The Secluded Queen, page 15
The Queen froze, appalled at herself for calling that horrid castle her home. This little cabin is my home now. Why does my old life haunt me, even out here? I am glad to be here, free to do as I please. She finished brushing Amaryllis, curtsied in parting, and headed out to begin building her spear. Little did Veronica know that the construction of this spear would alter the course of her life forever.
But how to begin? She had never built a weapon before. She hadn’t needed to until now. If she ever had the inkling, back at the castle, she could have simply visited the barracks and claimed any weapon she fancied. Perhaps I should start with the obvious and find me a few potential branches or sticks that I could use for the pole. After rummaging through the foliage just inside the forest perimeter, she quickly gave up on this. When has there ever been a straight branch? A kinked and curved spear would be too difficult to carry. She finally settled on a young sapling about two inches round. There was a little guilt in harvesting such a young tree, but it was only a tree, after all. If she couldn’t use plants to sustain her, she might as well just let the beasts of the forest eat her now.
The next step, she imagined, would have to be finding a rock to be used as the spearhead. Since I’m going to be transforming this into unicorn glass, I’m sure it could be made of anything, as long as it is sharp.
She discovered some flint on the slope just before Chicken Coop Way and hauled a large portion of it back to her cabin. Using another stone, she pounded bits and pieces from the chunk of flint, trying to break off a thin but sharp portion of the stone.
The fragments breaking from the flint were all wrong. She didn’t want to spend hours trying to sharpen a spearhead that was too thick. Once it was transformed into unicorn glass, it would be indestructible. It only needed to be thick enough that when she attached it to her pole, it wouldn’t fragment. Finally, the perfect leaf-shaped chunk broke off. She held it up to examine it and determined it would suit her needs nicely. She used the smashing stone to gradually file down the edges into a blade, thin and sharp. She also tried to smooth out some imperfections and make the jagged flint as symmetrical as possible. She finished off the spearhead by carving a little crown into the center of the spearhead to match King Edward’s breastplate. It’s the details that matter.
With the spearhead sharpened, she started on the pole. The branches were stripped from the sapling, and the top and bottom of the pole were ground down on a large boulder nearby. A split was made down the middle of one end of the pole, and then she attached the spearhead with an old strip of leather, lashing the spearhead between the pole’s split end.
Something is missing. The spear looked pretty good, considering that she had never built one before, but she felt like it wasn’t quite finished. She found a thick branch and twisted it in a spiral up the length of the pole, giving it more detail. On the pole where she planned to hold the spear, she filed the bark down to the green wood beneath and made the entwined branch curve out away from the spear so her hands could be protected. A small wooden dowel was driven through the side of the pole, just above the top handhold, to stop any blades from coming down on her fingers.
Veronica felt proud of her creation and was excited to see what it looked like after it was transformed into that mysterious black substance. She respectfully leaned the spear against the unicorn glass wall of Amaryllis’ stable, then gave the unicorn a prolonged hug for being such a good friend to her.
Rain clouds were beginning to release their life-sustaining nectar onto the small farm, and it was all well and good with the Queen. She was pretty tired and could use some downtime.
Inside the cabin, she put a few more logs onto the stove and blew on the coals to get the fire going again. She darted back out briefly to gather a few more pieces of wood for the night before it all got too wet to use. The eggs she had collected and placed near the stove were still safe and warm. It shouldn’t be too much longer before they hatch. I hope the other hens treat them nicely!
As for dinner, Veronica feasted upon fresh milk and buttered toast, with some nuts on the side, while the sky continued to darken, which made the cabin darker still. The light from the stove was insufficient to light the cabin to a comfortable level. The rain intensified, and an undiscovered leak in the ceiling began letting rainwater drip onto her table. Veronica used an old wooden bucket to catch the drip before it ran off the table onto the floor.
Veronica bundled up in her bed, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the sound and smells of the rain. A memory resurfaced as she rested—one of her mother, right after she got diagnosed with the disease called the blight. The dreaded and feared disease rapidly stripped her of her vitality and killed her, a decline that Veronica had witnessed as a young child and had traumatized her.
