Viking Queen

by Savannah Rose

  I feel the weight of responsibility with these men around me, knowing that they look to me as, not only a lover, but also their ruler and their queen - a role I don’t understand, yet feel intuitively to be my own.

  In this moment I want to say something apologetic, to excuse myself for having failed to protect them from the forced servitude that Ysulte described. Yet I bite the words back, knowing that I must not show weakness. Not in front of them, not now.

  “Your Warriors can only meet with you in this place,” Ysulte tells me, gesturing around us with a wave of her wrinkled hand. “This place is enchanted and allows different times to come together at once. When daylight comes, they will have to return to their place at your sister’s side, in their rightful time.”

  “What time are we in now?” I bite back on the madness of the question, but it seems like the only question worth asking.

  “All times, my queen. All the times and possibilities that make up your world. And when daylight comes, you will have to choose which time to return to, which time to strike to fulfil your destiny.”

  I nod, and close my eyes to avoid looking at the strand of dawn that’s already starting to bleed over the horizon. I wish that someone would tell me what to do, what decision to make, but the weight of my new role has already settled on my shoulders. I open my eyes, and look at Ysulte. I’m longing to ask her what she thinks I should do, but instead I say the first thing that comes into my head. I can’t say whether it comes from a place of some deep intuition, or just the fear of not being seen to act like a queen is meant to act.

  “I want to go to the time before Shar banished me. I want to speak to my sister.”

  Ysulte nods. “Yes, my queen,” she says. Her face is impassive - I can’t tell whether she thinks that what I’ve said is a good idea or not. She waves her hand behind me, to where my four men are still kneeling.

  “You can choose one to come with you on your quest. My magic can conceal the disappearance of one man from his post under your sister, but only one. Which will you choose?”

  I want to look my men in the eye, but their heads are all bowed, and I don’t have the confidence to ask them all to look me in the eye.

  “Eirik,” I say, at random. I’ve chosen him only because it’s his cloak I’m wearing, and because his name was the first that was given to me, but he springs to his feet as if he’s just been named champion for some great prize. He is unsmiling, focused, but there’s no mistaking the glint of pride in his eyes.

  “Thank you, dróttning,” he says. He looks at me intently and my heart leaps at his beauty, my body stirring at the leather scent of him so close to me. It’s an animal reaction, maybe, but I feel part-animal in this place.

  Ysulte nods and holds out her hand. I lay mine on top of it, and Eirik places his warm hand on top of mine. Eirik turns his head to look at the other three, and I feel a pang at realizing that I’m separating him from his fellow-warriors, maybe for the first time in a long time.

  “Pray for the success of our dróttning, my brothers,” he says. The three of them nod as one, rising to their feet to salute me. Ysulte grasps our hands in hers, and the world turns to fire and darkness again.

  It is day. Clear, bright, blazing day. We are standing on a shingle beach, in front of an enormous castle that seems to have been hewn straight out of the granite cliff face. Behind us, the sea glitters in the sun. The sound of the sea caresses my ears in perfect familiarity, like a long-forgotten lullaby, and I know that I am home at last.

  “Come,” Ysulte says softly, her bare feet stepping lightly over the loose grey pebbles toward the cliff. I squint, seeing a rough staircase formed out of the rugged rock, winding all the way up to the castle. I follow her, sensing Eirik behind me, covering my back in a way that infuses me with a sense of safety I’d never felt before. I feel bulletproof with him behind me, his one hand caressing the broad sword that hung at his side, his eyes scanning the landscape in all directions for any threat to me.

  I follow Ysulte up the ragged staircase. We climb higher and higher, until the sea is shimmering below us, reaching out into the blue of the sky, and the beach is only a blurred grey strip. The steps are worn and treacherous, and if it weren’t for Eirik behind me then I might fear that I’d fall. As it is, I know that he is waiting to catch me, and so I know no fear at all.

