The Queen's Curse (20 page)

Tirsa understood that very well. She had experienced something similar. She had lived under a lot of high expectations and stress after her first recognition. And how could she ever live up to the stories spread about her? The difference between them, however, was that Tirsa never worried about those things. She never cared for fame or much how other people thought about her, Artride did.

‘The fall was indeed hard when the people found out I wasn’t their hope and pride.’

‘It’s hard for them to put their finger on you, to judge you fairly. Just be patient with yourself and them.’

She felt Artride slightly move herself to lay in a more comfortable position on her back, with her legs bent a little.

‘Who helped you with your new role?’

‘Not an awful lot of people. Gradolf left to join Volmer, which I was not sorry about, but I was left on my own to choose my own mentors. I did not even have the time to feel sorry for myself. It was either swim or drown, and I had to learn that rapidly. I tried to swim … I still do.’

‘I think you are doing a fine job so far. The best you can
, considered the circumstances.’

Artride found herself thinking back about how angry Tirsa was when she first met her. She didn’t think so then. But that was before she knew the truth.
The truth …

‘You are just trying to be kin
d with me. Being a queen does not suit me and often I find myself living a lie. I was not meant to be queen; a non-person without feelings. It does not feel right to stand above anyone and rule over another person’s life, let alone an entire country.’ She sighed deeply before she continued, ‘Oh, I have learned that a country needs organisation, otherwise chaos will rule and strife will emerge among the people, but I feel it can be done in another way.’

‘How?’ Tirsa was all ears.

‘Well,’ she suddenly spoke excitedly and rapidly, ‘we should gather a high delegation; chosen people from all the counties – instead of the counts that rule now that bought their way to the top. Together these caring people can make new rules for Ceartas; approved by all the people through honest selections. I have accepted the fact that I have certain obligations, fame and expectations, but I want to act instead of follow; I guess what you would expect from a true leader. I want to mean something for the people, use my role wisely and help them. I do not want to be a tool anymore. I want to be close to the people to understand their needs. We should go hand in hand to begin to understand each other. The distance there is now must vanish. ’

‘That is really modern, if I may say so.’ Tirsa had heard about those systems in far away countries. Compared to them Ceartas was still so primitive. It surprised her in a pleasant way the
queen was thinking this way.

‘You may,’ Artride laughed. ‘But I hope we can keep this between us. If someone finds out before the curse is destroyed
…’

‘Why worry? The people would like your ideas, I am sure of that.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. Many are against the current system, but are afraid to act because of their fear for harsh measures.’

‘Hmm, it’s just that I am used to keeping secrets. It has grown my second nature.’

She is definitely honest with me now!
‘Well, if you care to know, I for one like your plan and truly hope it will be a reality someday.’

‘Yes, someday
…’ she dreamily repeated before her voice became steady again, ‘And we haven’t even found the realm of this sorceress yet, and it has already been a week since we started our journey.’

‘Well,’ Tirsa responded solemnly and she lay down as well, ‘I feel we are getting closer.’

CHAPTER 11

Better the long clean road,

Than the short dirty road.

Gaelic proverb

A sharp pain hit Artride in her bare face. Another cold gust of wind blew past her from the high
Ice Mountains. Nothing was able to grow here and the air was not only getting colder, but thinner and therefore harder to breathe. Her woollen cloak was not entirely windproof, but normally held most cold outside. This surely was the worst cold she had ever felt before. And she knew cold; she had sought it intentionally when she was eighteen; trying to feel closer to nature and harden herself so she could endure the time to come better, she figured, thinking back at her lonely strolls through the winter woods surrounding Tarac with only a thin silken dress on her bare body, while all the other inhabitants were warm inside by the comforting fires.

She had almost grown numb to the cold outside
, indeed, but that was all; whatever else people said. She was not a cold heartless person, although she had started to believe it herself soon after she had watched the first criminal on his way to the executioner who was about to behead him. He had killed a Ceartasian soldier for offending and ravaging his only daughter. For soldiers it was allowed to take the woman of an enemy without any punishment from the book, but the woman had been Ceartasian. The soldier, therefore, would have had to face his sentence, but the father had not thought about that and was faster with his own wrath, more’s the pity. She thought back at the helpless feeling of rage she had felt, even though her father had tried to teach her not to get involved, and told her to let her guards handle all the crimes and penalties; like he always did.
“Use your precious time in finding a way to destroy the book. The longer you wait, the more suffering to both you and the people. When you have found a cure, you can explain and then they will understand, before that time come it is just painfully wasted time. You cannot change the sentences, nor can you turn back time; so it will do no good.”