Her mother had been lying, bedridden, experiencing pain so powerful it was impossible to articulate. She had wanted Veronica there, laying across her chest, holding her close, as if any time apart from her daughter was a complete waste of the minutes left in her mortal experience.
She had been a religious woman, kind and strong. Charitable to a fault. Most of the money she was able to wrestle from the clutches of her workaholic husband went to either the poor or to support the priests at the local altars. She had been well versed in The Scrolls of the Gods, reading them as if her very soul depended on undiscovered clues between the text’s lines. She had hope in the future and an eye single to the glory of the gods.
But after her diagnosis, she was reduced to misery. No matter how fervent, her prayers failed to summon the miracle needed to restore her health. It was in those final moments that Veronica had lain across her mother’s chest. Her dying mother was stroking her hair, whispering the poetic love of a mother to her only daughter. It had been a high calling to comfort her mother in those final hours, and Veronica, young as she was, asked more questions than murmured words of comfort.
But I had been there for her, and I believe that was what she actually needed. Not words of wisdom from a young girl.
There was a particular moment during the broken conversation that Veronica remembered very well. In her dying moments, her mother, her voice no louder than a whisper, asked her a straightforward but complex question. “Veri, dear... Oh, my sweet Veri. Will you remember me?”
“Why?”
“Well, sometimes little ones don’t remember things when they grow up.”
“But you said you would be there with me.”
“Yes, well, I will be with you, but you won’t be able to see me.”
Veronica remembered how confused she had been. I wish I could have been there for her. But even in her dying moments, she only worried about me. She wanted to know if she did a good enough job as a mother for me to remember her after she was gone. “Why won’t I see you, Mommy?”
She had gasped for air then, trembling from the pain. “I’m dying, Veri.”
“Like the fish did when daddy caught him?”
“Yes, like the fish did when daddy caught him.”
“Is the fish here with me now, and I can’t see him?”
She had laughed at that. It was the last thing her mother had laughed at. “No, sweetie. Animals won’t be with you forever, only people.”
Veronica cried, her little body full of fear. “I don’t want you to die.”
Her mother couldn’t answer. She strained for air, a ghastly sound, gulping it down noisily like she had been drinking a large glass of water, all the while stroking her hair, running her shaking fingers through it, comforting them both.
“Mommy? It isn’t fair that you’re going to die.”
Her mother shook violently, then laid still.
“Mommy?”
Her mother came back to her then, if only for a moment. “You’ll know what to do, Veri. The Mother Goddess Cybele wishes us to trust in The Balance. All will be made right. Follow The Mother’s light, and not even the gods will stop you. I’m so proud of you.”
A coughing fit. A death song. And then she had left her body.
Veronica wiped the tears from her eyes. What an odd and haunting thing to remember right now, alone in her cabin, lying in her bed. She instinctively reached for where Edward should have been lying next to her but found only a straw-filled mattress. She shuddered to think that there was no one in this grand world to comfort her. That she had been alone before Edward and was entirely alone after. The balance her mother spoke of hadn’t helped her save her mother or save her husband. As far as Veronica knew, The Balance was simply a contract between the god children of Cybele and mankind, that no god should hinder the progress of man, and that they were supposed to assist man in our stewardship of the mortal realm.
The rhythmic rainfall suddenly felt less like peace and more like confinement. The walls closed in around her, and she tried to keep calm long enough to fall asleep. The storm was a raucous noise that rose and fell, entirely at random. The rain would grow deafening loud, and the wind would howl, cutting through every crevice in her little cabin, sprinkling her with rainwater. Then it would settle and grow quiet long enough for her to relax, and just before sleep would claim her, it would abruptly howl and shower her with cold water. Rest did not grace her consciousness for many hours after the storm finally died, and it was an emotionally crushing night.
