Monachopsis | Prologue [Second Revision]

Voices cut through the fizz of static in her mind. “—coming around, Your Majesty.”

“Are you sure?”

Her heart stabbed into the side of her chest as the first voice rumbled out an answer, the words slipping out of focus as fast as they had slipped in. She became aware of pillows under her back and leaden lumps of cold flesh instead of limbs.

(Dirt hit the casket lid, whispering down like rain.)

Full consciousness rammed into her, and the flash of alien awareness broke apart. She jerked forward, her eyes snapping open. The deadweight of her arms kept her from getting far, and moving detonated a series of cluster bombs in her lungs. She choked on her own air and flopped back against the pillows, wheezing.

A hospital bed. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows. Crisp white sheets covered her up to the waist, and her arms were swaddled in gauze so thick they resembled clubs.

Every breath felt like needles jamming into her chest.

“Steady,” the rumbling voice said. She squinted at its owner with watering eyes; he looked too insubstantial for it, like he’d blow over in a stiff wind. “My name is Healer Carmine of Queensquare. I’m in charge of your care. And this is Cir Royal Majesty Kamala of Tewolgow, the Red Queen.” He gestured behind him, toward an enormously tall figure in red chain mail. “Ce Who Walks the Dark Paths.”

(Thunder growled. New shoes pinched her toes as she retreated—)

Her lungs seized up again. Neither the queen nor Healer Carmine spoke as she gasped, although the healer picked up a teacup from the little table next to her bed and held it to her mouth. Warm, cloyingly-sweet liquid filled her mouth when she drank, and her chest loosened as she swallowed. It left her throat feeling like it had been coated in cotton, but at least she could breathe again.

“Thanks,” she rasped. Speaking hurt; she resolved not to do it again.

“Do you have a name, child?” the Red Queen asked.

She restrained herself from glaring, although only just. The queen’s eyes were narrowed in speculation, but there was no trace of concern in cir expression. Nothing but crisp angles and a thin mouth set in a severe line.

(—Lou lurched forward, looking stiff and awkward in the suit Abuelo made nem wear—)

“…No,” she said, blinking away afterimages of damp grass and a child she didn’t know. Her name must have been forcibly ripped away from her while she slept, because all that remained was a niggling sense that she did have one, somewhere, if she could only remember it.

“She shouldn’t speak, Your Majesty,” Healer Carmine said. “Her lungs have strained enough today as it is.” The queen harrumphed and moved to the huge windows that lined the opposite wall, folding cir arms behind cir back as ce surveyed the land below. Cir land, she supposed. Ce cut an imposing figure even with cir back turned, crimson armor and warm brown skin framed against the vast blue sky.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. The muscles in her back contorted weirdly with the movement; they sat under her skin like clumped-up filling in an old stuffed animal. Someone had loosened all her hinges while she was away, and now nothing fit together like it should. Even her hair was too long, to straight, too soft.

...And she didn’t come from anywhere with a queen…

“You were found on the board by one of Cir Majesty’s Knights, Sir Pyrrhus,” Healer Carmine said. “Lying in the ditch demarcating the second and third ranks, specifically, and mere yards from the bandersnatch runs. It’s a miracle you weren’t eaten or drowned. As it is, you coughed up most of the water during the ride here.”

Her eyes snapped open again. Healer Carmine didn’t look as though he’d said anything out of the ordinary; in fact, his forehead knitted in confusion as she stared at him.

“You were hypothermic,” he said after a moment. “Badly frostbitten, too. Hence the bandages. We’ve been thawing you out for the past three hours.” The queen made a soft, exultant sound, and Healer Carmine darted cir a glance. He dragged his lip through his teeth.

(—two more symbolic handfuls of dirt, and Abuela ushered them all away so a bucket loader could do the real work of filling in the grave—)

—but she was lying in bed with frostbitten legs, not hobbling through a cemetery—

…Right?

“—a few months before we can know the extent of the tissue damage,” Healer Carmine was saying. She shook her head, trying to shake free the thoughts and sights and feelings that weren’t real.

And if this is the one that isn't true?

But she kept losing the thread of the other; how could it be real?

