The Heart Thief

by Richard A Swingle

  His manager’s expression changed instantly.

  ‘Oh, good you made it! Max dear, hurry up and get this young lady on board. Her family were expecting her to arrive with her auntie tomorrow.’

  The burly woman turned to Ilaria and put her hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You must have been lucky on the roads,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, we were!’ Ilaria agreed.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Max.

  ‘It’s, er, Ilaria.’

  ‘Erilliaria? What a peculiar nickname,’ the burly woman chortled.

  Ilaria was not best pleased with that comment but now was not the time to argue.

  The woman continued, ‘It doesn’t sound at all like Elizabeth.’

  Ilaria panicked, she had given herself away. The stocky woman frowned at her for a moment and then her smile widened.

  ‘Well, I don’t understand kids nowadays, must be all those fantasy stories you read.’

  Ilaria nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Eriilia… er… Elizabeth here will need assistance on board looking for her family, Max. Parsons is their name. Be a dear and make sure that one of the deck crew helps her will you.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied.

  Ilaria thought how idiotic this pair were and was a little hurt that they thought her real name was a silly nickname, but she was also very thankful for it. So, Max led the fake Elizabeth Parsons onto the ferry and she abruptly bid him farewell before he had time to realise he’d forgotten all about helping her to find her family on board.

  A large horn sounded as the ferry began to pull away from the port and Ilaria ran up the stairs and through the hallway, seeing hundreds of passengers lying on the floor, ready for a long and uncomfortable journey. Extra tickets had been sold to alleviate some of the demand caused by the grounded flights and, as luck would have it, Ilaria could easily get lost amongst the crowds.

  She ran out onto the deck at the back of the ferry and a strong breeze caused her to shudder, but she ignored the chill as she saw the coast of Britain disappearing into the distance. It was the first time she had left the island since she was a baby. Now she was a stowaway on her way to Italy by way of Santander, wherever that was. She was sure she had no idea.

  7

  Santander wasn’t at all what Ilaria expected. After twenty hours lying on the floor of a smelly, noisy ferry she had hoped to land somewhere exotic. Instead she was met by a grey, wet and windy port town, not so unlike the one she had left. The main difference was that there were statues and large buildings spread out amongst the concourse where the coast was met by large open spaces and wide roads.

  Ilaria wandered up and down the footpath trying to find something that resembled a map but she couldn’t find anything useful at all. She was becoming quite sleepy as a voice inside her head told her.

  You’d better find out where you are, girl.

  Ilaria thought it was strange that she was referring to herself in her mind in the third person. Maybe she had invented a surrogate for her grandfather to keep her company.

  ‘North coast of Spain of course,’ said a young man, with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. It turned out Ilaria was thinking out loud and she would have been embarrassed were it not for the intrusion of a cloud of smoke that hit her in the face. She waved her hand about frantically trying not to breathe it in. The stranger chuckled at her before helping waft it away.

  ‘Sorry about that, can’t help where the wind blows,’ he said.

  Some hours had passed since Ilaria had begun circling the port on foot and as it was almost night time now, she decided to find the courage to speak to the stranger.

  ‘Do you have a map of the world by any chance?’ she asked.

  The man laughed and as he went to take another puff of his cigarette he gestured to his girlfriend who was sat next to him.

  The young woman smiled. ‘Come and take a seat… What was your name?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Ilaria.’

  ‘Right, well, Ilaria. Come and see here.’ The young woman pulled out a traveller’s guide from her backpack and opened out the inlay map on the stony steps of Santander Cathedral where Ilaria now sat beside her.

  ‘We are here. At the most northern tip of Spain,’ said the young woman, pointing to the map, ‘and where is it you are headed?’

  Ilaria hesitated for a second, feeling stupid and completely lost. ‘I’m going to Italy, to a town where my family are from.’

