The Phantom Queen Awakes

by Mark S. Deniz

  “We are nearly there,” she told Gwened as she recognized the line of seven hills visible in the distance. The base of the Berg farther west that housed the sleeping dragon was also home to her small tribe. She pointed to the wide river that made her heart soar on their descent into the valley. “Look, there is the Rhine. It is not far now.”

  She smiled broadly when Condrusi scouts engaged them and spurred their horses back to report their arrival. Lys and her escort rode into the central compound of her village, smaller than she remembered it, where a gathering of people waited to greet her. She let Gwened help her from her horse and knelt before the man she had not seen for over a decade. Her father had aged favorably but walked with a slight stoop. His eyes were still clear as they looked her over and his stern but kind expression told her that she was welcome.

  “Lys ab Gysell,” he said in greeting, affection marking his tone.

  “Vater,” her voice caught in her throat. All the emotion she had saved up over the journey threatened to fight its way out of her breast. She rose to face him. “I have brought you gifts. And your grandsons have come with me.”

  He looked her sons over, and she caught the glint of approval in his eyes. They were beautiful children. Her sons had Iaun’s dark hair and, in contrast, her deep blue eyes, giving them an exotic, regal appearance. Her girls had inherited both Iaun’s hair and eyes and fine features and Lys regretted not taking them with her. She already missed their faces, although they were an even sharper reminder of their father’s absence. She was thankful they were there with him, safe from Cathubodua.

  Lys settled quickly into the rhythm of her people again and spent time with the holy men in the forest, telling them of Veneti customs and their way of life. They questioned her about the wise women and their ritual use of herbs and plants. Her boys were taken immediately into their training. Gwened kept to himself when he was not guiding patrols, but Lys joined him often by the fire in the hut they shared with the children. She enjoyed listening to him tell her about the day’s events and found she looked forward to their time together.

  Gwened had returned early one afternoon to have one of his men tended for a minor injury. Lys had taken to her bed after drinking a potion of willow bark to ease one of her all too frequent headaches. He lay down next to her and whispered the words of a song used to ease frightened children to sleep. They were alone in the hut, the others being busy with the tasks of high summer.

  Lys turned gratefully into his embrace. “I am glad that you’re here, Gwened.” She whispered close to his ear, her lips brushing his cheek. “I am also glad that you were always there for my sons.”

  “The twins will be fine men, Lys. Not a one of your folk can match them even now on the hunt.” He pulled her close to him, with only a thin wool coverlet between them, and rubbed his hardness against her thighs.

  She saw the want in his eyes. She let herself enjoy the feel of him against her and trailed her hand along the inside of his thighs. He cupped her breasts between his hands and voiced the question they had already answered with their bodies. “You would give me a gift fit for a king?”

  She laughed at his teasing. “Of course, you deserve nothing less,” and offered him her hips.

  After they had taken their pleasure together, they lay side-by-side for a short while, listening to the buzz of insects in the summer heat.

  “I don’t know that I could have stood losing Iaun if it hadn’t been for you,” she said. “You miss Nolwenn, don’t you?”

  “She is a good woman, and I am sure she will not be alone in my absence,” he said.

  “Your brother is surely happy with his new wife.”

  “You are still fairer than all the women half your age, Lys ab Gysell,” he said, stroking her hair. “Don’t worry about Iaun. You have given him enough ― three healthy, brave boys and two beautiful daughters. When you return, he will welcome you again.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Iaun needs to produce something with his bride first. I have heard talk that she takes something against the monthly curse. She fears a swollen belly,” he said.

  Lys laughed out loud. “Then she is more a fool than I thought.”

  ****

  After Lys gave birth to Gwened’s first child, her third daughter, she faced the prospect that she must soon cross over again into Ande-dubnos to fulfill the duties required by Cathubodua. She sought the help of one of the Sighted women, a shapeless mother who lived alone at the edge of the village. Lys asked her for some herbal magic to help her reach the place of shadow that her people called the Anderwelt. The woman moved slowly and her hands had curled up into stiff claws. But she brewed Lys a Trank from moonflower seeds and told her to barricade herself in her hut to ensure solitude from prying eyes.

  The potion did not seem to have any effect until Lys found herself walking through a featureless landscape that seemed to hang between nothing and something. She was met by tall, slender creatures with ears that narrowed at the top. One had hair of darkest red that flowed in long ringed tresses while another had short hair of a shiny gold color that crowned his head like the sun’s rays. None of them smiled at her in greeting. They conducted her along paths lit by twilight to a calm, shallow sea that stretched to the very edge of her imagination.

  She bathed in the water as they sang songs of power to her, the words chosen to instruct her on how to shape the waves and bring a tide to the sea formed from the dreams of her people. She felt their words flow through her. After the working, she sensed movement, a susurration in the water, but the liquid remained unnaturally calm ― just the opposite of the restless ocean along the Veneti coastlands.

