The Lost City of Llira, Part 5
While she was speaking, Keturan had drifted into the flow of her story. He knew all about Llira, of course, but this was the first he had heard of what had happened to it. He wondered about Mara as well. What would the child of a mortal and a faerie be like? What had been so special about Artan Zandare? Keturan had known about the Lliran-Arlesian war, but not the mysterious reasons behind it.
“So I ask only one thing of you,” concluded Kanmira. “Go to Llira, and free my daughter and her people. Or else the city of Llira will be lost forever.”
Keturan was silent. She wants a hero. But I’m not sure if . . . I can be that hero. I’m a messenger, and I’ve been one for five years. I don’t have training for this sort of thing. And I’m an Arlesian! How am I supposed to do this?
“Why do you ask me?” he demanded. “I’m not exactly an adventurer. You don’t even know me. Couldn’t you find someone else?”
“I don’t think I could. I don’t have much time,” Kanmira answered, shaking her head. “I’m not looking for an adventurer. I’m looking for someone who will do the right thing. I’ve been watching you, Arkhor.”
“And you think I could save your daughter?” Keturan tried not to think about the kiss. The thought of kissing some strange girl he had never met was rather odd. He was also unnerved by the idea of Kanmira observing him, but he decided to keep that to himself.
“I do,” replied Kanmira. “Do you promise, that you will sail to Llira and rescue Mara and her people?”
Keturan thought desperately. Why should I? I don’t even know this girl. Why? Yet one phrase that Kanmira had said stuck in his memory. Lost forever.
Just like Arlese.
That’s why I should go. No man could have rescued Arlese, but one man could save Llira. Can I, after all I have lost, turn my back on another island like this? Even if it is Llira? Could I abandon a girl who desperately needs my help? I have been a prince, and I am now a messenger, but I have never been a coward. I will not live with Llira’s destruction on my soul.
“I promise.”
“The city of Llira is surrounded by many dangers, as I have told you. Therefore, I will give you this.” She reached under her cloak and drew out a sword.
Keturan took it. The blade was strangely light.
“I will leave tomorrow,” he said. “Can you tell me how I will find Llira?”
I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, he thought. I don’t exactly have much to lose. There isn’t anyone left who will be sorry if I don’t come back. He thought sadly. No one to wish me good luck, no one to wave from the pier. No one to say they’re proud of me. His parents and Ahmes came back into his mind. Would you be pleased? Or would you say I’m crazy?
“I will guide you to Llira, but once you get there I cannot help you further.” Kanmira replied. “You should leave at first light. I will meet you on the shore. Goodnight.” She stood up, gathering her dark cloak about her, and turned to the door. She seemed eager to be away, and Keturan didn’t dare to ask her why. He held the door open for her as she vanished down the dark staircase.
Keturan lay back and went to sleep. He dreamed of a floating island, crowned with flame. A lovely fair-haired lady smiled at him. Her smile abruptly changed to a snarl, and he ducked to avoid her sword. He was surrounded by Llirans in green and white, who were all holding crossbows. In the background, someone was reading something he couldn’t make out. Ships sailed across a stormy sea, Lliran and Arlesians battling on their decks. The air filled with burning fumes, and the ships slowed to a crawl, as if they were sailing through molasses. His own boat sped by, leaping above the waves, steered by a skeleton. Keturan’s horrified scream died on his lips.
The dream shifted, and he was making his way across a deserted room. Everything in it was falling apart. The very furniture dropped to pieces at his touch, and the entire place smelled mustier than an old attic. He moved slowly, with a limp, and the front of his jacket was soaked in blood. He dragged the notched and broken faerie blade behind him, stirring up the dust, until he came to a broken-down couch and collapsed on one knee. A girl lay there, her eyes closed, her tangled hair spread on the pillow. Keturan took her hand, which felt as cold as ice, and kissed her.
Nothing happened.
Keturan wept, the tears falling on the lady’s lifeless hand. As if in answer, a shrill wailing came on the wind. Through the dusty window, strange white shapes drifted. The city shook beneath his feet. A horrible jolt threw him backwards, and he was falling through space. A spectral voice whispered in his ear, too late . . . too late . . .
Keturan woke with a start, his hand gripping a fold of blanket. His breath came in short gasps. What was that? He glanced around the dark room, half-expecting to see specters, but there was no one there. He heard a faint scuffling sound outside, and a low hiss, but saw nothing.
Keturan took deep breaths, trying to forget what he had just seen. It had been so real, so vivid-so much more distinct than the jumbled images that came before it. Was that what was inside Llira? Was Mara even alive?
“Kanmira changed it,” he reminded himself. “Kanmira held off that part of it, for a hundred years. I will get there in time, she will guide me. I will rescue Mara. Everything will be all right.”
All the same, he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He lay awake in the darkness, the hilt of the faerie sword digging him in the ribs. No matter how many times he repeated the mantra under his breath, he couldn’t get the image of the fallen city out of his head.
