“Of course. Everyone knows that story.”
“Most stories told to children to scare them or teach them a moral lesson are derived from some sort of truth.” Sim looked skeptical. “The Battle of Three Queens is no different. Depending on the version you’ve heard, it’s a completely true story. As you know, tens of thousands of years ago in the earliest years of civilization, the world was one giant mass of land divided into three kingdoms, each ruled by a warrior queen. Each queen was beloved by her people, but each queen thirsted for power and to be the sole ruler of the known world. They marched their armies to a point on the border of all three lands, and a great battle took place. The people so loved their queens that they fought fearlessly, believing that behind the leadership of their queen victory was all but assured. Tens of thousands died, the living fighting right on top of the fallen soldiers. In the middle of the field the queens met and fought against each other. As the day wore on and the sun came low near to the horizon, a brilliant white light appeared in the sky above the field and dropped between the bloodied and battered queens. The light took the form of a woman dressed in white. It was the Creator herself, come down to Earth to witness the destruction of her creation. The queens put their feud on hold and knelt in deference to their God. She was enraged with the carelessness with which life was being taken. She demanded a reason, some excuse for this war that had killed so many she had given life. The queens in turn, unable to lie in the face of their God, told her only that they hungered to rule the world of man. The Creator answered each in turn, her rage burning a white light into the soul of each queen. ‘The world of man may be ruled by no one man or woman. The world of man is free." In her anger, she tore the world apart breaking the land into three pieces spread apart with oceans between them. She then cursed each queen to exist in limbo. They would live only when called upon. They would serve the Creator's needs on Earth, and return to limbo with each death until the debt of their greed was repaid in flesh.”
Sim was yawning as she finished recanting the children’s fable.
“I’ve heard the story, Enaya,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was one of my mother’s favorites. I’ve heard her tell it a thousand times at least.”
“Have you now?” she said with the curve of a smile cresting her lips. “Good. Sim…Givara is one of the three queens.”
Sim’s jaw dropped for only a moment. His eyes inadvertently searched the tree line for a glimpse of Givara. He focused back on Enaya holding her gaze searching it out to find the truth. At last he threw his head back and laughed. He fell backward onto his blanket laughing uproariously.
It all seemed a bit much to Enaya. He simply was laughing way too hard. It was all a bit annoying. When he finally came up for air, she fixed him with the best ‘you’re acting like a complete fool’ look she could muster.
“If you’re quite done with all this blathering, I’ll have your word that you will never reveal her secret.” She couldn’t have tried to be anymore serious.
“Are you serious?” Sim gaped at her. He looked out at the trees again, and then began pointing at nothing emphatically. “I’m supposed to believe that she is one of the fabled warrior queens of old, come back from the dead to be…what? Your escort?”
“I mean it Siminus Kelmor.” Enaya was close to slapping some sense into him. “You told me you’ve never broken a promise in your life. I want you to promise that you will never tell anyone her secret.”
The smile and mock astonishment slowly slid off of Sim’s face. He kept looking out into the night as though if he could see Givara, it would make it all real and believable. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and slumped down onto his backside.
“Alright Enaya.” There was resignation in the way he said it, but also a hint of wonder. “I promise. I will never tell anyone Givara’s secret.”
“Givara and I will hold you to your promise,” she told him darkly.
Sim only nodded. He seemed to be thinking hard.
“Why doesn’t she need sleep?” he asked after a time.
“Well, it’s really only something she understands, I guess.” Enaya wasn’t totally sure she knew the answer. Givara was terribly guarded about herself. “Givara isn’t really alive. Her soul is trapped in that purgatory the Creator sentenced her to exist in, but her body is flesh and blood. She can die, but she doesn’t need the simple things that we as mortals need. She eats and breathes, but her body doesn't require rest.
“If she’s already dead, then how can she die?”
“Just like you or I, I suppose.” Again Enaya was guessing. “She has to protect her body from harm. If you were to stab her through the heart, I’m guessing she would die, same as you or I.”