  Lys sat on the beach afterwards and relished the invigorating tingle as the water of dreams dried from her skin. The Anderwelt folk bade her farewell and wandered off, singing to each other as they dwindled into a shadowy distance. One of the very tall ones, a male with a regal face and dark eyes edged with silver, remained behind to escort her back. She had never seen this one before. He wore an elegant mantle of black shot through with silver and gold threads that fell to his feet. His black hair matched it in both length and color and was streaked with strands of white and brilliant yellow.

  He told her his name was Ankou as they labored up a long dune of mute sands that darkened briefly under her passing steps. “The crossroads,” he said as they were close to the top.

  “Is that where you’re taking me? Aren’t we going back now?”

  He smiled sadly. “It is where you are going.”

  She guessed what he didn’t say. Her people’s dreams had been fading; the power of this place waning each year. “Cathubodua told me our ways will disappear. What will happen then?”

  His voice was gentle, but grim. “When the dreams ― and the memories ― fade altogether, our bond to your world will lessen. Without your people, our substance and strength over chaos diminishes.”

  If the fées’ power was fading...Lys was afraid to voice her deepest fear, but she had to know about her daughters, if their sacrifice was the only way. “She demands my twin daughters to save my people.”

  “Ah, a choice, but not the only one.” His eyes pierced her like a feathered arrow.

  She looked down. “I love my children as I love the men whose seed quickened them in me. My daughters are not with me now, and my heart aches at their absence. I would have to bring them here, only to send them to their death.” Lys held her hand over her heart.

  One slender finger touched her upper arm. “Which do you think will save your people more? Sacrifice or love?”

  She looked up at him and felt the hardness that edged into her words. “Neither. Strength against might will save them. Naught else.”

  “That is one of the reasons why you gave your promise,” he said softly.

  Lys stopped to catch her breath as they crested the dune but found she had no need to. “What is the choice, then?”

  “To refuse the promise, you must give somethi
ng in its place.” He looked back over the still waters below them as he waited for her to consider.

  “Another sacrifice.”

  He held his hands together on his breast, a gesture Lys interpreted as one of distress. “We do not serve the being with whom you made your bond. Nor are we at odds with it. It will seek to extract a lasting sacrifice. It is...vengeful.”

  “What should I do, then?”

  “Make your choice. If you choose love, I will do what I can to lessen the repercussions of whatever it...she...decrees.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can but try.”

  ****

  Lys bore Gwened’s son, her last child, in a lake of her own blood, and she lay near death for several days. The women took the baby from her to find a wet nurse. They tended her as best they could and spoke prayers to the gods over her. She recovered slowly with the help of strong meat broths and potions of bloodroot to ward off corruption. Upon learning that her newborn son was both hearty and hale, she rejoiced and chose life for herself and her children. As the celebration of the waning of the dark time approached, she walked longer and longer each day to regain her strength. Lys named her son Niece, which meant choice in the dialect of Gwened’s people.

  Her daughters were soon due to receive their first moonblood, and Lys knew she could wait no longer. The goddess would require her sacrifice no later than the New Year, of that she was certain. She went into the woods on her own to spend the night, purifying herself beforehand to prepare.

  The dancing light came to her and drew her in.

  This time the benign mother faced her. “You are known to us, Lys ab Gysell. The first part of your promise you have ably fulfilled. Now comes the time for the second. You must send for your daughters soon. Their blood belongs to me.”

  Lys stood erect before the goddess. “I will not sacrifice my daughters to you. But know this; I make the choice in love and not to spite you.”

  The young warrior sprang into view. She laughed and ended it in a terrifying cry. “Sacrifice you will, for you have given your word. Is this your final decision?”

  Lys sank to her knees trembling in shame and fear. “Yes. I have chosen.”

  ****

  She had known something bad would happen but not that it would come so soon. Lys watched Gwened and his men leave with the rising sun to head off the vanguard of leather corseted Romans who had begun massing along the Treveri borders. She had watched as he stopped to speak to a gnarled old woman with long, stringy hair washing clothes by the river. A fat crow picked at the ground near the hag’s feet. Lys had not heard the words they had spoken and none of the other men appeared to see the woman. Lys ran to warn him away from Cathubodua in her guise of Death, but it had been too late. The hag had sealed his fate.

  The men who bore Gwened’s body back on a bed of logs reported that the battle spirit had come upon him, and he had challenged the Roman warchief in single combat to decide their fate. Gwened’s frenzy had enabled him to kill the man and hide his own fatal injury from the enemy until he had safely returned to his men. She shrieked over him as they set him down within the camp, her hands raking through the lime in his fair hair. Her sons stood near her and mourned in silence for the man who had raised them.

  The veil of grief settled over her as she arranged for the party that would return Gwened’s ashes to his home. It had seemed appropriate to cremate him in the Treveri style, as a large contingent of Treveri had arrived bringing gifts of weapons and gold to throw on the fire for Gwened’s spirit. Offerings from the Romans had also been sent with an emissary. Lys included many valuable pieces of gold and Veneti glazed pottery to travel with Gwened to his eventual resting place.

