One – Winters Past
Twin full moons shone down brightly on the palace. In the moonlight one could see every detail, the rough stone walls and magnificent towers awash with silvery light. The nearly gothic architecture looked cold, harsh, and unforgiving to anyone on the outside.
Inside though, there was warmth that didn’t come from any fire or passion but of Magick. Within the protective barrier wall, cast in shadows, night blooming roses thrived despite the light dusting of snow over them. Thicker snow lined the cobblestone pathways of the garden and gathered on top of iron arches. The crisp night air was filled with the soothing aroma of smoke, roses, and rain.
At the clearing in the middle of the garden children gathered around a crackling fire. Young faces look with glee at the old woman at the head of their group. Their breath held and bodies bouncing in anticipation. Yet they were silent as they waited for her to begin.
The woman looked at them. Still bright blue eyes twinkling and a smile deepening the wrinkles on her face appealingly. Many had said that she aged well, and the regal look of her said she knew it. White hair pulled neatly back in a braid she sat with back straight. Her soft voice instantly captivating them as she began to speak, “This rising is beautiful, children, don’t you think?”
They all nodded.
“Seems a pity to break this peaceful atmosphere with talk…” Laughing at their protest she gave in and continued, “Well then, what do you want to hear?”
Instantly chaos broke out; children speaking all at once, getting louder and faster in an attempt to be heard about the others. Knowing them, the woman sat back and waited while they calmed down again. Letting a minute of silence pass before breaking their tension.
“I am certain that during that calm and organized discussion you all figured out what you want to hear, correct?” The older kids laughed, and the younger ones looked around in confusion uncertain just what was so funny, “Hmm, No? Well, Isn’t it someone’s birth night? A certain princess perhaps?”
“Yes, SongMaker! It’s Sarantha’s!”
“So she should pick, no?” the SongMaker turned to the young princess. Hazel eyes found The SongMaker’s and the happiness in them was a reminder of just why she did this. Sarantha looked into fire for a moment, face creasing in thought.
“I want to hear of the Alesana again,” Some of the kids groaned, certain they could repeat it word for word by now. It was Sarantha’s favorite of all the stories, to her it never got old. However everyone was captivated as the SongMaker began.
She wove her story around them. Telling about the long gone fire-breathing sky lizards, whose ability to change into men was legendary. The story of these guardians of life was full of romance, and mystery, tears came to eyes when they learned of the price of their abilities. Those tears were shed when the story came to its end, the Alesana died out with no way to prevent, or stop it.
Those who had groaned were in just as much of a thrall as the others. As was the SongMaker’s gift to make it her job easier. Not that the SongMaker really minded her job, her abilities. She loved her work, and not even the aging of her body put a damper on her.
Bringing this joy and wonder to the children was worth anything.
Howls filled the air seconds later, striking fear into all of them. The gentle howling of the night wolves had given way to the aggressive warning ones. Hearing it the children all froze, barely daring to breathe for fear that something would happen.
“We need to go, now!” The SongMaker whispered snapping the children from their trance. The older children surrounded the younger ones and followed her out of the clearing. Walking quickly down the garden path they could hear as noise exploded around them. Doors slammed, yelling and the clatter as warriors prepared to head out.
Nearly choked with fear the children didn’t make a sound. Breathing a sigh of relief as the kitchen doors slid into view. Light illuminated them as the doors opened, five armed warriors framed in the light. They nodded to the SongMaker in respect; calmly the leader of them stepped forward.
“The Esteria are near the palace, they’ve already broken through the wolves. All the children are to be taken to the safe room in the kitchens,” The intimidating man could have been discussing the weather, but The SongMaker could hear the urgency in his voice. This was bad, and would only get worse at this point.
“Of course, Vladimir,” She said herding the children inside, not surprised to see the princess step away from them and towards the warriors. The SongMaker saw the princess shaking slightly in fear, but not from being around the warriors as intimidating as they were.
Vladimir and his men Lucan, Alaric, Demyan, and Deion, had been the princess’s guards since before she was born. Other than the King and Queen no one knew the princess better, or was closer to her.
Sarantha was scared; something felt off about all of this. Not that she could understand what it was or why she felt it. A measure of calm came over her once she was in the middle of her guard, but it couldn’t completely was away the wrong feeling. Biting her lip she willed her shaking not to show.
In the seven years of her life Sarantha had never looked up to anyone more than her guards. Well, perhaps her father, but that was different. She had watched them as they trained and heard what Vladimir told them, taking most of it to heart. One in particular had always stuck in her mind, especially at times like this.
‘When you are faced with danger it is good to feel fear. It will keep you from becoming complacent and careless. Do not let it show, ever. You must seem fearless to everyone or they will use that fear against you,’ In her mind she could hear Vladimir’s words clearly as if he had spoken. So she did her very best not to shake or cry as Demyan picked her up.
The Mage worked specifically with handless magic for just these occasions. The others needed their hands free to fight, Demyan didn’t. So picking up and carrying the princess was his job, and in less serious situations was a common joke among the castle.
Walking quickly they entered a hallway in the walls, the stones of the wall moving apart to form a door. They slid back together seamlessly without as much as whisper.
