Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology

by Richard M. Ankers

  “Come along, Chenna, and we will become fast friends.”

  She was nearly five years my senior, I would learn. The second daughter of a second daughter of a second son. So distant from the actual crown as to be considered merely noble, not royal, no matter the color of her freckles. Her rooms in the palace were big enough to hold four of the house I grew up in.

  She had a servant make up a guest room in her suite, and we sat before a fire as the night fell and the Fall began, speaking of her day spent helping her mother's pet project in a tenement building near the edge of the city, and I did my best not to display my ignorance.

  “But you haven't a clue about any of it, have you?” she asked after a while. “And on I prattle. Tell me of you, then. How is it you come to be without a home to shelter you during the Fall?”

  “Oh, I have a home.” I said, a bit defensively. “But it is far from here, and I have no interest in returning to it.”

  “Far from here? Outside the city?” Her eyes widened and she grabbed my hand. “I have never been outside the city. Mother forbids it, says there is danger enough in the slums.”

  “Your mother is wise. You would not like the country.” I said, hoping we could move on. The heat of her skin on mine was palpable and I swallowed before reluctantly tugging back my hand. “As I said, the Fall does not scare me. I have been outside in it before.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, there is no danger in the Fall itself, only in the value of your reputation should you be found outside in it.”

  I was smitten from the first, as Kenwith was intelligent as well as beautiful and in the nine days of the Fall we spent many hours together. She showed me into the palace library on the fourth day, and the vast expanse of knowledge it contained swept me away.

  It was that library that would seal my fate and lead me to this tower prison that has become my home. I lost hours there, reading ever older chronicles of our land, our people. Even when the Fall had ended and it was safe for me to leave again, I stayed.

  Slowly, Kenwith introduced me to the collected remains of our royalty and nobility. Some of the names were familiar from my mother's stories, others were new and unknown. They accepted me, based on the colors of my skin, sorting me into the various families based on the dominance and location of those colors.

  I had been there nearly two months when the day came that I met the man I assumed to be my father. Kenwith and I were in one of the many gardens, sitting beside a waterfall fed by the river, tumbling into a pool that in turn fed a stream that flowed back out into the river.

  I was reading from some ancient tome I had borrowed from the library, my head filled with tales of dragons and flying cats when a shadow fell over me. I looked up, surprised by the height of the man. I stood, letting my gaze shift upward.

  He wore a jacket of dark navy blue that opened to show of the crimson oval on his stomach, and had slits in the arms to show flashes of the indigo beneath. His eyes sparkled a deep violet, lashed in lush black. His face was a dusty pale blue, but for a slash of green that accentuated his jawline. His hair had once been black, like Kenwith's, but was now a mix of dark gray and white. He wore it long and plaited in a style I had seen on others.

  Kenwith stood quickly, inclining her head in respect. “Uncle, I was not expecting you.”

  He turned his intense gaze from me to Kenwith. “I heard rumors that you had brought someone new to us, without establishing her parentage.” He seemed amused more than angry. His fingers caught on my chin, turning my face so that he could see my colors. “Who are you then?”

  I licked my lips. If this was indeed my father, he would know my mother's name, yet I still felt compelled to hide my given name. “I am Chenna.” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. “And my parentage is something of a mystery.”

  His eyebrow lifted and his gaze swept over me. “Chenna?”

  I stepped back a half pace, pulling my face from his hand. “It was my mother's name. I trust you knew her. She grew up here, in the palace.”

  His gaze tightened and his hand was swift, grabbing at my shirt and tugging it up to reveal the red skin of my stomach. He cursed in the old language, making Kenwith's face darken and flush.

  My heart raced and I nearly fled the garden, but he was holding to my shirt. For a long moment, he stood and stared before his eyes snapped up to mine. He dropped my shirt. I couldn't read his face.