  ‘Right, well that isn’t on this map, I’m afraid. This only shows most of Spain, Portugal and some of the southern border of France. Who are you with if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘It’s just me now,’ Ilaria replied.

  ‘Oh.’ The young woman was lost for words and for a moment seemed as though she was about to question Ilaria further, but decided against it. The young man finally stamped out his cigarette and turned to face Ilaria.

  ‘Listen, we’re catching a bus in the morning to Seville, it’s in Andalusia nearer the south. You might be able to head to the south coast from there and make your way to Sicily by sea.’

  ‘Frank! Don’t be ridiculous, that’s far too long winded. She’d be better off going by land across France.’

  ‘Look, all I am saying is, we have a spare ticket.’ Frank turned to Ilaria. ‘My friend is stuck in Glasgow, thanks to all the flights being grounded and you are welcome to use it. Have you seen the bus station? There are people queuing around the block and there is nothing for days. You’re welcome to join them but I think you’ll end up sleeping on the street outside the station for a week!’

  ‘I suppose we can help you get to Malaga at least,’ said the young woman. ‘I’m going to Seville to study flamenco. It’s the most famous part of the world for flamenco you know?’

  Ilaria shook her head. ‘What is flamenco?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh dear, well that settles it. You absolutely must come to Seville and see it for yourself. I’m Antonia, nice to meet you, Ilaria.’

  Antonia held out her hand to Ilaria and they shook hands.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Antonia, and Frank,’ Ilaria said, looking from one to the other. Frank nodded his head in a casual but approving manner.

  Antonia stood up and wiped a thin layer of dust off the top of her thighs. ‘That’s strange, well, we’d better get to our hostel, it’s a long journey in the morning.’

  ‘Where are you staying, Ilaria?’ asked Frank as he threw his rucksack on his back.

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t really figured that bit out yet.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he sighed.

  The conversation at the hostel didn’t go as well as Frank had hoped. Without any ID or payment, Ilaria had been refused entry and despite the complaints of Antonia and Frank, the night porter was having none of it. Ilaria had told them not to worry and that she would meet them at the bus station the following morning. Antonia was afraid to leave Ilaria alone at night but before she could insist on staying with her, Ilaria had picked up her things and set off into the night to explore Santander one last time. Fortunately, it was not too cold and with her limited supplies, Ilaria managed to get fairly comfortable on the base of a statue where she rested her head, and through sheer exhaustion, managed to fall asleep.

  That night she dreamed about her grandfather. She heard his wonderful laugh and saw his cheeky grin bearing down on her from the platform where he stood. They were drifting together on a sailboat towards the horizon and Brian was steering them towards a setting sun. Ilaria felt free and safe, watching as the waves lapped against the side of the boat.

  She closed her eyes and felt the warm breeze against her face, listening as the fabric of the sails billowed in the wind. It was the most welcome moment of peace. But suddenly she heard a roaring sound, it was the sound of a dragon screaming from afar. Ilaria opened her eyes and the roaring sound of the dragon became the thunderous clap of a storm and then she realised she was alone on the boat and the steerin
g wheel was spinning uncontrollably. Flashes of light tore through the sky and a bolt of lightning struck so close that it almost hit the deck. Ilaria, with no other plan in mind, ran towards the wheel and tried with all her might to stop it spinning, but instead the force of the ferocious wheel threw her to her side and she slid across the deck, just as a large wave landed on top of her and she spluttered, gasping for air as the salty water ran down her face.

  ‘Stop it! Please, stop!’ Ilaria screamed as she jumped to her feet, her face soaking wet and there she stood staring at Frank who was in hysterics, having just thrown a bottle of water over her face. Antonia slapped him on the shoulder, clearly disapproving of his prank.

  ‘What? Everyone knows it’s the best way to wake someone up when they’re dreaming,’ he said. ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘You’re cruel, Frank Thomas, very cruel,’ said Antonia as she helped Ilaria compose herself by gathering her things. Ilaria was not quite sure if she felt in shock from the rude awakening or from the brief glimpse she had had of her grandfather and the moment of joy she had felt before it was shattered by the storm.

