by C. K. Rieke
As they moved to load into the wagons—each with their own—Lilaci looked back to the city. The crowd was still assembled, watching her as she gazed at them. The fog was still slowly creeping past, and the stench of the burning dead still tinged at her nostrils. This may be the last time I look upon the city. This is as much a home to me as any ever was, whether I want it to be or not. And that would make these people— ‘my’ people. Even though days ago they fought over my mere presence in Voru. Now, they seem to collectively agree that we are out to liberate them.
Lilaci then raised her right hand high in the air above her toward the crowd, and then pulled her extended fingers down into a fist. She stood there and took two steps forward. “I will fight for you,” she said, knowing they couldn’t hear her. “I will give my life for you, whether you ask me to or not.”
Then to her surprise, the crowd of a thousand or more, began to raise their arms, without making a sound, and formed their hands into fists. Dozen by dozen they each raised their fists in solidarity with her. Lilaci looked out at the crowd, no smile came to her face, nor expression of gratitude. She only felt more empowerment in her decision to save these lands. What started as a quest for Kera’s freedom, has now turned to one for all.
“You are their chosen champion,” came Veranor’s voice, as he had paused entering his wagon. He had one boot up upon the back, wooden frame with both hands on the leather grips on each side. Pausing only a moment to say that, he then lifted himself up and into it.
I never asked to be their champion, but they chose me... I will not let them down.
Chapter Sixteen
In the dancing light of the warm fire that evening, the group sat in a circle together, their bellies full and their lips wet. That day had been one of the easiest days of travel they’d been blessed with, and not one of them complained—not even Burr, who’d been asleep the better part of the day in his wagon, snoring soundly.
While they sat watching the fire and stars glow in the clear sky above, Kera sat cross-legged with her black hair down and tucked back behind her ears. She was eating dried dates, after she dipped each one in a jar of amber-colored honey. That girl loves her sweets.
While they enjoyed their light-hearted conversation between themselves with the flickering fire in the center of their circle, Lilaci tried to listen in on the soldiers’ own conversation at their fire ring, a mere twenty feet behind her. She scanned for any hint of plans other than what the queen had promised them, but after two hours of eavesdropping, Lilaci let her ear perk back to her own fire. The soldiers hadn’t moved out of the realm of talking about their path forward, what they’d eaten that day, or defensive maneuvers if they were to be attacked. I do believe they are here for our protection, if only to serve their queen’s orders. And my intuition tells me I can trust Lezeral.
As her listening returned to the conversation happening between her friends, she realized they were talking about her.
“Our defenses against the mad dragons are limited,” Burr said, his head hanging low and his shoulders hunched. “We’d be foolish to rush into another fight with one of them.”
“We don’t know Scindír has been taken,” Ezmerelda said, her bronze eyes and tan skin glowing softly in the light of the warm fire as it popped and crackled. “But with Lilaci and Kera’s dragons, we shouldn’t hesitate to fight one again if it is swarming the city.”
“Again, I’ll say it,” Burr said, biting back at her, “we hold no allegiance to the three cities. We are on a path that heads straight for Dânoz. Anything else is nothing more than a distraction.”
“We did make a pact with the queen,” Fewn added, looking at Burr and raising her hands slightly. “That extends to the other kings and queens of the kingdoms. We should protect their people too.”
“Bah,” Burr scoffed, waving away her comment with his hand. “We fought of Tirilin. That’s enough for me. And who even knows what the royal family of Scindír will have to say to us, once we get there.”
“King Garrond Warrgon is not a welcoming man,” Veranor said, resting back on his hands with his legs crossed over one another, and pointed at the fire, “but he is a respectable king. He will welcome us if Lezeral asked him so much.”
“You’ve met him?” Kera asked while dipping another date into the sweet honey. “What’s he like?”
“I’ve fought next to the King of Scindír,” he said with his chin up. “He’s a fine soldier and leader of men. He speaks the truth and holds the respect of his people.” He paused a moment. “His wife has been lost for the better part of a decade now, and we’d be best to avoid that conversation. And we’d do best to stay clear of the prince.”
“Why do you say that?” Lilaci asked, leaning toward him.
“Prince Garrond is impetuous,” Veranor said. “He doesn’t share his father’s wisdom. As a child, he was always seeking attention, and that eagerness lent itself to a temper that was quick to come, or a willingness to exert authority where none was needed.”
“So, he’s a brat?” Fewn said, leaning back on her own hands. “Got it.”
Veranor didn’t respond but seemed content at Fewn’s assessment.
“I read about them,” Ezmerelda said, swatting at a fluttering insect on her arm. “In the library at Erodoran there were many books about them. The kings and queens of the Arr are all quite different in many respects. Yes, I read that the prince of Scindír is impetuous, to say the least, while the king and queen of Godan are renowned for their wisdom and patience in their old age. Although their many grown-children clamor for their seat upon the throne. King Garrond is written about in high regard, and yes, mostly for his accomplishment on the battlefield. But Lezeral seems to be written about most highly, especially for being the newest leader of the three cities.”
“Well,” Gogenanth said, “you were reading about the queen in her own city. I doubt they’d allow many books that would speak even slightly negatively about her.”