  He turned away from me without another word and left the garden. Kenwith looked at me with wide eyes and I wanted to turn away. I hadn't lied to her, only kept a secret, and yet I felt as if I had betrayed her somehow.

  She took my hand, drawing me further into the garden, turning me away from the path where he had appeared and disappeared. Her hand caressed softly over my face and concern seemed to take up residence in her eyes. “You are the child of the women that his first wife sent away.” It wasn't a question. “Why did you not announce yourself?”

  I looked down at the grass and shook my head lightly. “I have no need to make trouble, for myself or…”

  “He has no heir, Chenna. He will not turn you away.” She lifted my face. “You are family, and royal.”

  “The only family I have known is dead. I am only the unwanted daughter of an unsanctioned dalliance with a low-born woman who worked in a low-level government office.” I pulled away from her and went back to retrieve the book I had been reading. I was half certain I would be sent away.

  “Where are you going?” Kenwith asked as I walked toward the door that led to the long corridor that would take me to the library.

  “To return this book.” I replied.

  She followed me, running to catch up and capturing my hand. “I won't let you run away,” she said breathlessly. “Stay. You don't have to announce yourself. Just don't go.”

  We stopped, just outside the mammoth doors to the library. “Why?” I asked.

  She moved in closer, her eyes sparkling. “I should think my reasons are obvious,” she said softy. Her lips brushed mine and the racing thoughts in my head stopped cold, leaving me dizzy.

  “Ken.” I breathed the name, my eyes fluttering open before I'd realized they had closed.

  “Stay,” she whispered.

  I found myself nodding in agreement and when she moved away, she brought me with her, hand in hand as we left the library to its silence and returned to her suite.

  I kept to myself in the days that followed, staying in her suite, but I was not to be allowed my solitude. We were summoned to dinner on the occasion of Duk-ka-no, an ancient holiday commemorating the first dragon, born of blood and fire and given by the ancient gods to secure our lands from advancing enemies.

  Mother had told me the stories, the same as she had all the others about the royal family, about the gods and the various religions that had grown and wilted in our lands. I had never taken part in traditional celebrations however.

  Kenwith and I bathed and I allowed her to dress me, though I balked at the gown when I first saw it. The dress was stunning, but that wasn't my hesitation. Like my father's clothing that day in the garden, the sweeping cloth that would cover my breasts parted to allow the red of my belly to be seen.

  It took her cajoling to get me into the gown, it's white cloth and gold embroidery making my skin seem a deeper green, and showing off the red skin of my belly in a most regal way. Kenwith called her servant in to fix my hair while she dressed in something much less dramatic. I felt out of place beside her, a fraud of some kind.

  Heads turned as we walked through the palace and out into courtyard. People whispered as we entered the residential wing of the royal family. Kenwith's hand slipped into mine, her palm damp with sweat, making me realize that she too was nervous.

  We were met in a spacious lobby adorned with golden dragons and statues of the last kings and queens and escorted to a dining room where my father and others were already seated.

  “The Lady Kenwith and her companion, the Lady Chenna.”

  I
cleared my throat. “Aruk-na.” I said, my voice sounding harsh in the cold air of the room. “Aruk-na is the name my mother gave me. Chenna is the name I chose.”

  The man who was my father stood, welcoming us to the table. “Aruk-na is a fitting name. Your mother never was one to hide behind social conventions.”

  I inclined my head as I took my place with Kenwith beside me. The woman beside my father stood, dressed in the red robes of a priestess of the old faith. She lifted her hands in supplication and pronounced a blessing in the old tongue, speaking of the coming of dragons and the fires of faith.

  When she finished, servants approached with plates of food and we began to eat. It was quiet for a long time before a woman a little older than Kenwith leaned toward me from across the table. “Tell us, Lady Chenna, where have you been hiding yourself?”

  “Lady Kenwith was kind enough to offer me the shelter of her rooms when she found me on the first night of the Fall.” I responded, reaching for my glass of water.

