Maven had never witnessed a more breathtaking woman, statue or otherwise. She marveled at the seeming softness of her skin. As she stood in her presence, she thought that she could detect her heavenly perfume.
“How do we enter?” Maven whispered.
Rapier shook her head. “I don't know,” she said. “I'd been trying to figure that out when you came.” She paused, looking to Maven's spellbound expression. “She's beautiful, isn't she?”
The Queen did not answer. Instead, she knelt near the statues base and began to make out the ancient inscriptions. “Offer---” Maven squinted. She slid her hand over the worn words. “Offer something.” She sighed in frustration. “I can't make out what it says after 'offer.' It could even say 'offering'.”
In the moment that the word was spoken the sensual lips of the celestial statue twitched. The lips moistened to supple life. Slowly they parted in invitation.
Rapier took a step back. Only after a moment of gathering her thoughts was she able to speak again. “We have nothing to offer. We left all our belongings on the other side.”
“There is always something,” the Queen muttered. She searched about them, completely distracted from her second. When her eyes caught sight of various flowers blooming before wilting, she crouched before them. She waited until their cycle was repeating again then plucked the flowers from their rich home. Patiently, she enacted a ritual she had not performed since she was a small child. She interwove the flowers, braiding them into an elegant crown. A tiny frown touched her lips. Something was missing.
A gust of wind made her golden hair draw her attention. Maven gathered a bit of her silken hair between her teeth. She bit decisively at the tresses, cutting them from her mane. Once the strands were free, she worked them together into a delicate braid. The simple braid was then added to the floral crown as a fragile ribbon.
Green eyes smiled before lips ever could. Maven felt a pride in her actions that she had not known since childhood. She rose to her feet then stood before the woman of the obelisk. Gently she placed the crown upon the woman's tongue and watched as a smiling statue consumed the gift.
Both, Rapier and Maven stood side by side as the woman pushed a small scarlet key past her lips. Timidly, Rapier moved forward. She whispered words of thanks as she tenderly pried the key from the statue's mouth. As she turned to show the key to her Queen, she noticed the blanching of Maven's face. She frowned curiously. Following the path of Maven's eyes, she glanced over her shoulder. The statue was gone.
********
The Pyrosians stood huddled closely together with a question looming overhead. What did this key open?
Upon closer inspection of the obelisk, they saw that there were no keyholes. In fact, there were no longer doors of any kind.
“I haven't seen any other doors,” Rapier said at last.
“Perhaps it will open a door somewhere else on the isle,” Maven reasoned aloud. She was answered only by a thoughtful nod.
Side by side, they walked in the direction of the bridge.
Maven's eyes could not leave the scarlet key held within her hand. It twinkled in the light, silently taunting her. Rapier's hand firmly grasping hold of her wrist called her to a halt. She lifted her eyes from the key, wondering why Rapier had stopped. Her eyes widened in surprise as she witnessed the materialization of stairs directly before them.
“Where do they lead?” Rapier asked.
Maven shook her head slowly. “I don't know, but we're going to find out.” She cautiously moved up the stairs of dancing blue flames.
Once at the top of the stairs, the Queen stood thoughtfully upon the landing. The stairs broke off into two sets of stairs, one to the left and the other to the right. The slow moving sky was all that waited at the stairs' summit or perhaps it was so much more.
Rapier veered away to the left. She ascended the stairs slowly. In her mind, she had a fleeting desire for the sword she had left behind. With the last stair beneath her feet, she gazed over her shoulder to the blond who also stood at the climax of the neighboring stairs. “What now?” she shouted across to Maven.
A low grumbling came as the warning to something unnatural. Its sound rose ominously like the dread creeping up her spine. Rapier turned her brown eyes once more to the top of the stairs. The image of a dark mahogany door wavered violently until its nature solidified, revealing the completion of the portal.
The door shimmered in the light like velvety chocolate. A deeply bronzed handle awaited the soldier's touch. It did not wait long.
Seized by curiosity, Rapier took possession of the handle then pressed it downward until she heard the distinctive click of the latch. She pushed the door open just enough to feel the mist upon her face. Blinking the beads from her lashes, she turned to look back at Maven, but Maven was no longer at the top of the stairs. Instead there was only a door which remained ajar.
“Maven?” she whispered.
********
The floor beneath her feet might have been the very essence of fall. Burnt orange lived among the fallen leaves of amber and vermilion tiles. Maven was a shadow moving within the warmly-lit cathedral. Her hand lovingly traversed the rich wooden pillar towering above her. From the corner of her eye, she thought she had seen the sparsely placed bodies of people upon the pews. A second glance caused her to realize that only ghostly inhabitants shadowed this church.
“Where am I?” she wondered scarcely above a whisper.
Her footsteps echoed throughout the cathedral's world of lingering memories. She moved with transfixed eyes toward the front of the cathedral where a stained glass window cast its kaleidoscopic light over all she knew.
The stained glass was alive with burning colors. It blazed defiantly with them, but nothing stirred the depths of the soul more than the images possessed by immortal life.
