by C. K. Rieke
“My Queen,” he said.
“Commander Veranor,” the queen said in a strong voice. “I appreciate your haste in my request for your attendance.”
“Anything, it’s my honor.”
It was unspoken, but there was a distinct uneasiness between the two, as the last time they’d been in the throne room together, the Witch Queen Gorlen had cast a spell of poison upon the king, for his incompetence with losing Lilaci. The king suffocated right there in front of the two as they watched helplessly.
“What do you wish of me?” Veranor asked.
“You’ve been summoned here today not by me,” she said. “but at the behest of the gods.”
Veranor’s normally calm demeanor was quickly replaced by a worrisome look in his eyes, and he cleared his throat as he stood back up. “Anything for the Six.”
The queen stood slowly, and as she did this the Queen’s Guard behind her all dropped to a knee and lowered their heads. Veranor followed suit as the queen walked over to the circular silver pedestal, covered in white stones, at the side of the room. She hesitated slightly before placing her palm delicately on top of it. The pedestal began to hum with a low vibration, and the queen stepped back from it as she watched the stones turn from a bright white to a blood-colored red. The humming grew louder as the light of the room faded to a pitch black, and the red stone illuminated the queen, Veranor and the guards the same blood red hue. With a bright red flash like lightning, all were forced to shield their eyes, but once opened they saw them. The Six. All six of the gods were standing in the center of the room, not in a red light, but as if they were standing underneath the golden sun. Veranor and the others then looked upon them, as they stood majestically and strong, they were nearly blinding in the darkness.
There stood King of the Gods Dânoz at the center. He was easily five heads taller than Veranor with the same pale skin Veranor had, but with long, flowing gray hair down his back. A silver crown sat upon his head with sparkling diamonds and red gems. Under his golden robes was a muscular, strong frame much larger than any normal man.
“Great God Dânoz,” the queen said. “We welcome you to your city.” She curtsied, bowing her head low.
He stared at her but did not reply. His face was stern, and crow’s feet wrinkled out from his old, blue eyes.
The other five gods held ominous looks on their faces, looking harshly at the queen, yet Gorlen stared heavily at Veranor.
“Do not attempt to be anything other than ashamed,” Eyr said suddenly to the queen. She stood to Dânoz’s side. Her blue eyes with silver flecks peered at the queen under her golden helm with eagle’s wings spread out wide. She wore a silk white top slim at the neck with her strong shoulders naked in the silver glow. She wore a black leather belt with a white skirt that fell halfway to her knees with the finest tan boots they’d ever seen. Eyr was a true warrior, as it was told she was the one who dealt the final blow to the last dragon Kôrran. “Your husband is already dead for your incompetence, and you’re about to join him.”
A smile crept across Dânoz’s face.
“My infinite apologies,” the queen cried. “I promise you we will have the Dragon’s Breath here shortly. I’ve already routed many to seek her out and bring her to you.”
“This isn’t about time,” said Vigolos, shortest and most bereft of the gods. “It’s about resolution. Where is the girl? Where is Lilaci?” His beady eyes fell on Veranor then, and Veranor stared fearfully into them. He looked at the long scar along Vigolos’ face that disappeared under his thick, smooth beard that fell to his belt. “What have you to say, commander? Maybe it should be you in the next world, and not the king? What have you to say for yourself?” All eyes fell on Veranor.
“Something’s happened,” he said. “I had a strong spell cast on Lilaci which has been in place and unbroken for years. The magic of the mages is strong. Something has interfered with their link, they tell me. I fear it is the girl, she carries some wicked magic inside of her.”
“So, go kill Lilaci and bring us the girl,” Fayell, the most beautiful of all women said, her long auburn hair flowed down her neck and shoulders, cascading down her silver silk dress. Her appearance seemed to distract from her thirst for blood. “We care not for anything you have to say, man. Excuses do not bode well for you. We only want the girl ripped apart limb by limb and scattered to the corners of these lands.”
“I will send out another,” Veranor said, his voice slightly trembling.
“No, you will go,” Arymos said, his voice low and gruff. He stood tall in his black leather armor with copper buckles. His bald head showed a vein coursing blood in the center of his forehead. He seemed to be holding back a fury he wished to unleash on everyone in the room.
“Very well,” Veranor said, clutching the hilt of his sword. “I’ll take an army if you wish. I’ve already sent out packs of my Scaethers to patrol the sands to find Lilaci or the girl, but I will go myself if that would please you.”
Dânoz’s voice shot through the room like lightning and thunder. “You will take no army, you will take none of your trickster mages . . . But you will not go alone.” His eyes were glowing a brilliant blue that seemed to weaken Veranor.
“Tell, me Great Dânoz, King of all Kings,” Veranor said. “Who do you wish for me to take to find and bring you your Dragon’s Breath? I will take the greatest warrior on the sands if you wish.”
“No,” the Great God Dânoz said. “Mortals have failed enough, you will be accompanying one who does not fail— cannot fail.”