Sim was quiet again. He lay on his back watching the sky, his hand playing with the strange necklace he wore. Enaya had noticed him fondling the gem that hung at his neck several times throughout the day. She wanted to ask him where he had come by such a beautiful piece of jewelry, but thought it best to leave it alone for now. It seemed to have a special significance to him. Perhaps it had been a gift from his parents. The chain looked to be made of terralium, which she knew was impossible. Terralium was the most rare and expensive metal known to man. It was said to be unbreakable. The art of making terralium had been lost centuries ago. It looked like the real thing, but she knew that an innkeeper from such a remote island couldn’t possibly have something so valuable. You could buy a large estate and still have a fortune left over with only half of the chain he wore. It just couldn’t be terralium.
“Why you Enaya?” Sim asked softly.
“What do you mean?”
Sim sat up and fixed her with a hard stare. He could be very imposing when he wanted to be. “I need to know what’s going on. I need to know why Givara was sent by the Creator to guard you. I need to know who Desirmor is and why I’m the center of some prophecy. But mostly, I need to know why my parents had to die today.” A tear welled up in his eye and slid silently down his cheek as he hoarsely choked out those last words, clearly trying his best not to break down in front of her.
Enaya had to take a deep breath. This is only the beginning she told herself. Eight years ago when she started her journey, when she and Givara began their search, she believed she was ready to face the challenge ahead. Over that time, filled with so many moments that she felt the crushing weight of failure after failure, her search was finally over. After eight long years, only now was her journey truly about to begin. She had imagined so often what he would be like when she found him. That he was a simple village boy with no sense of foreign affairs and no skill in battle was a disappointment, but perhaps his innocence could be used to her advantage. She would build her champion from the ground up, and to build a tower, you first had to lay its foundation, for without a foundation a tower could not stand.
“Relax Sim,” she said soothingly. “I’m going to give you another history lesson.”
He nodded and lay back down, resuming his study of the night sky. Again his hand found the gem and rolled it back and forth between his fingers as she began.
“Long ago the land of Fandrall was ruled by the Alexidus family. For generations the kings and queens of their royal lineage ruled peacefully from the Castle Alexidus in northern Fandrall. The last ruler of the Alexidus line, King Michael, had only one child, a daughter named Harmony. As Harmony neared her eighteenth birthday, the kingdom was overrun with suitors from all over the world seeking to gain her hand in marriage. Though Harmony would succeed her father as ruler of Fandrall, her husband would still be king and thus privy to the spoils of a royal life. One day a young man from a fishing village to the south entered the royal hall and demanded the Princess’s hand. He claimed that the Creator had come to him in a dream and told him that it was his destiny. Those in attendance that day, including the King, laughed at the man, deriding his station in life, for no son of a fisherman was worthy of the Princess' hand. The man swore to all who were there that he would be back. He would
come to claim the princess as his bride, and no-one would be able to stop him. That man was named Krull Desirmor, and he did return. Five years later he came back to the Castle Alexidus, leading an army of men and borlicon, those beasts you saw earlier. He sacked the castle, killed the King and took Harmony for his bride. Even the Harven soldiers guarding the castle were no match for the power of his magic and the overwhelming number of borlicon at his disposal.
“Of course, the Princess wasn’t a willing bride. She swore to Desirmor that he could try for all eternity, but she would never love him. Desirmor took her at her word. He locked her in a hidden dungeon and cast a spell on her so that her life was bound to his. They would live forever, never aging until the Princess began to truly love him. The Princess tried to kill herself, but found that she could only die when Desirmor dies. She remains a captive, hidden away in what is now known as Castle Desirmor even to this very day. Desirmor has raped her countless times, forcing her to bear his children unwillingly for all these years.
