Ascension: Isle of Draconi

Chapter 2: Memories

"Frasa, I am sorry," the Soerter apologized.

The tall thin woman with blonde hair yet an aged face looked at Frasa tearfully. She bent down and pet the young girl's face, remorse full in her eyes. She carefully adjusted the circular necklace Frasa wore on so the chain didn't catch. The looped necklace was the little girl's last gift from her mother. She pulled out a cloth as she choked out a cough, the garment red when she pulled it from her lips. The six-year-old's lip quivered. The salty air stinging her nose.

"Why must I go?" Frasa cried. She simply couldn't understand. Soerter Gyla was supposed to care for her. That's what Kolbin had said. That's what the Soerter had promised. Yet, here she stood at what little remained of the harbor, at the edge of a ship that would take her to Barnabas. Only take her alone.

"I'm sorry," Soerter Gyla cried, "I'm so sorry sweet Frasa but I'm sick. I have been for a very long time. I am not able-bodied enough to care for you and with the monastery closing I have nothing to provide. No food, no shelter, nothing. There is no one to attend. No one left."

Her words pierced the young girl's heart as memories of the year before surfaced to mind. Memories of fire. Memories of screams of terror. Memories of her own terror.

What little was left of her home, of Fava, was gone. All that remained were buildings abandoned by the few Plyndrës that had survived as they diasporated into surrounding islands. A strong people, the strongest in the land, were gone overnight. The entirety of the island was a ghost land. A place of ash and quarter remains of buildings served as the only memory of its past. She knew the Soerter was right. She couldn't live here. It was no place for a little girl. But, neither was a little girl in a place all by herself.

"Please, no!" Frasa cried. She threw her arms around the Soerter, praying and hoping her cries would change her warden's mind. She loved the Soerter. She was the closest thing to a mother Frasa had.

"No," she hushed, "no, sweet girl." She gently removed Frasa's finger's grip from around her neck.

"You will be okay, Frasa," her caretaker cupped her face, her brown eyes, always steady, full of assurance. "You are a Storden. The last of a dynasty. The last rightful ruler of Fava. You will be okay."

Her eyes moved to the boat where a small group of people, likely the last that would ever leave the island, stood. A tall and gruff portly woman balancing a chubby crying baby on her hip looked her way. Dorianne Jardey. She vowed to watch over the Storden child alongside her husband, an equally portly man named Jaenep Jardey

Soerter Gyla sniffled and wiped her cheeks as a loud man bellowed they needed to leave port. She pulled Frasa in one last time, hugging her tightly before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Go on, now," she smiled softly at Frasa. Her face was so reassuring. "Go off." She shooed the girl up the ramp and onto the deck. Frasa clutched her rabbit to her chest as she squoze between a heap of women, men, and children. A small satchel full of money and a few clothing items sat in her lap. She looked down at it painfully before looking back out to the waving Soerter.

"I love you, Frasa!" the sweet woman called, her eyes, even at a growing distance, clearly pouring with tears.

"I love you, Soerter," Frasa cried as she clutched her rabbit.

She looked nervously at the man and woman who had promised her care as they sneered down at her.

...
Frasa held back her urge to gag as she approached the docks. The salty smell would never not remind her of that fateful day. The day everything changed. Until that point, Frasa's innocence had been somewhat well-kept. Soerter Gyla was a pure-hearted young woman who loved Frasa well. Sometimes, Frasa wondered what life would have been had she never left. Had she stamped her foot and cried harder and not allowed Soerter Gyla to say goodbye? Surely, she would have died. Yet, what difference did that truly make?