  Keeping her thoughts to herself, Ilaria followed Antonia and Frank as the three wandered off together towards the bus station and boarded the coach to Seville.

  The journey was long and winding, and the heat became almost unbearable as they neared the south of Spain. It didn’t help that the air conditioning in the bus was broken, though according to the elderly woman in the seat next to her, this was normal. She was a regular on this route and was currently on her way to visit her grandson. She was concerned about Ilaria travelling alone at such a young age but Ilaria had explained that Antonia was her big sister and was taking care of her.

  The lady complained about the volcanic ash that was spreading. Her husband was supposed to be returning from a meeting in London so they could visit their grandson together but he had been stuck there.

  Ilaria nodded in agreement and smiled politely as her neighbour nattered on about how wonderful her grandson was in her broken English.

  He was a keen musician, who often played at tapas bars around the town centre to help pay his tuition fees. The more Ilaria heard about Seville, the more she felt like it truly must be a magical place. The Giralda Tower of the cathedral, the Alcazar palace and flamenco bars of Triana were just a few of the places she had been told she must go and see. Ilaria couldn’t help but feel enraptured by this magical place but also thought how far she still had to go to get to Tuscany.

  Her mind wandered and she stared out of the window, fear and panic taking hold of her as she suddenly realised how far she was from home. Nawal and Johnny must be so worried about her and although she had considered trying to phone them to explain, she knew that the moment she heard their voices she would be too weak to ignore their pleading for her to return home to Southbourne.

  Ilaria was entranced by the spinning wheels of a car driving parallel to them. They span so fast that they appeared to be moving backwards. She thought to herself that maybe life was like that—if you tried to go forwards too fast you’d lose control and end up going backwards. Perhaps her journey was hopeless and, though she had no idea what she was supposed to do if she ever did make it to San Casciano, she clung onto the few stories of her mother and grandmother that she could recall.

  The advice from her grandfather played over and over in her mind. She was determined to go there and find someone who had known them. After all, it was a very small town where her family had come from she had been told. There must be someone there who knew them, she thought.

  Ilaria pulled out the letter from her grandfather and began to read it once more, thinking about the pendant that had gone missing with the dragon’s heart fragment. She felt anxious about being away from home, though more anxious still about the journey ahead of her. She tried to focus on the task at hand as the enormity of the journey to Italy overwhelmed her. She folded up the letter and stared through the window at the landscape whipping past her before slipping into a deep sleep. The coach rocked her back and forth like a baby in a cradle and she clutched herself tight, hoping to see her mother in her dreams.

  8

  A pack of wolves must work together for a hunt to be successful. They stalk their target for days until they are certain the terrain and weather is suited to their favour, for fear of their prey escaping. Snowy weather conditions suit them best, as often they rely on the animals they chase being slowed by the thickness and the cold. It was this principle that allowed the heart thieves to hunt the dragons, as the underground environment was claustrophobic for them and difficult to navigate.

  The creatures would often stalk the dragons into the deepest, narrowest passages before striking. Their victim’s wings restricted by the cavern walls making it near impossible for a dragon to turn its head to face an attack coming from behind. It was said that the elongated lifespan dragons enjoyed from their second heart, was the foremost reason the heart thieves hunted them. The order of people who were bonded with the dragons, known as Tamers, would scout the tunnels looking for any sign of ambush and communicate with them through thought. It was exhausting for a human to telepathize with a dragon, so they would take caution to send warning at the right moment. But it had been many years since an attack on a dragon had taken place.

  Speranza had grown wild since Brian had died. He grasped for some sign of Ilaria in his mind but found himself forgetting why she was important. He didn’t quite understand what had been the purpose of the bond he had harboured for centuries. All he knew now was that his rage was growing and to satisfy his wildness he was breathing more ferocious flames beneath the earth’s surface than he had for a thousand years.