“True,” Ezmerelda feigned, “but regardless of that, I think the point is clear—we should be able to trust King Garrond, and he will be honest to us when we get there.”
“It’s still quite a distance off,” Fewn said. “Let's get there first, then worry about who we can trust.”
“What else did you find on the shelves at Erodoran?” Lilaci asked Ezmerelda. “You went searching for literature about the gods. Did you find anything useful?”
Ezmerelda leaned forward, her eyes focused on the fire, letting the pages that she’d scanned roll through her head. “There is much written about them, but it says so little.” She sighed. “It’s really a bunch of useless idolizations, preaching their greatness, and how we should be slaves to them because they saved us from the tyranny of the dragons. I’m giving the abbreviated version of the texts...”
“From one tyranny to another,” Burr said, with a gruff tone.
“Anything useful though?” Lilaci asked.
“There was a small text that talked about Firen-ar,” Ezmerelda said. “That was one of the only things I found interesting, and possibly factual in the lot. It was only less than a full two pages, but it gave me a bit of insight into the fortress of the Six—I mean Five now.”
“What did it say?” Gogenanth asked, and Lilaci noticed that Veranor seemed heavily intent on listening. There was a great deal of mystery and secrecy that surrounded the Divine Palace.
“The Divine Palace is a creation of the gods in their image,” she said. “The root of their powers flows through its walls like blood from the heart to the limbs. Everything and anything they wish; the palace will provide. The castle is an extension of their powers. It’s not a normal structure of stone, but more like a living, breathing entity. It’s immense as well, the text says it’s ten times the size of any of the other royal palaces. Its towering high, dark wells are unscalable. And no dragon can fly over them without being driven mad—that much we already knew—so mad they forget their own instinctual ability to fly, and they come cr
ashing down to the hard rocks of the island or end up drowning in the saltwater of Barrakka.”
“Kera’s magic should hopefully prevent that,” Lilaci added.
“Yes, hopefully,” Ezmerelda said. “Also, the gods live in their own towers, each of the six towers encircles the main tower at the center of the fortress.”
“The Tower of Íssellör,” Veranor said.
Ezmerelda nodded. “That’s the one. The six gods together erected the tower to be the symbol of their might. That is where they keep their trophies; the statues of their mortal heroes, including those who carried your magic, Lilaci, and the statues of their foes, that’d be your ancestors, Burr.”
Burr shrugged and popped his knuckles.
“Anything else?” Lilaci asked. “Anything of use to us? How to get into the castle, or anything about its defenses we should know?”
“It just said it is impenetrable by man,” she said. “And that no living being has ever left once they’ve entered.”
“Well we’ve got a couple of dragons,” Fewn said. “Did any of those who never escape have dragons to aid them? And don’t forget that we have the Aridons.”
“We shall see if that will be enough,” Gogenanth said, laying back on the sand with his hands behind his head. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us to get there. Not to mention we have to travel out onto the sea, which as one of most well-traveled out there, let me say; I’m not itching to get back out onto the open water. The storms that happen out on the sea are like nothing you’ve ever seen out on the desert. And with no steady ground under your feet, you find yourself constantly wishing to be back on dry ground. Nothing worse than being on a sinking ship in the middle of a lightning storm.”
Kera’s eyes grew wide as she watched and listened to the traveler’s ominous warning. Lilaci noticed and rubbed her back.
“Don’t worry,” Lilaci said, “we've got a long way to go before we reach the sea. And we’re sure to get some of the best ships out there for that part of the journey.”
“Sturdy ships help,” Gogenanth said, still lying on his back. “And I’m not trying to scare you, Kera. Just enjoy the hard, dry ground under your feet while we can.”
The following afternoon, under the bright, hot sun directly above that cast small shadows at their feet, Lilaci and Fewn walked next to each other at the lead of the caravan. They’d woken early, eaten a small breakfast, and the others went to the shade of their cool cabins. Lilaci had asked Fewn to join her for a walk, which she was happy to accept, as the two of them felt most at ease out on the sands, not in the confined shelter of the canvas-covered wagon.
Mostly they walked in silence. Their hoods covered their heads and eyes from the bright sun. They felt the hot grains of sand blow onto their exposed skin on their hands, neck, and ankles in the brief strong gusts of wind. They’d continued their conversation slightly Firen-ar and their journey there. But there wasn’t much to add, at least not yet. Fewn asked one of the soldiers if they had any knowledge of the Arralyn, and he only shrugged and said, ‘that's the land of the gods. Man is not meant to go there.’
Lilaci had begun a conversation with Fewn about their last interaction with their old teacher Elan, when something caught her eye. Lilaci stopped walking and stared in the direction of what she thought she saw. “It can’t be...”
Fewn paused as well and looked in the direction of where Lilaci was looking. She quickly found what Lilaci was staring at. They heard one of the soldiers behind yell out, as he’d apparently seen it too.
Lilaci went at a quick sprint in its direction, with Fewn briskly running at her side. It soon was evident that it indeed was what Lilaci had thought—and hoped—it had been. Once they arrived at their destination, Lilaci went to her knees and dove both of her hands into the warm, clear liquid. She raised the water up to her mouth and tasted it. It was clean tasting and refreshing.
