“Where is your handmaiden?” the queen asked, looking over Yorda’s shoulder.
“She waits beyond the staircase.”
The queen smiled. “Very good. The secret I will show you is not meant for one of common blood.”
The queen was not angry. In fact, she sounded pleased, as when first trying on an ornate necklace brought to her from a far-off land. Just as when she opened the box, lifted the lid, and took it out.
“You know that only our most loyal servants, those who gave their lives to the castle, are buried here,” the queen said, turning slowly as she surveyed the graves. “Their bond to the castle runs deep.”
“I know. Master Suhal taught me this,” Yorda replied, stiffening against the cold that seemed to creep in through her thick robes. Her breath turned to frost in the air.
“But, Yorda,” the queen said, “this is not just a graveyard.” She smiled at the suspicion on Yorda’s face. “This is a gateway to eternity. I always knew that I must bring you here one day. Tonight has provided the perfect opportunity.”
The queen stepped away from her, black gown billowing in the night air, making for a stone in the corner. Yorda hastily followed. Her own footsteps fell loudly on the grass, and she wondered how her mother could walk so quietly.
Stopping in front of the gravestone, the queen entwined the fingers of both hands before her and, with bowed head, began to pray. The prayer was unfamiliar to Yorda, and the queen’s words so quiet they seemed to slip down the skirts of her robes to be absorbed directly into the ground.
Stopping her prayer, the queen raised her head and the gray stone at her feet slid to the side with a rumbling noise.
Where the gravestone had stood, Yorda could see a staircase leading down into the ground. She gasped.
“Follow me,” the queen said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. “What you must see lies below.”
The gravestone was not very large, and the entrance to the staircase it had concealed was quite narrow. Yet the queen descended as though being swallowed by the opening where the stone had stood, black gown and all, without even ducking her head. As if she were without substance, able to pass through the earth unimpaired. In the space of a moment, she had disappeared entirely.
“Mother!” Yorda called out.
But no answer emerged from the black maw of the staircase.
Fearfully, she took one step onto the stairs. She felt herself being drawn downward, and to prevent herself from toppling she brought down her other foot. She took another step, then another. Soon her feet were following each other of their own accord. What Yorda wanted had nothing to do with it.
She practically skipped down the staircase, and when her head was underground, darkness enveloped her. It was pitch black, too dark even to see the tip of her nose. Fear clutched at her.
Above, the gravestone returned to its former position, closing off the only exit. Yorda whirled around at the sound and tried to run back. But all she could feel above her now was the cold soil, and it would not yield no matter how hard she pushed. She scratched at it with her nails, and wet dirt crumbled down onto her face and got into her eyes.
In her fright, she stumbled and fell, but what she saw brought her bolting up straight.
Nothing had changed in the darkness. But through it, she could see the steep staircase leading much further down, twisting and turning as it descended. The walls that had seemed to press so close against her were gone. The staircase stood out against the darkness, a jagged white ribbon that shrank into the depths.
Yorda could not believe that a staircase went so deep beneath the castle. It didn’t seem possible. The distance between where she stood now and where the staircase disappeared into the darkness—just ahead of the queen—was almost as great as the distance between the high tower of the central keep and the front courtyard. Yorda felt dizzy with the height. She also couldn’t understand how she could see beyond the turns of the stair, through what should have been solid ground. Are these stairs suspended in the middle of some vast chamber? Who could have dug so deep, and when? Yorda wondered, even as she feared what she might find at the bottom.
The queen was far ahead of her now, past the fifth or sixth turn. The whiteness of the staircase made Yorda think of a bone, and the queen was a black-winged butterfly crawling along it.
“There is nothing to be frightened of.” The queen’s form appeared tiny in the distance, yet her voice was close, as though she spoke right into Yorda’s ear. “Come down,” the voice said, “this place is within a realm I have created. It is all a vision, yet through my power it is given form. The stairs may appear steep, but there is no danger of falling.”
Yorda carefully began to descend. For the first few steps, she went down like a child does, sitting on each step, holding the edges with her hands. The stairs did not collapse or dissolve beneath her. They were real. The feel of them beneath her fingers was smooth and cold.
By the time she had regained her courage and begun to walk, the queen had disappeared from ahead of her, too far off now to see. The stairs wound around and around, coming to a small landing at each turn before beginning to descend again. As she went down, she stopped being able to tell which way was up. Soon she wasn’t even aware that she was descending, and it felt more like she was walking along a single long road. Above her head was only a void—she couldn’t even hear herself breathing. Nor did her feet make any sound.
Yorda wondered if this strange space could be the path to the underworld they say the living must walk when they die. I wonder if the truth of what my mother is going to show me ahead can only be seen by the dead, and that is why I must die. Each step brings me closer to a living death.
When she realized this, the stairs came to an abrupt end. Yorda blinked. She had been lost in her own thoughts, unaware of where she was.
She had come into a circular space, no larger than a small gazebo. Above her was darkness. The room was surrounded by round columns and filled with a pale white light, like moonlight, though Yorda could find no obvious source.