  Eventually we reach an opening in the rock, which leads into a sort of walled garden. The sound of the sea has reduced to a murmur on the other side of the great rocky wall, and inside are trees - apple trees, pear trees, oaks. In a flash of recognition, I see myself scaling those branches, hanging from the trunks, tasting the sweet fruit on my tongue, my skinny child’s legs hanging astride the great boughs, my sister at my side.

  I miss her.

  “I can go no further, my queen,” Ysulte breathes in my ear. “My kind are not permitted inside the castle, and there is a terrible curse on anyone who dares to try to defy this law. Go, with Eirik by your side. You will know what to do. Do not linger, do not let others see you. Remember that another Rhea walks these halls, that you cannot be seem by her or it will disrupt the very threads of time.”

  I nod. I believe her when she tells me this, and yet I feel like she is abandoning me. On impulse, I reach out and grasp her fingers in mine.

  “Go, dróttning,” she says, her whisper mingling with the sound of the sea. “Go.”

  I turn away from her, spying a rough wooden door in one corner of the orchard that seems to lead inside the castle. I motion for Eirik to join me, and slip across the orchard, my light leather slippers making no sound against the grass.

  I try the door. It’s locked.

  “Try again, dróttning,” Eirik whispers, his breath warm against my neck. “Remember that this is your home.”

  I nod and hold the iron handle of the door in my hand. I focus my mind on the memory of the sea, on the taste of the ripe apples and pears in my mouth, on the feeling that I have finally returned to the place where I’m really supposed to me.

  The handle seems to grow warmer in my hand and then - as if by magic, or maybe just by intuition, the door slowly swings open.

  Inside, the castle is cool. Not even cool - cold. I don’t know if it’s just the chill of the sunless air, or that same ghostly chill that I felt when I saw the apparitions of my Viking warriors, but I feel cold, even inside Eirik’s fur coat. On impulse, without thinking, I slip my hand into Eirik’s.

  Ysulte’s words echo in my ears.

  Their destiny is to serve you, in every way that it is possible to serve.

  I hope that Eirik can’t sense what I’m thinking right now. Either way, he doesn’t seem surprised at all that I’ve taken his hand but returns my grip firmly.

  “Which way?” I mutter to him, more to think out loud than because I’m really expecting him to tell me. That ghost of a smile breaks through the intensity of his face, and he gazes down on me with a gentle grin. My knees want to weaken a little, but my resolve is still strong.

  “You’ll know, my queen. Trust yourself,” he says.

  I close my eyes. I listen to the sound of the breeze that swirls up the corridor. I feel the quality of the air between my fingers, as if I’m testing fabric. I taste it, feel for it, do my best to understand it. Then my eyes pop open.

  “This way,” I say. With Eirik’s hand still in mine, I lead him down the stony passageway - the passageway that seems to echo with our childish footsteps - my sister’s and mine - with the word dróttning bouncing between us, both a prize and an accusation.

  We turn down passageways and snake up spiral staircases, me following my nose the whole time. Occasionally we hear a faint noise and Eirik stops dead, his hand straying towards the handle of his broadsword. But then the footsteps fade away, and we’re alone again in the quiet.

  Eventually we find ourselves in front of a great oak door. Eirik’s hand is still in mine.

  “I cannot come in with you, dróttning,” he whispers. “If your sister see
s me it will disrupt Ysulte’s enchantment. You must go alone.”

  Some part of me already knew that he was going to say this, so I nod without protesting. He takes his cloak from my shoulders, his thumb caressing my neck - light as the wind - as he does so. He leans in very close to whisper in my ear.

  “Good luck, my queen.” His lips just graze my ear. The warmth of his breath seems to set me on fire. My heart is racing, but I tell myself that it’s just adrenaline for what’s ahead of me.

  I take one last look at him - him smiling wryly back at me - and lift my hand to knock on the great oak door.

  ***

  “Enter!”

