Layla, p.27
Layla, page 27
Abbi hesitated to say more for fear others would hear, but the cabin was far enough away from the center of town that no voices interrupted them. She blinked her eyes dry and looked out the window by the door. A blue jay bounced from branch to branch in a tall fir near the house. Other than the bird, and the swaying of the forest branches, nothing disturbed the stillness.
“Maybe Ian feels pressured to marry you simply because you stayed here with him. He wouldn’t want that to be the reason to ask for your hand. He has too much integrity.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Give him time. You have a home here with Alex and I.”
“Won’t Ian be staying here?”
“Alex is going to give Ian his yurt. Let’s get your bath started. We have much to talk about besides men! I hear you’re a nurse.”
Abbi’s spirits picked up. “I am.”
“I want to introduce you to the other healers of the village today if you have time. You’ll love them?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take you to the house of Helbrede as well. It’s our medicine hut. There’s much we can share. I would love to learn some of your remedies.”
“And I, yours!”
Brad’s Polygraph
NOT A WINDOW IN SIGHT. The room was dark, empty, and very spooky looking. Exactly how Brad felt now. No matter how much the lady sitting across from Brad smiled, he resented her efforts to make him ‘comfortable.’ He resented being there. Why should he have to prove anything? His word should be enough. And why didn’t Elisa have to come? All she had to do was look cute and shed a tear or two and bam, she’s off the hook! Brad scowled at the pleasant-looking lady as she wrapped some kind of a pad over his wrist. She wore a gray suit; her hair was cut in a stylish bob, and he couldn’t tell if the color was white or bleached from the sun.
“This will all be over shortly. I just need to ask you some questions,” she assured him.
Brad didn’t even nod. He just glared into the woman’s eyes.
“Is your name Brad Huntington?”
“I filled out your forms. My name is on there.”
“Just please answer the question yes or no. Is your name Brad Huntington?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you fifteen years old?”
“Fifteen and a half.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Yes or no, please.”
“Sort of.”
She grimaced.
“Well, if I were just fifteen, then today would be my birthday, but it isn’t. I was fifteen about six months ago. So that makes me fifteen and a half.”
She sighed and adjusted something to the machine she was playing with. “Are you fifteen and a half?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think there is such a thing as a portal to another world?”
“I don’t think it, I know it.”
She glared at him. “Do you think there’s a portal to another world?”
“Yeah!”
“Do you live with your parents?”
She didn’t relinquish her glare.
“Yeah.”
“Is your sister’s name Elisa?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you go through a portal with your friend Ian?”
Bingo! Time to shine! “Yeah!”
She straightened her back as she regarded the reading on her machine. An eyebrow raised.
“Do you have a pet cat?”
“No.”
“Did you get an ‘A’ in algebra last year?”
“No.”
“Was your sister lost in another world recently?”
“Yes.”
“Were you born in 2012?”
“No.”
She looked up.
“Is today Tuesday?”
“All day.”
“Wait here.” She slipped out of the office.
Brad did not sweat. He didn’t even perspire. That test was simple! They can determine if he’s lying just from that? Why didn’t they just ask him those questions the first day they came to the house? Sometimes he didn’t understand adults at all.
The lady came back with another man in a suit, and someone dressed like a doctor or something. They mumbled to each other. Brad couldn’t tell what they were saying at all but all three looked at the machine. The man in white left without even looking at Brad but the guy in the suit frowned at him, jingled something in his pockets—keys maybe—and then took off. The lady unhooked her machine from Brad.
“That’s it! You’re done.”
Brad rolled his sleeves down.
“Your mother and father are in the waiting room. Thanks for coming.”
“Yeah, sure.”
No one gave him so much as an explanation as to the results. A week passed and nothing. Of course, he knew the results. He wasn’t lying. But they didn’t tell him they believed him. Not until his dad said something to his mom about accessing Ian’s house with the police did he guess what was going on. They were going to meet a doctor. When his dad put Ian’s shield in the car, that’s when Brad knew for certain what they were doing.