  She placed Gwened’s ashes in an exquisite bronze cauldron she had received from the Treveri for that purpose and packed them with valuable iron tools and casks of wine. Songs of his deeds had already been composed for his homecoming. She instructed the men returning with Gwened’s remains to tell Iaun that her daughters would remain with him and his people to maintain the alliance. Gwened’s last act would not keep the thirsty wolves away for long.

  Her father found her as she finished lining the crates with straw.

  “You wanted to speak with the holy men about a sacrifice?”

  Lys stood and laid a hand on his arm. “Yes, Vater. I need to talk to them before something else bad happens.”

  “They have sent an escort. They already await you.” He turned away from her with a forlorn expression.

  ****

  She staggered out of her session with the holy men in the deep forest, stunned but sure of her decision to tell them of Cathubodua and her oath. A priest guided her to his dwelling set into the base of the mountain. He prepared the potion she had requested and shut her in after she quaffed the Trank. Before long, the room darkened to a small pool of light that surrounded her as she knelt on the rough wooden floor.

  Cathubodua stood before her wearing a blood red tunic under a coal black leather corset, her head held proud and hair streaming out to her sides like black birds in flight. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

  “I offer myself to rid my children of their bond,” Lys replied.

  “I accept your offer, but will not release your children. You have sworn them to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulled iron from her scabbard, a long and cruel looking blade that shone metallic red in the pale light. “You bound them with your oath. They must honor this. In return, my gifts remain.”

  “What will you do with them?”

  “They must travel to Ande-dubnos as you have done. And perform their duties as the need arises.” She laid the tip of the knife at Lys’ neck and drew a tiny ribbon of blood. It dripped onto her hands as she knelt and her fingers trembled.

  Lys kept herself still. “And after I am gone?”

  She nodded once. “They will be called to me when their time arises to serve.”

  “This I cannot change. So I must accept it.”

  The young warrior scored a second red line on the other side of Lys’ neck. Her voice became treacherously low. “I am aggrieved by the breaking of your bond to me.”

  “I offer my life in exchange.”

  She spat to the side in fury. “That is not enough.”

  Lys’ head shot up in fear. She felt the skin on her neck tear and more blood drip down. “What more do you want?”

  Cathubodua placed her sword across her bent knee as she knelt to cup Lys’ chin in her hand. “Hear me well and tell them. I lay a geis upon you, Lys ab Gysell, and your ancestors from this day forward.”

  Lys’ breath rasped sharply. “Forever? Nothing is forever.”

  “No. You have the right there. Nine times nine generations will sacrifice as you do now. Then I am appeased.”

  Nine times nine ― forever in deed if not in name. “How will you extract it?”

  “The women and men in your family, both Iaun’s and Gwened’s children, are now bound to love one another to keep the blood pure. That will be the way. All who breed true will retain the power. And the responsibility.”

  Lys exhaled a breath. “A merciful geis. My children will be bound to love each other. And to serve the goddess.”

  Her fierce smile with lips drawn back more resembled a dead man’s than a living woman’s. “They will love only blood of their blood and that is not all.” She rose and cleaned her blade on her pants. “The women will carry their children to term. And then they will die. All those who breed true. Nine times nine it must be, in unbroken succession before the geis is lifted.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Cathubodua said as she rammed her sword through Lys’ heart. “The breaking of a blood price needs to be paid in kind.”

  Lys woke before the dawn, surprised that she still drew breath but realized that such a death would have been far too easy to appease the raven queen. The door of the priest’s hut had already been opened. She wandered into the v
illage and heard the stirrings of life. A few minutes later her father approached her. His pallor as he held tight onto the hands of Gwened’s children confirmed that he had learned her fate. She hugged them to her one last time before she sent them back to their hut.

  “Tochter, I do not understand why you do this thing,” he told her. “Do not throw away your life for nothing. It’s not too late.”

  She laid her hands on his shoulders as she looked up to him. “Before Gwened died the hero’s death, I would have agreed. But my duty is to my children and my people now. I have already doomed them to much suffering.”

  He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  She told him the tale of her pact with the warrior goddess all those years ago. “I was greedy and vain. I should have heeded my heart instead of my lust for power.”

  “Make another bargain with her.” Her father’s face reminded Lys of a crazed animal trying to free itself from a trap. “A father should not have to see his children cross over before him.”

  “And now you understand the reason for my choice.” Lys smiled sadly. “She has placed a geis on the children.”

  He paled even further. “The children? Which ones?”

  “All of my children, Vater. Her sword has two edges. The Raven has cursed them, but they will also be blessed with prosperity.”

  His jaws clenched as he fought back tears, and his look of hurt broke her heart. She sent him away before she prepared for her final journey.

  ****

  The wind blew cold across the Hohes Venn. Lys faced the sunrise as she waited for the ritual to be completed and thought back on her life. She smiled at the good fortune she had been blessed with in spite of her folly. The priests tied her hands and feet together behind her back and laid the mesh of wood that would weigh her down next to her. One priest darted forward, intending to strike her with a club of stone, a ritual that honored the old gods, but the others held him back. She hobbled into the sediment-choked bog on her own.