People had spoken
ill of him, as well; Macdin the Mouse they had called him, but at least they knew he did not enjoy it. They just believed he was a coward and that he cherished his background with its Holy Book and feared the evil spirits of his ancestors; especially that of King Oleval the Great. The people of Ceartas were quite superstitious and seemed to accept that. Because Artride was more involved and actually spoke to her people, like no king or queen had ever done before in their kingdom, but not for the reasons her people believed, she was often thought of as cruel. Even her father had obeyed the unwritten rule to keep his distance and did not speak to the relatives of the sentenced ones. He simple said to them, ‘What’s done is done. You know the rules, alas. So be it.’ When he advised her to do the same, she had resented him, but now she understood. It would have eaten him alive, like it did her. He had warned her though, but she wouldn’t listen.

Artride had asked him why
King Oleval had trusted such a sorcerer like Kromdan, but Macdin could only tell her what he was told by his father, for almost no records were held, other than stories of victory and glory. King Oleval had wanted to be immortal, mighty and obeyed beyond reason and he thought that this was the ideal way to achieve that. No children of his would replace him after his death and change his ‘marvelous’ rules. No, they would be powerless and had to admit that only
he
was the true King of Ceartas, into eternity. But the fool had forgotten to thank the one who made it all possible, poor old Kromdan, and now Oleval’s offspring had indeed to live with his thoughtless negligence even today; over two centuries past his death.

Going over things in her mind, trying to ignore the freezing pain she had never felt before, like the frost was climbing into her bones and her blood
, and was trying to find a way into her heart, she said out loud, ‘I will never be like you, Oleval!’ Tirsa had not heard above the raging wind.

Tarac was not all that cold for a castle; all the fireplaces built in every room had prove
d to be very effective indeed; although all the fires had to be maintained by the loyal servants all day.

She wrapped her cloak around her shivering body tighter, but it had little effect.

Tirsa was even worse off; as a hardened practical knight, a cloak would only get in the way during battle; in this kind of terrain they would wear heavy woollen tunics, but the swamp had destroyed her only one and the rest of her clothes. Instead, she used her blanket knotted under her chin, flapping behind her like wings of a maddening bird. With every step she made her feet felt like wooden shoes, even though she had wrapped them up in pieces of woollen cloth; ripped off her spare muddy clothes. Her hair flapped around as well and flew like golden treads in the growing wind, which now contained small flocks of snow; hard and sharp like the mountains itself.

They had been walking
continuously for hours, Tirsa at the front; trying to cross these mountains somehow; climbing and descending several rocky ridges, covered with centuries of compact icy snow. And fresh snow was falling out of the sky, whirling about them, and over the ground like smoke when they thought they had had the worst.

The wind blew too hard to communicate, so they pointed and gestured to one another where to go next and next
…

Their limbs grew slowly numb and painless and they did not dare to rest; afraid they would freeze at the spot, with their feet attached firmly to the ice
, and they would stand like statues, never to be found again.

But what was the most frightening was that the howling wind started to form words; while at first they thought it was their own imagination playing tricks on them, they started to be able to make out their names clearly.

Artride tried to cover her ears, but Tirsa decided it wasn’t that fearsome at all. The voices calling their names sounded soothing and kind, and it appeared more like a question to Tirsa than teasing or mean, like she expected at first. And they kept repeating their names.

‘What?’ Artride shouted annoyed at the voices, but Tirsa was calmer and asked, ‘Who are you? If you are Windchildren, please help us. If this is some hindering from the sorceress leave us at peace, we mean no harm! Or else guide us to your home.’

‘Heeeelp.’ The voices responded in chorus. It sounded more like a plea than a confirmation.

Both women stared at each other through the continu
ous, falling snow, which stung and hurt their eyes like numerous small knives.

‘I think they are Windchildren!’ Tirsa shouted at Artride
, whose face showed incomprehension.

At that moment the wind caught Tirsa
’s improvised cloak and it flew high in circles on the gust of wind. She tried to grab it, but missed. The cold wind was blowing right through her leather breeches and woollen surcoat. They hadn’t expected this kind of weather at all in springtime; not even in the mountains … well, not in the friendly mountains they were used to.

Artride got hold of her hand and gestured her to follow. Holding each other
’s hands tightly, so they wouldn’t lose each other in the snow blizzard, they set their feet in the calf-deep snow and trotted on. Dragging themselves forward, leaning, pushing and pulling, urging and encouraging the other. They had no idea in what direction they went, but as Tirsa had suggested; they followed their instinct. And time went by …

Until
… the snow ceased to fall.

The heavy clouds cleared and opened themselves
, and the wind lay down to be replaced by a comfortable summer breeze.
A summer breeze?
they wondered simultaneously.

