Two White Queens, pt V

Whatever independent experiments Rohlan may or may not have done over the next few years to re-create the mystery of the Tart Incident have been lost to the mists of time. Suffice to say, he was never successful, although to his credit he never again stole from his mother.

***

It was his mother he was thinking of one fine autumn morning when the peddler passed through. Rohlan loved the peddler (whose name was Jarrod), and not just because he always had wonderful toys with him. No, Rohlan loved Jarrod for himself; bright-eyed, quick-witted, and highly observant, always with a tale to tell a young lad. Jarrod had weathered skin the color of walnut-stain, and although Rohlan’s mother thought he had sad eyes, his smile was wide and infectious. He did not have a fixed schedule, but would appear at random and stay for as short as a day or as long as a fortnight; he was always welcomed at the farmhouse. He had even, over the years, taught Rohlan to recognize his letters, although reading did not come easily to the boy.

Jarrod was whistling a disjointed tune as he appeared over a rise in the road, and when Rohlan realized who it was he ran to meet him. They walked along companionably as Rohlan related his current woe: he was beginning to suspect that his parents were not, in fact, his parents.

Now, this is a common thought amongst thirteen-year-old children everywhere, in all times- but for Rohlan it was based on more than just wishful thinking. He was starting to come into his adult height, and it was becoming painfully evident that he would soon tower above both parents (who were, it must be admitted, on the short side). His skin never held a beautiful golden tan like theirs did- it remained stubbornly pale- almost translucent- no matter how long he labored in the fields. Finally, it had recently occurred to him that both of his parents had sleepy looking eyes the color of birch beer: but his eyes slanted up, and were the disconcertingly bright green of new grass. When he had asked his mother which side of the family he’d received his awkward features from, she’d looked upset and changed the subject. All in all, signs indicated Something Suspicious.

Jarrod listened patiently to all of this, and in the end asked Rohlan if he was sure he wanted to know the truth- after all, the explanation might be something painful, like a long-dead relation or a violent rape. Rohlan was taken aback: such thoughts had never occurred to him. It gave him something to mull over, and he decided to keep quiet for the time being. Jarrod only smiled his mysterious smile.

It is quite possible that Rohlan might have decided that he really didn’t need to know the truth- that his parents were his parents regardless of blood ties- had it not been for something that occurred two evenings later.

Jarrod and Rohlan, for the amusement of his parents, were acting out an elaborate sword fight from one of their favorite stories. Jarrod, although wizened in appearance, was surprisingly spry, and was giving the boy a bit of a run-around, in spite of the fact that, as the villain, he really ought to have been losing. At one point, after poking Rohlan in the posterior with his stick-sword, Jarrod mocked the other’s choice in weapons, calling it the crookedest twig he’d even seen. Rohlan (in proper Virtuous Hero form) replied with vehemence that it was not a twig; it was the finest sword ever to emerge from the dwarfish smithies of old.

No one quite saw how it happened, but when Rohlan swung his stick down to crash against Jarrod’s it did not crash: it sliced straight through, and only a timely stumble on the part of Jarrod saved his arm from a similar fate. The laughter abruptly stopped, and Rohlan dropped his sword (for that is what he now held) in horror.

Jarrod, from his position in the dirt, looked over to Rohlan’s father and remarked that perhaps the time had come to tell the truth, after all.

Two White Queens, pt IV

It began with such a simple thing, a thing that might so easily have been overlooked. And had it been overlooked, our story might have had a very different outcome, indeed. But it was not overlooked: it was looked at, and looked at hard, and most importantly it was remembered.