“They’re going to look for the portal,” Brad whispered to Elisa one weekend as they sat on the bench on the front porch. “And I’m going with them.”
“Why? Aren’t you in enough trouble?”
“I’m not in any trouble at all. They believe me. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be getting a warrant to search Ian’s house. I need to be there. I need to warn them about the dragon.”
“They’re going to think you’re nuts if you do that.”
“I’ll be shrewd.”
“Too bad they won’t ever know about Tod either.” Elisa’s pout quieted Brad’s excitement. Ian’s shield was magic, and that when Elisa brought the buckler to the hospital and snuck it into their friend Tod’s ICU room, he opened his eyes and even smiled. Tod was still in bed, but he was released from intensive care that very night. Elisa swore his healing was because of the powers Silvio had implanted into the shield before they left the Realm.
“Abbi doesn’t want to come back, you know,” Elisa informed him, matter-of-factly.
“I know.”
“So, what they’re doing is really stupid.”
“Adult-thinking.”
“Glad I’m not one.”
Brad huffed a laugh and when his father opened the garage door, he patted his sister on the knee. “Wish me luck.” He jumped up and raced off the porch.
The Isle of Taikus
ROLANDO’S BARE FEET slapped against the damp wood of the gangplank as he hurried onto the pier and pushed past the throng of warrior women congregating on the dock. Most of the soldiers let him slide by. A messenger boy who had only seen eleven winters would attract little attention, if any. But some warriors pressed against him in their effort to board the ship, pinning him against others in the mob as they tried to embark. Gunners restrained the crowd and herded everyone off the gangplank. Then the chaos began again, warriors shoving and ramming each other in another attempt to board. Tempers flared. The Dragon Begot was supposed to have brought Stenhjaert from the mainland. Hundreds of troops waited in the harbor to receive the dragon, carrying lances and spears, ready to escort him to his hold outside the city. Huge iron chains had been stretched out in the harbor and onto the beach nearby. Cuffs of iron lay open, ready to be locked around the beast’s limbs and rope coiled that would tie his wings around his body, binding him immobile. But word of defeat had already spread through the city. The mission had been unsuccessful. There had been a battle. Troops were killed. Stenhjaert had not been captured.
“Tell us the details!” Having seen Rolando disembark, a woman grabbed his shirt and pulled him to a halt. Rings of bracelets jangled against her dark flesh and glimmered in the sun. The silk of her bright green tunic brushed against his arm. Her charcoal eyes flared as she investigated his. “Is what they say true?”
“I’m a messenger for the queen,” Rolando responded, short of breath from dodging the throng. “If you want to know more, ask someone else. Savant Simbatha or Captain Briella can tell you what has happened. My orders are to go immediately to Queen Hacatine with no delay. My message is for her Majesty’s ears only.”
The woman released him with a push. “Go then, young fool.”
He staggered and then caught his balance and straightened his soiled linen shirt. He was accustomed to being called a naïve fool. The women of Taikus had no respect for men, though rarely did boys live long enough to become men. Not on Taikus. Better to leave the island before eighteen winters, or a fate worse than death awaits you! Rolando slid away from the thick of the mob swarming the wharf. Several more women tried to grab onto him, but Rolando was swift and fast and kept focused. Once off the pier, he raced through the royal gardens and ascended toward the palace.
The stairway to the castle was a steep climb. Surrounded by topaz clay walls with trailing red geraniums brightening his path, the route offered no shade from the scorching sun. Already his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body and his feet were on fire.
He trudged on, determined to reach his destination, and finished his task. Of all the jobs there were for boys his age, he enjoyed being a messenger best. There were certain rewards that came with moving about from place to place, especially when he was fortunate to bring a message to the castle—advantages like pilfering sweets from the palace kitchen! The only drawback was that bringing unwelcome news to the queen was dangerous. He’d seen Hacatine angry. There’d been rumors of messengers bearing ill news who became victims of the queen’s fury. The risk came with the job. A messenger never got to choose the message.
