Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  "Hurry along," the guard growled, casting a frown over his shoulder.

  Her ears pricked at the sound of a soft wail from the door to her left. Not a babe's wail, but a man's.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. One door they passed stood ajar, and the space beyond it was so dark that Roana almost didn't see it, until a moan floated soft and low from the shadows.

  Roana peered past the blaze of candlelight and mirrors. Someone sat in a chair in the corner of the room, and beyond the chair Roana could see the outline of a bed, where something writhed under the sheets. The realization that it was a woman alone in the bed hit her as another moan escaped into the hall, a noise of pleasure that made Roana's cheeks burn. She started to turn away, but something caught her eye.

  Scales gleamed as a snake twined around a shadowy form sitting across from the bed. The snake was thick as Roana's arm, with smooth obsidian skin nearly the same shade as the figure around whom it coiled. Its head slid over the figure's shoulder to rest molten eyes on Roana, its forked tongue flicking to taste her on the air.

  The woman—or man?—in the chair turned to face her, and the snake's eyes seemed to glow, burning as if they could see every morsel of her being. Roana blinked, and saw that the figure was clearly a woman, and what she had thought was a snake was actually a glossy dress, with a broach securing it on her shoulder.

  The woman smiled at her, and Roana flinched.

  She forced her legs to move away. The guard led her down the corridor to a set of wooden doors at the end, and he swung one of them open.

  "You'll wait in here until Xetsa arrives." His thumb rubbed the hilt of his sword as he watched her step inside, and he sneered when she glared at him. "I'll be waitin' right here when you're done."

  With that, he snapped the door closed.

  Well, Roana thought spitefully. I'll just wait here to be interrogated. She turned to face the room, hoping to find an escape route—

  —and fell back against the doors.

  Hundreds of snakes slithered along branches mounted on the chamber walls. Scales the colors of flames, blood, and squelkin ink glittered in the shadows. The entire floor was pitted and filled with sand, except for the narrow path leading to the center the room. The only source of light came from candles by the doors and the tiled circle at the end of the path.

  Despite the lack of a fireplace, the air in the room was warm and humid. Wizard work.

  Perhaps even the snakes were just a glamour? To Roana's left, a snake the length of her leg slid along a branch. Slowly, she moved her hand toward the snake's head, inch by inch, not daring to breath.

  The serpent froze and its tongue darted out, tickling her finger.

  Roana snatched her hand back. She scrambled along the path before it could move closer. Despite the lack of barrier between the sand pits and the tiled floor, the snakes seemed to prefer their area, as the plush chairs and cushions stood bare.

  Roana shivered, recalling the rumors of death by venomous snakes, and searched the room with her eyes. There were no windows, and the only set of doors were the ones she had come through, where the guard stood on the other side. And she didn't even have her knife.

  A riddle for snakes, she commanded to herself, hoping the familiar challenge would distract her. The task was something she had done with her grandfather for years growing up before he passed away, and now it was her way of keeping him close.

  Roana pursed her lips and exhaled. Some snakes twined and braided their bodies while others coiled alone in the sand, watching the room with expansive, glassy eyes.

  Gleaming but dry

  Shadowed but alive—

  Roana's eyes darted to where a green snake nosed the edge of the tile circle.

  Gleaming like water, but dry.

  Shadowy it moves, alive.

  Step on its tail, you die.

  The green snake's chin glided over the tile, as if searching for scent of prey. Roana stepped back, edging further from the only exit in the room.

  Just then the door to the chamber opened, and a dark-skinned woman stepped onto the tiled path.

  It was the same woman Roana had seen sitting in the room just down the hall. She looked tall and sturdy, with a heavy square jaw set beneath a flat mouth. Muscles roved over arms and legs as she walked down the path, her black dress glistening and dark over well-oiled skin. Tight braids coiled on her head, not a hair out of place, and corded sandals braced her feet.

  She walked in with an air of confidence and poise, completely at ease. Roana didn't miss how the long corner of her dress snapped out at the green snake as she passed, causing it to recoil and slither away. She peered closer at the dress, but it flapped and rustled as a normal dress should.