Framed in crimson wonders, a vision of beauty and femininity would have once reigned over an adoring room. Her kingdom was small now, consisting mainly of phantoms, but in this moment, her audience was a Queen.
Her shapely body was infused by the perfection of unending youth. Its splendors were loosely enveloped by the graceful drapery of fragile silk. Her petite body was immortalized within the grips of seductive movement. She was mid-dance.
Life infused her artisan body. The woman within the stained glass fluidly raised her arm from its place at her side. As she did, the air was filled with the sound of scraping glass. The elegant line of her neck held her regal head. She turned her face in the direction of her delicately extended arm. Then slowly, she began to point.
Maven tore her eyes away from the face with plump lips and a fine nose. She forced her gaze from the hair which shown like the summer's sun and the eyes which burned as high-reaching fires. Instead her eyes followed the line of the goddess' finger.
The Queen gasped.
A painting nestled within the shadows throbbed. Its colors were infused with strength then dimmed again. Each beat of life brought out its colors more.
Maven rushed as much as she dared toward the painting. Her eyes narrowed in study. The closer she grew to the painting the more its colors grew impassioned.
The colors warmed the surface of her face. They hotly danced inside her eyes which widened at the enormity of what her mind was yet to process.
********
The ocean broke brutally against the jagged rocks beneath her feet. Rapier fought to see beyond the crashing sea foam spitting up at her. She stood paralyzed by some unseen power. The sky was weeping in the midst of its rages. She blinked away the beads matting her lashes. Never in her life had Rapier witnessed the elements so enraged by a mysterious offense.
The crackling air warned her not to move. The torrential rains weighting her body had all but robbed her of her sight. She squinted, trying to make out the small light she saw dancing in the furthermost reaches of the horizon. Suddenly the light grew brighter as it drew closer. She crossed her arms across her face, desperate to shield herself from the bli
nding light which rushed toward her.
When at last the approaching light had ceased its movement, it hovered as an innocent baby with smiling eyes.
The child's skin was luminescent and golden. A halo of radiance encircled its cooing form. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes with honey-sweet skin and frosted lashes, it was clear that no child ever lived which shined so brightly either outwardly or within.
“Who,” Rapier started. Her voice faltered. A clap of thunder quaked the sky. She began again, this time her voice above the rains. “What,” she corrected, “are you?”
The angelic voice did not come from pouting infant lips. It came from the ocean, from the sky above, from the very air which roared inside Rapier's ears.
“I am a dream.”
Rapier frowned in confusion. “A dream?” she repeated. “Whose dream?”
The infant's infectious giggle echoed throughout eternity.
Rapier watched as the child's light pitched upward. It stretched in every direction. The light changed form before her eyes. She would have screamed had her voice not locked itself within her throat. She jerked her vision away, not daring to see the massive creature unveiling itself to her. She was blinded by its light, quaking in its love, but oh so fearful of its wrath.
“Journey to the jungles where the sun sleeps,” came the voice.
The world around Rapier began to tremble. It rocked violently. She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to ask what the jungle held, but all she could do was run for her life's worth toward the door which had brought her here. She lunged for the door with her heart pounding inside her tightening throat.
As Rapier ripped the door open, she stared outward to the world beyond. She could glimpse a blanch-faced Maven leaving the threshold through which she had ventured. With all her might, she screamed, fearful that she was about to be consumed by the elemental magic alive around her.
“Maven, go to the jungle where the sun sleeps!” she cried.
Maven felt her heart stop. She could see the world collapsing at Rapier's back. “Rapier!” she screamed. She rushed down the stairs, sprinting toward the set of stairs which would lead her to Rapier.
“Where the sun sleeps!” Rapier repeated earnestly. She tried moving first one foot and then the other, but her legs were vanishing before her eyes. She was growing lost in this world of borrowed time.
“The son?” Maven began her passionate ascent of the stairs. “Whose son?” She lunged up the last few stairs only to have them disappear from beneath her very feet. She plummeted downward, falling against the bridge.
Maven felt the air whoosh from her body as she made brutal impact with the bridge. She wrapped her arms around her body. Her face twisted in sadness and pain. Struggling against her aches, she fought to make it to her feet. She limped her first few steps. Her vision was blurred by the tears rising inside her eyes. Rapier's voice still echoed inside her ears. Was Rapier really gone?
As the Queen crossed the bridge, she thought her mind had finally fled from sanity. She saw the charred bodies of many of her men lining the ground. Many others were slowly rising to their feet. Her eyes widened in horror.
This was all a nightmare, she feared. It had to be.
At any moment, Maven would find herself within Rapier's arms and all would be forgotten.
“Highness!” she heard suddenly. “You live!”
Maven blinked numbly. Her eyes shifted to the men rushing to encircle her.
“We removed our weapons as you had done to follow you,” a soldier explained enthusiastically. His gratitude at the sight of her was apparent within his shining eyes.
“Where is Rapier?” another asked while hopefully scouring the horizon.
The Queen's face crumpled. Tears spilled hotly down her cheeks with abandon.
The men's faces fell in saddened understanding. Protectively, they encircled their Queen. Their eyes possessed a determination which voiced how desperately they wished to ensure Maven reached the other side.
