herself. I don’t. The animal heads, lining the way, gazed down with their crystal eyes. They are dead, Aeolia told herself. They’re just dead skulls, they’re not really looking at me. Talin too said there's no such thing as spirits. She squeezed his hand just a little tighter.

  As they neared the house, Aeolia got a closer look at the bones. They were human bones, she saw with a shudder. The door of the house too was built of bones, but leather was stretched over it. Strange pictures were painted onto the leather, pictures of animals and hunters and strange symbols she did not understand. Talin opened the door slowly, and Aeolia found herself holding her breath. I don’t believe in spirits. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.

  Talin stepped into the house, and she followed him gingerly. She found herself in a dark room. The air smelled of incense, dust, spices, and sundry other smells she did not recognize. In the center of the room was a heap of small, arcane objects. Every curiosity imaginable constructed the pile. Aeolia saw batwings, crystals, horns, painted shells, gnarled roots, wood and bone carvings, balls of cobwebs, braids of grass, fur tassels, even insects in amber.

  Then the junk pile spoke. “Your name is Aeolia.”

  Aeolia started. The pile of bric-a-brac was a woman, she realized, a woman so bedecked with charms she was unrecognizable as such. The strange objects covered her hair, hung around her neck, pierced her nose and ears. Slanted eyes, set in a face painted green, peered out of this jumble, all knowing. Fingers long and thin as twigs, with painted curly nails, tapped against one another. Indeed these were the only parts of the woman visible. It was impossible to tell her age for the clutter covering her. She could have been thirty, and she could have been three times as old.

  “H-how do you know my name?” Aeolia stammered.

  The woman’s accent was heavy. “The spirits know, child, yes.... The spirits know everything. Shaman Eeea knows everything. The spirits tell her, they whisper in her ears the words of Northern talk. They are in this room with us, you see, touching you with their fingers....”

  “Now that’s enough, Eeea,” Talin interrupted. “There’s no need to frighten the girl.”

  The strange woman looked at him. “Ah, my nephew, the half man. You have returned to your clan at last? You have tired of your northern kith?”

  “I’m here hunting the man who killed Mother,” he said.

  Eeea folded her hands in her lap. “An old grievance, half man. My sister has long joined the spirit world. She is at rest. So should you be.”

  “Not until I kill the man.”

  Eeea shut her eyes. “He is following you now, the scarred Stoneson. I can see him not far from here. He is alone, following your trail like a wolf....”

  “I’ve come seeking Taya’s help,” Talin interrupted her again.

  “Then I cannot help you,” Eeea said tersely. Aeolia discerned bitterness around the woman’s mouth. “My daughter has defied me. She has forsaken tradition, abandoned her studies, and left to join a pack of warriors.” The shaman spat the word as if it tasted foul.

  “Warriors?” Talin exclaimed. “The thickheaded mule! What was she thinking?”

  “But Talin,” Aeolia ventured, tugging meekly at his sleeve. “This is wonderful news.”

  “It is?” Talin asked, perplexed.

  “Don’t you see? If Taya helps us now, she’ll have a bunch of soldiers with her.”

  Eeea turned her slanted eyes upon her. “What need you warriors, you who bask in firefly glow?”

  Aeolia lowered her eyes. That green stare was too intense to look into. She could imagine the spirits hovering about the shaman, whispering into her ears.

  “I-I need their protection,” she said.

  “Protection?” Eeea echoed. “What need you protection when no one can hurt you?”

  “I don’t understand. People can hurt me, I—”

  Eeea smiled, showing large, glistening teeth. “Yes, child, you are young, you do not yet know your power. But the spirits know, child, yes.... The spirits know everything. Shaman Eeea knows everything. If you like, she could tell you more.”

  “You mean... my fortune?”

  Eeea grew solemn. “Would you like to hear it, child? Would you like to hear what the spirits whisper?”

  “No,” said Talin.

  “Yes,” said Aeolia at the same time. She raised her eyes for just a moment, and Eeea’s intense, green stare caught her. Aeolia tried looking away but could not. There was real knowledge in those green eyes, real power. Though fear swirled within her, Aeolia longed to hear what this strange woman had to say. Maybe, she dared to hope, maybe she knew something about Joren.

  “Leave us, half man,” Eeea said to Talin.

  “Lia, are you sure—”

  “Leave us,” Aeolia said, never removing her eyes from Eeea’s.

  She heard him shuffle out of the room. She could not turn to look, could not tear her gaze from Eeea’s eyes. She was transfixed by a power she could not plumb. The shaman reached out and took Aeolia’s hand. The thin, coarse fingertips prodded her palm.

