Firefly Island, an Epic Fantasy

by Daniel Arenson

  To Taya’s dismay, the clansmen’s faces softened. Taya felt ready to explode. Smoke was almost coming out of her ears.

  “She’s lying! How can you believe her? You know me, I never talk like that.”

  Ayat clung to Ooor, pressing her body against him. “This is so scary,” she said. “Please, Ooor, make the ghost go away. I’d be so grateful. I’ll do anything if you make it leave.”

  “Anything?” Ooor asked dumbly.

  “Ooor, you dolt,” Taya snapped. “Think with your head, not your pants! How can you believe her?”

  “Silence, devil!” Ooor said. He drew his knife and stepped forward with his friends.

  “Don’t you touch me,” Taya warned. “If you touch me, I’ll have your heads off when I’m shaman.”

  Ooor spat. “The Taya I know loathed the idea of becoming shaman.”

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Changed your form, more like. Come, friends, let’s drag this doppelganger out of here. And don’t dare show your tattooed face here again.”

  Ooor and his friends grabbed Taya’s arms. She was too dumbfounded-mad to resist. She was expelled from Yaiyai! They’d recognize her tattoos and she’d never be able to return, she realized with cold dread.

  As the men led her away, Ayat shifted close.

  “You should have agreed to share the village,” Ayat whispered into her ear. “I’d have gotten bored sooner or later and left, anyway. But now with you gone I think I’ll stay.” She smiled wickedly. “You wanted to get rid of me, and now you’ll pay.”

  Chapter Nine

  Greenhill

  The ground shook with thundering hoofbeats.

  Aeolia pointed gleefully. “Ooh, look, knights!”

  Talin grabbed her arm and pulled her into a bush. When she tried to protest, he placed a finger on her lips.

  “Hush and keep still,” he whispered and wrapped his cloak around them. Aeolia watched him use his chameleon magic, which turned his cloak green as the bush they hid in.

  “Who are they?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Redforts.”

  Aeolia peeked through the leaves. Stocky horses thundered by, kicking up dirt with shaggy hoofs big as her head. The knights’ crimson capes billowed, and sunlight glinted off their armor. Aeolia thought they looked almost as scary as Stonesons.

  When they were gone, she and Talin climbed back onto the road.

  “Now we’re hiding from Healers?” Aeolia asked, brushing off leaves. “I thought we came to Heland to be safe.”

  “We’re going to Greenhill Dukedom, to my lord cousin, to be safe. That’s still a week away. This land belongs to House Redfort.”

  “And they wish me harm as well?” Aeolia asked wearily. After all she’d been through, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  Talin laughed. “No, they wish you no harm. This time it’s me.”

  “Healers are after you?” she asked skeptically. Talin was half Healer himself.

  “The Redforts are. You see, Heland has three noble houses. House Greenhill rules the farmlands. House Redfort rules the armies. House Purplerobe rules the throne.”

  “And you’re a Greenhill.”

  “Half of me, at least. My father was the former duke, exiled by the Redforts after wedding a Forestfellow.”

  “They exiled him for that?”

  “Miscegenation is illegal in Heland. Marring of the magic, they call it. Even the queen had been unable to deny the Redforts’ accusations.”

  Aeolia bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I never knew. Is that why you were imprisoned here?”

  Talin smiled thinly. “I was a foolish youth, certain that righteousness would always overcome. I had marched back to Heland and found the man who had demanded us exiled. Hyan Redfort is his name, and when I challenged him to a duel, he ordered me imprisoned.”

  A foolish youth, Aeolia thought. Like her. She remembered Talin’s words in the Forest, how he would never beget a mixed child. She gazed over the rolling hills, the apple trees, the dots of bluebell and goldenrod. So often she had prayed to see this beautiful world, where lived no ogres, where everything was the right size, where she could finally belong. Such a fool she had been to imagine all humans lived in love. In some ways she had felt better in fetters, when ogres were bad and humans were good, when her brother still loved her and everything made sense. Apple leaves glided into her hair, and she thought of how Talin had touched that hair, how he had kissed her but could never love her more.