“You will stay here for that time, of course,” the Red Queen said from the window, although ce did not turn from cir survey of the country. “We can hardly return you home in less than pristine condition.”

Home. It called to mind a sludgy blur of bright blue skies and heat haze on asphalt, rusty fire escapes and broken shards of sound that might have been speech once. She heard the snap of a car door shutting and, for a moment, felt the scratchy seat cover press against her bare shoulders.

“I—I don’t—” She coughed. Healer Carmine presented her with more of the sweet liquid, which didn’t taste any better for having cooled. Her throat oiled and slightly numb, she dared to whisper, “I don’t know where that is.”

There was a sticky pause, and then the queen said, “Not from the Glassland, certainly, or you would have recognized me at once. Perhaps you came from Wonderland?” Cir head tilted to one side, although ce still did not turn around. “I have heard of the passage through the Looking Glass doing odd things to their minds.” Ce didn’t seem to think this likely, or at least cir tone twitched with suppressed amusement.

Wonderland…

This, too, sparked a snippet of memory. For an instant, she felt warm grass tickling her calves and a pen in her hand. Then her head spun as reality reasserted itself and slammed her back into her present body, but with it came a certainty that Wonderland, whatever it had meant to her before, was not a home. Just… something that she couldn’t define. Rosebushes played a prominent role, though.

(—the car pulled out of the lot, its occupants drowning in silence. The window felt cold and comforting against her forehead, and still the tears wouldn't come—)

She shook her head. Healer Carmine’s breath caught.

“An outlander, then,” he said.

The Red Queen spun to face her. She flinched, thinking that she had somehow angered the queen, but an almost feral smile had overtaken cir lips. “I thought so,” ce said. Though ce already stood ramrod-straight, ce seemed to grow even larger as ce strode toward the bed. “You would not be the first, nor the last. Now, my girl, since you cannot remember where your previous home is, it stands to reason you have no home for the time being. I would offer you one here. You are approximately the age at which children enter training for my court. We offer the finest education in all of the combined lands, you know. My own niece, Percy, has just begun her training; you could join her unit.”

Something throbbed behind her left eyebrow, and the hot sting of oncoming tears stung at the corners of her eyes. She shut them tight to keep any liquid from escaping. Staying here didn’t sound pleasant—but then, what choice did she have? Even if she could remember where she came from, she had no idea how to return. And supposing she rejected the offer and the Red Queen threw her out? What then?

(—Of course, they’d been buried together in the end. At least someone benefitted from—)

Maybe she’d go to sleep and wake up with just one reality in her head, and the other would be exposed as nothing but a bizarre dream.

It’s just a dream.

That didn’t explain the feeling that her heart had suddenly been wrapped in lead and dropped to the pit of her stomach.

She nodded. Everything felt heavy, and all she wanted was to close her eyes and go to sleep. Perhaps the Red Queen would leave her alone if she agreed to this training. She could always run away after she healed…

“Capital,” the Red Queen said. “You will need a name.”

She froze. If the queen wanted her to come up with one—but she could barely speak—and no matter how hard she searched for a scrap of something, anything, than the present, all that returned was a roaring vacuum and a splitting pain through the top of her skull.

Healer Carmine came to her rescue. “If it isn’t too bold, Your Majesty, I would suggest Madder.” He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet as he made a study of the windows. “My grandmother’s name, you know, and almost the exact shade of your hair…” His gaze flitted down to meet hers, and he smiled rather shyly. “She was quite the most marvelous person I’ve ever known, and one of the most renowned Rooks in recent history…”

“Rook Madder saved my life from bandersnatches once, and I am far from the only one,” the Red Queen said, a faint smile touching cir lips. “It’s fine name with an admirable legacy. Is it to your satisfaction, child? We can think of another, if Madder is not to your liking.”

She did like it, she decided after a moment’s consideration, the way it started loud and got softer at the end. Perhaps her old name had had a similar intonation, because the pattern felt right even if the consonant sounds weren’t sharp enough. And Healer Carmine looked at her with so much hope in his eyes, and the Red Queen seemed to think it a good idea.

Madder it was.