The Court of the Swan

Chapter 3 Spring Storms

The fire was the merest blush of red ash, its embers occasionally lifting into the air. Its faint warmth still hung in the room but Isenia knew the morning chill would soon chase away its pleasant presence. White light flickered suddenly, illuminating her chamber. A low grumbling followed moments later. Though it was too dark to see them, Iseania knew the thunderclouds would be headed west. They would move in, ever closer, until they reached the place where black rock met sea. Then it would pour. 

The spring rains had finally come, arriving just the night before. They usually lasted for three solid weeks, every night and often again in the afternoon. It would be a welcome harbinger for the village for it had been a long winter. And she had been abed for the better part of it, sentenced to her room after having fallen ill to some strange malady that Faithwalker Arden could not seem to cure. It started as a dizzy spell and after one fainting spell that saw her fall from her horse, her Mother had ordered her to bed until she got better. Only she didn't get better. She got worse, for then came the blinding and deafening headaches, the pain so bad it robbed her of both sight and sound and she lay huddled all day in her bed. Those were the bad days. But there had been some good days too. Those, she spent looking out her window, watching the snow fall, only to disappear into the dark surface of the Cytdar Meer, the great inland sea. She would watch the sky above and sea below until the boredom drove her back to her books, the only escape from her room in the tower.

Strangely, in the early pre-dawn hour, she felt better. No, she didn't't just feel better. Somehow,  she just knew she was better. And even more strangely, just yesterday, her worst headache had gripped her, throbbing until it woke her from yet another dreamless sleep in the early afternoon. She had gone to her window, almost as if drawn there, pulling the leaded glass pane open to let in some fresh air. Iseania remembered seeing a solitary Ibis careening through the sky, its purple wings flashing like amethyst. After watching it fly in a large circle, hunting for silver whipfish, she felt this tingling on the back of her neck. Her cheeks turned hot and she thought another dreaded fainting spell was coming. The sound of water crashing against rock down below was abruptly cut off and a blackness seeped from the edges of her vision inwards. And then she woke up, back in her bed, her mother's worried voice carrying to her as she spoke with someone. 

"But... she said she was drowning! You heard her yelling.  It sounded like she really believed the water was filling her lungs. Father Arden, do you think she could be remembering when I found her?" 

Father Arden's soft voice answered her gently but firmly. "No, that was fifteen years ago. She was much too young. Fever dreams, my Lady, are their own beast entirely. I must consult my books again."

Then their voices faded as they left her room. She waited until the door closed before opening her eyes.  

Iseania wanted to remember the dream, for all winter it seemed she had not dreamed at all.  For some reason - she could not say why - she felt the dream had something to do with why she was better. Indeed, no trace of headache lingered, and her appetite seemed to have returned as well. Another bolt of lightning flashed outside. She found herself remembering her mother's words even if she couldn't remember the dream itself. She threw off the thick goose-down blanket. Drowning. Water, her mother had said. The winds outside gathered strength and volume as they battered against the tall stonewalls of Ronasruhe. She stepped down onto the cold stone floor, barefooted and walked over to the window. She unlatched the iron clasp. The pane of glass pushed its way inward with the aid of a gust of wind. 

The air felt heavy and charged. Again, lightning stabbed a long forked finger into the dark. The sea, a darker black than the night, thrashed below. She began to feel raindrops, tiny wet bites of cold on her arms and face. She smiled nonetheless, as if the aliveness of the storm was giving her strength, awakening her from the grey slumber of winter.