  The fairytales were all lies. The heroes never won. Her hero, too, was not a noble prince, only an outcast sojourner. And if Aeolia had felt a spark of love for him, she was wise enough already to douse it and let it kindle no more. Not in this world, Aeolia knew. Not in this world I am seeing truly for the first time.

  And so it was, that she spent all of next week walking in near silence.

  For the first few days, they walked through Redfort land, where forts rose like hills, and walls snaked like rivers, and everywhere were knights, soldiers, and bushes to hide in. Then, on the fourth day, they crossed a river into Greenhill land. It was, in truth, not green at all, but golden with prairies of wheat, sprawling endlessly. Here there were no forts and no soldiers, only fields and farmers. Aeolia and Talin walked through the tall stalks for several days before reaching Greenhill Castle, which stood on a knoll above a village.

  A stream encircled the village, lazily spinning a great wheel. Talin told her the wheel was a mill, but Aeolia didn’t believe him. She had always ground wheat with stones at the ogre’s cottage. The village houses, too, were strange. In Stonemark houses were made of stone, in the Beastlands they were wooden, and Forestfolk only had huts of branches and grass. Here in Heland houses were built of “wattle and daub” (Talin taught her those words), with crucks that slanted all the way to the ground. The Healer peasants were as strange as their houses. They were large, for one—taller than Forestfolk, and wider than Stonesons—and their hair was yellow, and their eyes blue. Their clothes were odd, too. Men wore tunics and hoods, women wore skirts and kerchiefs—all in browns and yellows. In Stonemark everybody just wore gray robes. As she had in the Forest, Aeolia felt foreign and self-conscious.

  The castle rose behind the houses on a grassy hill. Vines bedecked its marble walls, and its green towers touched the sky. Aeolia thought it pretty, not at all like the squat Redfort strongholds. This was a land of farmers, she reminded herself, not soldiers.

  A round wall, with a single portcullised gateway, surrounded the castle. Up on the parapet, the guards waved at Talin and cried his name. Five men gathered to turn a winch and raise the portcullis. Aeolia marveled at such a mighty protection, that five men were needed to lift it. She followed Talin through the gateway into a courtyard beneath the castle towers. She was delighted to see colorful fish swimming in pools amid the cobblestones. She also saw doves nesting in cotes, rabbits peeking from warrens, and even several peacocks roaming aimlessly about.

  They did not wait long, and the castle doors slammed open with a boom. Aeolia shied back and hid behind Talin. Standing in the doorway was some great, tow-headed ruffian—probably the village drunk—roaring at them. To Aeolia’s dismay, the roaring man charged forward, crashed into Talin, wrapped his huge arms around him and squeezed.

  “You leave him alone!” Aeolia cried. She grabbed a branch from the ground and began beating the man on the head.

  “Lia, stop!” Talin said. “This is my cousin, Duke Wilon Greenhill.”

  Aeolia dropped the branch. The large man rubbed his shaggy head, grumbling.

  “Wil, this is Aeolia, my friend and companion,” Talin said, smiling.

  Wilon touched the bump on his head and winced. “Forgive me, miss,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Then, to her surprise, the duke bowed before her and kissed her hand, as if she were a lady. It made her blush.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” she said. “I guess I’m just... used to people trying to kill us!�
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  Wilon grinned. “Well, my lass, you needn’t worry about that here. The only thing dangerous in Castle Greenhill is me when I’m drunk, and I make a habit of getting drunk loud enough to send everyone a-hiding.”

  Talin laughed, and Aeolia smiled hesitantly. Finally, she thought, I’m safe. No one would try to kill her here. Finally she had escaped Lale.

  So why don’t I feel happy?

  Wilon showed them into his castle, and Aeolia gaped at its wide halls, with their tapestries, portraits, suits of burnished armor, and sparkling chandeliers. She had never imagined such wealth. She felt as if she were tainting this sumptuous abode with the dirt of her journey. When she voiced her concern, Wilon laughed and fetched her a maid and a clean, new dress. The maid took Aeolia’s hand and began leading her down a corridor.

  “Where are we going?” Aeolia asked.

  “To give you a bath,” the maid said.

