Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Thinking only of Guwayne, Thor took a fateful step forward, across the threshold.

Then another.

He stood inside, and beside him, his brothers appeared, one by one, until he heard a great groan and the massive doors slowly, definitively, slammed shut behind them.

As it echoed and echoed, and as he looked before him at the endless tunnel leading into the earth, he knew he would never return to the land of the living again.

Alistair stood beside Erec, holding his hand, the two of them standing on the highest plateau of the Southern Isles, looking out together at the dazzling vista, at the morning sun spreading out over the isles. Alistair was elated to have Erec back, on the road to healing, and to be standing by his side again. Erec was finally like his old self, clutching her hand with the strength of the warrior she once knew.

As Alistair stood there, greeting another day with him, all the chaos and bloodshed behind them, she felt her own life being restored to her again, and felt so grateful to God for answering her prayers.

The two of them stood there, looking out, and as Alistair surveyed the landscape of her new home, this home she had already come to love, she could already see all the rebuilding taking place, up and down the isles. Like she and Erec, this entire nation was picking up the pieces, getting ready to rebuild, to start again. In the distance, Alistair could hear the soft, soothing noise of distant chisels, hammering away, rebuilding.

“The hammers and chisels never cease,” Erec said, “and yet there remains much to do.”

The land was in ruins, destroyed from the civil war. But with the men finally united again under Erec’s rule, there was now a joy, a purpose in the air, and they all set about rebuilding with alacrity, as one. Houses were already beginning to rise again, as bodies were dragged from the streets, buried in the hills, and bells were tolled to commemorate the losses. Alistair could hear them even now, distant, ringing from one village to the next.

It was a peaceful air, a calm after the storm.

“You saved my life,” Erec said. “Don’t think I don’t know that. It is a very sacred thing. Our lives are bound. Mine to yours, and yours to mine. Until the day I die, I shall owe you.”

Alistair smiled and squeezed his hand.

“You are back to life,” she replied. “That’s payment enough.”

He draped an arm around her shoulder and Alistair leaned into him. She looked out, overwhelmed with the beauty of this place, the sun shining off of everything, the beauty of her future before her. She and Erec would wed soon. They would have a child. She would rule this magnificent place with him.

Her dreams were finally coming true. It was time to start again.

Gwen, slumped against the wall of the cave near its entrance, heard the exotic birds tweeting, and she opened her eyes to look out at the breaking dawn of yet another day here in the Empire. She had been awake most of the night, unable to sleep yet again, staring most of the night into the flames of a dying fire, beset with grief. Another day on this earth without Thorgrin. Without Guwayne.

Gwen looked out on yet another day here in this Empire, the arid landscape desert landscape spread out below, and she could hardly believe an entire moon had passed. And still no sign of Thorgrin, of Guwayne. Each day she had woken up expecting them to arrive here, knowing with all her heart that they would. After all, how could they not? Thorgrin was her husband. Guwayne her child. There was no way they could stay away from her for long. It was all just one long nightmare waiting to be over.

And yet each day she had awoken, and they had never arrived, and no news had arrived. Now that an entire moon cycle had passed, the reality of it was starting to sink in. Gwen was finally beginning to realize that they might not ever come back to her.

The realization made her feel crushed, hollowed out, lower than she’d ever had in her life. Perhaps that seer had been right: perhaps Thorgrin had truly gone into the land of the dead. And perhaps her baby would never return.

Gwen had tried desperately to rouse Argon during the past moon cycle, and the few times that she had, he had spoken weakly, barely conscious, and had been unable to give her any insight into their whereabouts. It all felt increasingly foreboding to her.

Gwen had sat inside this cave day after day, depressed, frozen with immobility, with indecision. She was a Queen, she knew, but now she found herself unable to make choices even for the smallest things. Each day, Kendrick and Aberthol and Steffen and Godfrey had come to her with the myriad of small things her people in exile needed—and she been unable to make even the smallest decision. She was a Queen, she knew, frozen by grief. Frozen in depression.

Gwendolyn looked around and saw her people lying about, scattered by the embers, most asleep, and the few who were awake, staring hopelessly into the flames. Most had wine sacks in their hands, empty from another long night of drinking. She could see in their eyes what they were thinking. They were thinking of home. Of the Ring. Possibly of family and friends lost or killed along the way. They were thinking of how much they had given up, how much they had lost. Of how they were all living like moles here, hiding, wasting away in this cave, not really living at all.

Gwen knew it was better than the alternative: being captured by the Empire and taken as slaves. At least they were alive, and safe.

Gwen kicked the embers with her boot and watched the sparks. She could not imagine her life had come to this. It seemed like only yesterday she was in King’s Court, in the most beautiful castle, in the most abundant landscape, preparing for her wedding with her most devoted husband. Holding her baby. Everything had been perfect in the universe, and she hadn’t appreciated it. Everything had seemed indestructible.

Now here she was, stripped of her husband and her son, night after night staring into flames in a lost land.

Gwen snapped out of it as she heard a sudden scream, the sound of a woman crying out, followed by hurried footsteps coming from deep inside the massive cave. Gwen turned and peered into the cave, and there suddenly appeared, in the predawn light, a girl, perhaps Gwen’s age, stumbling toward her, half dressed, her shirt torn. She had a frantic look in her eye, and she was weeping as she ran toward Gwen and threw herself down at her feet, clutching her ankles in hysterics.

“My lady!” she cried out. “Please, you must do something! You must help me!”

Gwendolyn stared at her, pulled from her reverie, wondering what could have put the girl in such a state.

The girl sobbed, and Gwen placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice compassionate, queenly. It carried a strength she had not heard in a while. Caring for someone else made her forget her own troubles.

“I was accosted, my lady!” the girl yelled. “He came upon me in the cave. In the black of night. While I was sleeping. He attacked me!”

She wept.

“Justice must be done!” she cried out. “Whether we are in the Ring or not, justice must be done!”

She sobbed at Gwen’s feet, and Kendrick, Godfrey, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, and several others roused, coming over, their boots crunching on the gravel.

Gwendolyn looked down at the girl and raised her to her feet and hugged her, her heart breaking. Gwen could not help but feel that somehow this was all her fault. Her people had become too restless here in this cave, with nothing to do but sit here day after day in the blackness, drinking. Order was beginning to fall apart, chaos was beginning to rule. Gwendolyn hated herself for this girl’s suffering.