Rohlan was, as many young boys are, prone to getting into Mischief. Moreover, Rohlan was particularly fond of raspberry tarts. The combination of these two factors meant that when his mother baked said tarts it was fairly typical for them to turn up one or two short of the number she had thought she’d baked. On the day in question, she had baked two dozen, and set them on the sill to cool while she did some mending outside in the sun. Now, lest you think Rohlan’s mother some sort of fool, let me assure you she knew perfectly well what happens when you leave raspberry tarts un-chaperoned. Thus it was when she heard a clatter from the kitchen she smiled a hidden smile and, in a severe tone, called out to ask her son how many tarts were left on the sill. His guilty voice assured her that there were two-dozen, which made her laugh as she walked back in- only to stop short as she saw that there were, in fact, the full two-dozen tarts cooling, in spite of her son’s somewhat sticky-looking mouth. Confused, she left the kitchen. When she again heard the clatter, she asked how many were left now- to which he once again responded that there were the full four and twenty. Again she returned to the kitchen only to find he was telling the truth- although his mouth retained the sticky look, and he had a bit of a queasy cast to his features. Disturbed, she bade him follow her back outside to assist with the rest of her mending. That night, Rohlan only picked at his supper, and when he was offered a raspberry tart he turned pale and refused it. His mother promptly sent him to bed, certain that only a great illness could kill his desire for the treats. When she related the story to her husband that night he looked concerned, but said nothing.

The next day the farmer brought Rohlan with him to the fields, and walked beside him up and down the rows of tender green plants. Finally he asked his son why he had not wanted any raspberry tarts. At first his son only shrugged and looked guilty, but as his father’s gaze bore down on him, he confessed: he had wanted raspberry tarts- in fact he had eaten the greater part of a dozen. His father commented mildly that it was no wonder the boy had been sick, and by the by, how had he managed to replace those he’d devoured?

Rohan, wretched and miserable, said he did not know. All he knew was that his mother had asked him how many remained and when (in a fit of panic) he lied, he suddenly found it to be truth. The second time had been more to see if he could repeat his feat than because he’d actually wanted more tarts. It had worked, but he still was not certain how.

The farmer was silent for a long while, and then advised the boy not to talk about what had happened to anyone but himself. Next he pointed out that not only is theft wrong, it is also heartily foolish to stuff one’s self to the point of illness, regardless of one’s motivations. Finally, he commented that he really ought to beat Rohlan for lying- but that he wouldn’t this time because he’d come clean in the end.

Rohlan was appropriately grateful.

A Break From Storytime (With Plenty of Digression)

Although I do have most of the next installment written, I thought I'd take tonight off from Two White Queens- sort of. See, I thought I'd take an entry to talk about how it came about.

It started as many of my stories start- in a dream. And boy-howdy, was it a star-studded dream. The two queens were played by Timmain of Elfquest and Jadis of the Chronicles of Narnia. Rohlan? Oh, Rohlan was straight-up Harry Potter of, you know, Harry Potter. As my best friend put it, my dreams have an incredible production budget. I won't go much further into it, for fear of giving away plot points, but let's just say that other major pieces of the story also have their roots in great children's literature (although to be fair, Elfquest is not so much for the kiddies...)

Anyway, I woke up after this incredibly elaborate dream and so wanted to get back into it that I knew I had to write it down while I remembered it, or I would seriously regret it. Needless to say, after I'd spewed the entire (rather incoherent) thing onto the computer screen, I started tweaking. Some tweaks came immediately (for instance, changing the players into characters that had their own back-stories, rather than being reproductions of other writers' efforts), others developed as I started turning the dream into an actual story (and to tell the truth what I'm putting up isn't the story, per se- it's more like an elaborate outline) (rough-draft of an elaborate outline). For instance, having the queen devour her son came from Nathan commenting (after reading the first part) that it reminded him of a fairy tale- of the old fairy tales that were dark and didn't always turn out so pleasantly. Immediately my brain went to the tales wherein the evil queen frames her daughter-in-law, making it appear she's eaten her own children. I already knew that T'myra would be spending time as a wolf, so that seemed the perfect vehicle for a little horrific infanticide.

My dream primarily dealt with the "prologue" (laid out in parts I-III) and then the "ending" (quite a few story-years in the future). I'm currently at the point in the story that my dream conveniently glossed over (edited for television, I'm sure), and it's definitely requiring more effort to mine it from my subconscious. The first parts were like walking into a valley and picking up raw diamonds- yeah, maybe I needed to chip away a little rock to get at them (and still need to polish the hell out of them), but for the most part there they were, waiting for me to gather them up. Now I'm having to carve out tunnels and such. It's possible I may need to kill a former teen heart-throb or two. You know- for the greater good. ::cough::

At least I know where I need to end up- that's some help.