Hacatine would be livid when she learns her army had been slaughtered. She’ll be even more furious that the Dragon Begot did not return with the dragon.
No matter that Rolando was a son of a soldier. His mother, an officer of the court, barely knew who he was. He had been raised in the servant’s quarters with the other boys. No one would care what happened to him, so there’d be no one pleading for his case should Hacatine take her wrath out on him.
He held the slip of paper in his clammy palms. He could run away. Messenger boys had done that. But they never got far, and some who did were executed. More often they were assigned less attractive duties such as cleaning chamber pots. Rolando dismissed fleeing. He was brave. He could face a queen’s wrath.
Once he reached the two gold lions, he’d be in the shade, so he skipped up the hot marble stairs, his calloused feet burning. When he came to the gateway, he slowed to a walk to marvel at the statues. The lions’ heads were turned toward the heavens, their thick spires of glistening mane spread out around their faces, dwarfing Rolando. Like the legendary king who once ruled over the island, the massive cats stood prideful as they guarded the palace. Rolando rested on the stone pedestal beneath one. He’d only actually been close enough to touch the lions the day he was initiated as a messenger. It was here in a brief ceremony that he received his official papers, permission to work as a slave in the palace. An honor he earned by being the son of an officer.
Today he had a moment to soak in their magnificent beauty. Such proud beasts they were, and they were male. One of the few monuments left of King Telemundo and his reign. Hacatine and her sect had murdered him long before Rolando was born. She claimed the throne a thousand years ago, or so. Since that day, every male born on the isle of Taikus had been designated a slave and chained when they came of age.
But these lions were male, and they weren’t slaves.
Rolando dusted his pants and straightened his shirt again, lacing the leather braid that had come loose around his waist. There was not much he could do to tame his thick black hair. He twisted it into a tail and tucked it under his collar, spat on his hands, and wiped his face. The royal court shouldn’t complain about his looks. All messenger boys were grungy. They had nowhere to wash during their runs. Besides, he just returned from a long sea voyage. When did he have time to clean up?
He passed through the shade of the Telemundo Alcove; a towering, curved archway made with bricks of blue lapis lazuli. A testimonial to the wealth of their island. Hacatine renamed it to Hacatine’s Gateway, but the boys secretly called it by its original title. Rolando wished he had known the king. Telemundo was said to be a sympathetic ruler and that the island had never known better harmony between the wizards and the sorceresses than when he governed. Peace did not matter to Hacatine, though. She craved war. Through war she conquered lands and gained wealth.
Two guards stood by the gateway. Their costumed armor blended with blue brick and copper plating.
“I have a message for the queen.” Rolando straightened his back and spoke proudly.
“Is it from the Dragon Begot?”
“It is.”
“Come with me,” the younger sentry said.
Hacatine
SUN SHONE THROUGH THE panes of the double doors of the queen’s chambers. Bright red geraniums in clay pots decorated the portico outside; the white walls the planters rested on soaked in the morning warmth. Beyond the veranda overlooking the rose garden a waking city abounded. Life in the harbor was exceptionally active this morning and much of the bustle was visible from the palace terrace. Soldiers robed in blue marched along the dock carrying the queen’s lion banner. The sun reflected off the soldier’s steel pauldrons, the hilts of their sabers, and the poles of their banners, triggering flickers of light that could be seen as far away as the castle.
Assured that word would come of the success of her armada, Hacatine de Salvinda Amorutte gave little mind to the city’s activities. She strolled from the window and gazed at her reflection in the mirror as the castle Page read the morning report.