  "Xetsa Kone," the woman announced in a low voice and held out a wide hand for Roana to shake. The nails tapered to fine white points. Roana expected a firm shake, but Xetsa Kone held her lightly, as if Roana were a child she didn't wish to hurt, and stared down at her, eyes like black mirrors. "And you are Roana Ramnarine."

  Roana felt herself nod, longing to drag her hand away from the merchant's, but knowing she shouldn't show any weakness—not when she would face this woman's punishment, whatever she declared it to be.

  "Please, have a seat," Xetsa waved at a chair, and turned to the plush sofa, giving a clap of her hands as she did so.

  Through the open door came a slender girl carrying a tray of fruits and nuts.

  "Hungry?"

  Roana stared at the tray of food before letting her gaze slide to the servant girl. Was the food poisoned? A trick somehow? Would the servant tell her if it was? The girl's eyes were trained on the floor, her arms rigid as she held the tray.

  "It's not poisoned," Xetsa murmured, as if answering her thoughts.

  A cold rill of fear trickled down Roana's spine. "No." Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "No, thank you."

  Xetsa beckoned the servant girl, who knelt by the sofa, holding the tray within perfect hand's reach. The merchant picked up a silk-nut and popped it into her mouth, eyes steady on Roana while she chewed.

  Several moments passed before Xetsa said, "There's no need to be afraid." She plucked a berry off the tray. "The snakes will not hurt you. Not unless I compel them to."

  Roana stiffened, palms growing slick with sweat in her lap. She was prepared to tell the woman all the details of how she was able to get on the ship, save for the true names of those few who helped her. She'd tell her almost anything but that, since she had promised the crate-maker and the street rat that she would never reveal their identities if she were caught. Besides, she couldn't blame them for what had happened.

  Jip, you stupid girl. Part of her wanted to hate her dog, but she loved her too much to be anything more than resentful toward her. After all, Jip had only found Roana out of very persistent stubbornness and a nose fine-tuned to Roana's scent.

  "Now tell me," Xetsa said, leaning back against the scarlet cushions of the sofa. "Are you a Rain Mage?"

  Roana grimaced as a familiar knot in her belly tightened. "No." Steady, solid. An anchor to still the sudden churning deep inside of her.

  Xetsa crossed her legs. "No. Because you aren't like your father, are you? No talent like his."

  A bit of the tightness in Roana's shoulders released as the woman agreed with her. Does she know? Can she sense the things inside of me?

  Xetsa's black dress shimmered as it moved, but the merchant remained still. "I hired your father many times," she stated, unperturbed that her dress seemed to have a life of its own. "Damian and Liana were very skilled in their own ways. You must miss them terribly."

  Damian. Liana. Roana hadn't heard their names in months. Her father had been the last Rain Mage, hired frequently by Xetsa to attend her ships during their journeys to and from the Ekesian mainland. As a Rain Mage, her father's duty had been to calm storms that threatened the ships' route—an invaluable service to merchants that they paid a high price for. Her mother, Liana
, had been the island's chief magistrate.

  Both had been well-respected, her father simply for being the island's Rain Mage, and her mother garnering admiration for her grace, beauty, and skill at speaking many languages. Roana hadn't seen much of either of them growing up.

  And I will never see them again.

  Ragged and worn, she couldn't stop the thought from running through her mind for the hundredth time. It dug into her heart with a knife's edge.

  Roana met Xetsa's gaze, impenetrable as the tiles beneath their feet. The woman couldn't force her to speak about what happened to her parents. There were certain doors Roana kept shut tight, and she didn't intend to open them, even if all Xetsa's snakes bit her.

  Xetsa gave a slight nod, as if she acknowledged and accepted Roana's resistance. "Why do you want to leave the Isle of Wings?"

  Roana's mouth twisted. "Why should I stay?"

  "You have an aging grandmother, do you not? And you could still marry, have children, carry on your family's legacy...?"