They were still in the snow
-capped mountains, higher up than they imagined, as they could see the surrounding view of lower blue-grey mountains, their peaks dwelling in layers of mist. It was still cold, or perhaps they were, but everything looked different. No sign of snow, other than that on their clothes and in their hair. The queen glanced back to find her sight covered in mist.

‘Ah, never look back, lady
,’ she heard a soft voice announce, while she had the strange sensation of being watched. She glimpsed at Tirsa to see if she had heard it as well. She was startled by the expression on her face as she started to look around.

No one. No snow, no wind, no voices, just plain old mountains, like nothing had ever happened.

Then, for no apparent reason, Tirsa’s eyes caught something green between the wet, pale blue-grey rocks covered with brownish moss and a fine white layer of melting snow. A bright green, like new leaves of a fern. However, it didn’t seem to fit in here.

She walked towards it carefully, and discovered a plant with big leaves, she wasn’t familiar with.

‘Do not touch it, Tirsa,’ Artride warned, coming to stand next to her. ‘Remember what Roalda said, not to trust anything we do not know.’

Tirsa
only nodded and looked up to find more of those big leafed, luscious green plants a few footsteps away. Artride followed her and the more they walked, the greener it got; also beneath their feet, grass appeared and tiny flowers popped up, and more pretty plants and small bushes with big leaves. The flowers they now saw were bigger with gorgeous shapes, almost like mouths and bells; reddish and deep blue, and they spread a lovely fresh scent that you couldn’t get enough of. It enlightened their mood. Huge butterflies, brighter and more colourful than they had ever seen, flew from one to the other, and when Artride got nearer she noticed them drinking with large delicate tongues like needles, from the rich and sweet nectar they provided. They also spotted berries at the bushes, red and blue, but they had never seen such before and left them alone, with watering mouths and growling stomachs.

When they stopped walking they gazed around to draw in the profusion of colours, it was like ending up in a beautiful dream you did not want to wake up from; a colourful
– but mostly green – small valley welcomed them warmly, yes warmly, for indeed the temperature had risen comfortably; not too hot and not too cold.

The Magical Land, pleasant for once
,
Artride thought smiling, and she glanced over to her companion who had a suspicious and wary look on her face, to tell by her narrowed eyes.

Artride walked further while the soft grass cherished her boots; still wet from the melted snow. They did not recognize the trees which grew there with their soft reddish brown bark and twisted smooth branches with again big green leaves. Small streams of clear
, green-blue water, ran over small round pebbles between the slender grass, bright and clear like crystals. Tirsa picked one up, a violet one, and when she looked in it she saw another world; another paradise, like this one. Startled she dropped it and it landed among the other pebbles, which doubtless held the same wonders. She had an urge to pick one up again to look and dream away, until she realized she was in a little paradise herself, right here, right now. The streams ended in a broader babbling brook; flowing through a tumble of bigger boulders and it was clearing their thoughts comfortably. The sun had appeared from behind the clouds; clouds which were entirely gone now. A clear blue sky was upon them again. She had forgotten about Artride for a moment, who sat down on a rock a few feet away, warming her face in the sunlight with closed eyes. She looked so serene with her clear, unwrinkled young skin, her peach mouth and her oval face framed with black hair, which had a reddish glow upon it, exposed as she had been to the wind and now the sun. If Tirsa hadn’t known any better she would guess she belonged here; among the green and fresh pure things. She was made of the same material.

They needed to rest
, and from out of nowhere here it was; their camp. It was more than they could ever hope for. Tirsa sat on another rock next to the queen and warmed herself as well. The rock didn’t feel hard, but smoother and softer than any pillow.

They held their tongues, for it would certainly disturb the peace of this place. And what words were needed right now other than sighs of astonishment and wonder?

What remained, however, were their growling stomachs and dry mouths, next to their heavy limbs and strained muscles, which had tightened themselves in the cold, and they ached all over.

There was fruit here
, and water, but could they touch it? Would it be safe?

In answer a small rustling of leaves was to be heard as a tiny head popped up between the big leaves of a bush. It was the head of a young girl in her teens
, smiling at them with glittering bright green eyes, green as fresh grass. Her skin was of a darker forest green and her long straight hair clear blue, like the colour of the stream in this little valley.

She rose from her knees and carefully approached light
-footed. The two women quickly glanced at one another. Artride appeared more startled than Tirsa, for she recognized a Woodchild in the girl which she quickly whispered to Artride.

‘My welcome to both of you
,’ the girl said pleasantly, with a small accent.

‘Hello
,’ Artride spoke with a trembling voice.

The girl bowed. ‘A pleasure meeting a
queen. My name is Shanta and this is my home.’