  I go in, bidding a silent goodbye to the comfort of Eirik’s scent.

  In front of me, at the far end of the room, a slender young woman is sitting in a carved folding stool in front of a huge mirror-like object of polished bronze. Her light-gold hair is hanging down her back, spilling across her dress of deep-green velvet, cut in the same shape as mine. She seems to see me in the bronze reflection, and says - without turning round - “It isn’t like you to knock, Rhea.”

  It is the first time in this new place - this old home - that I’ve heard anyone call me by my own name, and it sends a jolt running through me, but I manage to remain calm externally. I know that the only way I will be able to speak to my sister is if I trust myself, if I let those hidden memories and half-recollections speak for me.

  “You’re always telling me to knock,” I reply lightly. “And now I have. Surely you can’t be angry about that too?”

  My sister’s shoulders lift and fall in a graceful shrug.

  “I’ll be angry about whatever I please,” she responds, and I can hear the ice beneath the lightness of her tone. “Surely you cannot expect to have power over that, too?”

  “I don’t expect to have any kind of power over you at all,” I reply, still speaking to her back. “Though it would be nice if you would turn and look at me.”

  She sighs histrionically and shrugs again. But then she does what I ask.

  I have to bite back a gasp when I see my sister’s face in front of me for the first time. She looks exactly as I remembered, and yet the rational part of me knows that I’ve never laid eyes on her in my life.

  Her eyes, nose and cheekbones are exactly the same shape as mine. In fact, I almost feel like her whole face is stolen from mine, except hers seems to be infused with a different colouring, filtered with a different light. Her skin has a silvery cast, as if she is lit by moonlight, and her eyes have the cold blue of water running under a layer of ice.

  “What do you want, Rhea?” she says. Her voice is chilly, but there’s something in it that I remember, something that takes me back to the moments when we used to run together, hand in hand, down the passages of this very castle.

  “I want to talk to you,” I say softly. It’s true. In this moment I know that all I want to do is sit down with her and talk, to convince her not to follow the path that she’s chosen, to make her understand that if she backs away and leaves me to do my duty it will be better for everyone. That deep part of me knows that Shar never listens, that Shar isn’t interested in anyone else’s opinion but her own. Yet I know I have to try.

  “Talk, Rhea?” She laughs. “How charming. Our father’s diplomacy lessons seem to have worked their magic on you. What is it that you so wish to talk to me about?”

  The air seems poisoned with the thickness of her sarcasm, but I do my best to ignore it and continue anyway. “I want to talk to you about… well, you know, about the way you’ve been acting lately.”

  Her thin blonde eyebrow arches. “And how, precisely, have I been acting lately?”

  She’s got me there. My gut - my intuition - whatever it is that you want to call it, has served me well so far, but it won’t stretch to giving example.

  I cover for myself by shrugging. “You know what I mean.”

  “Oh dear.” Her voice stretches into a higher pitch, mocking me. Some irritation that I’ve never exactly felt before springs up inside me. My sister. Always making fun of me. “Have I been upsetting you? Surely you ought to know by now, Rhea, that I’ve just as much right to speak up for myself as you do. You can’t just except me to always do your bidding. I’m not one of your servants.”

  “I don’t expect you to be my servant,” I reply calmly. As long as I don’t think too much the right words seem to come by themselves. “But you know just as well as I do what the rules are, and yet you continue trying to undermine me.”

  “You sound like father,” she says dismissively, with a shake of her silvery sheet of hair. ‘Behave yourself, Shar. You know what the rules are, Shar.’” She takes up a silver jeweled nail file from her dressing table and starts to file her long nails into sharp points. “You can’t imagine how dull it is.”

  I find my feet carrying me closer to her. I’m terrified that if I look her in the eye she’ll realize my secret, know that I’m not the Rhea she clearly thinks I am. But I know that this is before she’s learned the Dark Arts, when she’s angry and dissatisfied but not evil. I need to reach her now, before it’s all too late.

