~ The Queen Of Candelore ~

by

JoEllen Conger

One

Shipwrecked

Kicking and clawing, Princess Gwyndalin Victoria Alexander screamed when the captain pitched her over the rail into the turbulent sea. The thrashing waves reached for her, their watery arms striving to clutch her in their deadly embrace. Gwyndalin could not gasp as the icy grip dragged her below the surface. Bubbles jettisoned from her open mouth, streaming upward.

Tons of stormy water closed above her head. The tempest grappled with the empty quarter-keg the captain had bound to her chest. The small brandy barrel surged upward under her chin, choking her. The rope stretched and sawed at her armpits. She managed to clutch the barrel’s rim and lever it downward, fearing it would break her neck. Her hysterical screams reverberated in her mind as she fought to survive… not truly believing she would.

The torsioned current dragged at her ankle-length skirt, sucking her toward the reef. She collided with the jagged coral ridge and her skirt caught. Salt stung her opened eyes. Her long, amber hair floated and tangled about her face, obscuring her view. With her high-topped boots kicking uselessly against the jagged stone that held her captive, Gwyndalin thrashed in desperation.

I’m going to die! Surely my lungs will explode.

Still trapped underwater, she could see the split and dying hull of the cargo sailing vessel being battered upon the jagged ridge. Precious moments passed before the fabric of her skirt finally tore free and the force of the storm-wracked sea swept her away in a matter of seconds. When she broke the surface she threw back her head, gasping for air. She could hear the screams of the crewmen.

From the deck, the captain shouted commands to deaf ears, while sailors still hesitated to jump into the raging sea. The storm shrieked in answer to their cries for help. Lightning pierced the night sky and struck the mast. The world exploded with thunder. The smell of ozone battled with the heavy iodine of the shredded kelp. The force of the wind gave no mercy. The last thing Gwyndalin remembered was watching the shattered mast pitching towards her, the tattered sails flapping and the writhing stays snapping as the mast fell.

~ * ~

When Gwyndalin woke, she lay face down over the barrel. The gulls watched her from a short distance, their sharp cries penetrating her consciousness. Instinct warned her gulls always went for the eyes, and that vivid picture in her mind empowered her as she pulled herself along the sand on her elbows, out of the lapping surf. She struggled to sit up.

Her tangled skirt was heavy with water so she undid the waist buttons and kicked it away. Next she fought the line that secured her to the empty keg that saved her life. The rays of the sun were so warm and comforting that she felt herself nodding, but the vision of the gulls was enough to keep her motivated.

Each time she rested only emboldened the gulls to draw closer to inspect her. “Get away from me!” she screamed and struggled up to swing her arms above her head. The startled gulls took flight, their cries of disappointment ringing in her head.

Fully awake, she took stock of her situation. Looking in both directions up and down the beach, Gwyndalin saw no one. She was the only person on the long expanse of white powdery sand. Her heart twisted with anxiety.

No, she scolded herself, the servants and the ship’s crew could be just down the beach. Surely everyone is safe. It is a modern ship, after all. The captain told her it had been built only two years ago, in 517.

With the barrel free, she shoved it aside and stood to survey the area. “You’re all in one piece, Gwyndalin,” she assured herself. “They’ll find you. Don’t fret.”

The voyage had been undertaken to deliver her and her sire’s tribute to Cornrow and her impending marriage with the aging King Anthony. Nothing bad could happen to her now. She was duty-bound to this arranged marriage.

On her fourteenth natal day she would become a married woman with responsibilities to the man destined to become High King Anthony Darkdragon of Brightland. I’ll be expected to run his household and all the servants. After all, this is what I’ve been trained for. I’ll be mistress of his castle and mother to his sons. She shivered just thinking about it, dreading the thought of childbearing.

She stood waiting. Still no one came.

The bow of the ship jetted upward from the ocean side of the reef. Small wavelets slapped and curled along the vessel’s sides. “Goddess be,” she whispered. It was hard to believe that during the night a wild storm had broken the ship like a toy. A storm that was nowhere in evidence this morning.

She dragged her sodden skirt up the beach to a group of mammoth rocks and spread it out to dry. Water oozed from its hem as she wrung it out. Grateful for her new high-buttoned boots, Gwyndalin climbed up on top of the boulders for a better view of the beach.

She looked first in one direction, cupping her hands against the reflected glare. Nothing. In the other direction she saw flotsam from the vessel scattered in the surf. “Surely someone will come,” she announced. “Where in the world is everyone?”

How will I function without my handmaiden? Without a manservant? They can’t just leave me here. I need a hat to ward off the sun. I need my hair washed and dressed. What I really need is a change of clothes. Again she studied the boxes still floating in the surf line.

“Hello!” she called. Nobody answered.

“Well, my girl, until someone does come along, mayhap you’d best go see what can be salvaged.” She eased herself off the outcropping and hiked up the beach. She had to wade out into the water to retrieve the salvage, pulling it up onto the sand. Further on she rescued an orange and an apple from a tide pool. She scrubbed them clean against her petticoats and ate them both before she continued down the beach, poking here and there for whatever she might find. At this point, she had no idea what might come in handy. Not knowing why, she pulled a ragged piece of sail canvas back to her rocks and spread it out to dry.

Gwyndalin laughed. She had never envisioned herself as a castaway before now. “Think of the adventure!” she exclaimed as she twirled, her arms outstretched. “Being a castaway…just think of the tales I’ll be able to tell at court.”

Assuming I ever get back to court, she scolded herself.

“There I go again, assuming the worst. This could be fun,” she chided herself.

With all of her rescued flotsam piled neatly against the outcropping, Gwyndalin set off to explore. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and there was yet to be a breeze. Thirst finally introduced itself. “What have we to drink?” she asked herself. Even at thirteen she knew that fresh water was a must. She scanned farther down the beach with little hope of locating water.

“Keep looking, Gwyndalin,” she advised. “Things could get pretty tough around here if you don’t find any…look over there. See those trees against the cliff?”

Aye, I see them. Trees drink water, why not go and see? It couldn’t be more than a mile? She nodded at her own wisdom.

Finally reaching the strange trees, she mounted a tall sand dune and stood staring down into a crystal clear pool. A waterfall of sparking fresh water cascaded down the jungle cliff face. She held her breath. “I’m truly in a magical garden! There are so many plants that I’ve never even seen before. Just look at that cascade. Well done, but is it drinkable?” Gwyndalin slid down the inside of the dune, then stopped within the shade of a palm tree. She could already feel the sunburn glowing on her cheeks.

“How can you tell if water is drinkable?” she asked no one in particular. Not even her inner voice gave answer.

She approached the water’s edge and followed the shoreline back towards the steep cliff. She threw caution to the winds and waded out into the pool, testing the depth as she went.

You know you can’t swim. No point in drowning now.