  The shaman spoke. “You are confused now, child, but soon things will come clear. Soon you will be happy, safe as a grub in a log, yes.... You will wear the Northerners’ gowns and perfumes, and sapphire and topaz and diamond.... I see flowers and friends and peace. You are so happy, a queen in the North. But then....” The painted face became concerned.

  “What?” Aeolia asked. “What do you see?”

  “It is best not told.�
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  “Tell me. I’m not afraid.”

  Eeea spoke slowly. “I see the flowers wilt, child, and I see pain. Heat. A terrible land of flame, flames engulfing you, burning your hair, burning your heart. And then....” Eeea grimaced.

  “What is it?”

  The shaman’s fingers twined together. She shut her eyes, and Aeolia could see her eyeballs moving behind her lids. “And then the flames die, and... it is cold, so cold and dark. There is a dark place, child, a cold and lonely place, and you are walking into it alone, leaving everyone you love behind. There is a man calling you to return, but you ignore him, though he is a man you love deeply....”

  “What does he look like?”

  “His hair is silver, his eyes gray—”

  “Joren! He’s my brother!”

  “Brother? Yes, he is your brother, but not in blood, no.... He loves you, though, loves you like a brother. I feel great pain in him, great shame. He has done you much harm, and he is sorry. He regrets his wrongs....”

  “Tell him I forgive him!” Aeolia cried, grabbing Eeea’s shoulders. “Tell him!”

  Eeea’s eyes opened. After a brief moment of silence she smiled. “I cannot speak into the spirit world, child, only listen. And now the spirits have silenced and returned to their frolics. And so should you, child. It is never good to know too much of one’s future.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Eeea sighed. “All I can tell you is this: one day you will have a choice, child, two paths to choose from. One path will lead to peace and safety, to friends and family and flowers. The other path will lead into darkness, into pain and lonely death. And you will have to choose.”

  “But that is an easy choice,” Aeolia said.

  “Then I have nothing more to tell you. Now go, return to sunlight, leave this place of shadows.”

  Aeolia left the room quietly. What did Eeea mean, Joren was not her brother in blood? And what was this ‘cold, lonely place’? She shivered.

  Talin stood outside, leaning against the house. “How did it go?” he asked.

  Aeolia forced herself to smile. “You were right, it’s fake. There’s no magic here.”

  “I told you,” Talin said.

  “Now let’s go find your cousin. I want to leave this village.”

  * * * * *

  Aeoly was home alone.

  Her daddy and brother had gone to the graveyard, to talk to her mommy in heaven. Aeoly was never allowed to go with them. Clutching her doll, she went to the window, stood on tiptoe and laid her nose on the sill. Snow covered the city of Grayrock like a sheet. Aeoly wanted to go out and play, but knew it was forbidden. She was never allowed outside. Daddy said she had no business there. Joren said it was too dangerous.

  Big boys were playing in the snow. Aeoly watched them longingly. The sun sparkled on their silver hair and their gray eyes gleamed. They were having such fun, Aeoly ached to join them, laugh with them, feel the snow in her hands. Maybe they would play dragons-and-damsels with her. It was her favorite game.

  She hopped away from the window and tiptoed outside. The snow crackled under her shoes. She leaned down and touched it, marveling at how white and cold it was. When she straightened, a snowball hit her face.

  “Go back to Esire where you belong!” cried one boy.

  A snowball fight! Happily, Aeoly scooped up her own snowball and threw it. It hit the boy’s shoulder. He cursed and called his friends, and they all threw snowballs at her together. Soon she was soaking wet, and she decided she did not like this game. She tried fighting back, but more snowballs hit her face. Inside some were rocks. Her eyes welled with tears.

  “Mind reader, mind reader!” the boys chanted, and one boy cried, “Joren should’ve left you in the gutter where he found you.”

  One of the bigger boys grabbed her hair. “Look at this hair!” he said. “Like a dog.”

  His friends laughed, and the big boy dumped snow over Aeoly’s head, smearing it into her hair.

  “Now this is the color hair should be!” he said triumphantly, inducing more laughter. What was wrong with her hair? Joren said it was the color of almonds, and her eyes the color of honey. She was crying violently now, the shame of her strange colors stinging more than the snow. She wanted to run home, but the big boy held her fast.

  “Now,” he said, lifting a handful of dirty, gray snow. “We must do something about the eyes....”

  Aeolia woke up with a start. She opened her eyes but saw only darkness, darkness awhirl with a million specks of golden light, encircling her head, blinding her.

  “Talin!” she called.

  She reached for him in the darkness and felt him at once, wrapped her arms around him and clung. His body was warm against hers.