  I cross the room and place one of my hands gently on her green-clad shoulder. She stiffens at my touch, glaring coldly up at me.

  “What is that you actually want, sister?” Her voice is ice.

  “I…” The pressure of her gaze gets to me, and I trail off. “I… I want you to not…”

  “Not what, sister?” She spits out the word as if it’s a curse.

  “I know what you’re planning to do,” I say, quietly. Her eyes darken, seemingly shifting from blue to inky-black in an instant.

  “And what is that?”

  “You want to… you want to erase me. Get rid of me altogether. So you can have the throne.” There’s no point in pretending, I realize. She’s already well past pretense.

  She laughs. “Gods, Rhea. You’re always so melodramatic.”

  “Don’t hide from me, Shar,” I say softly. “We know each other far too well for lies.”

  She is pressing her lips together, so tightly that they look as if they might soon disappear altogether. But the flow of her sarcasm seems to have been stemmed, for a minute at least.

  “You know that I love you,” I say. The words ought to seem ridiculous to me, but they don’t. I mean them with everything I have. “You know that I’d give you the throne in a second if I thought it was the right thing to do, if it was mine to give. But you know our laws. You know the magic. You know that that’s not how it works.”

  “Not at the moment,” she says. Her voice is tight, coiled like a viper getting ready to spring. “But that can change.”

  “It can’t.” I say it with total certainty. “Not the way you think, anyway. Some things can be changed, yes. Other things are carved in stone. They’re meant to be.”

  I can see it in my mind’s eye - time itself. That deep medium knowledge unfurls itself to me, showing me how time really works. Like a series of paths - some diverging, some disappearing into nothing, some following separate routes. But occasionally they all converge on the same point. Some things cannot be altered. I know that. So does she. I can read it in the eyes that are still locked intently on mine.

  “You’ve always fancied yourself a sage, haven’t you, Rhea?” Her mouth twitches, the way it always has when she’s planning a game that she knows she can win. “Sister, why do you always insist on believing that you’re the only one with power?”

  I crouch before her, taking her hand, looking into her eyes. “I don’t think that, I swear. It’s not about me or you, it’s about…”

  “…The kingdom?” Her face fills with scorn. “You are so like father, Rhea. You always think that the way that best suits you is the only way that things can possibly be.”

  “Do you think I want to be queen?” The words burst out of me, as if I’ve been holding them back for years. For my whole life, in fact. And perhaps I have. “Do you think I want all the responsibility, a
ll the constraints. Don’t you think I’d rather have peace with my sister?”

  Shari looks back at me steadily, her eyes narrowed.

  “Yes,” she says softly, slowly. “Yes, I do think you want to be queen. Yes, I do think you want the power. I certainly know that you want the muscles and hearts of those four men bound to your service, that your flesh aches for them. Yes, I do think you want all those things far more than you want me to be happy. And I know exactly how you feel.” She leans closer to me, her breath grazing my face. “Because I want those things too. More than anything.”

  She reaches over, gently touching my chin as if to examine my face.

  “There’s something different about you today, Rhea. Something… otherworldly.”

  I stand up sharply, filled with terror. She knows, I’m sure. Or at least, she’s on the edge of knowing. I think of Eirik, still standing guard outside the door. Will he sense my fear? Will he burst in to defend me if this viper-sister decided to strike me? Would he be able to get to me in time?

  I start to back away. Shar smiles at me.

  “Yes, Rhea, run away,” she says, her voice silky and threatening. “You’re going to need a head start. I’m coming for you.”

  I turn and get out of the room as fast as I can.

  As soon as I’m through the heavy oak door I don’t even think before throwing myself straight into Eirik’s waiting arms.

  Although Eirik cannot possibly know what has just happened, it’s clear that he can sense my distress.

  “I’m so sorry, dróttning,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so sorry that it didn’t go the way you wanted.”