“I can’t believe it,” Fewn said with her mouth hanging open slightly. “Do you know what this means?”
They were both kneeling next to a stream six feet wide that ran from north to south, as far as they could see. Blades of green grass was beginning to grow on both sides of it as it trickled down south.
“The dragons,” Lilaci said, “with their return comes the return of flowing water to the sands. The myth is true.”
As the soldiers brought the caravan toward the stream, Lilaci caught another strange vision. As the ripples of water began to fade to a steady flow of water, she peered down to see the reflection of a woman she hardly recognized. It was her reflection, but also that of a much older woman. Wrinkles had begun to form at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and the black hair on her head was suddenly much grayer. At least a quarter of all her hairs had the black fading away. She touched her cheeks just to make sure that was her face reflecting in the water.
“Fewn,” she gasped, “the curse... It's real. I’m... getting old...”
Fewn was silent, but Lilaci could tell she already knew from her remorseful glance. “Yes, I know.”
Chapter Seventeen
Two days passed then—two very long days for Lilaci, walking under the sun that beat down on her with its heavy hands. The sweat that rolled down her shoulders and arms was replaced by fresh water from her canteen, but the aching in her hands, feet, and joints wasn’t as easily alleviated. She’d chosen to walk the sands, and not ride in her wagon—a decision that was made as a last refute to acknowledging the curse was real—and she was growing old.
I dare say that this curse isn’t worth the price of what the pixies told me. The Garen Pixies told me their three whispers. The first two whispers were straightforward enough; the first Kera would need me by her side to survive, the second that the goddess Gorlen couldn’t be defeated by any normal means by us, that we needed to find another way—which Veranor did. The third still haunts me though; it told me that one who walks in the shadow would walk in the sunlight, and one who appears in the sunlight will turn to the shadow. Veranor could be either... Did the whisper’s fortune already come to pass?
A new thought occurred to her then. As she walked along the soft sand of this stretch of desert with high-rolling dunes far off before them to the east, with thick-gray clouds looming heavily over them, a new thought snapped to the forefront of her mind, and a monumental new worry overshadowed all other thoughts.
“There’s a new player in this game I hadn’t even considered until this second,” Lilaci whispered to herself. She slowly turned her head back and looked over her shoulder. The Queensguard soldiers walked steadily forward on both sides of the caravan, with their hands resting on the grips of their swords and spears. Four of them walked along the sides of Kera’s wagon. “Lezeral... I hadn’t thought that Lezeral may be the one who is going to betray me...”
She stopped in her tracks, and the soldiers at the head of the caravan looked at her with concern, unsure if something was wrong. With a brush of her hand, she calmed their concerns. Letting the soldiers walk on past, she waited. Once the wagon came to her that housed Kera on the inside, she began to walk next to it, and then went to its back. She raised her hand up to the canvas flaps that covered the rear, and she pulled the right flap back quietly. Peering in she saw Kera sleeping atop a mattress of straw. She was breathing easily and innocently. She let the flap fall back, and she strode over to the right side of the wagon, between the two soldiers.
“Everything all right?” the knight behind her asked.
“Yes, I’m just going to walk here for a while. You may fall back.”
She didn’t hear him reply, but she knew the knights mostly nodded and did what was asked of them. I’ll need to talk to others about this new worry later. Maybe not Burr, he’d surely agree too easily. But Kera and Fewn for certain. For now, I feel best right here.
That evening, a good couple hours after the sun had slipped away under the dunes behind them, and the dark veil of the moonless, star-filled sky unrolled itself high overhead, the group once again sat at t
heir warm fire. This night however, had brought with it the cool kiss of Wendren storm winds that rushed in from the east. They sat together in their circle, huddled under their thick blankets of scratchy wool, waiting to see if the winds would bring with them rains, or if the storm would fizzle out far off in the distance. In the cold winds, they hoped the rains would do their dance someplace other than on their heads.
Kera was tucked away under Ezmerelda’s blanket next to her, only her face and outstretched hands trying to gather the fire’s warmth were exposed. Lilaci sat with her blanket over her head and shoulders, she rubbed her hands together by the fire. Gogenanth and Fewn sat at the other side of the fire, they were talking about their path across the sea, and what precautions to take. Burr lay on his side, snoring softly. Lilaci then felt a set of eyes on her. She let her gaze fall over to Veranor who was watching her hands as they rolled over one another in front of the fire. His dark-gray eyes fixed between the crossing scars on his face then shot up at her. She stared into his eyes for what felt like far too long. He was sitting cross-legged but rose to his feet on the other side of the fire and walked over to sit next to her. He left his blanket on the other side of the fire on the sand.
“Your hands?” he asked, only two feet to her left. “Are they bothering you now?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the fire in front of her. She watched the flames as they danced, sending floating embers high up into the night sky with its thin trails of smoke; popping and cracking.
“We are going to need to be strong in the fight ahead,” he said, leaning in to whisper to her, so the others wouldn’t hear.