Under the Crab-Apple Trees

“We may know what we are, but not what we will be.” - William Shakespeare

The Lady shook him awake, startling him.

“Wake up! Who do you think you are? Prince Arlan?” asked the Lady.

“Who’s that?” asked Erin groggily. He had been having a good dream. He and his mother were having a picnic in the crab-apple orchard. She had been the laughing and smiling self that she was before she caught the deadly fever.

“Never mind,” the Lady said. “We can’t waste time.” For the first time, Erin noticed the pistachio shades of all the Inn’s walls and the stained glass windows which let in only the most colored dim light. The windows depicted scenes of knights overtaking wisps, like a shining light snuffing out the night. “What is my father’s name?” asked Erin, for the Lady had not yet told him.

“I don’t know. Your mother never introduced us properly. But his surname must be Finn, same as yours,” said the Lady, as they walked off the rickety wooden staircase and onto the floor of the Inn. The Lady went over to the front desk and talked quietly to the Innkeeper for a long five minutes. When she returned to Erin, she looked flustered.

“He said that he didn’t know of any man in the city with the family name of Finn,” she said worriedly. Erin felt confused. His father had lived here, hadn’t he? He had never had the luxury of growing up with both parents. Many of the children in his class had taunted and teased him, telling him that his father was probably in jail.

“We are going to visit one of my friends,” said the Lady. “If he doesn’t know anything, your father won’t be here.” They fetched their horses from where they had tied them the night before and rode across the island of houses to the bridge into Kital. As they rode into the walls of the city, Erin felt a feeling of fear like nothing he had ever felt before. He could feel something’s rotting fingers curl around his neck, and suddenly memories of battles of men and elves being killed flooded his mind. An elven child crying over his parents’ bloody bodies, a field covered in the dead. Then the feeling was gone, as swiftly as it came.

* * *

Aria Finn breathed in the wind, feeling the magic of the storm on her tongue. The wind swept her curly black hair behind her, and her fierce blue eyes greeted the coming storm. She was aboard The Albatross’s Dream, her father’s ship. She had ridden upon it since she was a young child when her mother had left. Its mast of ash wood had seen many a storm but never had it fallen. Its purple sail was faded to lavender from the billowing winds, its wood was tinged by the salt of the sea.

Aria, the Storm’s heart is strong, said a voice in her head.

I know, Arletem, but my magic is stronger, said Aria. Come back now, I want to be with you. I will need your magic.

A large blue bird the size of five horses swooped down from the gray clouds of the coming storm and hovered next to the boat. Aria raced down the stairs to the ship’s interior.

“Da, I’m going to ride Arletem, ok?” she said. Before the man in sitting in a hammock could reply, she raced up the stairs and onto the deck. Da was the only thing Aria had, except Arletem. Da kept her life interesting by personally schooling her in the culture of the elves. Arletem arrived when she was eleven years old, rocking the ship when he first landed. Da had not been surprised when Arletem arrived, neither was Aria. He had been telling her since she was a little girl that her phoenix would arrive someday. A clap of thunder sounded, startling her from her reveries.

Come closer! Aria said to Arletem, who was hovering too far away. The bird hovered closer to the boat. I wish you were little again! Then you could land on the boat! Aria complained. She climbed onto the railing of the boat, and nimbly jumped onto the bird’s back. Her father’s second in command, Pierre, waved to her as he twirled the ship’s wheel, and she soared up into the sky. This is what she had done since Arletem came as a small bird. She would soar up into the sky and clear the storm so that her father’s boat could continue fishing, while other boats had to dock in the bay, and wait till the storm took its rest. The skies let down a wicked downpour, and the winds howled their protest. They swooped through the sky, Aria savoring every moment of the rain soaking her face. Then the clouds turned black and lightning rained down into the sea, sizzling and crackling as it went.

The ship, young one! said Arletem.

I’m working on that, Aria said. She sighed, and then closed her eyes. She summoned Arletem’s magic and her own, reaching the ship and making the sky and the water calm around it. But then something happened. A force jarred her concentration, a ripple of magic more powerful than her own.

Send for Da. Tell him to go without me, Aria said.

No! Arletem said, shocked.

Do it. I command you. They are too strong, I cannot hold this power off forever, Aria said. I have never felt anything like this before.