  A bath! Aeolia caught her breath. The maid took her to a stone chamber, where stood a cauldron of hot water, a copper bath, and a stool with towels and soaps. Aeolia suddenly felt very dirty. When the bath was ready, she climbed in with a long moan. She sat in the hot water for a long time, eyes closed, lips curling with pleasure. She hadn’t had a bath in... well, never, really; she would just use buckets, brushes, and coarse soap at the cottage. This was how queens washed, Aeolia told herself. She imagined herself a queen and giggled. That would be the day—her, a queen! Everything was so strange. Just one moon ago she had been a slave and thought herself Stonish. And now . . . who was she now?

  She climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel. She must have been in long; her toes were wrinkled as raisins. As she was drying her hair, she caught glimpse of herself in a tall bronze mirror. She had regained what weight she had lost in the ogre’s basement, she saw. Her limbs were rounder, and her face had lost its hollow look. It was the face of a girl, round and soft. Aeolia bit her lip. She thought of Talin, how he had kissed her, and suddenly she wished she were as beautiful as Taya.

  A wooden hairbrush hung on one wall. Aeolia took it gingerly, as if touching it were sinful, and for the first time in her life she brushed her hair. It came out smooth and thin and very straight. She braided it twice, once over each shoulder, and examined herself in the mirror. Her braids were thin as twigs, she noticed sadly, not half as thick as Taya’s. They made her feel strange besides. She undid them with numb fingers and brushed her hair straight and to the sides.

  She folded her towel and slipped on the pea-green dress she had been given. It fit her embarrassingly well, snug-tight in just the right places. Used to baggy clothes made for comfort, Aeolia blushed wearing a dress sewn for beauty. She thanked the Spirit that the neckline, at least, was topped with silky ruffles. She fluffed them up as best she could.

  Still blushing, Aeolia stepped outside to find Talin wearing a doublet and hose of the same green cloth as her dress. Hand in hand, they set toward the main hall, to dine. Trestle tables were already set up when they arrived, people taking their places. Dogs lay slumped on the floor, lazily flicking their tails. Duke Wilon Greenhill sat alone at the head table. When he saw Talin and Aeolia, the bluff man rose to his feet.

  “Come, my friends,” he called and slapped the tabletop. “Sit beside me.”

  Aeolia and Talin obeyed, and soon liveried servants handed out large, flat pieces of bread. Aeolia licked her lips and sank her teeth into hers, but paused seeing everyone giving her startled looks.

  “Lia,” Talin whispered, “you’re eating your plate.”

  Feeling herself redden, Aeolia laid down the trencher. She was thankful when another servant relieved her embarrassment by pouring her a goblet of wine. She brought it hurriedly to her lips. When she lowered the cup, she noticed Wilon quickly averting his eyes, and she realized he had stared at her tattoo. She pulled her hand to her lap, abashed.

  Luckily, yet another servant then arrived, carrying steaming plates of fowls. The smell made Aeolia’s mouth water. The servant filled her trencher with the spiced meat, and Aeolia surrendered to the food, taking hearty bites, gravy dripping down her chin. Before long, she was surprised to see the servants bringing more and more dishes, loading her plate with carrots, mushrooms, watercress, hazelnuts, pies, and meats of all sort. She ate what she could, and secretly fed the rest to the dogs. She was thanking the Spirit it was all finally over, when more servants regaled her with a series of strange, sweet foods Talin called “dessert.” Aeolia thought her dress might burst. No wonder Healers were so big.

  When the feast finally ended, Aeolia trudged outside and flopped down under a basswood. The dogs followed her, curled up at her feet, and licked her fingers. She sat with them as the gloaming spread and fireflies came to glow. The airy orbs swirled around her, dancing their lazy dance, filling her eyes with multicolored light. White, red, orange, gold. Four colors, for four Firechildren, one in each kingdom of man. Talin had taught her which color glowed for which magic, and Aeolia watched each in turn.

  First she watched an orange firefly hovering over a patch of mallow. Orange fireflies glowed for the Forest’s Firechild. If they still glowed, that meant Taya still lived. Aeolia wondered where her friend was now. Taya had saved her life, nearly dying in the doing. No one had ever done anything like that for Aeolia. Taya was a real heroine, she thought. She was the bravest person Aeolia knew.

