by J. D. Vaughn
As she left the chamber, another room vaulted and arched above her, like one of the Far World cathedrals drawn in Saavedra’s books. At first Brindl thought another statue of Mother Machué had been placed at the back of the chamber, this one seated on a throne of salt and painted in vines and flowers.
But it was the Diosa waiting for her.
“Come, daughter. Tell me your needs.”
Brindl stepped forward slowly, her head bowed with reverence, and knelt before the woman.
“Arise, daughter of Machué. You have done all I asked of you.”
Brindl stood and looked into the face of the Diosa, ageless and pale, though her arms and legs were adorned with tattooed vines and flowers in a riot of vibrant colors.
“Have I?” Brindl asked. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I ever understood what you asked of me. Or why.”
“When danger nears, let Brindl be your eyes and ears,” the Diosa said solemnly, though her eyes gleamed.
“Yes, but you asked me to be the eyes and ears of opposing forces—the realm and the Shadow Guard.”
“Not the realm. Not opposing forces.”
“But Princess Xiomara…”
“…is not the realm.”
Brindl lowered her eyes. “Nor an opposing force. She knows about the Shadow Guard. I broke my oath of silence to Machué.”
“That is why I chose you.”
“Because I would break my oath?”
“Because you would know when the truth became more important. Not all oaths are made equal, daughter.”
“But I’ve only made things worse,” Brindl cried, falling to her knees again. “My friends are in trouble. The Queen means to execute Moth and Tonio tomorrow. Please, you have to help them!”
The Diosa paused, then placed her hand on top of Brindl’s head like a mother to a small child. “What would you have me do, daughter?”
“Come back with me! Come with me to Quarry Town!”
The Diosa did not speak for a full minute but seemed to travel into herself, closing her eyes, lifting her chin. Brindl waited. Was she praying? Was she looking into the future that some said she could see?
“I have never left these mines,” the Diosa finally said, gazing at the walls around her. Her voice sounded much older now, ancient even. “If I leave, I shall not return. The world above is not my providence.”
Brindl’s heart sank.
“But it is your world, Brindl. Command me and I shall go.”
“But you are the Diosa! I cannot command you,” Brindl said, her voice trembling.
“Brindl Tacora, listen to the voice inside you. It’s the Mother’s voice, and it has never failed you, has it?”
Brindl shook her head.
“Is it time?” continued the Diosa.
Yes, the voice said. Yes.
“You must go with me,” Brindl said, “and we must go now.”
The Diosa nodded, then held up a hand.
A small boy appeared from a dark corner.
“Ory!” Brindl cried, as the boy rushed into her arms. The two hugged tightly, like siblings kept apart after a loss.
“The packhounds are ready, Diosa,” Ory said, pulling back from Brindl’s arms though he did not release her hand.
The Diosa rose from her throne. “Then we are ready, too.”
“Perhaps you two should wait here,” Brindl said to the Diosa and Ory as they emerged into daylight from a mountain cave, just outside the perimeter of Quarry Town. The wooded area would offer them some protection until Brindl could assess the situation.
“We will not,” the Diosa answered, waving away Brindl’s words with her hand. The Diosa was now dressed as a quarrywoman, though Brindl had not seen her change during the journey. It was as if she had summoned the clothes from thin air, the soft gray dress covering the colorful tattoos on her arms and legs. If it weren’t for the bright orange fabric wrapped around her head, Brindl would not have known her from the other women of the quarry.
As they headed to town, an unpleasant sound began to drift toward them. The sound of a town under attack. The panicked cries of women and children echoed off the pearlstone. A cloud of smoke wafted across the overcast sky and choked the air. Ory took the Diosa’s hand.
“Is that fire?” Brindl asked in alarm.
The three hurried around the last bend to find Quarry Town in chaos. Residents poured out of their dwellings, some carrying children, others helping the elderly, as flames licked out the windows of the stacked quarry homes. The brightly colored facades of the houses disintegrated, folding in on themselves and collapsing in heaps. Bits of fabric and wood floated through the air amid the sparks, oddly reminding Brindl of the Festival of Light in Zipa. Only this was no festival.
