Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

TWENTY~FIVE - Island Dweller

Landing on condensed salt was similar to landing on ice. Were it not for Zenetra's many layers of clothes, her bottom would be smarting from the impact. The bruised stretch of skin across her stomach throbbed with each shift of position. She squeezed her eyes shut, instinctively brought her hands up to block herself from an attack, and shouted, of all things, "Enough!"

"Shame," said the stranger in a heavily accented, raspy voice. "I did not mean to cause fright."

Zenetra lowered her hands from her face and blinked away the balls of light that zigzagged across her vision. She glimpsed a pair of sturdy hiking boots made of brown leather that looked well worn from time and adventure. Thick winter trousers that were drenched and darkened to a muddy russet protected two short legs that bowed inward at the knees. A bulky brown leather jacket covered a square torso. Messy brown locks, which were tucked under a loose hood, dripped with sea drizzle. Two sea-green eyes were set within a brown face pocketed by old acne scars. An expensive flasher with a round lens reflected Zenetra's stunned expression.

"Scarlett?" Zenetra asked. "Scarlett Burn?"

Weary and with a voice hardly louder than a murmur, the woman said, "I am she," and eased her flasher down so that it dangled from its strap around her neck. Scarlett rubbed the sides of her throat, wincing at the agitation of swollen glands.

Neither the storm nor the crash had succeeded in killing Scarlett, but the elements were close. Spending over two weeks on a cold and dreary island likely brought on an acute sickness that even Healer Pilluck would find difficult to remedy.

Scarlett extended out a hand covered by a fingerless glove. She had chewed her nails to the quick. The skin surrounding each was raw and shriveling away at every cuticle. When Scarlett said, "Here," flexing her fingers a little to indicate she was referring to her hand, her accent came out distinctly Naiacan with rounded, soft vowels.

A wet 'womp' resounded as their gloved hands came together. Grimacing as she righted herself, muscles protesting the whole way up, Zenetra clambered unsteadily to her feet. A question of "How did you survive?" dangled from her mouth, but presented face to face with the famous explorer rendered her mute. For the first time since Xuxa was in her life, Zenetra became deeply self-conscious. She was a towering beast in comparison to Scarlett's petite frame.

Kavesh was not Scarlett's maiden language and because of that, she had some minute errors in her speech. "You are Phaedrian?"

Taken aback that there was someone in the world who did not know who she was, Zenetra asked "Me?" with sincerest surprise.

Scarlett pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I say this wrong?" she asked. "You be Phaedrian? Are? Which is correct word?"

Fighting the urge to slouch to Scarlett's height because Mr. Tedman told her it was rude to do that, Zenetra rambled. "Are, and no. I am not a Phaedrian, but my grandmother was."

"Ah," said Scarlett. "Not so good people, those Phaedrians."

Zenetra had forgotten the deep hatred Naiacans still held for their former fellow compatriots. The Phaedrians had been one of the most brutal races of people in the world. Before conquering the Ziazatamian Empire, they spent centuries in Naiaca mastering their unique form of mysticism. Human sacrifices, necrophilia, and slavery were common. There was significant inbreeding as well, which was said to have magnified their powers and given all Phaedrians the same physical features of black hair, gray eyes, and moon-white skin.

No one in the UDF had brought up the terrible history of her grandmother's people, at least not to her face, so Zenetra was less than prepared to defend herself for her ancestry. "That was a long time ago," she said. "The Phaedrians have evolved."