The Queen's Curse (30 page)

‘Violence
… when words don’t work anymore and defending ones country and its people. Soldiers fight for that, for freedom and honour and all know it is likely that they will die in doing so. Everyone has their task. You, yourself, fight a different battle than we knights do.’

‘So she
… Mabel was a knight as well?’ Artride asked but already knew the answer.

‘We fought side by side in the fifth
company. We both had the same ideas about many things. Both were naturalists and we had many plans … I knew her about three years before the war with the Umbraris started.’ Tirsa noticed for the first time she did not feel the same pain anymore when she talked about her. It seemed easier, lighter.

‘Two years ago
,’ Artride added, remembering, even though she was still a princess, she had seen her father worried and absent-minded, for a change, his mind away from the book. ‘They left a trail of destruction in Ceartas, killed many Ceartasians, destroyed many settlements. We had to stop them as they were on their way to Satrea and Tarac. They held on long, for they were barbaric, but technically we were better trained and equipped. We formed a line of archers, shields and swords.’ Her eyes shone while she spoke, not seeing the queen any more. But the queen never stopped looking at Tirsa’s reflection.

‘We were aware of the risks; death was always present. But the ironic part was
…’ and Tirsa swallowed a lump away in her throat, whispering, ‘this was going to be our last battle together. We had made plans to leave the army; move south and settle down.’ And she shook her head and glanced at the reflection of Mabel in the mirror, that was still there.

‘We thought ourselves to be immortal, for we always came clean out of battle, apart from a few cuts and bruises. But this time, this time
…’ she felt the lump in her throat again.

Artride laid a comforting hand on her bare back. Tirsa again saw the image she had seen so many times after that moment printed on her mind; appearing both during the day and in sleepless nights; the enemy who had run through their weakening shields. Like warrior ants they came slashing quickly and with effect. With mean two-handed swords and heavy axes stained with blood, cutting and swaying; killing dozens of Ceartasian soldiers; mostly men and a few women. The bodies, still screaming and crawling with pain, piled up before Mabel and Tirsa, the ground wet with their blood. The Umbrarian soldiers coming closer towards the two of them; the sword fighters, they stood back to back, while the enemy was closing in on them until a one
-to-one fight for both of them began. They were not able to help each other anymore. It was each to their own. One after the other the two women slashed down a number of mad soldiers; like annoying wasps. They were well trained, but …

‘So many
… too many,’ Tirsa murmured.

Blood splashed about and smeared their faces and clothes and their limbs grew heavy and tired. ‘Their shouting was awful.’ And she saw the number of their army lessening. Many a friend
she had lost in that war and even to this day she saw the faces of the men she had killed; however, the image of her Mabel being slashed down would forever be the most shocking of all, and one that would remain with her forever. The repeating scene of many a nightmare ever since. All the nice memories she had of her couldn’t prevail over that one awful memory.

‘I saw Mabel
falling down with that beast on top of her. I managed to take his life, but I was too late to save her … covered in blood she died a slow and painful death in my arms.’

The days after her passing were painted
in shades of grey and black. Not even their victory, the joy of the people, her medal and promotion could cheer her up. Mabel was gone forever, and she felt she had died with her that day and for long wanted to. But something always kept her from taking her own life. Now she knew it had been Mabel all along and now she knew why; she needed to live to safe her brother Elimar? And she would succeed; it was her sole purpose in life, all that remained for her to do.

Until she saw Mabel
again on the Other Side, she had known no real pleasure or joy. The journey with the queen had made her feel things again she thought she had lost for good. The queen; even without their quest she would have fallen for her.

‘There is nothing to say to take away your pain,’ Artride said. ‘Only that my heart goes out to you
,’ she almost whispered.

‘I don’t think I will ever get over her
,’ Tirsa whimpered, her eyes filling and tears flowing in abundance; at last her walls were tumbling down, and Artride opened her arms for her and held her close.

‘That is impossible if you have loved someone greatly. So much you lose yourself.’

She must have been great.
Was all Artride could think of.

‘You would have liked her. And she you.’ Tirsa cried
as if she’d read her mind.

And when her tears
had flown, she sniffed and said, ‘Many times I have been wounded, but nothing hurts more than a love that is lost.’

Artride stared at Mabel and said in a perspicacious voice, ‘Why not try to focus and hold on
to the happy days together, instead of that terrible day you lost her?’

Tirsa stared at her and smiled. A look of gratitude and understanding brightened her eyes.

‘I never thought of it that way, but yes Mabel said something similar.’ And she had an urge to embrace Artride, but held back. Instead she thanked her from the bottom of her heart.