This is kind of how I imagine the Powers That Be feel like (yeah yeah- lightning for arrogance; don't worry, I'm pretty sure you can't be smited by association). They know where we'll end up, but They're watching to see what sort of crazy adventures we'll make up for ourselves on our way there. Because at this point, it really is like I'm poking my characters to see which way they jump. And if they jump in a way that's not conducive to the story I'm trying to tell?

Well then I'll just poke them again.

Two White Queens, pt III

The hunters did not find the white wolf as easily as Siddis thought they would. What should have been a glorious time for her- the beginning of her rightful rule- was marred by the fact that no one seemed able to produce her mad, transformed sister. It did not matter what rewards she promised, what punishments she inflicted- the white wolf remained elusive. That is until the day almost three years later when a new hunter appeared from a strange land. This hunter assured the new queen that there was not a beast alive- or dead, for that matter- that he could not track and destroy. He would bring her the pelt of the white wolf, or die in the trying- and all he asked in return was a single drop of her royal blood.

Siddis was not pleased by this request: she knew better than most what could be accomplished with a single drop of blood. But this hunter had no whiff of magic about him, let alone that particular, tainted miasma which spoke of dark powers- and no-one else had been able to what she asked. She agreed that he could have his price- but not until or unless he brought her what was promised.

The moon had come to fullness three times before the hunter returned with a shining white wolf-pelt slung over his shoulder. Siddis was pleased- until she saw that there was no trace of the collar she had crafted. When she demanded to know its fate, the hunter shrugged and said she had not requested the jewels: that he could tell they were poisonous things not to be trifled with by ordinary folk such as him, and so he had let them lay where they fell on the forest floor. If Siddis wanted them, she would have to search them out herself. As for the hunter, once he had collected his payment he had plans to leave this troubled kingdom, and never return.

Although she seethed at the loss of her handiwork, Siddis did admit that she had not requested he bring it to her, and as such she would give him his due. Using her terrible stone knife, she pricked her wrist and let a single drop of blood fall into a tiny glass vial, which she gave to the hunter. Once he had gone, she ordered her most vicious assassins to follow him and retrieve it, but it was as though the hunter had vanished from the world: they could find no trace of him or his passing.

Siddis had a fine cloak made from the wolf’s fur. In recent years the winters had begun to last longer, and were more bitterly cold than any in memory: the fur served her well, and if any thought it an inappropriate use of her sister’s remains, no one dared say as much to the ruthless new White Queen.

Winter was not the only thing that worsened as the years passed; there were also more droughts, more plagues, and a gradual dwindling of trade- not to mention the increase in floods, vermin, and crop-blight. The kingdom itself seemed to be wasting away, its borders shrinking and its lands withering, its soil growing thin and infertile as its people. Even the shining inland sea that once surrounded the royal island had shrunk to one eighth its former size: barely large enough to be called a lake. But in spite of all these disturbing happenings, Siddis ruled without mercy, for she knew the land and the people were hers to do with as she wished: all that concerned her was remaining in her rightful role as queen, and having time and materials to pursue her unquenchable thirst for dark knowledge.

In the meantime, although he enjoyed his promised place of favor amongst the Siddis’s court, Kyl’k had fallen into great disgrace with the common people. He was known far and wide as the Traitor, the man who had betrayed one White Queen to the other, and was neither trusted nor welcomed anywhere in the kingdom. This seemed to eat away at his body as well as his soul, and he became a small, twisted, and bitter version of his former handsome self. He often disappeared into solitude for months on end and was missed by none- not even the queen he had given all for.

This was the state of affairs in the kingdom known as Zhiala, in the eighth year of Siddis’s reign. But it is not in the kingdom of Zhiala that our real story begins. It is in the small, almost forgotten land to the south-west of it. So small was this land that it did not have a real name, nor even a formal ruler. But it was decidedly not a part of the surrounding countries (Zhiala included), and thus seemed immune to the trials and tribulations that might plague the others.