The long staircase was behind her now, stretching up from between two of the columns. Now the light was fading, as though a torch had been snuffed out, returning the room gradually to darkness.
The queen stood before her. She wore a smile on her white face, and her hair, bound into a black knot on her head, shone with a wet gleam.
“Come closer,” she said. Yorda approached, and the queen took her hand. Her skin was cold, but Yorda clung tightly regardless. She had a sudden sensation like she was floating. The round floor on which they stood had begun to drop. As they went further down, Yorda gaped at what she saw.
They had descended into a large hall. She guessed it to be about the same size as the Eastern Arena. Walls rose at a slant around them, and on their slope stood countless stone statues—a gallery, with the moving platform she rode on at its center.
When the platform stopped its descent, the queen let go of Yorda’s hand, and like a singer performing to a crowd, she lifted her face and spread her arms wide.
“This is my secret. Do you not find it beautiful?”
Yorda spun in a slow circle as she looked over the crowd of statues. There were so many it was hard to count—hundreds, she guessed. The platform had settled at the lowest point of the bowl-shaped room, and it felt as though the stone statues were looking back down at her, so lifelike they were.
Spurred by her curiosity, Yorda left the queen’s side and walked among the statues, looking at each of them in turn. There were men and women, wearing all manner of clothes. Some were old, others young, all with different expressions. Though the stone of the statues was a uniform gray, they were carved in such detail, she could even tell which way they had been looking by peering into their eyes. Some looked up into the sky, others looked down at their own feet. Some statues’ mouths were closed, and others open as though they were about to speak.
She saw warriors with chain-mail vests
and knights in full plate armor. That statue of the old man wielding a scepter must be a priest, she thought. And there was a scholar, books tucked under his arm and a round hat on his head. There was a girl, smartly dressed, with a woman standing next to her who could have been her mother. There were two women who looked very similar—sisters, maybe—one with a fan half open in her hand, the feathers on its edges so lifelike they seemed like they might blow in the breeze.
“Stunning, aren’t they?” the queen asked, obvious satisfaction in her voice. In her observations of the statues, Yorda had wandered quite a distance from her mother. So far, she did not hear the tinge of sharpness in her voice.
“Yes, very,” Yorda replied, astonished. “I’ve never seen such ornate sculpture. Mother, what master craftsmen did you order to make these? I had no idea we had such talent at court.”
The queen laughed quietly. There was a coldness in her laugh that made Yorda pause. She turned to look at her mother. The queen stood in the middle of the circular dais, staring directly at her.
“Mother?”
The queen raised her head slightly and pointed with a long finger off to Yorda’s right. “Look over there. You’ll find my newest works.”
Yorda began to walk, her eyes still fixed on her mother. The queen’s smile was growing wider.
She’s trying to catch me off guard, Yorda thought suddenly, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin. Why am I trembling? A dark premonition rose in the back of her mind. Yorda returned her gaze to the statues and found a familiar face standing at the very bottom of the long row.
Though her eyes saw, for a moment she did not comprehend. The statue was of a young woman with a slender figure and oval eyes. Beautiful eyes, frozen in time. Her head was lowered in defeat, yet there was fear and awe in her face as well.
I know that face.
She was wearing a long tunic of a simple design. Her sleeves were embroidered, and her sash had been carefully folded across her waist. Her hair was held in place by a hairpin in the shape of a daisy. Yorda knew it very well. She had seen it practically every day. The pin had been a gift from her lover—
But that’s impossible.
For a moment, Yorda’s eyes lost focus. At last, she understood. The statue was her handmaiden—the very same girl who had used all of her cleverness to help her attempt to escape the castle for one day of fun.
Next to her stood her lover, the royal guard. He wore his sword in the leather belt that went with his leather armor. Its hilt bore an engraving with his surname and a single star to indicate that he was of the lowest rank of guards.
The boy’s eyes were opened wide, and the fingers of his right hand were curved like hooks, gripping at the air, as though he would have drawn his sword, if he had but a second's more time.
“Yes, Yorda,” the queen said, her voice incongruously gentle. “I turned them to stone and placed them here to decorate my chamber. Now you see the hideous penalty your foolishness has—”
But before the queen had finished, Yorda fell to the ground unconscious.
[5]
THE MINISTER’S LONG speech was over, and the beginning of the great tournament formally declared. The contestants split, heading off to the eastern and western arenas. Yorda could not bear to watch them go, and so she stepped away from the terrace back into her chambers.
She had awoken later that night to find herself lying in bed, with the queen sitting next to her. It took only one look at her mother’s thin smile to realize that what she had seen beneath the graveyard was no nightmare.
“Perhaps that was a little shocking for you,” the queen said, her tone no different than if they had been two girls exchanging secrets beneath the blankets. “I had hoped you would be able to spend a little more time observing my handiwork.”
The queen told her that she had not created her secret gallery for punishment. Had Yorda looked a little longer, she would have seen that more than a few of the statues were victors from tournaments past.