Under the kitchens the other children were herded together. Clinging to each other for comfort their sobs muffled. The walls were unable to drown out the horrible noises beyond the castle walls. The need to sooth them ached in the SongMaker’s soul but she knew she had more important things to worry about at that moment.
A subtle power hummed in her veins, flowing to her mind. Walking along the deserted hidden hallways the SongMaker did what she was made to. Focusing on the musty smell of the hallway and the clashing of battle still outside of the palace she began to weave this part of the memory.
The other parts would come later, when she had a chance to sit down with the warriors, the children, the King and Queen. Until then all she could do was weave this memory, and pray. Pray that this did not end as bad as she felt it would.
The windowless room was cut deep and high in the palace’s inner walls. The walls, ceiling, and floor rough cut rock with microscopic holes too small to see allowing air in. Not enough, however, to cool the high temperature.
Mounted torches sat empty until a section of the wall folded in on it, letting in the princess and her guard. Without letting Sarantha down Demyan sent a spark of magick to the torches. They burst into flames, illuminating the small room in dim light once they settled.
Demyan placed the princess down on the bench under a thin, wall length ledge. Striding to the middle of the room so that he could set up wards. Vladimir and the others took their places as Demyan’s soft chanting filled the room.
Deros, sword in hand, took one of the main entrances. A smaller, crawlspace like exit was hidden under the bench to Sarantha’s right. Alaric took that one, leaning back against the wall and patting the spot next to him for Sarantha to take. Lucan knelt on the ledge, directly above Sarantha and Alaric, his crossbow loaded at his side.
Vladimir took his place at the other main entrance as Demyan stopped chanting, moving to take the spot on the other side of the “door” next to Deros. For a long moment all was silent before Vladimir started. The next ten minutes were spent devoted entirely to strategy, Sarantha listen in only vaguely, much rather preferring to play with Alaric’s long blonde hair.
The men never lost their defensive, at the ready, protective poses. Even when they finished talking of strategy and lapsed into general small talk. The familiar, albeit strained, banter went a long way to helping Sarantha calm down.
Alaric and Demyan joked back and forth, generally at the expense of their lovers, the king, and even the Esteria.
“Oh, Demyan, do you remember that little Esteria bitc-” Alaric caught himself quickly, “Ah, lady… that actually hexed Vladimir’s skin pink?”
“What?!” Sarantha burst out, half laughing. Vladimir sent a look at Alaric that should have burned holes clear through him.
Ignoring the look Alaric continued, “Oh yes! She sure did, bright pink too. About the same shade as your mother’s favorite dress,” Sarantha continued to laugh, thinking to the – in her opinion absolutely horrible – bright pink monstrosity of a dress that her mother loved.
The laughter was short lived as Demyan suddenly hissed, “Someone’s coming,”
If it was possible the men straightened up more, muscles tense and coiled, just waiting. Sarantha became paralyzed with fear, thousands of different scenarios playing out in her head. None of them ending well, by any stretch of the imagination.
Whoever it was stopped just outside of the entrance. Sarantha hear a horrible click as Lucan prepared his bow, the shifting rustle as he raised it up. Vladimir nodded to Deros to open the door so that they could get rid of the intruder.
Just a moment before Deros could open the door a soft song filled the air and their minds. At the sound Sarantha let her muscle loosen and in the process bent over at the waist, her forehead now resting against her knees as relief poured through her.
Deros allowed the wall to part revealing the SongMaker standing there. He moved aside quickly to allow her in as the wall slid together once more. The SongMaker’s eyes feel to Sarantha, her pace quick as she went to the princess’s side.
Tears began to pour from Sarantha’s eyes and quiet sobs caught in her throat.
Memories of the other times she had been sealed away in this room assaulted her mind and made her heart clench. Never had being in this room ended well for her, either she or her guards got hurt, or far worse – killed.
The SongMaker hugged her and cooed at her. Gently rocking the young princess until her sobs stopped and shudders calmed. Singing in their ancient language until at long last exhausted both physically, mentally, and emotionally, the princess fell asleep.
Sarantha awoke disoriented and still tired. She seemed to float in a sense, not really registering what was going on around her. Cloths sticking to her skin with sweat, laid down on something knobby and hard with a pile of something under her head pillowing it. Her eyes opened a crack and focused on a torch, following the ever changing pattern of its shadows and flames. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t concentrate on anything and couldn’t really move.
Voices reached her ears the words whispered in a soft voice followed by several harsher ones.
“She is far too young to have to deal with this!”
“No one is arguing with you Vladimir,”
“Then we should do something! Find out how they know so much, and how to defeat them!”
“You know that the only way to find any of that out is to go into the heart of their empire and that is far too dangerous,”
“We are trained to do dangerous missions!” the voice was harsh and deep, getting louder with each word.
“Hush, Vladimir! You’ll wake her up,”
A rushing filled her mind and Sarantha slipped back into the darkness. Sleep, however, did not bring her relief. Nightmares spun in her mind, chasing her and making her wish to scream. All vivid memories of winters past, blood and screams, the horrible pain. The fear of death and capture gripping her young heart and the scent of death surrounded her.
Yet while the violent memories tortured her Sarantha’s body stayed still as death. Not moving as night turned to dawn, and dawn to the harsh and killing light of day.