They had been standing in front of the mirror in the middle of the great white hall and all had been quiet around them.

‘I imagine they are our guardian angels now,’ Artride concluded solemnly. ‘They are all gone from us, but perhaps this mirror tells us they are still with us, looking after us, from a different place, perhaps only separated by something as thin as this; a mirror.’

Tirsa
looked at her, amazed. ‘I think you are right.’

The
queen smiled back at her. ‘It is a hopeful thought.’

Footsteps were to be heard in the distance and both of them froze in anxiety. Would it be her? Would they finally meet the Queen of Dochas; the mysterious sorceress Sempervirens?

But no; two young men in white emerged from the distance, marching towards them in a straight line. Looking around, the women saw that there was no escape. The white walls had closed in on them; there wasn’t even a way back. Why had they allowed themselves to lower their guard? The mirror had been a distraction.

The men both had green skins, but paler than Tirsa remembered a Woodchild to be. No small wonder when they were kept inside
, and never got to walk in the sunlight and fresh air, which darkened their skin.

‘Woodchildren, Artride, both of them.’

‘What … some of the abducted ones?’

‘Must be. I’ll reason with them.’
Tirsa said.

The men
halted right in front of them; both were dressed in a tight white outfit, their dark brown medium length hair, neatly combed. They stared past Artride and Tirsa as if not really seeing them. They carried no weapons, but they behaved just like guards.

Before they
realized what had happened one of the men grabbed Artride by the arm and lured her with him roughly; back to where he had come from. Tirsa was dragged after her, loudly objecting to the rude treatment and asking questions. But, as expected, no answer came from the guards, and Tirsa, much to her disapproval, was taken to the right, into a different hallway than the queen.

‘Wait, no! You can’t do that! You have to take both of us to her!’

‘Tirsa?!’ The queen’s voice was full of fright. But as much as both of them tried to fight off their guards, it was of no use. It was as if they were made of steel and they showed no pain or emotion at the hits and kicks the women gave them. It only made their grip tighten and more painful, so Artride gave up fighting soon. Only to follow them and see where they would take her.

Tirsa on the other hand was fierce
, and had no intention of being parted from the queen she had vowed to protect at all times. She kicked and used every technique she knew to break away. And she used every ounce of energy that she still possessed, and that wasn’t much to her dismay. In any case they were too strong for her. The last thing she saw was the back of the queen disappear behind one of the white curtains hanging from the ceiling, while she herself was being lifted from the floor tightly by her waist, and thrown over the guards shoulder; and carried in the opposite direction behind yet another curtain.

It was no use to try to reason with the guard, for he obviously was drugged or under some sort of spell. Tirsa remembered they were
enslaved and had no will of their own, so she stopped fighting as she really had no intention of hurting the Woodchild.

No clues or signs were spotted along the long white hallway he was walking her through; the same perfect smooth boring walls; like in a dream they didn’t matter. And she was more concerned anyway about where the strong bespelled Woodchild was taking her
, and what was going to happen next …

CHAPTER
17

What
is evil, but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst

Kahlil Gibran

A soft tingling sound woke her up.

Tirsa opened her eyes to find herself being surrounded by cold oppressive grey stone walls. She was in a small empty chamber. It was immediately depressing, compared to the white from before. The white … the white palace, the mirror, their guardian angels, the walls, the long swaying curtains. She remembered it all. She was now alone. She had lost Artride. But how could that have happened?

The
re was a thick fog in her mind and she couldn’t recall how she had lost consciousness. She was lying on the cold floor, trying to change position. But she couldn’t lower her arms, which were raised above her head feeling numb; they were held up and attached to the wall somehow. The tingling sound, like rattling chains, was again to be heard and she saw in the gloomy light that she, herself was making that sound.

She was chained.
Being enslaved with sparkling
golden
cuffs which were tightly strapped around her ankles and wrists made it impossible for her to move more than an inch or so. The cuffs were firmly attached above her head to the stone walls with short heavy chains. They didn’t give her much movement, only those attached to her ankles were slightly longer, but pulling at both of them only brought her pain. And added to this she found herself completely naked; stripped of any covering.

Angry, upset and full of questions
, she let out a wild cry. She hoped she was heard.

‘Let me out! Do you hear? Anyone!’

After the initial helpless rage, the fast rushing of her blood and beating of her heart, she calmed a little; feeling completely drained. She wondered if they had done the same to Artride.