Shocked and horrified, Brindl felt her feet anchored to the ground as she witnessed the scene. Women trying to corral their children away from the destruction. Babes crying in the arms of whomever held them. Men, young and old, shouting instructions to each other, hammer and picks in hand, running toward the quarry. What in Tequende is happening here? Have the Andorians come again?
Brindl recognized a few faces from the night of the Fray. One musician held his small stringed instrument in his arms as if it were a child, tender and protective. The old announcer who looked so confident and commanding when speaking to the audience, appeared confused and lost.
“Ory, lead these people to the mines!” Brindl called, as she began moving through the crowd. A little girl wailed in the middle of the street, separated from her family in the throng. Brindl scooped her up and handed her into the arms of the old announcer. “Go with that boy,” she yelled, pointing to Ory. “All of you! He’ll lead you to safety!”
“To me, to me!” Ory yelled, waving the crowd toward him.
“You go with them,” she said, turning to the Diosa, but the priestess of Machué had disappeared in the madness. Brindl fought down a wave of panic and searched for the orange head cloth in the crowd, but to no avail.
The pearlstone walkways danced with the colors of the fire, reflecting the destruction of an entire village. Dense smoke filled Brindl’s nose and throat and she gasped for air.
“This is what traitors deserve!” Centurio Larus yelled from atop a horse. He held a lit torch in his hand and waved it among the frightened people. “This is what happens when you harbor criminals!”
No, Brindl thought. No!
Larus rode through the crowd, followed by his Second Guard legion. This couldn’t be happening! The Guard had turned on its own people!
“Everyone to the quarry!” Larus shouted. “Go!”
The mounted guards began herding people down into the quarry pit, as if cattle to the slaughter. Brindl looked in every direction, but there was no escape. They were surrounded. She only hoped Ory and the Diosa had managed to return to the mines with as many people as possible. She filed down into the quarry with the frightened crowd, the smell of their sweat and fear mingling with the acrid cloud of smoke.
As Brindl made her way down the winding ramp, her mind flashed back to the Battle for the Alcazar. The awkward positions of the dead on the ground. The blood-splattered stones by the lake. The strangled cries of those in pain. She shook the images out of her mind, lest the horror return here.
Finally, they reached the floor of the quarry, and the crowd quieted. Perhaps it was calming to do something so ordinary, to gather in the quarry as if for a fighting match or their everyday work of cutting pearlstone.
One by one, heads turned to the north face of the quarry, their eyes riveted upward, their mouths open. Brindl followed their gaze.
There, at the top of the precipice, was Queen Twenty-two herself, her face a mixture of rage and revenge.
During the Time of Queens, there has never been any civil strife in Tequende, for each man, woman, and child knows his or her place in society. While other realms face domestic unrest, even war, Tequende enjoys peace, prosperity, and proliferation of the arts, due to our strong sense of duty an
d unconditional loyalty to the Queen. Because our realm is so pristine, changes of any type should simply be avoided. For what is the point in change when all is near perfect as it stands? Therefore, saddle yourself to your duties with gratitude and know that you make an immeasurable difference no matter how small the task may seem.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
The crowd didn’t dare move as Queen Twenty-two, escorted by Centurio Larus, made her way down to the quarry. Lady Ona and Lord Paulin came behind her, then Princess Xiomara and Tali. Brindl could not make out the faces of her friends, but knew the distress they would be in. The party made their way to a raised platform on the quarry floor, no doubt where the pit foremen would normally supervise pearlstone operations.
The Quarry Town citizens shuffled together for comfort and solace. Men put protective arms around the shoulders of their wives and children. Women rocked babes in arms and pulled older tots closer. It was as if the entire crowd held its breath to see what new cruelty might be in store.