As they slowly strode across the bridge, they paid their silent respects to the foolhardy men who had charged, swords drawn, banners raised into the fires in an attempt to battle the very world they feared.
The gates opened to their freedom. This supernatural sanctuary would hold them no longer. When the gates clanged closed at their backs, the fires immediately fell away.
Maven stared forward unseeingly. Her eyes were so filled with thick tears that their shining nature embodied glass. She lowered her glassy eyes to her right hand. Held tightly inside it was the scarlet key. She peered down at it.
What now, she asked herself. What will I do now?
When she regained her sense of self, she realized that it had not been her own voice which had posed the question, but rather the voices of her men who were steadily dwindling. They were a broken lot now. They were a haggard group whose numbers were scarcely the force they had once been.
Soon another voice came.
Go to the jungle where the sun sleeps.
Maven clutched the key to her breast. “We are leaving Logos,” she whispered.
The grateful cheers of her men rose high into the air. At last, they were leaving this world of madness and intangible serenities. At last, they were going home.
Chapter Nine
Change for its own sake is not progress, but chaos.
----Book of Wrath
********
The order had been given to return to the world of man, but the fear still remained even as they traveled within the swirling froth of merged realities: What kind of world would they find upon their return?
********
The evening sun had begun its crimson reign over the world. It set the sky ablaze with heated intensity. Beneath its ruby light, an army of farmers toiled diligently.
Each man and woman with earth-stained hands lovingly worked the land. The pride found within their work manifested itself in everything they did. It was the sweat to bead their skin. It was the whispered words of encouragement voiced to their growing crops.
Amidst the farmers engaged within a choreographed dance with nature, a man hefted a heavy burden. He could hear the sounds of church bells tolling forlornly in the distance. The monastery had become a jewel within their land, but its presence both comforted and frightened many.
The rapid progression of Virtue's religion baffled him. He struggled not to dwell on it, thinking instead to the things which still made sense within his mind. Farming made sense. The land he nurtured made sense to him. He would leave the battling religions to fight amongst themselves.
With a sigh, he dropped a large bag from his strong shoulder. It collided with the ground in a muted thud. His eyes focused on the distance.
The fertile hills shivered. Their bodies were masked beneath the caress of fog.
Slowly, the fog rolled in as an eerie lime-green thickness. It splayed outward, determined to claim the farmlands completely.
Over his shoulder, the farmer began to hear the sounds of others stopping their work. They too were scanning the horizon. Together, they waited in fearful trepidation.
Gaunt figures marched forward from the heart of the fog. They were masked by a gossamer veil of green. Their haggard lines became more vivid as the possessive clutches of the fog lost their grip.
The farmer took a concerned step forward as others took frightened steps backward.
A woman led the others at her back. She stopped just beyond the reach of the unnatural fog. Her body swayed. She tottered violently then pitched forward in a plummet toward the earth.
As the woman began to fall, the farmer raced forward. He knelt down beside the collapsed woman. Gently, he turned her from her stomach.
A mask of golden hair had draped across her face. Curiously, the farmer brushed it away curiously.
The woman was beautiful, but her features were thin with exhaustion. As he watched her, her features gradually changed. He couldn't say how but the faintest line here, the most subtle
paling of hair there, told him that she had aged somehow. He frowned. How could a person age before another's eyes? Where had she come from?
Her left hand had fallen weakly across the earth. A golden ring glinted in the light as a beacon home.
The man's eyes widened. She was wearing a royal crest of Whispering Winds. “Get help!” he bellowed. “She's a royal!”
With a gasp, many farmers sprinted in the direction of their villages and in so doing, in the direction of help and hope. And yet, one soul ran for the place which had given him salvation. He ran toward the monastery where he hoped Virtue would save the mysterious noblewoman with the same grace it had saved him.
********
Furiously, the doors to the throne room burst open. Aurea lifted her eyes away from the king seeking her counsel. The flames of her gaze might have scorched Markus where he stood had he not breathlessly voiced the words to leave his lips.
“The summer winds have returned,” he spoke cryptically.
Aurea's face blanched as her heart froze inside her chest. She gripped tightly to the arms of her throne. Commanding herself to move, she pushed herself up. Her legs were weak, but she refused to fall.
The summer winds, she thought. Her heart thawed beneath the heat of understanding. Maven had finally returned.
The king looked away from Markus curiously. His gaze shifted back to the Empress. “The summer winds,” he queried. “Is there something-----” His voice was cut off by the Empress rushing past him without a second thought.
Markus quickly followed at Aurea's back.
Aurea sprinted down the hall. She was silently ushered by Galen and Olivia in the direction of garden where their fastest transports would await them.
“How long,” Aurea demanded as they ran.
“She appeared at dusk in Emerald Province,” Olivia explained. Her heart was racing in time with their spirited steps. Queen Maven was home. She had seen the Holy Lands. Truly this was a blessed day. Maven had been touched by Virtue in a way Olivia, herself, could only dream.
“The farmlands?” the Empress asked. She rounded a corner. Upon her approach, the doors at the end of the hallway were opened hastily by two servants with downcast heads.
The Flame of Wrath Page 18