Lying in her quiet cell
, a lot of thoughts crossed her mind, and time passed by without her having the slightest notion of how many hours had passed. After countless heartbeats and heavy breathing, for their was little fresh air in here, and falling in and out of consciousness, she felt she had lost contact with the world for good, and even though she was beyond the pain of her shrunken stomach, and hunger, her dry mouth and swollen tongue no longer bothered her, she tried to stay awake. For she felt like drifting and her spirit felt light, whereas her body was heavy and weary. She knew she was going to be safe if she just let go …

‘No!’ she objected aloud, jamming her eyes open
. I won’t give up. I promised! I have to stay awake. Mabel and dad are here to help me, remember? The mirror gave me that hope. I am not alone and I won’t give in; whatever the reason for my enchainment!
Losing hope perhaps
… she concluded and tried to smile through her cracked lips.

‘No
… can do,’ she hissed, shuddering.

She tried to remember the words of a song her mother used to sing for both her and her sister
, and she sang that song in her head, over and over again; mumbling softly until she heard a heavy low sound of stone against stone.

Right in front of her a crack in the wall appeared
, and an orange light seeped in. The light moved and for a moment she thought she was back again on the Other Side. But the tall figure, apart from being dressed in white, was no angel but a handsome Woodchild, and in his hand he held a flaming torch.

The torch was wavering above her body. He seemed to examine her. She was beyond the stage of feeling embarrassed, but the anger still raged within her and she managed to ask, ‘Why?’

She studied his face, narrow and pale green. It was a different guy from the ones who had taken them. His big, dark green eyes, which at one point might have shone impressively, were set like two dimmed coals in his impassive face. His eyes lowered to point out what he held in his other hand: a brown jar. Tirsa followed his gaze and stared at the jar filled with water; she knew it was water for she saw a stain of dark on the clay. He held it to her mouth, but she reached rapidly for his hair. Without so much of a look he pulled away and stepped back before placing the jar in one of her hands and started to leave.

‘Wait
… p … please,’ she managed to speak with a thick tongue and throat, staring at his back; somehow, in his darkened mind her begging voice had stopped him from leaving. He did not move and Tirsa saw this as an opening.

‘Why am I being held prison
er?’

No answer.

‘Please tell me. I … only … want to see the queen. Ask her … for something.’

He still stood motionless, holding his tongue.

‘I understand you’re not supposed to say anything, but … can’t you at least tell me where they have taken my Queen A … Artride? Is she alright?’

The guard walked off through the doorway and with a low rumbling sound of stone on stone she was left alone again.

‘No! I demand an explanation!’ Tirsa said in a high voice, and from anger she dropped the jar while trying to throw it after him, spilling all that source of life called water out of her reach. With a maddening, desperate look she licked her dry lips and felt like crying, which she would have done if she had any fluid in her body left to spill …

~ ~ ~

Artride was no better off in her cell and she was nearer than Tirsa knew. Lying on her side she had heard nothing of the doorway and the shouts from the cell next to her ... These walls let no sound through, but the eyes and ears of the sorceress.

The guards did not put
Artride in chains, but just tied her ankles and wrists with a thick firm rope and her arms secured behind her back. She had lost consciousness as well and had no memory of how she came to be there, and had laid for an endless time alone, naked and cold in an uncomprehending, helpless state.

Thousands of thoughts went through her mind. Not only memories of her youth pas
sed her by; mostly pleasant, though also horrible images like nightmares, but she knew she was wide awake for she forced herself to be so. However, she saw quite clearly a dark haired wolf-like monster on two legs, chasing her around a table, through endless hallways and finally the woods. And when she thought she was safe inside a house with the door locked he found a way to open it, and with an open mouth he came for her. IThe image was so realistic she screamed, so loud she lost her voice, shivering all over. She had not been so terrified in her whole young life. And it was not even real.

Coming to her senses questions arose.

Heavens, what have I done to deserve to be treated like a criminal? Is it wrong in the sorceress’ eyes to try to fight the system; to want to change the way we live, is that it?

She tried pul
ling her wrist to loosen her ropes again, without success, and screaming for attention. It sounded more like a squeak this time. Her mouth was so dry and her insides hurt so much.

As in answer to her prayers a guard with a jar appeared through the opened doorway. And just as with Tirsa he stared at her shamelessly before giving her the water. First she refused, demanding an explanation
, which of course he didn’t give. After he was gone she raised herself to a sitting position and pulled her legs upwards, pulling her arms underneath her so she had them in front of her. She pulled her legs underneath her buttocks. Picking up the jar carefully with shivering tight hands, she drank, closing her eyes and enjoying every sip.

She knew she had to stay alive somehow. The mirror had given her the hope she was never really alone. Her parents were near her, now more than ever
, she could feel their presence. Watching over her; telling her not to worry, she would endure the time to come. For she had to, they had come so far already.