* * *

Erin was sitting in the musty basement of Kital’s church. He had been dozing when the sound of thunder had woken him from his slumber. The Lady had told him to wait here while she talked with the arch priest, who turned out to be the friend that she had mentioned to Erin earlier at the inn. He fingered the bow on his back, tracing the vines of emerald that entwined it.

Boy! Are you awake? asked a voice in his head.

Feony? Is that you? he asked, relieved to hear the phoenix’s voice.

Yes, young one, It is me, said Feony.

What’s wrong? asked Erin, sensing the worry in the phoenix’s voice.

There’s an evil storm blowing in. String your bow, answered Feony.

Why? Storms don’t bring in wisps…. Or do they? asked Erin.

They do, Feony answered. I’m bringing the Lady to you. Then Feony’s mind was out of Erin’s reach, and he began to worry.

“Lady?” he called out into the black.

“Erin! Thank goodness!” came the Lady’s voice. “My friend has a gift for you. He is alerting the Mayor of the storm’s evil, so he can’t give it to you in person.” Erin rushed over to the Lady, relieved to see her.

The two walked up the stairs by the light of the Lady’s torch, and even where there were windows, there was no light. Erin’s eyes could not penetrate the darkness. The Lady lit the torches on the wall brackets, and the chapel was full of light. Rows of marble seats lined the walls, on the alter there was a glowing orb of light.

“My handiwork,” the Lady said, catching him looking at it. Then she took out a sheathed sword from inside her robes. “This is Zelynda. Only its true owner can draw it from its sheath. It is enchanted,” she said. Erin was transfixed by the sword, its sheath was adorned by a starry sky of diamonds.

“Hope. Its name fits,” said Erin, translating the name from elvish. He took the sword by its silver hilt from the Lady. He turned it over a few times and grasped the sheath with one hand, and its hilt in his other. He pulled.

Lightning lit up the hall. The sheath came loose, and the sword’s blade was revealed. It was made of beautiful silver with one diamond star at its tip scattering star matter across the entirety of the sword. The Lady gasped. The sword merrily glowed in Erin’s hand, he could feel its happy thoughts.

You seem like a good master! it said.Your hand is right. Then suddenly, everything went eerily black, blacker then the darkest raven’s feather. The Lady’s face turned a startlingly light shade of tan.

“What’s wrong?” asked Erin.

“Stay here,” she said. “Do not leave the church.” The Lady opened the doors, rain streamed in, and then she closed them. Erin felt fear like he had never felt before. He could hear hands knocking at the door that wasn’t there.

Feony! he reached out with his mind, but he only found empty space.

Erin grasped Zelynda’s hilt tighter, trying to feel its warmth and comfort.

She leaves you behind without a word…

“Who’s that?” Erin said frantically, hearing voices coming from the dark outside the church’s windows.

She doesn’t care… They were infesting Erin’s head, howling and moaning. She doesn’t care for your needs… All she wants is power.

“No, that’s not true!” Erin called to them frantically, trying to keep them from his mind.

She thinks you are useless! She envies you like she did her sister!

“Nooooo! Stop it!” Erin said, dissolving into tears.

Your mother never loved your father… She left without him, they tauntingly whispered.

“Stop!” the Lady’s voice rang through the hall as the doors were flung open. In her arms she carried a girl with curly black hair that looked about the same age as Erin. The Lady was chanting to the girl under her breath, and a yellow haze started surrounding her and the girl.

Elest denreer fernel, urdan du jierda lenda gutan! Elest denreer fernel, elenden du lendas du zelynda! she chanted in a low voice. (Heal this girl, victim of dark storms abroad! Heal this girl, daughter of storms of hope!)

The haze dissolved, and the Lady slumped back onto the wall of the cathedral. The girl’s eyes fluttered open. They were blue, like Erin’s. The Lady put her on the ground, and she sat up immediately.

“Where is Arletem? I need him, now!” she said in a clear voice.

“Who is that?” asked Erin curiously as he was studying the girl’s curly black hair, identical to his own.

“Arletem is— wait, who are you?” she asked accusingly.

Aria was confused. She didn’t like this, she didn’t like it at all. The last thing she remembered was telling Arletem to tell the ship to leave without her. Now she was here, in the church of Kital.

“Where is a certain blue bird that might have been flying with me?” she asked again, in a more harsh voice.

“Your phoenix is waiting for you outside. He came to Feony’s call. Arletem is Feony’s son,” the elven-woman said, smiling. “Now tell me who you are, Girl Who Dances In Storms.” Aria took a deep breath.

“I am Aria Finn,” she said.