  Speranza was growing stronger and fiercer by the day. His human connection had been severed and his true dragon instincts were coming to the surface. He felt more alive now. The outbursts of rage that he suffered had seen him enter into a kind of dance, relinquishing his energy to the centre of the earth and when his flames heated the molten rocks of the core it too grew in power, raising its temperature to an unbalanced level and causing devastation above the surface in the guise of unprecedented volcanic eruptions.

  The other dragons tried to reason with Speranza, repeating the concerns and fears of their own human counterparts, but they no longer made sense to him. So, he continued his ballet of fire and energy, with no sign of the tragic opera coming to an end.

  A loud and distinct tapping sound rang throughout the room as the heels of the dancer’s shoes rapped the ground. Her red dress swirled from side to side, reflecting a warm glow across the ceiling like a pulsating fire.

  Ilaria was stunned by the cold, serious expressions of the dancer and guitarist who accompanied her. Their gazes were matched by the crowd, who sat in silence admiring the performance. Beside Ilaria sat Antonia and Frank, who were both mesmerised and clapped heartily along with the locals at the appropriate moments. It almost seemed like part of the show, the way that the audience participated between movements of the music and dance. Ilaria felt heartened by what she saw. It was truly magical; somehow every person in the bar was connected by a commonality that transcended race or culture. But Ilaria also feared that she was being distracted and wasn’t sure how to say goodbye to the young couple who had brought her here. If she told them she was leaving, they may try to convince her to stay a little longer, so Ilaria excused herself to go to the bathroom and, clutching her bag, she walked out into the streets of Triana, on the western bank of the Seville canal.

  She made her way back to the centre of town, across the San Telmo bridge and headed for the centuries-old cathedral where the coach had dropped them off earlier that day. It was around ten o’clock in the evening and the streets were bustling with parties. Outside every bar was a myriad of tables, filled with people enjoying their evening meals. Fires burned in the side streets where the Sevillians sat and sang together.

  Ilaria’s head was spinning as the streets of Seville were like a labyrinth. She ke
pt looking up at the skies for any sign of the Giralda Tower to mark her way but it was nowhere to be seen. She headed down a narrow alleyway that was derelict save for a shadowy figure walking towards her.

  The figure was holding the leash of a large dog and before Ilaria knew what was happening, the animal had broken free from its owner and was running towards her barking at the top of its voice. Ilaria froze, praying that it would stop but as it came closer, stepping into the light of a street lamp, she saw its teeth bearing down on her.

  Ilaria turned and ran towards a small passage between two buildings and prayed for an open doorway that she could escape through. But there was none. She spun her head back towards the dog and as she did so she tripped over a large object in the alley.

  Ilaria came crashing to the ground but as she braced herself to crack her head on the tiled stone floor, a soft shape cushioned her fall and she was uninjured. The dog was barking at her and she felt vulnerable, a young girl who was lost in a strange place. She closed her eyes tight, imagining in the next moment that she would be eaten alive. But she wasn’t.

  ‘Parada, Amic, déjala en paz!!’ shouted the man as he ran towards his dog who was now whining, and seemed to be concerned about Ilaria. It began to lick Ilaria’s leg, which had been grazed as she had fallen.

  ‘Lo siento, lo siento mucho!’ said the man, pleading for forgiveness.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand Spanish,’ Ilaria replied.

  The man held out his hand to help her up from the ground and Ilaria then realised that she had tumbled into a stack of rubbish bags at the back entrance to a restaurant. She began wiping the dirt off her jeans, then she noticed the hole by her knee that was bleeding.

  ‘Fantastic,’ she said to herself sarcastically.

  ‘I am so, so sorry, miss. Amic is wild but he never means to harm nothing.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Ilaria lied. ‘Amic, that’s a nice name, what does it mean?’