“When the victors are chosen, they’re treated like royalty—true to our word. For a while, they enjoy their post as master-at-arms, and in time they are sent to another keep within my domain, there to serve as captain. While there—say, for a year perhaps—they train the garrison in their techniques. Then, when the conditions are right, I summon them back to the castle.”
“Where you turn them to stone? Why? What possible benefit can be had from such cruelty?”
“A stone warrior cannot turn against his master,” she replied without hesitation. “War is nothing more than a clash between soldier and soldier. Should one of such quality fall into the hands of my enemies, I would be ruined.”
When it became known that the tournament was a shortcut to glory within the queen’s lands, confident warriors came from far and wide—even from beyond the borders of the realm. And so she sapped the strength of her neighbors without raising their suspicions.
“And when they go missing? Surely they must have wives and children, brothers and sisters, friends. Have you not thought on how these people must worry, or their sadness?”
“I fear you’re mistaken, my child,” the queen said. “Not once has anyone demanded to know the whereabouts of one of the victors. That is the sort of people these adventurers are, you know. Nobody cares, no one misses them. If anyone ever should, why, I can simply tell them that the one they search for died a glorious death in battle. That should satisfy all but the most curious.”
Yorda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you think of this plan by yourself, Mother? Was this your idea?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I want to know.”
The queen put a finger to her chin. “Do you want me to say that it was not my idea? That this was some plan dreamed up by my ministers, one of Master Suhal’s stratagems? Or perhaps it began at the bequest of your late father.”
Yorda knew her father would never do such a thing. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the queen.
“My sweet, naive Yorda. You have an innocent soul. Though our land may seem peaceful, look closely and you will find war and strife—even bloodthirsty rivalries for wealth among our own merchants. If it serves to protect our lands from the watchful eyes of our neighbors, no measure is too extreme.”
“But, Mother!” Yorda leapt to her feet. She made to clasp her mother’s arm, but the queen slid aside and stood. She walked over to the window.
The queen’s profile was luminous as it caught the sidelong light of the moon. “You are accustomed to peace and ignorant of the truths in our world. Glory and safety cannot be claimed without a price. This is a lesson which you must learn.”
“You have great power, Mother,” Yorda said with a trembling voice. “I heard so from the Captain of the Guards and even Master Suhal. They say it exceeds the imagination, though none will tell me how. Then why do you fear our neighbors so? Should they invade, can you not push them back yourself?”
To her surprise, the queen laughed merrily. “Is that respect I hear in your words?”
Yorda gripped the edges of her silken covers tight. “No,” she said quietly. “I fear you, Mother.”
The queen drew back her dark veil, straightened her hair, and turned to Yorda. “Well said. I am a frightening woman.” She sounded pleased. “I was born with great magic, and under the protection of the Dark God it has grown into something even more powerful. Indeed, I could destroy the world if I so wished. Yet I have sworn never to use my power unless absolutely necessary.” She lifted a hand, pointing toward the sky. “My power is not the power of the sword, Yorda. That is why I seek only to defend my lands, and never to invade…It is not yet time for that.”
Not yet time?
“These people who fear me recall incidents in the distant past when I turned my powers on a barbarian tribe who sought to form a country of their own too near our borders, and then again when one of our neighbors became too greedy for their own good.”
“What did you do to t
hem?”
“I turned them to stone and let them fall to dust.”
Yorda imagined the scene in her mind’s eye. An entire town turned to stone, a howling barbarian horde frozen mid-charge. For years they might stand, until the wind wore their shapes down to sand.
“Among the kings and generals of our neighbors, there are many who have heard of my power. Thus they are cautious and never move directly against us. However, they fear only me, not the strength of my army. Thus the endless skirmishes on our borders, of which I’m sure you’re aware.”
Indeed, Yorda had heard much from her tutors of the many small conflicts that erupted in the far corners of the realm. “Women are ill-suited to waging war,” the queen said, her voice wilting. “And my power is one of destruction, not warfare. So to keep our neighbors frightened of me, I must be frightening. I do not wish to face them in open battle. That is why I devise these strategies. Culling the most able of warriors is but the smallest part of my plan—a symbolic gesture, if you will. I have sowed many other schemes that grow in places unseen. Ask Master Suhal and the ministers about them if you wish. They will tell you once I have given them permission to do so.”
“Then what is it you want, Mother? Is all this to defend our country?”
“For now, yes,” the queen said.
Yorda’s vision dimmed. She felt not fear or anger, but to her own surprise, a deep sadness. What does my mother want? The knowledge was painful, but she had to know. If she did not ask now, there might never be a second chance. “And when the time comes,” Yorda said, summoning her courage, “what then?”
The queen nodded slowly. “I made a pact with the Dark God. I will use the power he gave me to wipe this world clean and make a new land with the Dark God as its true Creator.”
The Creator Yorda knew was Sol Raveh, the Sun God, who loved and nurtured all from the sky above. So had she been taught since she was a child. The sun’s warmth gave life to all living things, even as its light protected them. Not just her own kingdom, but all the lands looked up to this one God of Light.
ICO: Castle in the Mist Page 18