  "It's not that simple," Roana said, heat rising to her cheeks. "The islanders have no love for me. They believe the rumors, and are superstitious."

  Rumors blamed Roana for bringing the storm that wrecked her family's ship, and claimed this had caused Náyade to punish the island with drought. When Roana had asked her grandmother what she thought, Nan had shaken her head in disbelief, and said I do not know whether the storm that killed them was natural, but I do know that you shouldn't blame yourself for something you couldn't possibly have done. Because Roana wasn't like her father, or like Pia.

  "What do you believe?" Xetsa asked her.

  Roana pressed her fingers into the solid wood of the armrests. "I believe my family was killed in a natural storm. And the drought is happening because there is no Rain Mage to bring rains." Because that was the truth. And if the truth were anything else, she wouldn't be able to live with herself.

  Xetsa quirked a dark brow. "A natural storm? So you do not believe that you, or any Rain Mage, had anything to do with the storm or the drought."

  It wasn't a question, so Roana did not answer. Still, her cheeks burned as she realized how ridiculous the notion was—that a natural storm would've killed her father, a skilled Rain Mage who could stop any storm that came his way. He would've done anything to protect Roana's mother and sister from harm.

  Roana blinked away the burning in her eyes.

  "And you believe the people hate you," Xetsa continued. "Why is that?"

  A memory flashed in Roana's mind, of children's hands grasping her arms and legs, tugging her deep into the hot pool as she struggled toward the surface, lungs aching for air.

  Roana closed her eyes and inhaled, unable to stop herself from rubbing her throat. Her fingers met a slight metal chain—the locket her mother had given her on her twelfth birthday, with a tiny painting of her mother's face shut inside. She let her hand drop into her lap. "They do not treat me well."

  Xetsa turned her attention to the platter of food once more. "And you wish to escape their cruelty by leaving the island?"

  Yes! Roana wanted to snap at the woman. But she was starting to feel childish after saying these things out loud—for she hadn't yet told Nan or anyone else about what happened at the hot pools, or about other ways she had been harassed by her peers—and the merchant's constant questions were fraying her nerves. Was it silly that she wanted to leave the island because of her mistreatment? It was the only thing Roana had wanted since she had learned of her family's death. She wanted to escape, and—

  "I want to see the world," Roana blurted, warmth flushing anew through her. She didn't think the merchant would care what she wanted, but the woman watched her with some interest. "I want to go to Ekesia and Lach, to eat their food and smell the streets and speak their languages." Like her parents had done. But Roana would do it differently because she would never come back to this desiccated, lonely island.

  Xetsa's brows rose, and her lips tipped upwards. "Ahh." The way she said it made Roana's skin prickle, as if Roana's words meant far more to Xetsa than it should have. "I was in a similar place as you, once. I was born and raised in a Zarian tribe, as you may have guessed."

  Xetsa's pointed fingers dug for a berry on the tray. The servant never wavered. "My tribe, like most down there, was close-knit and content. Everyone was expected to raise a family, to help with collecting food, building homes, keeping the peace. My life would be restricted to those few things, and I would never leave unless I married into another tribe. As a child, I knew and understood these things, and hated them. I was meant to do bigger things, and I hungered for the world." Xetsa studied a purple juga-berry, the tips of her nails digging into the soft flesh just enough that red juice dripped down her finger.

  Roana stared at it, wondering what it must have been like growing up in such a place. Was the island all that different, when everyone knew everyone else and no-one ever planned on leaving the island to pursue another life?

  "One day my mother took me to meet a prospective husband from another tribe. I was still a child, and he was my mother's age. They had a disagreement, and that night I was made to watch as he forced himself on my mother." Xetsa ate the berry and frowned. "I never had much respect for her. She took everything in life with barely a sound, as quiet as a rabbit and still as a stone. She let the world roll over her, flatten her out, cut her open." Xetsa let out a great sigh. "But I still loved her. We returned to our tribe the next day, and I was so infuriated with what the man had done to her that I planned a revenge.