Chapter 12
The low and thunderous blasts from the Virtuuce cannons shook Good King Laexor, Queen Myra, and his boy Raktor where they sat, the beam-like projectiles ripping through the dragon that hunted them. From his window, Laexor watched the creature, reduced to tattered flesh and scalded bone, fall shrieking down to the city below. Cory Rockhart’s voice reassured him and his family that the dying dragon was the last of them—that they were safe. Laexor could feel the relief those words brought Myra and Raktor, and he could see the relief in the way that they relaxed back into their seats, Myra patting Raktor’s hand, trying to reassure the boy, but Laexor knew the pats were more from her own fears than Raktor’s. The RAM had made quick work of the beasts, but contrary to Rockhart’s comforting words, they certainly were not the last of them. The Black Maw was still out there, vaporizing his people more efficiently than a man swatting a fly. He admired his late brother for facing off with the nightmarish and apocalyptic beast, risking his life and dying in agony to protect his loved ones. As Laexor sat next to his lovely wife and young son, as he looked into their eyes, as he caressed Myra’s fingers with his own, Laexor allowed himself to feel the total weight of his love for them. Invasive images swarmed his conscious mind of Myra and Raktor suffering the same fate as his younger brother. This terrible imagery, coupled with his despair over his inability to fight off The Black Maw, terrified him over his family’s safety. The ambassador elf had been right–he lacked the cunning to win this war.
Or did Traelic say that humans lacked the cunning to win this war?
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the little monster had said. Laexor rubbed his forehead, prompting a look of concern in his direction from Myra. The meeting with the warmongering elf had only been a short time ago, but it felt as though it had happened ages before this moment. Laexor clenched his jaw and looked out the window again, searching for any indication of where the fallen dragon had landed when, from the northeast, a large group of mounted elves entered the city limits. The purple pulses from the unicorns had attracted his gaze to the encroachment. He hammered his fist on the window, helpless as his people were killed mercilessly by the beasts. He jumped from his seat and hammered on the pilot’s cockpit door, “Rockhart! Open this cursed door at once! Rockhart, do you...”
He was cut off by the door slamming open against the wall, an irritated and very stressed and exhausted Cory Rockhart standing in the doorway. “My King, what is it? I must return to the column.”
“The northeast border has been breached; we must help our people.”
Rockhart’s breathing was short and shallow and swift. “I will issue your command to the militia in that city sector immediately.”
Laexor clenched his fist in frustration, “By the gods, man, there is no time for that. In order for our people to have a fighting chance, we must intervene with the RAM.”
Cory shook his head, “I will not put you and the Royal Family in danger. Let the Militia do their job.”
Laexor jabbed a finger into Rockhart’s chest, “If you believe you can coerce me out of helping our people, think again. Husbands and wives and sons are getting massacred as we speak!” He gripped his sword and pulled it free from its sheath, the blue sapphire flashing as he did so. The blade was on Cory’s throat before the experienced military man could react. Cory’s eyes contorted with his fury.
Through gritted teeth, with crazed eyes, he sputtered out his response, barely maintaining control of his killing instincts. “We have been flying for hours. Our Virtuuce Canister reserves are low. If we enter a sustained firefight, we will run out of fuel and die.”
Laexor gripped his sword tighter, the blade only a hair width away from his trusted pilot’s throat, “So be it.”
Rockhart froze, then with two cautious fingers, he pushed on the sword’s pommel, moving it far enough away from his throat so he could nod. Laexor made to put his sword back at his side, but stopped when Rockhart grinned maniacally and gripped his King’s shoulder. “I would be ready to use that sword if I were you, my King. If we land for any reason, the Beasts of Rhea will try to overwhelm us. Only cold Damascus Steel can stop them.”
Laexor nodded and headed back to his seat next to Myra. As soon as he sat, the fear of what he had just asked for took hold. Myra quaked next to him, her breath short and rapid, her mouth agape, with Raktor pulled to her bosom.