  Next, Aeolia watched several red fireflies that swirled around a wisteria. Red fireflies glowed for the Healer Firechild. Talin said no one knew who the Healer Firechild was. Aeolia wondered where he might be and what his magic was. Perhaps he could cure disease as well as heal wounds, or even resurrect the dead.

  She turned her gaze onto several white fireflies dancing in circles around a boulder. Aeolia shuddered. These were Sinther’s fireflies. These were the fireflies that turned his skin to stone, rendering it impenetrable to sword or arrow. They frightened her. She wished they were all extinguished.

  Hurriedly, she looked up at the golden fireflies, which glided around her head. Golden fireflies. Esire’s fireflies. Aeolia tried to count them, but they were too many. As they danced around her all other colors disappeared, till she saw only them, drenched in golden light.

  All Esirens can share thoughts, Talin had said, but this Esiren can share senses as well. Only she can hurt Sinther. Aeolia thought of her dream, and of Eeea’s words, and of the secret gift she had promised never to use. Joren had known. He had known and tried to protect her from Sinther. But he had betrayed her at the end, like the ogress said he would, like Lale said he had. Tears formed in Aeolia’s eyes. She was not Joren’s sister. She was not even Stonish. Adopted. Esiren. Alone. Who was she? Who was she now?

  She remained under the tree until the darkness became complete, and the fireflies burned so bright they hurt her eyes. A servant finally arrived to lead her to her room, a chamber frightfully high up one tower. Small and round, it commanded a view of the entire village. Fireflies shone at the window. The bed was snug, but Aeolia tossed and turned for hours. She finally fell asleep with golden light on her face.

  * * * * *

  Blaring trumpets woke her at dawn.

  Aeolia blinked in the sunlight and shut her eyes again. She was still sleepy. The trumpets continued blaring, however, joined by shouting soldiers, clinking armor, and neighing horses. Aeolia flipped onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head. But still the din increased, and the drumming hoofs seemed loud enough to topple the tower. Aeolia reluctantly climbed out of bed, rubbing her eyes. Curious to see what the commotion was about, she swallowed her fear and peeked out the window.

  Her breath died in her throat.

  Down in the courtyard, green-clad soldiers were mounting horses and galloping toward the village bridge. There, on the far side of the stream, stood maybe two hundred crimson-clad Redforts. Aeolia winced. What were Redforts doing here? This was Greenhill land. Aeolia descried an armored Talin riding a destrier toward the bridge. She recognized him by his green
blade. Could the Redforts have come to claim him?

  Aeolia pulled on her dress and dashed down the tower stairwell. She burst out into the courtyard, her skirt flapping. The sentries called her to stop, but Aeolia ignored them and ran into the village, to Talin.

  She reached him by the bridge. He dismounted and took her hands. He looked strange and cold in armor, truly like a duke’s son.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Talin said. “Wil is talking to them.”

  The duke of Greenhill sat mounted next to Talin, clad in plate armor, bellowing at the Redforts.

  “Be gone, Lord Hyan! I rule farmlands, not armies.”

  Aeolia felt sorry for the Redfort leader’s horse. The poor thing looked ready to collapse under its master’s weight. Its saddle—pommel and all—were lost under the man’s corpulence.

  “Our dear Duke Greenhill.” The fat man spoke in a honeyed, nasal voice, his lips pouted into a smile. “From your vociferation one would assume you suspect us warmongers.” Hyan’s jowls quivered as he chuckled. “We assure you, we seek no fray; messy business, that. Blood leaves such frightful stains. We desiderate only the girl, you see. The Esiren Firechild.”

  Aeolia shied back a pace. She squeezed Talin’s hand.

  Wilon guffawed. “The Esiren Firechild? You think this girl is the Firechild? Duke Hyan, the fat has finally suffocated your brain!”

  As Hyan’s soft cheeks flushed, Wilon roared with laughter. Carefully, Talin laid a hand on the large man’s knee. Wilon, still laughing atop his horse, looked down at his cousin. Talin stared into his eyes. Slowly, Wilon’s smile faded.

  “Are you telling me,” Wilon whispered, “that she....”

  Talin nodded. “She is, Wil.”

  Wilon went pale. He snapped his head around to stare at Hyan. “What need you her, Redfort?” he demanded. “I thought it is Sinther who wants her.”