Veranor, the queen and all of the soldiers in the room watched as Gorlen, the Witch Queen, took a sulking step forward. Her long legs moved seductively under her long, black dress, her long golden hair flowed behind her. Veranor dropped to a knee, out of respect or fear wasn’t evident. The soldiers in the room did the same, and then the queen dropped to a knee, the first time she’d done that in her life. Veranor lifted his head to watch as the other five gods loomed behind the Witch Queen. Then the five of them turned away from those in the room, as if walking out of an exit, then a bright burst like lightning shot through the room, blinding all with its brilliant white light like the midday sun. Once the light faded and all were able to look around the room again, they saw the gods had vanished, presumably back to the palace at Arralyn off the eastern shores of the Arr.
The gods were gone, except one, Gorlen— who stood before them, not shimmering in silver light, but appearing as a normal person, yet none in the room were fooled. Gorlen, perhaps the most feared of all the gods, walked over to the queen, who was still kneeling, and placed her thumb and forefinger on the queen’s chin, and then let the back of her hand caress the side of her cheek. The queen was terrified the Witch Queen was placing a spell of poison on her, and the soldiers looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
Gorlen stared wickedly into the queen’s eyes, which were beginning to well up with tears.
The tension in the room grew like a thick fog, as Gorlen loomed heavily over their queen. Veranor then shot up to his feet abruptly, and the Witch Queens eyes shot over to him.
“When do you wish to leave, your majesty?” he asked the god.
Her hand not-so-gently pushed the queen’s face to the side and she walked back to the center of the room.
“We will leave in due time,” she said. “I have other desires to fulfill before we head out into the dire sands.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Veranor replied.
With that, the Witch Queen elegantly strolled out of the throne room, so quickly hardly anyone noticed her leaving, it was like a doe darting with great agility and stealth through a forest, disappearing just after seeing it.
Veranor turned to follow her out the door, his long cloak’s tails whooshing behind him on the stone floor.
“Veranor,” the queen called out abruptly.
“Yes, my queen.”
“Do us all a favor,” she said, “—and don’t fail this time. For all of our sakes.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Part II
Poison and Arrows of White
Chapter Eight
“My feet hurt.”
“What, you want to stop? The sun is still high.”
She stopped walking, the shoulders of the little girl slumped. “I’m hungry.”
Fewn gave an irritated sigh. In the rustling winds on the rocky desert plains, her hair was still pulled tightly back, and the sun highlighted the deep scar on her chin. Her tunic blew to her side and she walked over to the young girl, trying to hide her face from the biting sandy winds. Fewn pulled down her pack from her shoulder; it was made of tan Iox leathered skin. She reached in a pulled from it a piece of cactus pulp they collected days before. She cut a one-inch piece from it and gave it to Kera, who took it eagerly.
She popped it into her mouth and began to chew. Fewn and Kera had both dropped in weight in this desert unfamiliar to them. They had been heading northeast and were in the Gorx region of the sands. Still northwest of the city of Voru. They hadn’t seen the Scaethers since that last sighting while they were still further south in the Dakaran region. Over the last few days their conversations had grown fewer, and Kera’s spirits had begun to wane.
“I want some real food,” Kera said, chewing on the stale cactus.
“We will find some soon,” Fewn said.
“I don’t have the energy to walk every day, all day, Fewn. How much longer is this walk going to go on? I didn’t even walk like this back when I was with the others.”
Fewn didn’t respond, she just looked down at the girl with blank eyes. Kera couldn’t tell if she was thinking, or just hungry and desperate herself.
“I thought you were trained to find food and water in all the deserts,” Kera said. “You’re going to let me die out here? I can’t just have a couple of drops of water a day. You really haven’t thought any of this through, have you? Do you even know where we are going? I know you won’t tell me, but do you know yourself? Are we just going to walk to the sea, and turn around?”
Fewn didn’t respond still, but Kera could tell she was growing angry by her darting eyes and furrowed brow.
“What would you do if I just turned and started to follow my footsteps backwards? What are you going to do if I went back to find her? You probably don’t even like hearing her name— Lilaci.”
Fewn’s eyes grew cold then, and her lips turned downward.
“She’s going to come after me. You know she survived those caves. She’s stronger than you know.”
“Well I’m stronger than you,” Fewn finally said.
“Because you’re older than me!” Kera yelled out into the desert winds. “If I were as big as you, I’d hit you so hard, it would . . . It would . . . Hurt a lot!”
“I’m lucky we’re not the same age then. I don’t want to hurt a lot.”
“I can’t wait to see the look on your smug face when Lilaci comes for me. You think you’ll be able to beat her? Have you ever beaten her?”
“Look at our situation,” Fewn said. “You’re with me, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean I’ve beat her? Of course it does! Now stop saying her damned name!”
Kera looked up at her menacingly, wishing she could do something to harm her captor.