Her voice was nigh above a whisper, barely audible amongst the whimpering from Raktor. “Laexor, please. The execution of the elf was one thing. But putting our son in harm’s way is inexcusable. Please, land us in the Eternal Tower, refuel, then do whatever stupid thing you wish.”
Laexor breathed deep, fighting through his fears so he could comfort his crumbling wife. He stood beside her, sword in hand, placing his other on his wife’s slender shoulder, looking into her eyes. “My beloved Myra, the more people we save, the more people who will be willing to do the same for their peers. Bravery is contagious, and one must not let the fear of death keep them from the right path.”
Cory Rockhart turned the RAM from the tower, the hum of the Virtuuce Cannons rising as they charged with energy. They rapidly approached the northeast border, and Laexor knew he only had seconds before war enveloped them. With his free hand, he gripped Myra’s neck and turned her to him, firmly guiding her lips to his own. Her tears wet his face as his lips glided across hers, his tongue darting into her mouth and flicking the tip of hers, her teeth playfully biting his bottom lip in response. Their relationship was one of magic—a magic that no god or goddess could urge into being. Their love was a tangled web of sacrifices and gifts, both interchangeable in their eyes.
When they separated from their loving embrace, tears glistened in Laexor’s eyes as well. “I love you, Myra.”
She pursed her lips, fixed her hair, her cheeks glowing, and nodded. “I love you too, Laexor.”
The RAM went into a nose-dive, making Laexor press his feet into the floor to keep him in his seat. He turned to his window to see the beams of power erupt from their cannons, landing directly in the middle of the street below, engulfing the entire area between the buildings in a magical flame. The elves and unicorns that were pushing forward on that street were obliterated, with no time to pulse to safety. The RAM pulled up, gained altitude, turned wildly in the air, and then unleashed another blast, killing more of the monsters.
A blood-curdling roar erupted from the sky above them, and the massive figure of the Black Maw blocked the smaller sun. A firestorm erupted from the monster as it turned to circle the city, melting a group of mechs that had been defending the southern city border. The RAM then fell rapidly, landing roughly on the cannon-scarred street below. Then Cory was out of the cockpit, a new miniature Virtuuce Cannon in his hands. The cutting-edge weaponry had a metal barrel down the center, with the canisters used to power the weapon extending out from both sides of the barrel in a “T” shape, resembling a crossbow.
“Be ready to fight, my King. With any luck, the Black Maw did not spot us. But the remaining beasts that made it into the city will have surely seen us land.”
As though the beasts had heard him, an arrow pierced the door to the RAM, and sounds of the cockpit windows being shattered by additional arrows filled the air. Cory reached into a small side compartment, one that was not visible by passersby, and pulled out two black shiny bundles of what looked like wads of chain. Cory noticed Laexor’s inquisitive look and answered the unspoken question, “Virtuusian chain-mail. Strong enough to protect you from an arrow.”
The men pulled the shiny black chain-mail over their heads, draped it across their chests, and let it hang loosely down past their waists. The material was extremely light, strong, and extremely rare.
Laexor gripped his sword in both hands, assuming a fighting stance. “Well, Rockhart, if history is to be made, it might as well be made by us.”
He hammered his chest with a closed fist, his low voice a growl. “Yes, my liege. It is an honor serving with you.”
Cory Rockhart pulled the latch on the door, and Laexor, after a quick glance over his shoulder towards Myra, who noticed his eyes were engulfed in ice blue, kicked the door open.
The second sun shone in his eyes. An arrow hit his chest, cracking a rib. Then Laexor dove from the RAM, rounding around a shattered pillar, swinging his sword upwards into the ribs of a unicorn and elf. He heard Rockhart’s Virtuuce cannon sounding as he ripped his sword free, the pommel flashing a brighter blue, then he brought the blade round and ended the elf along with its mount. Another arrow hit his chest. This time, the force was not great enough to break bone. By the time Laexor found the creature who had fired upon him, a beam from Rockhart had obliterated the mount and rider, the gore of which was incredible.