In this un-named land there lived a dark-haired famer and his dark-haired wife, and they had an even darker-haired son they called Rohlan. They kept to themselves and worked very hard, and all in all did quite well, and were quite content with the quiet ordinariness of their lives.

Content, that is, until the day Rohlan realized maybe he wasn’t quite so ordinary, after all.

Two White Queens, pt II

Siddis did not feel herself to be unreasonable. Although she harbored no affection for her younger sister, she did not see why things could not be settled peaceably. After all- she wasn’t asking for anything irrational: just her rightful place as Queen. And so she gathered up the courtliest of her associates from the Outer Dark and with them approached her sister’s palace- with intentions to parlay rather than attack.

T’myra was shocked to see Siddis alive- still more so to see her so strange in appearance and so obviously wreathed in alien power. But when she heard why her sister had returned- to claim her crown- she could not acquiesce. As gently as she could, she explained to her sister that she had been gone for too long: Siddis was a stranger to the people, and they would not accept her as their ruler. Moreover, T’myra felt that perhaps Siddis, having left so young, did not have a full understanding of what the kingdom required from its ruler.

This response infuriated Siddis, but she did not immediately lash out in anger, for she saw that T’myra was surrounded by powerful allies, and that it was not the time to move against her. Instead she seduced T’myra’s most trusted companion, a young serving-man named Kyl’k, and bent him to her will. She set Kyl’k to spy for her, that she might become better acquainted with her sister’s strengths and (more importantly) her weaknesses. This accomplished, she withdrew to the Outer Dark to build her armies, and to plot.

Years passed, and soon it was known throughout the lands that the White Queen T’myra was with child. This piece of news interested Siddis greatly, for she remembered something that no-one else knew; when her mother, the former queen, had been pregnant with T’myra, all her shape-changing magic had gradually gone deep within to aid the development of the child, until by the ninth month she was left virtually powerless. Siddis knew that finally her time for vengeance had approached.

Under the pretense of bringing a birthing-gift to her sister, Siddis returned once more to the palace of her childhood. T’myra, thinking Siddis reconciled to her fate, welcomed her with open arms, and gladly accepted the gift: a beautifully wrought collar made of silver and set with colorless gems that glittered coldly in the sun. T’myra told her sister she would wear it to the next night’s feast, which of course Siddis must stay for. This was exactly the sort of invitation Siddis has hoped for- it would give her an opportunity to move against T’myra with no-one the wiser.

That next night Siddis brought an herb to the feast that would cause any pregnant woman to bleed heavily and bring forth her unborn child before its time. If T’myra managed to survive, Siddis had a still darker plan in reserve- but for now she would focus on this one.

T’myra suspected nothing as she ate and drank at the head of the table. When her sister, seated in honor to her left, shared a dish with her, no one could complain- for Siddis ate as much from the plate as T’myra did. It was not until hours after the feast had ended that the cry went up- the queen was in labor, and far too early! Siddis remained in her chambers, biding her time to see if everything would end quickly and cleanly (for her, anyway) or if she would have to go to more elaborate plans. When a page arrived bearing the news that both mother and child were thought to be out of danger, Siddis smiled sweetly (a disturbing look for her) and sent him away.

She waited until the following night before she summoned Kyl’k, and told him his time had come. To prove his loyalty to her he must kill the newborn and bring her its body. If he would do this thing she would make him the most powerful lord in the land: perhaps even her Royal Consort. Kyl’k protested that T’myra would never let him do such a thing- and now that the child was born she had her full powers back. Siddis explained to him that he need not worry- the collar she had gifted T’myra with was in fact an instrument of dark power. All Kyl’k need do was speak a certain word, and T’myra would be trapped in her animal form- but what’s more, she would be trapped with the mind of whatever dumb beast she had chosen. She would not know who Kyl’k was, let alone think to protect the human child in the room. Siddis gave him secret word and sent him forth.

Soon the castle was once again in an uproar. A wolf, its muzzle stained crimson, had been seen fleeing the palace. The queen and her child were nowhere to be found. Siddis smiled her bloodless smile, and waited for Kyl’k.