As long as there is life, as tiny a sparkle, there is hope.

~ ~ ~

Tirsa stared at the doorway, which almost wasn’t visible; only a small crack was to be seen in the gray stone. She waited and waited for it to open again. She knew what she was going to do – she would make the guard stumble over her stretched legs and then she would strangle him under her legs tightly; ordering him to release her, Woodchild or not. She had it all worked out in her head, if only someone came …

But before she knew it terrible visions slipped into her helpless mind
…

Dreams of oppressing heat, sand and blood. Hot wind across bare skin and blistering feet. Then a blazing red sky in the darkness; a fire. Tirsa could even hear
its angry hiss and see small buildings burn, hearing screaming. The screams of people being burned alive. And a red sun rising over unknown foreign desert hills; carved and shaped by the hot wind, Tirsa knew. The screaming stopped and jamming open her eyes, she knew she had been the one who had been crying out aloud at the top of her lungs, for her throat was painfully hot and burning, dry as sand …

~ ~ ~

The wall Artride leaned on felt quite rough and turning her body she tried a sharp point on the ropes on her wrists. Again and again she rubbed the tough rope on the stone. She could even faintly smell the burned material and that made her heart pound faster. This could work, she said to her herself, and worked on.

It seemed hours before just a ti
ny piece had broken, and the cord was thick, and more twines were to be cut, a lot more.

Her muscles ached with the effort and drops of sweat gleamed on her dirty forehead.
Strands of her long, loose black hair hung around her pale face, like lengthy shadows.

Trancelike she kept rubbing until she found a rhythm
, and piece after piece the rope got visibly thinner until it at last broke into two pieces. She rubbed her painful red wrists and laughed soundlessly.

A personal sense of joy came over her; her own little victory
, even though she still had her ankles to do, not to mention the mysterious doorway that no doubt was only opened from the outside. It didn’t lessen her relieved feeling. She was breaking free, by herself. No physical being helped her. She did it all by herself. She refused to be a victim. This was all about taking control back into her own hands.

She paused just a short moment to relieve the sore aching in her arms and catch her breath, before stretching backwards; lying on her back, raising her legs, rubbing her ankles against the rough stone wall.

~ ~ ~

Falling in and out of consciousness it was hard to keep track of time. She had no idea how many days and nights had pas
sed, or perhaps it was only a couple of hours? She could only guess, but that was useless and there was no one to give her answers. No one. Even the thought of having guardian angels seemed far away now in this gloomy, depressing place.

Tirsa tried singing another song in her head, but more frightening images slipped into her mind every time she tried to comfort herself. A dark haired wolf walking on two legs, a grey older woman with a mean sarcastic smile and other vague people teasing her, following her everywhere. She was never left alone. Their eyes glowing both with lust and envy, their hands grabbing her, pulling, tugging and crawling on top of her, an older man taking advantage of her. She tried to run, to hide, but there were too many. They just wouldn’t leave her alone. And every time Tirsa woke up screaming
, and losing herself more and more.

On
ce, in one of the dreams she locked herself in a room where she thought she was safe; but soon the werewolf and the woman had knocked a huge hole in it and slipped through to come closer, and shout and yell at her, and grab her. Their voices were so loud and terrible.

Crying madly
, she tried to shake the images off, but found as time went by it became harder and harder. And new images started to make their appearance; even though the two main persons were never far off, she intermittently saw sheep below her window, bleating for attention. Ravenous and light-headed she drifted off again. A pack of wolfs came; real wolves this time, grey and brown, and while she was admiring their looks and smooth movements, she noticed they simply ignored the sheep and sprinted past them; coming straight for her behind the open window. A window too high for her to jump out of, but not high enough to even keep the wolves out…

A bright jolt of fear galvanized her to wakefulness. Tirsa shook herself vigorously, thinking
she must be going mad. She had had nightmares before in her life, but never so real, and not of places she didn’t in the slightest recognize.

~ ~ ~

Before she was finished rubbing the rope around her ankles, Artride heard the familiar sound of the stone doorway again and she moved fast, covering the pieces of the broken rope underneath her body. She lay down again with her hands behind her back and her face away from the incoming guard, pretending to be asleep.

She stayed immobile when she heard him coming to a halt next to her, kneeling down, placing something with a clink on the floor. She recognized the smell of freshly baked bread. Her stomach growled in reply and stabbed her insides. How ironic, she thought, as it was a lot like the pain the Law Book gave her when she went away on her own without a guard. Nauseous
, she leaned over and retched. In the corner of her eye she saw the guard step backwards so she wouldn’t be sick on his nice, white boots.