Meanwhile, the Queen’s soldiers made a circle around the perimeter of the quarry floor, hands on weapons, waiting for orders. Brindl could not believe how much this felt like a siege, like they were surrounded by enemies instead of their own monarch, their own Guard! Carefully, quietly, she pushed forward to the front of the crowd. She didn’t know what was happening, but she needed to be with Xiomara and Tali, come what may.
The Queen stepped forward and raised her arms. “Residents of Quarry Town,” she began, the irony of her words a bitter blow, as their town lay smoldering above them. “Before anyone gets hurt, I must have your cooperation.”
Cooperation? thought Brindl. Before anyone gets hurt? How could the Queen look at this crowd and consider hurting them any more? She had just burned down their homes.
A young tot to Brindl’s left started crying then, gaining volume with each wail. The father holding her tried to soothe her, but she could not be quieted. An elderly woman reached for the babe and the large man handed her over. The old woman pressed her cheek to the child’s, one face withered and wrinkled by years of hard work, the other smooth and golden in the light. The woman began to hum a lullaby in the girl’s ear and she hushed at the sound of the familiar tune.
“Listen to your Queen!” Centurio Larus bellowed, his voice echoing through the pearlstone walls.
“I want the leaders of this Shadow Guard to reveal themselves now,” the Queen said, “or every person here shall be guilty of treason and suffer accordingly.”
Moth was the first to step forward, the crowd parting for him instantly, though several people murmured their dismay.
“I am the sole leader of the Shadow Guard,” Moth called up to the platform. “The rest here are innocents,” he said, motioning to the villagers. “Let them be!”
“Silence!” the Queen demanded. “I know there is another in this crowd. My patience grows thin.”
“Here I am,” a familiar voice called as Brindl’s heart caught in her throat. Tonio threaded his way through the crowd to stand beside Moth.
“Guards, execute these traitors immediately!” Beside her, Larus signaled and two guardsmen on either side of the platform raised their bows.
A collective gasp followed her directive. The crowd pushed back from Moth and Tonio, who now stood alone in front of the raised dais.
“No!” cried a woman near Brindl, two sobbing children under her arms. Moth’s head whipped around, making eye contact with her, his face registering helplessness for the first time. His wife, Brindl thought. His children.
The guards pulled their bows and nocked an arrow in each one, their deadly points trained on the two men in front of them.
Brindl rushed forward. “Don’t fire!” She stood in front of Moth and Tonio with arms outstretched, desperately trying to make her small frame as large as possible.
Behind her Moth whispered in a rough voice, “Don’t. They’ll kill you, too.” Tonio did not speak but put a hand on her shoulder.
All eyes turned to the Queen for her response.
“Little peasant. Bird girl. I’m glad to see you here.” Though the Queen smiled, her voice spat venom. “I believe we have you to thank for leading us to these traitors. And now you can die along with them.”
Brindl’s legs shook and her body felt dipped in icy water. But she held her stance.
“Then do it! Kill me. I’d rather die than live under your reign, where you would enslave your people for your own profit! Where you would burn a village to prove a point!”
Brindl closed her eyes and waited for death. Her mind rushed back to her childhood in Zipa, pushing cart after cart of salt into the white sun after hours spent under Machué’s apron. Her mother’s eyes, the warm embrace of her father, the silly grin of her brother. Then to the Alcazar, bent over a book as Saavedra patiently taught her to unlock the world through reading. Zarif and Chey and Tali, their faces flashed in her mind’s eye. Ory, Boulder, Lili, Pip. Xiomara. And just as she braced for the arrow that would kill her, she felt someone take her left hand. Then someone else took her right.
Tali and Xiomara had jumped down from the platform and now stood on either side of her, blocking the archers from Moth and Tonio.
The crowd froze. Surely the Queen would not fire on the princess, her own cousin?
The Queen locked eyes with Xiomara, who stood taller and lifted her chin. Brindl squeezed her hand, her heart nearly bursting with love for her friend, with grief as well. For the Queen now looked undone, like a child’s doll whose stuffing poked through the loose seams. Lord Paulin leaned over and whispered in her ear. Lady Ona looked on with a smug smile. They have no use for a princess who would defy them.
