by G. Deyke
~*~
Every time we rest in these caves I have strange dreams, strange and fearful. It must be because we are in her sacred caves that I see the Queen of the Dark-dust before me in my dreams. She appears as a large, motherly woman with a stern visage and skin blacker than a cloudy night. Atop her head is an ornate black crown, and there are dark metal bands on her arms and legs, and there is a simple black cloth about her waist. I have seen her before, carven into the walls of temples, but never has she appeared before me.
She tells me a warning and I will not listen. Dream after dream, she tells me something – she tells me something impossible – I cannot listen, I will not listen, I do not hear. When I awaken I put it out of my mind so well that I have forgotten by the time I sit up. But each time I sleep she tells me again, and again, and again.
She leads me to a place in the darkness where a pool of her sacred water shines upon an altar, and she tells me to look into it. The first time I look, trusting her as I would trust all gods. Why should a god deceive me? I am only mortal. I am not worth their deceit.
The water is clear and shining and in it I see terrible things, terrible things that I cannot believe, and cannot accept. I will not believe her. She may be a god but I cannot and will not believe her. I cannot look away from the pool, so I must wrench myself awake to escape it.
The next time she leads me to the pool I ask her what I will see. The truth, she tells me. I do not look. I walk away, and I lose myself in the maze that surrounds this place in the darkness. I wake terrified, and wish I could cling to Silwen or to my mother so that they might tell me everything is all right; but they are not here, only Ty. Mel is sleeping and I dare not wake her. Nor do I wish to speak to Ty, so I cower in the darkness until I can sleep again.
The Queen's black skin swallows light, but her eyes and the metal bands on her arms glisten with the light of her pool. I cannot force you to look, she tells me. I cannot make you see.
I tell her not to try. I tell her I do not want to see. I do not want to know. It is lies. It is lies, it must be, all of it, lies. I will not listen.
I am a goddess of clear seeing, she tells me. They come to me for clarity. They come to me for truth. They come to me because they wish to know what they are too blind to acknowledge.
I did not come to her. I am only passing through. I am not here seeking the Queen of the Dark-dust, nor her water. I only want to get through these caves, to reach the other side.
I do not lie, she tells me. I will show you only the truth. My sacred water is the blood that runs in my black veins. It shows only that which I have seen to be true. It cannot lie.
What if she is wrong? She must be. Though she is a goddess, and though she is the goddess of clear seeing, and though she turns fate, she must be wrong. I do not look into the pool again. When she comes to me in my dreams, I turn my back to her. I will not follow her to that place in the darkness.
Seldom have I seen one so blind as you, she says. You refuse to see. You are not content in your blindness, and yet you fear to see.
Perhaps she decides to leave me be, for after a time it is Snake who comes to me instead. I have heard that Snake can take the form of a simple snake, small and brown, when he wishes; but now he comes to me as a god, much longer than I am tall and as thick as my leg, bright and shining in the darkness. His scales are as many colors as there are stars in the sky, and always changing. His eyes are golden, and they shine like little suns. His fangs are long and silver. His tongue is red and forked. I whistle to him in reverence, awed that he should appear before me.
I come with a warning, he tells me. You are in the Queen's land, but you are one of mine. You are losing yourself. You have almost lost. You must fight to keep yourself.
I try to ask him about the Queen's water. I want some hope, some outside assurance that she is wrong or lying, that what her water shows is nothing but a horrible twisting of truth. I feel that I am not coming through to him, but perhaps that is only because it is a dream.
You would not listen to the Queen. Perhaps you will listen to me.
The Queen is wrong, I think; the Queen must be wrong.
The Queen does not lie. She cannot. She is arrogant and reclusive, but she will not deceive you. She will not even deceive gods; why should she care more for mortals?
I whistle again, unhappily. I do not want to believe this. I will not believe it, but I will listen to Snake. I will not think of that which I saw in the Queen's pool.
You have followed one of Haryin's for many years. She has twisted you into the semblance of a loyal servant, but you are no servant. If she was your punishment for being caught, she was more punishment than anyone deserves – and you are one of mine. Escape her. Escape this false servitude. Fight, and regain yourself.
She is my friend. She is my friend, and she helped me. She is more than I deserve. She is better. She is the best person I know, who had no reason to be kind to me but who was kind to me all the same. I cannot leave her. I will not leave her. I will not think of it. The man is wrong. The Queen is wrong. Maybe even Snake is wrong.
Fight while you still can. Soon you will break. Better to betray her than to break under her, or be betrayed by her – as you will, in the end. Remember what you saw in the Queen's water, for it was the truth.
She is the only person I have. I do not want to be alone again. And she is my friend. And it must be lies. I will not betray her. Why should I, when she has given me more than I deserve?
When I awaken from my dream of Snake, I put it out of my mind.