When the manservant finally re-appeared he was soaked in blood, but alone. He told Siddis that when he spoke the word of power T’myra had transformed into a wolf- and immediately leapt upon her own child, intent on devouring it. He had tried to wrest the babe from her jaws (aware that he must bring Siddis proof of its death) but she had turned and savaged his arm, then grabbed the pitiful remains and run. Kyl’k groveled before Siddis, apologizing for failing her, but instead of the terrible punishment he had feared, she threw back her head and laughed. It was far better than she could have planned for! The queen had gone mad, transformed into a wolf, and devoured her own child! No one could blame Siddis if she sent out hunters now!

And so she did.

Two White Queens, pt I

Once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess who loved her mother very much. She and the queen spent hours together playing, dreaming, and sharing secrets. The princess’s favorite secret was that of her mother’s magic: she could transform herself into any animal she chose. The queen promised her daughter that one day, when the princess was old enough, she too would learn to do such things. The princess could hardly stand the wait.

One day, when the princess was seven years old, the queen told her daughter the most important secret yet- soon she would have a little brother or sister. The princess was worried- would her mother love the new baby more than herself? But the queen reassured her- she could never love anyone more than her daughter, and that although the love she would have for the new baby might, in its own way, be equal to the love she held for her eldest, it would never surpass it. And Siddis (for that was the little princess’s name) would come to love the new baby as well, and the three of them would be the best of friends. Thus comforted, Siddis began to eagerly anticipate the new addition to the family.

But then came the Terrible Day. There was frenzied activity, and screaming, and wailing, and no one would tell Siddis what was happening in her mother’s chambers. All that night the little princess hid in an alcove near her mother’s room, crying with helpless fear, and no one thought to look for her. When she emerged the following morning she found she had a little sister – but no mother. And her father, the king, would hold the new sister in his arms and weep while others tried to comfort him, but Siddis was left all alone.

Siddis did not come to love T’myra (for that was what her sister was called): not one bit. T’myra had killed their mother, and what was worse, T’myra could never understand what she had taken from Siddis. T’myra and their father grew as close as two people could be- as close as Siddis and the queen had been- and there was no room in their love for Siddis, so Siddis kept no room in her heart for them.

One day a mysterious stranger came to live at court. He said he was a magician, and he showed them amazing things, like transforming a small rabbit into stone- but such acts made T’myra cry and so the king asked the man to keep his tricks to himself. Siddis was furious at this dismissal; she wanted to know how the magician had come to command such powers, because her mother had been the only one she had ever known to show any mastery of the arcane. She followed him to his chambers and demanded that he teach her, which he did; he showed her many dark and wonderful things in exchange for a few drops of her royal blood. When the king discovered what had happened his wrath was terrible- he banished the magician and locked Siddis in her rooms while he contemplated her punishment. But she would not be punished, and so she escaped and ran away from the palace, determined to learn the magic her father would deny her. She traveled for a long time, until she reached the Outer Dark, and what she learned there does not bear repeating. Suffice to say, never again would she be helpless to the will of another.

During the long years of her absence, the king gave his eldest up for dead, ordered the kingdom into mourning, and finally declared T’myra his heir. In time it became apparent that she had inherited her mother’s gift for shape-change, and she spent much of her time flying, swimming, and running through the kingdom in many beautiful, snow-white forms. She was gentle, good, and wise beyond her years, and the people loved her dearly; they called T’myra the White, for she was white as all-color, iridescent and ever-shifting as sunlight on the water.

When the king finally died and T’myra ascended to the throne, the people grieved the loss of him, but they rejoiced in her reign as the White Queen. The land prospered, and people were content, and it seemed that “happily ever after” was something more than just a fairy-tale.

But in the Outer-Dark a terrible force began to stir...

Siddis had become very powerful during her self-imposed exile, and although she herself did not appear to have the inborn magic of her sister, she was able to craft tools that bent the natural order of the universe to her will. She, too, was known as the White- but her white was the white of no-color, of the blood-drained corpse: cold and hard and never-changing. She had heard tell of the events in her former homeland, and was not pleased; T’myra had stolen her birthright- both her birthrights- and Siddis meant to have them back.