  “I had a nightmare,” she mumbled. “No, a memory, but it was like a nightmare, it was....”

  Suddenly she realized what she was doing. She drew away from him, her face hot.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, so embarrassed she could hardly speak. “I was dreaming. I’ll go back to sleep now.”

  She could not see him for the darkness, but she felt his fingers touch her hair, moving through it. It surprised her, even frightened her that he should touch her so. It was wrong, she knew. It was sinful. She knew she should stop him, but did not. His hand felt too good, a kind of strange, tingling good. It was different from when he had healed her. She had never felt anything quite like it. She sat still, letting him stroke her. The fireflies danced lazily around them.

  He said, “Your hair is soft.”

  “Do you like it?” she asked dumbly.

  His hand paused, then drew away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, don’t be. It feels good, so warm....”

  There was a moment of silence. Finally he spoke, and it was as if he spoke to himself. “I am of two races, and all my life I’ve carried this burden. But a mix of three races, at a time of war and hate such as this.... It would be cruel.”

  “What? I don’t understand....”

  She realized she could see now. Dawn was breaking through the canopy, spilling over their camp. Aeolia saw the outlines of the twisted oaks, the tall mushrooms, the leafy forest floor. The fireflies slowly retreated into the gray boles, or glided down onto the fallen leaves to extinguish like sparks. As Aeolia watched one golden firefly glide into the trees, she thought she could discern movement amid the boles. She narrowed her eyes. She could almost see a white, scarred face, smiling at her.... But when she blinked the vision disappeared.

  “Dawn,” Talin said. “We should keep moving. I’ll turn my back, and you can get dressed.”

  He stood up and turned his back. Aeolia stared at him, feeling strangely cold and empty. But with the night and fireflies gone, what spell there had been between them was now broken, and could not be retrieved.

  She rose out of her fur blankets, shivering in her underclothes. She had left her tattered rags in Yaiyai and taken from Eeea some of Taya’s old clothes. Aeolia unfolded the bundle, inhaling the scent of fur and leather. She began to dress quickly. The first item was a mantle of raccoon pelts, which Aeolia tied around her waist with a pouched belt. Next she pulled on doeskin leggings, which went up to her thighs. Finally she slipped on soft moccasins rimmed with fleece. The clothes were large on her, but they felt warm enough for a snowstorm.

  The thought of snow reminded Aeolia of her dream. Esiren, the boys had called her. Mind reader. Joren found you in a gutter. Could it be she’d been adopted, was not Stonish at all? She could, after all, read minds instead of controlling stone.... No, Aeolia told herself, shaking her head. It was just a dream, just a stupid dream, not a memory at all. So what if she lacked stone magic? She came from Stonemark. She was Stonish. Sinther was her king, and Joren her brother. If Talin, Lale, or Eeea thought otherwise, that was their problem.

  “I’m done,” she said quietly.

  Talin turned to face her. “Then let’s keep walking. Maybe we’ll find Taya today.”


  Aeolia nodded and they began to walk, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Gnarled roots hid inside the leafy floor, threatening to trip them, and so they moved slowly. Colors emerged with sunlight. The gray boles became brown, their leaves turned bronze, the rocks once more became green. Curtains of moss, hanging from curly branches, brushed against Aeolia’s face, wet with dew, and she was reminded of Talin’s hand in her hair.

  Her heart thumped at the memory. She could still feel his soft touch. She recalled his words and pondered their meaning. Had he meant he could love her... like a man loved a woman? Aeolia did not think of herself as a woman. She was only a simple girl, slavery tattooed onto the back of her hand. She did not deserve these warm furs, let alone a man to love her. She had her brother to love her, and that had always been enough. He was her brother.

  Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, her breath leaving her lungs with a short oof. A creature unlike any she had ever seen stood on a fallen log before her, staring with yellow eyes. The thing looked like a cat, but was much larger, sleek and black.

  “Talin!” Aeolia cried, clutching his arm.

  Before he could reply, the most remarkable thing happened. The great cat stood on its hind legs and seemed to... change, to melt into another shape. It all happened so quickly, Aeolia could hardly believe her eyes. Where the cat had been now stood a Forestfellow woman, tall as a man, with slanted green eyes and two thick, orange braids that fell over her shoulders. Her cheeks were tattooed with green stripes, and two large, green acorns were her earrings.

  “Taya!” Talin called.

  The woman jumped off the log and hushed him with a finger to his lips. She whispered something in Woodword.

  “What did she say?” Aeolia whispered.

  The woman turned to face her. “There is man following you,” she said in clumsy Northtalk, her accent heavy.