  “And before that?” The man who spoke sat two seats down from me. I recognized his face from portraits I had seen around the palace, “Tyndor,” Kenwith whispered to me. He was a descendant of dukes and earls.

  “Before that I lived far away from here, on an island with my mother. Once she died, I chose to come visit the city that she loved. And hated.”

  “She had reason to hate us,” my father said. “As do you.”

  Kenwith took my hand under the table, squeezing it lightly. “I have no hate in my heart.” I responded. I glanced aside at Kenwith and lifted our joined hands to kiss her knuckles. “Indeed, since coming here, I have discovered love.”

  A murmur rippled around the table, whether of acceptance or discomfort, I couldn't be sure. My father caught my eye, a slight smile on his lips. I had no idea what it meant.

  The talk turned to courtly gossip and governmental things and over the course of the meal, Kenwith whispered names and positions to me. My father, Larun-do was the last remaining Prince, the patriarch of the royal family. The priestess was Hella-ma, a royal cousin who was sent to the church when she was younger than I. The woman who had first spoken was called Casta, a cousin of the Prince.

  My father's third wife sat beside him. She was young, her skin a darker green than mine with bright blues that accented her eyes and lips. Kenwith told me her name was Dyra, and a controversial choice for the Prince as she was more closely related than many were comfortable with.

  Rounding out the rest of the table was a man barely older than I, his skin a soft blue but for the yellow across his forehead, who Kenwith said was nearly as distant a relation as she, but had gained status though his work in the Senate. Billow was his name. And lastly was a boy of perhaps thirteen, who was a nephew to the prince, the presumed heir, since my father had yet to produce a child of his own lineage.

  I clung to Kenwith's hand, uncomfortable and unable to decide how best to extricate myself from the situation. At long last, the dishes were cleared and Larun-do stood, thanking everyone for joining him. The priestess gave another blessing, short and simple, and one by one the gathered people began to disperse.

  “Chenna, a moment.”

  I glanced up as Kenwith and I stepped back from the table. My father beckoned me with two fingers. I kissed Kenwith's knuckles and went to him, allowing myself to be drawn to a side room with him and the priestess.

  He drew the door closed and smiled at me. “I wanted to apologize for the other day, when we met. I was taken off guard. You look much like your mother.”

  I wasn't sure how to respond, but I nodded in acceptance of his apology.

  “I don't know how much you have followed the politics of late, but you return to us at a trying time.”

  “I haven't much head for politics.” I confessed. “And being raised as I was, know only the stories of our past, not the complexity of today's governance.”

  He nodded, looking to Hella-ma. She turned to me. “We are at a place of convergence, Chenna. There is much corruption within the houses of congress, and the people are clamoring for it to be cleansed. There are many returning to the old faith, and there is talk of dragons returning.”

  “They are all dead, are they not?” I asked, confused.

  “Many believe it so.”

  I watched them, trying to discern what they were not saying. After a long silence, my father turned to me. “There are dragons, Aruk-na. Hiding in plain sight. But we become fewer with each generation.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, discerning his meaning on an instinctual level.

  “Tell me,” Hella-ma said, “were you born during the Fall?”

  I nodded. “I was, on the fifth night of the Fall.”

  “It is true then.” Hella-ma walked away, to a pedestal upon which a large book rested. “She is the sign that the time has come.”

  “I'm not sure I understand.” I said, stepping toward the book and the priestess.

  “When the last dragon queen stepped down, handing over the governing of her people to the people, she warned that if the people should fall to corruption, she would send them a new dragon, born of the Fall, with a belly as red as her own, untouched by the corruption.”

  I shook my head. “I am no dragon.” I countered. “I am a woman, as was my mother.”

  Larun-do took my hand. “Your belly says otherwise. It is the mark of the blood that fills you.”

  I pulled my hand free. “I don't believe you.”