  “When our chieftain left for a few days’ journey to another tribe, I pretended to be him, telling all that I'd returned early because I had had a dream—which most chieftains use to predict the right course of action, or the future, or whatever it is they believe will connect them to the higher powers—" Xetsa riddled the words off with clipped disdain. "—and I reported that in the dream, I had seen how someone had been abused by the tribe of the man who had forced himself on my mother. To put it succinctly, I convinced my tribe to go to war."

  Roana regarded her with incredulity. A child pretending to be a chieftain? But a niggling doubt settled in Roana's chest as she watched Xetsa smooth her hands over her dress, as if calming it. The corner of the dress twitched and stilled.

  "I never got away with it, though," Xetsa continued. "Our chieftain returned a day early and discovered what I had done. The whole tribe, seeing what I truly was, agreed to exile me. Before I left, the tribe we nearly went to war with found out, and the man who had hurt my mother came with a group to hunt me down. They thought I was a monster, deserving of death. Needless to say, I escaped them and hid in a wagon traveling north to Ekesia." Xetsa waved the tray of food away, looking mildly bored with her own story. Roana, on the other hand, couldn't help her fascination. "You might have done the same, had you not been caught."

  Roana ground her teeth. She wasn't sure what irritated her more: the woman's disdain or her own curiosity about Xetsa's escape. Forgetting her fear momentarily, Roana said, "But I'm not a wizard."

  Xetsa smiled, partly mischievous and partly as if she were considering a daft child. "Nor am I. But there are certain things I can do...skills, you might call them, that have nothing to do with wizardry. There are no wizards in Zari. But there is magic."

  Well, that answered that question. Xetsa Kone was a sorceress. But just what the woman could do was still a mystery, and one that Roana wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the truth of. Roana found herself openly staring at Xetsa's dress, which had taken on a slithering quality. Had Xetsa moved her leg just then?

  "You've heard of my abilities," Xetsa said. "So you know that I can punish you as I wish."

  The quiet threat brought Roana's attention fully back to Xetsa's words. She lifted her chin, heart thumping.

  "In ways you cannot possibly imagine," Xetsa added, her dress gleaming as she ran fingers down her lap, stroking the fabric of her dress, her gaze dancing over it as if she were seeing mor
e than a simple black garment. "But I do not wish to punish you this time. I wouldn't want you to be unable to care for...Nan, is it?"

  Cold washed over Roana's shoulders. Her head jerked in a nod. Was there anything Xetsa didn't know about her?

  "Good. Nan depends on you. I wouldn't want something bad to happen to her. Would you?"

  Anger burned over Roana's skin, heat flushing out the cold of fear. "No," she ground out.

  "Very well. We're done here." Xetsa stood, walked down the tiled path and out the door, tailed by her silent servant.

  Roana fumed as she followed the guard back down the mirrored corridor.

  How dare she threaten Nan? Her grandmother was old and gentle and kind, and still grieved for their lost family. She had been through enough already.

  Roana's hands clenched into fists. Who was this merchant woman, anyways? How close had she been to Roana's family?

  Hair prickled on her nape as they entered a hall full of hushed shadows. Closed doors lined each side, and curiosity lit beneath her anger. She wanted to open each one, to light candles and see everything that made up this woman's mysterious home, to see pieces and parts of the world that this woman had seen and experienced.

  Had she really been hunted by a Zarian tribe? Frustrated, Roana tried to squash her curiosity, but it only strengthened as they entered a wide chamber full of cushioned seats sewn with golden lions and winged drogons. Tables made of joba-wood boasted ivory statues and figurines. Roana had been into many estates, but this one had the richest luxuries, by far.

  She passed a lone chair, a blanket of gold and silver threads folded neatly and draped over the back. Pearls hung from its edges—each one pried from the mouths of oysters living east of Ekesia.

  Each one the size of her fingernail.

  One handful would be enough to pay for her passage to the mainland. Two, and she could secure passage for herself, Jip, and Nan.