I’ve promised, and I’m going to follow through, he resolved. I don’t need to fear what won’t happen.
He fell back into a thankfully dreamless sleep.
“So I ask only one thing of you,” concluded Kanmira. “Go to Llira, and free my daughter and her people. Or else the city of Llira will be lost forever.”
Keturan was silent. She wants a hero. But I’m not sure if . . . I can be that hero. I’m a messenger, and I’ve been one for five years. I don’t have training for this sort of thing. And I’m an Arlesian! How am I supposed to do this?
“Why do you ask me?” he demanded. “I’m not exactly an adventurer. You don’t even know me. Couldn’t you find someone else?”
“I don’t think I could. I don’t have much time,” Kanmira answered, shaking her head. “I’m not looking for an adventurer. I’m looking for someone who will do the right thing. I’ve been watching you, Arkhor.”
“And you think I could save your daughter?” Keturan tried not to think about the kiss. The thought of kissing some strange girl he had never met was rather odd. He was also unnerved by the idea of Kanmira observing him, but he decided to keep that to himself.
“I do,” replied Kanmira. “Do you promise, that you will sail to Llira and rescue Mara and her people?”
Keturan thought desperately. Why should I? I don’t even know this girl. Why? Yet one phrase that Kanmira had said stuck in his memory. Lost forever.
Just like Arlese.
That’s why I should go. No man could have rescued Arlese, but one man could save Llira. Can I, after all I have lost, turn my back on another island like this? Even if it is Llira? Could I abandon a girl who desperately needs my help? I have been a prince, and I am now a messenger, but I have never been a coward. I will not live with Llira’s destruction on my soul.
“I promise.”
“The city of Llira is surrounded by many dangers, as I have told you. Therefore, I will give you this.” She reached under her cloak and drew out a sword.
Keturan took it. The blade was strangely light.
“I will leave tomorrow,” he said. “Can you tell me how I will find Llira?”
I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, he thought. I don’t exactly have much to lose. There isn’t anyone left who will be sorry if I don’t come back. He thought sadly. No one to wish me good luck, no one to wave from the pier. No one to say they’re proud of me. His parents and Ahmes came back into his mind. Would you be pleased? Or would you say I’m crazy?
“I will guide you to Llira, but once you get there I cannot help you further.” Kanmira replied. “You should leave at first light. I will meet you on the shore. Goodnight.” She stood up, gathering her dark cloak about her, and turned to the door. She seemed eager to be away, and Keturan didn’t dare to ask her why. He held the door open for her as she vanished down the dark staircase.
Keturan lay back and went to sleep. He dreamed of a floating island, crowned with flame. A lovely fair-haired lady smiled at him. Her smile abruptly changed to a snarl, and he ducked to avoid her sword. He was surrounded by Llirans in green and white, who were all holding crossbows. In the background, someone was reading something he couldn’t make out. Ships sailed across a stormy sea, Lliran and Arlesians battling on their decks. The air filled with burning fumes, and the ships slowed to a crawl, as if they were sailing through molasses. His own boat sped by, leaping above the waves, steered by a skeleton. Keturan’s horrified scream died on his lips.
The dream shifted, and he was making his way across a deserted room. Everything in it was falling apart. The very furniture dropped to pieces at his touch, and the entire place smelled mustier than an old attic. He moved slowly, with a limp, and the front of his jacket was soaked in blood. He dragged the notched and broken faerie blade behind him, stirring up the dust, until he came to a broken-down couch and collapsed on one knee. A girl lay there, her eyes closed, her tangled hair spread on the pillow. Keturan took her hand, which felt as cold as ice, and kissed her.
Nothing happened.
Keturan wept, the tears falling on the lady’s lifeless hand. As if in answer, a shrill wailing came on the wind. Through the dusty window, strange white shapes drifted. The city shook beneath his feet. A horrible jolt threw him backwards, and he was falling through space. A spectral voice whispered in his ear, too late . . . too late . . .
Keturan woke with a start, his hand gripping a fold of blanket. His breath came in short gasps. What was that? He glanced around the dark room, half-expecting to see specters, but there was no one there. He heard a faint scuffling sound outside, and a low hiss, but saw nothing.
Keturan took deep breaths, trying to forget what he had just seen. It had been so real, so vivid-so much more distinct than the jumbled images that came before it. Was that what was inside Llira? Was Mara even alive?
“Kanmira changed it,” he reminded himself. “Kanmira held off that part of it, for a hundred years. I will get there in time, she will guide me. I will rescue Mara. Everything will be all right.”
All the same, he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He lay awake in the darkness, the hilt of the faerie sword digging him in the ribs. No matter how many times he repeated the mantra under his breath, he couldn’t get the image of the fallen city out of his head.
I’ve promised, and I’m going to follow through, he resolved. I don’t need to fear what won’t happen.
He fell back into a thankfully dreamless sleep.