“But there was hope. In the time five years before Desirmor returned, the Princess had fallen in love with one of the soldiers assigned to her personal guard. It was forbidden by law for the princess to wed anyone not of noble blood, so the young lovers kept their affair a secret. For some time they were successful, until Harmony found out she was with child. The King had the soldier sent away and kept Harmony hidden away inside her quarters where no-one would see her and tell the secret. Eventually, she gave birth to a baby girl, but Harmony was heart-stricken. She loved the young soldier, and though her family begged her to give up the baby, she refused. Princess Harmony knew that she would never be allowed to marry her beloved, so she needed the child as a token of the flame that still burned for the man she had lost.
“Now a well hidden secret among the Alexidus family was that Harmony was very strong in the trivarial power. She was particularly gifted at something called ‘reading’ which is simply seeing the future through signs in everyday things like clouds, or fire. A week before Desirmor’s onslaught, the Princess went into a trance, and a nursemaid recorded everything she said. These recordings are now known as the Harmony Prophecy, both for the namesake of their creator and for the hope of peace that the recording promises. Harmony tried to warn her father that the kingdom was in danger, but King Michael didn’t listen. As a last resort, the Princess sent her baby away from the kingdom with her most trusted attendant to stay with a family who agreed to raise the child in secret until it was safe to return her to her mother. Obviously, that never happened. The child of Harmony Alexidus was raised in secret far away from King Desirmor, and the bloodline has endured for a thousand years.
That’s where I come in, Sim. I am the sole surviving heir to that bloodline. A direct descendant of the imprisoned princess, Harmony Alexidus. The prophecy can be very vague and open to interpretation, but some of it is very clear. ’When the soulless queen stands at the side of Alexidus, the last child of the mountain will open his eyes and find the path to harmony.’ I believe that happened today, Sim. I believe Givara is the soulless queen, I am Alexidus, and you are the last child of the mountain.”
“I don’t see how I can be the last child of the mountain, Enaya,” Sim said, breaking his silence after listening quietly to her tale.
“Sarimus has died. You are now the sole surviving Harven.”
“I can’t be,” he said softly. “My parents are Sevin and Bella. Neither was a Harven. If Sarimus has a son somewhere, that’s who we need to find. That’s the last child of the mountain.”
Enaya had hoped Sim would figure things out for himself, but he was very clearly in denial. It was going to be difficult to make him see what he didn’t want to admit. Enaya felt a great deal of sympathy for him.
She tried very hard to convey her compassion. “Sim, I know this is hard. I wish this wasn’t the way it all had to happen, but you need to try to see the truth. Sevin and Bella raised you, but Sarimus was your true father.”
The tension seemed to build as Sim lay in silence considering what Enaya had said. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard, bitter, and final. “Sevin Kelmor is my father.”
“Yes, Sim. He raised you. He taught you right from wrong. That makes him your father.” She could only hope he could keep his anger in check. “But he was not your blood.”
Sim sat up and glared at her. The faint slivers of moonlight breaking through the canopy made his face appear dark and wild. “Sevin Kelmor is my father. Do you hear me?”
Enaya sighed. It was too soon. He had experienced something beyond traumatic that morning, and he would need time to accept the truth. “Yes, Sim. If you say so. But remember, you asked for answers. You asked me to tell you why Givara came to me, and why your parents had to die today. When you’re ready to hear the answers, I’ll be here to give them to you. Mourn the loss of your loved ones, Sim. Take all the time you need. But sooner or later, you’re going to need to hear the truth about yourself--who you are, and why the Blood Lord practically destroyed the whole city to find you. When you’re ready to accept the answers to those questions, please ask me.”
The contempt that contorted Sim’s face slowly slid away. His fingers rolled the gem back and forth. Without another word, Sim lay back on his blanket and turned his back to her. For some time that night Enaya laid on her own blanket watching his back. Her heart wept for him. She thought about how difficult it all must be. After all, he had never asked for any of this. Fate had simply chosen him.
And fate had chosen her.
Every now and again she could hear Givara walking around the perimeter, guarding them, keeping them safe. If nothing else, that gave her comfort, and she gradually fell asleep.
