The Queen's Family

18th Watershone,

38th year of the Phoenix

Time present

“Your story begins when that of your family ends…” The voice quoting those words was drastically different from Tanerah’s booming, conspiring tones. It was low, musical, and rather filled with bitterness than bursting with melodramatics that so characterized seer. Tanerah's enthusiastic, self-assured manner would seem more at place than that of the young woman, whose dark thoughts were inevitably sinking deeper and deeper as she walked the long path of the King's passage. The figure flinched, hoping that that small sign of weakness would go unnoticed, but at the same time uncomfortably aware that that was impossible: they were their, all their eyes and attention on her and only her.

Many dreamed to be in her, Lillith’s, position, not quite sure what it meant, but were informed with on what came next: power. There where times when it was she herself who prayed to be where she was now… But then... then those wishes where only daydreams on a boring lesson, without the slightest glimmer of hope that they were to someday come true.

The figure winced despite herself, knowing that it was because of those ‘many’ that she was where she was: Irianne… Enerin… Lyssene... She closed her eyes and told herself firmly to stop thinking about those people. This was neither the moment, nor the place, that was for sure.

The young woman shuddered, resolutely making herself concentrate on the trees, animals, on nature in its purest form. –Animals? There were no animals. Tonight, on this night only, they where all somewhere hidden, angry at the presence of strangers and waiting to be called with their guardians.

She stifled a laugh, feeling panic rise up in her. What was there to laugh about?

Determinedly, Lillith told herself to ignore the eerie, unnatural silence, the fact that the vapor that just a while ago was barely noticeable, now expanded to the size of a milky-white mist. She also tried to cast out of her memory and consciousness that tens of pairs of eyes observed her wearily, those of the people perched on the growing in direct neighborhood Pathway and looming over her trees, at a safe distance of her. There they where, all her nobles, all her friends and enemies, a whole variety of foreign envoys whose rulers had given them the task to represent them at the ceremony… There they where, the silhouettes of studied, blank faces, perfectly mindful that on each step she was getting close to either their greatest fear or final peace of mind…

What would happen, she suddenly wondered, if she won’t pass, if she wasn’t accepted by the Forest? The stubborn thought, so long cast out of her mind, came back at the slightest sign of the faltering of her will. What would happen if she died, or worse, came back with a crushed psychic, if the forest made her go insane? Her people would remember her as the younger sibling of her older sister, as the one who gained the most through the fight of Areinod’s heirs, as they where commonly called. She would be remembered as a person who had a chance, but was unable to use the occasion, toppling the country for the second time in ten years into a home war, leaving it on the mercy of her power-crazed nobility and the land-thirsty Korint Empire.

She could still turn back.

She could, couldn’t she? The woman looked down at the most innocent-looking forest pathway, at the mud soiling her shoes. Lillith turned her gaze upwards, up to her doom.

The large, ancient oak that made the center of Ruthon Forest was getting closer and closer, its branches unnaturally still, though the comforting breeze that had so relaxed her a while ago turned into something stronger. Much stronger.

No, she couldn’t.

She was just too close to back up now. Were the myriad of sacrifices made not only by her, but by people who counted on her, had faith in her, meant to be ignored by history? Were her own actions, whether positive or negative, to be left without response? Was the death of Lyssene, as the ones of countless people before her, to be disregarded?

Every step was becoming harder and harder; whether it was the fault of her weakening by every second will or because of the cursed red ceremonial gown that effectively limited her moves, the Lillith didn’t know.

Once again she spared a quick glance at her sides: there they where, sitting comfortably on both sides of the Pathway, hid under the enormous trees that consisted of the Ruthon Forrest, hid so flawlessly, that only their eyes glinted in the darkness. Spies who called themselves envoys, here under pretext to pay tribute to her when this was over, watching her every move, her every falter, trying to decide whether she was to be they prey or the predator for their rulers. They sat amongst her nobility, her private allies and enemies, all whose future was to resolve in a few minutes... On occasion such as these Lillith was willing to accept Aereinod’s heirs’ decision to ignore this part of the coronation.

But she… she could not go in their steps. She could not commit their mistake. She had to secure her position, make sure that no one would have the right to question her being on the throne. After all, wasn’t that what she did to Lyssene?

And did she deserve any better?

“My lady?” Athani and Isothath suddenly appeared at both of her sides. The girl winced and made herself look upwards: the moment she dreaded and that made her wake up with a shrill scream in the middle of the night was so very, very close…

“My lady?” repeated Athani. In the Magemasters’s usually cool, unnaturally calm voice appeared a note of well-hidden urgency.

The center of all the commotion flinched in spite of herself when she looked in Athani’s eyes. They where hard and cold, seeming to peer into her soul, as if they could see her every fear and dread. Isothath’s gaze was not better, icy beads of eyes looking down at her with mild interest, as if she where another uncommon animal in the Palace Zoo. Maybe she was. Gods help her, for them she probably was.

Yet they helped her. Helped her prepare, gave her advice… Why? Why did they do it? Certainly not because they had to; during Irianne’s, and later Enerin’s and Naellorah’s reign they just disappeared from public view, ignoring pleas and private demands to go back to court. During Lyssene’s rule, however… The woman took a deep breath, grinding her teeth, thinking about how it was the Magemasters’ that assisted her when see needed her sister out of the way.

Lillith shivered and closed her eyes.

She turned her gaze away and made herself nod a curt nod, clenching her hand into fists so hard that her nails cut through her skin.

She reached the Oak, the Heart of Aevlyth. There was no return now. Magical bonds of the Forest’s power rooted her to her spot, making it impossible to make the slightest move. A precaution?

She bit her lip as she heard the two Magic’s fall into some kind of a trance, chanting words in the Lost Tongue, words which even for her emanated with power and strength. The words steadily grew louder, from a whisper to tones that seemed to echo in the whole of Ruthon Forest.

The Magemasters’, hand to hand, closed their eyes, calling everyone who swore in blood or soul the Oath made hundreds of years ago. Brother and sister once again repeated their summons, at which time the audience made up of nobles and envoys discretely backed out to a safer distance, to the place where magical portals where stationed. The party, at a sign from the Magemasters’, would go through them back to Avhydlyi and the Palace, to await the arrival of the hopefully new Queen.

At some point the two mages stopped chanting and started drawing glittering in the moonlight magical borders, separating themselves from the getting more and more giddy with every passing moment woman, who was in vain trying not to look as nervous as she was. -Years of hiding emotions crushed, shattered into pieces in the face of Ruthon and its inhabitants.

Slowly, in hushed voices, the Forest answered. -Answered through the singing lips of half-mortals, through dryads which inhabited and protected the trees, through nymphs who looked after numerous pools and lakes, through spirits who cared for the soil and animals. Humming the ancient song sang from the earliest ages, the Forest re-established pacts given hundreds of years ago.

They, the Living Forest, emerged from the shadows of trees, barely stomping on emerald green grass and leaving no footprints on the damp soil, a ceremony of animals in their stead.

They came as part milky white mist, so that barely their silhouettes and shining large eyes, some childishly naïve, while others with a mischievous glint in them could be seen. Others materialized out of perfectly solid tree trunks, first as colorless outlines of pale faces and whitish attire that at the next moment were to be astonishingly colored by an outstanding mixture of greens, browns, red, oranges and yellows. Intelligent, observant eyes gazed from under ebony black or auburn red hair, with aureoles of leaves and acorns attached to the more wild curls. Water nymphs, effortlessly swimming towards the bank of the Yellow Lake, placed directly behind the Heart, watched seemingly without interest, if not with indifference.

***

Oi. This is long.