Flights of Fantasy

This opening came from a prompt to write a “sword & sorcery” story. After much thought, I decided to revisit a character I created several years ago…

Kaitlyn felt him die. Felt his spirit depart this world, though it had been years since she’d seen his beloved face.

She stumbled, though the path through the white-barked aspen trees was well known to her and the morning clear and bright.

Fear and grief assaulted her mind.

She felt his power return to the reservoir of ambient magic. Felt a cresting wave of urgent desire break against her will as the magic in the very air around her ebbed and flowed, seeking a new balance.

The Firestone awoke, scrabbling for energy as it tried to claim more magic, claim more of her life.

She collapsed to the bare ground, bracing herself against the rough trunk of an aspen. Dropping her gathering basket, she hugged her knees beneath scrunched and disheveled skirts and petticoats.

“No,” she whispered through gritted teeth, sweat beading her forehead. “No. You will not advance. I refuse to allow it.”

Closing her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration, she weathered the magical spike, struggled against the fingerless golden glove that covered her right hand and forearm, against the slender tendrils that sought to extend toward her elbow. With gritted teeth and clenched fists she fought for control…and won.

The fine tendrils retreated, the golden glove quieted. The magical storm calmed.

Tears slid down her heated cheeks. Partly in relief that she’d once again mastered the Firestone, but mostly in mourning for her dead friend. Aelfric, the master sorcerer to whom she had once been a contrary and headstrong apprentice.

She rested her head on her knees and reflected for a moment on her loss while her pulse slowed and her breathing quieted, becoming even again. Aelfric was gone, the master who had guided her through the turbulent adjustment after she’d so rashly used the Firestone to defeat the evil wizard, Darius. She’d won a war and saved her brother, but at a terrible personal cost.

King Lorien had hailed her a hero, but the common folk had the right of it—they named her the Solitary Sorceress.

For that was the price the Firestone had demanded of Kaitlyn, that headstrong fourteen-year-old apprentice. She had dared to summon the powerful talisman from its resting place and it had come to her in its quiescent state, a simple gold ring. But when she had claimed its power to defeat Darius, when she had placed the ring on her finger, it had bonded with her flesh, sending tendrils into her very bones, wrapping her hand and wrist in a golden sheath that had extended to her forearm before the battle ended.

The Firestone made her invincible.

It also made her untouchable.

This week’s offering began with a prompt to write about a teen with a newly discovered superpower. Fun!

Families. They’re all weird in their own special ways. Take mine for example: very small—just me and Dad; with one major phobia—salt water. But I was about to break free of the family taboo. I couldn’t wait!

I settled my backpack on my shoulders, slipped into the crowded, narrow aisle of the economy section of the 737 airplane, and followed Emma toward the exit. The air was stale, heavy with competing perfumes and the smell of tightly packed people. My stomach jumped and rumbled, partly with excitement, but mainly from hunger. My bacon and egg breakfast had been hours ago and the meager cup of apple juice on the flight had only made me hungrier.

People ahead of me jostled around in the tight space retrieving carry-on bags and cases from white plastic overhead bins. I watched in amazement as rolling carts were jerked from the compartments and lowered to the aisle, often missing other passengers’ heads by inches. Slowly the line ahead of me settled and shuffled forward.

I’d never flown before. I’d heard friends talk about the crowded conditions on flights, but I’d never imagined this. Total cattle car!

Still, I couldn’t believe my luck. When my best friend in the whole world, Emma Walker, had invited me to come with her family to Portland, Oregon, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven! Then reality rushed in and killed the happy glow. Dad would never allow it.

I’d spent my whole life in Wichita, Kansas, as far from salt water as Mom and Dad could manage and still live in the continental United States. I knew all about wheat farming and cattle ranching, but I’d only seen the ocean in television shows and movies.

Mom’s phobia of salt water was over the top. I never knew why; she wouldn’t talk about it. I supposed Dad knew, but his lips were sealed too. Maybe she was attacked by a shark as a child. At this point, I’d never know. She died in a car accident when I was ten.

After Dad and I recovered from the shock of our loss, I thought maybe he’d relent on the family phobia. Maybe we could drive down to Corpus Christi, Texas like my friends’ families and I could swim in the Gulf of Mexico. But no. Dad continued Mom’s vendetta against the sea.

No superpower in evidence yet, but I can see the clues. Can you?

This week’s story opening started from a prompt: Dragon Snickers.

I followed one of Master Darren’s stable boys across a meadow of lush green grass dotted with pink and purple wildflowers. The day was sunny and mild, the sky as clear a blue as Mother’s favorite sapphire broach. As we left the stables behind, the subtly sweet fragrances of grass and wildflower teased my senses. Too bad this jaunt into the hills wasn’t just a leisurely stroll to enjoy a beautiful day.

The stable boy, a jug-eared youth with a mop of curly brown hair, wearing a sturdy leather jerkin over a linsey-woolsey shirt and plain brown trews, carried a large pack on his back. I was similarly dressed, though my shirt was of finely woven linen and my trousers were leather. I too carried a heavily laden pack.

Soon the ground became rocky with a distinct upward slope. At this point I noticed the boy was following a faint path. The way was not obvious, but once noted could be discerned easily enough as it wound its way among the rocks ever upward into the foothills of the great mountain that overlooked King Elbert’s castle.

At last we came to the crest of a ridge and I had my first glimpse of the stone hovel that was to be my new home. My face must have registered my dismay, for the boy spoke. His first words in our morning’s trek.

“It’s not so bad, m’lord,” he said in a would-be-cheerful voice. “I know it looks rough from here, but it’s solid and well-built and we keep the roof thatched tight.” He looked across the narrow valley to where the stone building sat before a thicket of aspen and birch. “And it has three rooms. A good-sized main room with a hearth and fireplace that draws like me old da’s best pipe … and two bedrooms.”

He added this last as though astounded at the luxury afforded by the hut. By his lights, it probably was a dwelling to be admired, but to me, a young man of royal lineage, born to the amenities of a courtier’s life, it felt like I’d been banished from all that was good and fair in the world.

I thought back to the day the king had appointed me to this task. Prince Jeron’s smug expression should have been my first clue that all was not as I might have hoped. Jeron and I have always had a complicated relationship. I’ve never wanted more than to live happily ever after. Jeron’s desire has ever been to grind me into dust.

Unfortunately for me, Jeron is the prince, while I’m only a royal cousin. His wishes trump mine.

Fortunately, his father, King Elbert, is fond of my mother, and by extension, of me. So despite Jeron’s false accusations, nasty innuendos, and outright lies about my character, I’ve been able to maintain a dignified, if modest, existence at court.

At least, until now.

I glanced at the boy. Determined as I was that no word of my despair should reach Jeron’s ears, I schooled my features, settled my pack more comfortably on my shoulders and bade the boy lead me on to my doom.

Royal Dragon Keeper.

I wonder where the story will go from here?