The Queen's Curse

by Hellenthal, Natasja

  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

  GOLDEN CHAINS

  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?

  There 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 prisoner?’

  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 passed 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 pulling 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 h
ope.

  ~ ~ ~

  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 tiny 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 passed, 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.

  Once, 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.

  Staring up at him, exchanging glances, holding his gaze, she thought she saw a glint of sympathy or compassion in his pale blue eyes, but as soon as it came it disappeared. He gestured at the bread and made a movement to leave. She had to act now, as dizzy and sick as she felt; there was a sense of knowing she would have to wait a long time before he would come back, if ever …

  Now was the moment.

  As he turned and least expected it, she grabbed the plate and with a well-aimed throw, hit him hard to the back of one of his knees. She knew anyone would sink to his knees as he did without a sound. She jumped on top of him, hitting him hard in his face with free fists. Her legs were still bound, but did not hinder her from attacking him with all the force she possessed.

  He fell sideways and remained still. She checked his pulse; he lived.

  Panting heavily and ignoring the acidic taste in her mouth and the pain of her sore hands, she glanced at the doorway. Surprisingly it was still open.

  She knew she could not afford to waste any more time now; she had to continue rubbing the robe off her ankles, for she could only hop around.

  This took agers, but she needed her legs to be free. Staring at the open door, thinking about the sorceress, who could see all and probably did, she felt afraid, but at the same time glorious.

  Likely she will send another guard, but I won’t surrender without a fight!

  But there were no guards coming and that made her wonder if Sempervirens truly knew what happened here or cared. She must know by now we are coming, wouldn’t she – or would these guards prevent us from meeting her, disturbing her from her great work? That thought was a little discouraging.

  ‘You will know we are still coming, you can count on that!’ she hissed through her hurting throat.

  Finally her ankles broke free too and her heart leaped up. Shuddering, she stood, rubbing her stiff limbs, snatching the bread in the process and waiting no longer to go through the door.

  Peeking out in the darkened hallway while taking a quick bite from the bread, she noticed a dim light in the distance. Walking towards it she realized it came from a single torch on the wall. Particles of embedded mineral reflected the flames. She gathered that here were the sorceress’ dungeons, and searching left and right she tried to find other cells. She had no idea where to look for Tirsa. Standing under the flaming torch she spotted just in time two marching guards coming towards her. She turned back, looking for some shelter, but there wasn’t any, but her own cell…

  Standing, waiting behind the cell door, she listened as their footsteps came closer. Just when she thought they were coming to her cell the feet stopped and she heard the familiar low crashing sound of the stone doorway. But it came from another cell! Next to hers! Now why hadn’t she thought of t
hat!

  Listening, deciding what to do, her heart beating in her throat, she felt that she had to act, but at the right moment. What would Tirsa have done in a situation like this? She wouldn’t even think, but act immediately and do the thinking at the same time!

  She slipped out of her cell quietly with her back close to the wall; she felt with her fingers for a way to close her own cell door to avoid attention, and soon found it; at waist height there was a tiny hole in the grey-brown rock by her left hand. After pushing in the hole, she saw and heard the door closing; it stopped when only a small crack remained.

  Hearing one pair of footsteps, she braced herself. When a guard stood in front of her, she quickly grabbed his arms, throwing and pushing him in through the crack. In the far corner he hit the wall, but scrambled up. Pushing the hole again the door closed completely, just in time, before he had the chance to slip through to reach her.

  ‘Denan?’ she heard the guard from the other cell asking as he approached. She beat him to it and raced into his chest, forcing him to the wall of Tirsa’s cell with all her strength, pushing the air out of him. Surprisingly, there was little resistance. He gaped with big brown eyes at her when she squeezed his throat tightly. She glanced quickly and searched for her partner, finding her chained to the far end wall, where a limp Tirsa tried to hold her head up to proudly engage her queen.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Tirsa? Tell me you are alright!’

  Tirsa smiled at the sight of her and nodded slowly. She glanced at her chains, and turning towards the guard again without losing her grip, angrily asked in a hoarse voice, ‘Where are the keys to those chains?’