The Queen stepped forward, her white slippers smudged with the dirt of the quarry, the hem of her gown frayed and stained. She pointed to Centurio Larus. “Execute them all! They are traitors to Tequende.”
“In the name of the Mother, stand down!” a voice demanded. The crowd slowly parted and the Diosa appeared in their midst. She had shed the quarrywoman’s dress and headscarf, and she now appeared as Brindl had first seen her—like a priestess of the Earth, an otherworldly apparition. Though she wore the simple tunic of an Earth Guilder, the tattooed vines and flowers on her bare arms and legs seemed to come alive, as if they were growing, blooming somehow. Her pale hair gleamed like spun silk, her eyes like emerald gems.
When she reached the platform, she turned and raised her arms above her head. “My people. I am the last living Diosa, daughter of Machué.”
Brindl dropped to her knees, her body moving of its own accord. Xiomara and Tali, still holding hands on either side of her, followed suit, as did Moth and Tonio behind them. One by one, every last person in the quarry fell to their knees, save those on the platform and the guards on the perimeter, though Brindl noticed several soldiers exchanging troubled glances. The Earth Guilders among them. Their allegiance will be tested now.
“What is this hoax? Who are you?” cried Twenty-two above them. “The Diosa is a whimsytale, nothing more.”
The Diosa turned toward Twenty-two and raised a palm to her. Miraculously, the Queen froze, whether shocked by the Diosa’s defiance or put under some kind of spell, Brindl couldn’t truly say.
The Diosa turned back to the crowd before her. “Ten moons ago I had a vision that when the puma, hound, and condor united, the monster in our realm would be defeated. You have witnessed the monster today, but look upon the future of Tequende now.”
The priestess walked over to Tali and exchanged a warm look with her. She took Tali’s hands in hers and stood her before the crowd. “I give you the puma, fierce and courageous!” Next she helped Brindl to her feet. “Look upon the hound, loyal and wise!” Finally, she stepped over to Xiomara, but instead of taking her hands, she placed her own upon the princess’s head, as if conferring a blessing. “Behold the condor, honorable and majestic, the true and rightful Queen of Tequende, in the name of all the Gods!”
The moment seem
ed suspended in time, floating between never and forever. Rising to their feet, the crowd erupted in cheers and chants, their faces washed of fear and replaced by hope.
“Praise Machué, Mother who guides us!”
“All hail Queen Twenty-three!”
Brindl knew that history was written in such moments. Though she stood side by side with her friends, she felt as if she were watching the scene from afar. She glanced up at the platform, where Twenty-two still stood like one of the statues in her palace. Then Centurio Larus pushed his way forward, crossbow in hands.
“There is only one Queen,” he bellowed.
He aimed the crossbow at the Diosa.
When the Queen reaches the age of fifty harvests, she steps down from the throne and passes it on to the Queen-in-Waiting. The ceremony of cessation takes place on the Queen’s name day and the realm entire celebrates the sacrifice she has made, and the fruits of her life’s labor.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Moth moved in a single leap, pulling the Diosa into his arms, rolling his giant frame around hers in a cage of safety. But Larus’s arrow found a mark in Moth’s thick neck, killing him instantly.
“Avenge your leader, your friend!” the Diosa cried, rising from his motionless form, her arms spread defiantly.
At her words, the crowd snapped out of their trance and sprang into action as if they had practiced. The elderly gathered children like chicks to take them to cover among the piles of pearlstone. Men and women scrambled to hiding spots, pulling out weapons from hidden caches. The picks, hammers, and axes, though crude in comparison to the swords and crossbows of the guards, looked menacing in the hands of a people now fueled by determination and anger.
The guards, startled at first, began to tighten their circle, trapping the villagers in the middle.
Tali drew her sword and charged up the side of the pit with a willing group of quarrymen following. They quickly sliced a path through the ring of soldiers and gained the advantage on one side, climbing above their opponent with the ease of people whose hands knew pearlstone like the faces of those they loved.