“Now rest here, I’m going to go off and look for something to eat, hopefully find a sacred source for some water. And don’t even think about running off, remember, I’m older and faster. I’ll find you and I’ll end up binding your arms tightly behind your back next time we walk. How would you like that? You know what— just give me those.” She pointed down at Kera’s small canvas boots.
Kera hadn’t considered running off, because she knew she couldn’t hide from the expert tracker, and her feet ached from the blisters. So, she sat and pulled them both off and handed them up to Fewn, who looked pleased with herself with her decision.
“Now stay,” Fewn said, pointing at Kera as a mother would do to her child.
Fewn quickly disappeared behind a set of tall tan rocks.
Kera covered her head and eyes with the hood of her tunic, unfolded a thin, nicely decorated tapestry on the sand and lay down on her side. She closed her eyes and tried to think of a better time.
As dusk rolled in with its cool breeze, Fewn returned. Kera noticed her soft footsteps in the rustling sand, but pretended to be asleep, as she was still frustrated with her captor.
“Brought some food,” Fewn said as she dropped a heavy animal carcass onto the sand next to her. “You want to start the fire, or should I?” She received no response from the child lying next to a mound of small boulders. “I know you’re awake . . .”
Kera rustled delicately under the tapestry, as if she was stretching out her limbs in her slumber.
“Fine, I’ll do everything, you just lie there,” Fewn said as she began scanning the area for kindling and wood. In this part of the desert wood was sparse, but dead plants were abundant, especially in Aturum. “I’ll be the only one to do anything for us.” She sighed as she cut a hip-tall dead plant just above its roots with her sword. “You know, you can be mad at me all you want, but you should be grateful for all the things I do for you. I haven’t seen you hunting for food or searching for water.”
The young girl didn’t move underneath the tapestry.
Fewn tossed the yellowing, dead plant towards the center of the cluster of rocks they were encamped within. She went and cut more dying plants from their roots, throwing them towards where she planned to make the fire. A tumbleweed suddenly rolled past from behind one of the large rocks and Fewn quickly grabbed it.
Minutes later, with a spark of flint and steel, smoke began to rise into the cooling air above. Kera’s eyes were open, yet she lay silently, as if asleep.
Fewn, while tossing bits of dead leaves onto the small fire began to hum a tune, it was soft and slow. Her humming grew from a melancholy, low beat to a louder, more focused tone. Kera found herself wrapped up in the flowing song, but she resisted the urge to hum along. Yet, as Fewn hummed, and the normally abrasive person that Kera despised sang, she appeared to have transformed into something else entirely. Kera’s disdain passed in the mist of the lovely song, and she flopped over to her other side, so she could watch Fewn as she sang.
In the dusk of the night, three candles glow
With the whipping winds, their fires grow
At the candle’s base, three orphans cry
For their mother’s passing, too young she died
For years they walked the sands,
Wishing hell upon these wretched lands
Which took their most loved from their hearts
And left them with little more than wicked arts
The three babes grew up with blackness in their souls
Wishing, waiting to stoke the darkness of black coals
Dark magic they learned, from a foul name
Dark magic they used, with tongue of dark flame
Despair they wrought, and hatred they spread
Infamous they became, with many innocents left for dead
Til one day, a knight of gold knelt before the three
They told the man, ‘You’d be wise to flee’
‘We are death, we are plague, you’d be best to hide’
Yet the knight replied, ‘I have come with something I must confide,”
‘You three have lost your way, becoming what you despise
‘I have come to guide you back to where there is reprise,’
‘You see, your father I am, after ages gone,
Yet, here I am before all damage is done.’
‘Our father you cannot be, for our family is all passed,
Your lies only fuel our fire for your death at last,’
‘Your mother is gone, taken too young, yet here you have a choice to make,
Strike me down, your only father, if you wish for devil’s sake,”
‘Yet know there is more than loss and hate in this life,
There
is love and hope every day, every night,’
‘You must make the choice to reap life or loss,
While young, old, innocent and brave will bear the cost,’
‘So what choice make you, my daughters three, more chaos or love,
Yet know that you shine in the light of the gods above,’
The three daughters thought long, ‘With a father we’ve been blessed,
If your words be true, then our souls are at rest,’
‘For all we wanted was our mother back in our arms,
And to fill our hearts with revenge from her harm,’
‘We choose a life of love, with a family reborn,
Should you forgive your three daughters, born of wicked scorn,’
‘The four embraced, yet with flash like lightning,
The father slayed the daughters, with a wrath so frightening,’
In soft whisper, one of the daughters cried,
‘Father, why? Because of you, your family has died,’
‘Young, you were, yet evil you were raised,
Remember you may not, with your hearts of black rage,’
‘Your mother was a witch, spreading awful, dark fear,
She forced me away, so wicked children she could rear,’
‘Yet, her daughters grew stronger than she knew,
and one night while she dreamed, her daughters’ desires grew,’
‘You three slayed your mother,
So that you would bow to none other,’