  “I understand you frequent our library.” Hella-ma said, stopping me as I made for the door. “If we are right, there is proof to be found there.”

  “What proof?” I asked, despite myself.

  “Meet me there tomorrow morning and I will show you.”

  I nodded, though I had no intention of meeting the priestess. I had no use for their silly stories about dragons and queens. I excused myself, taking Kenwith's hand and fleeing that side of the palace for the comfort of Kenwith's rooms.

  My curiosity was stronger than my disbelief, however, drawing me back to the palace library early in the day. The morning sun slanted in through the windows, casting a golden light across the floor as I let myself in, clutching the old book in my hand that I had used as my excuse for coming. There was no movement in the library as I put the book back, no sound that would tell me that Hella-ma had arrived.

  I wandered among the shelves, following them back, my eyes scanning over book spines and waiting for one of them to speak to me.

  When I had reached volumes that were among the oldest kept in the archives, she appeared soundlessly. “Come.”

  Her had was light on mine, but somehow it compelled me to follow, further into the dark corners where I had never ventured and to a door that opened into a dark stairwell. Her feet never faltered and somehow, I felt no dread, even as we left the light of the morning behind us.

  “Only one of the blood can enter this room.” Hella-ma said softly in the dark. “Lift your hand to the door.”

  She let go of me and I lifted my hand, touching it to the wood. There was the sound of a lock, several of them, then the door swung inward away from my hand. “Step inside.”

  The room beyond that door was large and round. As I stepped inside, candles and torches lit themselves as if by magic, startling me. The marble floor wore a coat of dust that spoke of the time that had passed since anyone had entered the room. The walls were dark wood, punctuated by marble pillars. Dragons adorned the ceiling.

  “What is this place?” I asked, turning back to the door where Hella-ma waited.

  “It was once the throne room. It is said that the ceiling can be opened, to allow the dragons who ruled here to fly out.”

  “I thought you were speaking in metaphors.” I said, turning again to take in the room.

  “Larun-do was the last to open this room. He could not transform, however.”

  I snorted before I could stop it. “And you suppose I can?”

  “If I am correct.” Hella-ma responded. �
��And I believe I am. But you are not yet ready. There is much for you to learn. If you are willing.”

  To say I was skeptical, would be an understatement, but the possibility intrigued me enough that I set out on a course of education under the tutelage of the priestess and her sisters. I was sworn to secrecy and whisked off to the temple every morning to be immersed in history that was not taught to the people any more, except as myths and legends.

  I learned the truth of the coming of the dragons, of ancestors who stepped up to lead a people on the verge of starvation, building a nation from a collection of tribes. Once stable, the dragons had withdrawn, preferring their lives of quiet in the country beyond the city that they helped to build. More than a century passed before war threatened, as much from within as from without. The dragons returned then, driving out the enemy and setting themselves to lead the people once more.

  They were reluctant kings and queens, ancient wisdom guiding them to work toward teaching the people to lead themselves without need of royalty.

  The last of them, a queen called Dusha-na, gave birth to ten children before she relinquished the throne, and set them to stay and watch over the people, to aid them and guide them as they progressed in self-governance.

  None of it spoke to the idea that the dragons were changlings that lived much of their lives in bodies like mine, or how, exactly, one was to go about transforming. After nearly a whole season of lessons, it was deemed time for me to return to the throne room.

  My head was swimming with all of the things I had learned and read as my father escorted me down the stairs. Expectation hung in the air as we gathered near the door and Hella-ma spoke the old language over me. Larun-do opened the door and we stepped inside, bringing the lights to life. I was fairly certain that I still did not believe them as I stepped to the center of the room.

  I had no idea what they were expecting to happen. I stood where I had been told to stand and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  “Speak the words.” Hella-ma said from the doorway.

  I opened the folded-up paper I had put in my pocket. The words were ancient, a dialect of the old language that I had never seen. Hella-ma had spent many hours teaching me to say them