Such a monotone voice and for such a youngster! Wherever did the City Official find this rascal? She straightened the emerald teardrop that fell over her forehead and twisted a long lock of silver hair into a curl. Peering closely in the mirror, she held out her hand as a servant dabbed her finger with a dollop of coconut lotion. Hacatine smoothed the cream over her lips. She would not let her servants touch her to apply the ointment. Their hands were dirty. In fact, their entire presence was unclean, but she needed servants, so she kept them and her distance at bay.
“That’s enough!” she cut off the Page’s droning voice and stepped back. The boy quieted immediately. Adjusting the tight fit of her ebon gown, she nodded one final approval to her image. “I do like the green of emerald with the black, don’t you my dear?”
“Yes, your majesty,” a female servant answered.
Hacatine turned to the Page. Her sudden clap of hands caught the boy off guard. “I’ve heard all I care to. It’s all last night’s news besides. What of today?”
Speechless, the boy adjusted his stiff collar and tucked his scroll in the pocket of his velvet knee britches.
“What I really want to know is if my pet dragon has arrived.” She peered at the two servants who stood next to the Page. They returned her stare with blank looks.
Hacatine strolled to the glass doors which overlooked the harbor. A multitude of flowers lavished the garden along the marble stairway. Beds of hollyhock, bluebells, dahlias, and wild poppies had been bundled together to make a carpet of color. A gargoyle fountain spewed water into the bath, and colored carp swam in the unclouded pool. Beyond that the net sheds and merchant shops cluttered her view, but the tall mast of two ships—one of which bore the standard of the Dragon Begot—protruded into the skyline.
“I see my ships, but I cannot tell if they bring my dragon! Tell me the news.”
“No one has been outside of your halls to hear of any news, My Queen. By your order.” The older of the two women bowed. They were adorned in silk as the life of a palace servant was as luxurious as any aristocrat, simply because Hacatine did not have courtiers. There were no Houses that vied for placement of favor. Hacatine picked whomever she pleased to live on palace grounds, and she often did so with a whim. So, to be chosen as her personal servant was an exceedingly high honor, one of the few top honors available from the Taikan regime, and only offered to females.
A boy could be a Page, a waiter, a chamber servant, or a messenger. Once he matured to eighteen winters, he was tested for wizardry. If he failed that test, he was exiled to the Isle of Refuge where Hacatine kept farmland for the men to till. If he proved to be a wizard, he was imprisoned or his magic was harvested, a painful process which would leave him fatally ill. There was no room in Hacatine’s paradise island for men. Women warriors who wished to bear a child visited the prisons but were not allowed on the Isle of Refuge to find a mate. No bloodline but that of sorceresses and wizards was legitimate on the island of Taikus.
As if on cue, the gong outside Hacatine’s room sounded, announcing a messenger.
“Ah! That must be what I’ve been waiting for! Open the door and see what we have! Quickly! You, Page, are dismissed.”
The Page bowed low and then quickly raced out of the room, bumping into Rolando as he left. The servants opened the door wider and let the messenger in.
ROLANDO GLANCED CURIOUSLY around the room, awed at its beauty. Though aged by at least a thousand years, Hacatine had no wrinkles to tell. Her silver hair glistened as though it were delicate threads of precious metal sparkling in the sun. The servants were equally lovely, especially the younger one. He bowed quickly, knowing enough to hold the submissive position until discharged.
“I hope you have good news for me. Judging by the smell and your despicable apparel, you’ve had quite the journey.” The queen’s voice was low and raspy.
“Yes, your highness.” Rolando stared at the bright red tile under his feet, waiting for Her Highness to permit him to stand straight again.
“Well then, rise and let me have my message. Only hand it to one of my cleaner servants to give to me. The dirt on you is... septic.”
Rolando slowly stood upright and lifted his head. It didn’t matter what the queen said about his appearance. He was proud and strong and brave. A little dirt didn’t bother him even if she thought of him as unclean. He handed the dispatch to the younger servant girl. She smiled at him with her beautiful brown eyes. He hoped the queen hadn’t seen the beam he gave her. Flirting in her majesty’s presence had to be some sort of crime.