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The evening sky over the city of Dell was beautiful. The sun had just fallen behind the horizon, and the sky over the vast gray ocean was a dazzling array of pinks and blues and oranges. Thorl Desirmor, the feared Blood Lord, had a secret love for art and beauty. His reputation labeled him an emotionless murderer, an unfeeling monster, and these descriptions were largely true, but deep down he had an unquenchable thirst for the beauty of the world around him; a trait no doubt handed down from his mother. His collection of paintings and sculpture at home in Castle Desirmor was legendary, but for him nothing compared to a sunset over the ocean. Here in Dell, he could have wept at the sky’s grandeur -- if he was capable of weeping.
His room in the seaside inn was remarkably luxurious. All of his life he had heard of Caramour with its getaway beach resorts that catered to only the richest and finest people, but he had never come before. His room was lavish, and resplendent with fine silks and gold trim. The bed was nearly as soft and inviting as his bed back home and after weeks at sea, to lie on a fine feather down mattress was just what his tired body had been craving. Even the wine was superb, the same vintage he had discovered at that miserable inn earlier in the morning. From his window he could see some smoke still drifting toward the sky like pillars reaching for the heavens. It was unfortunate that he had needed to destroy so much of the island's main city, but to execute his plans, such a forceful act was necessary.
A knock came at his door, and the creature that entered made him want to wretch. He was a bald, decrepit hunchback as all the Paratamians were. Paratamians were a vile, crude race of cave dwellers who lived in the Paratam Mountains in Altrega. Durg was considered royalty among his people, some kind of chief of his tribe. Thorl hated his association with Durg, but he needed the pale-skinned man and the strength of his people. Durg lumbered into the room wearing only a long white cloak. His long gnarly fingers dragged across the waxed floor boards, while his large, black eyes fixed on Thorl.
“We have done as you’ve asked, my Lord,” Durg’s voice was deep and monotone. “My men have rounded up all of the local farmers who’ve come to the city to trade. They will co-operate.”
Thorl tried his best to speak levelly, as the loathsome creatu
re’s scent made him struggle to keep from sicking up. “Very good. Things are going well thus far. How long before we can expect to begin production?”
“A few days, maybe sooner if they are properly motivated.”
“Motivate them, Durg. Do whatever it takes. I want no time wasted here. Everything is waiting on this harvest.” Thorl’s excitement was making him forget about Durg’s repulsiveness.
“It will be done, my Lord,” Durg turned and lumbered out of the room.
Thorl Desirmor looked back out of his window at the darkening sky, the beautiful colors of dusk giving way to a vast sea of stars. He had waited so long to set his plan into motion, and everything was working perfectly. He took another sip of wine, savored it in his mouth a moment before swallowing and looked down at his nearly empty glass. A truly remarkable vintage he thought to himself, then closed his eyes and imagined his glorious future.
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Navan Prianhe watched the foul smelling Paratamian leave the inn that Thorl Desirmor had claimed for himself. Prianhe detested Paratamians. His own people lived on the plains of Altrega and had a long history of aversion to their mountain dwelling neighbors. Despite years away from his homeland, barely a whisper of a memory in his mind now, Prianhe still held onto his inherent cultural prejudices. But prejudice or no, Paratamians were simply disgusting creatures, not even worth spitting on.
Prianhe had arrived in Dell several days before the Blood Lord, working on strict orders from King Desirmor himself. As the Great King’s high monomach, it was his sworn duty to carry out the biddings of his master even if it cost him his life. He had been surprised to see Thorl arrive with a fleet of ships that morning, since his master had said nothing of any plans to send his son out to Caramour. He wondered why the Great King would feel compelled to send him help in hunting down the last Harven, and he tried his best to keep his anger in check. Thorl had taken his glory. The last Harven had been his task to complete, the most important undertaking he had ever been given in his twenty-five years as the Great King's First Defender. Though he was bound to do his master’s bidding, Thorl was his superior. Like it or not, when Thorl had seen him by the docks, he had had no choice but to inform him of his findings.
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