The Queen's Curse

by Hellenthal, Natasja

  ‘Are you alright?’

  Tirsa nodded, still watching her arm, embarrassed and refusing to meet the eyes of the queen.

  ‘Go ahead. State your riddles, but remember your promise. If we answer them correctly, you’ll let us pass,’ Artride announced strictly.

  ‘Agreed. The first riddle!’ and he narrowed his yellow eyes, which glowed like fire.

  ‘What is … the silence after a storm of anger, frustration, vengeance, fear and … bloodshed?’

  Artride stared at Tirsa to see if she was in on this and still rubbing her arm, she frowned.

  ‘That storm must be symbolic for war, that much is clear,’ she stated softy and Artride nodded approvingly.

  ‘But that silence … death?’ and she bit her lip. Tirsa looked thoughtful. It was very quiet around them, like the trees were listening too, waiting for their answer as well as the tree guard. And she tried to remember if it was quiet on the other side, but failed. When she thought about the end of a war that she twice had experienced, she remembered the peace treaties, even if they were forced upon the enemy, that were signed after the many losses.

  ‘I thought about peace,’ Tirsa whispered in the queen’s ear. ‘But there isn’t always peace after a war. There can still be hatred among countries and people, deep-rooted hatred even,’ she stated.

  ‘However peace, agreed and signed for or not, is a silence in a way,’ Artride added. ‘Yes, especially after all the noises and hustle of a war.’ Tirsa remembered all to well.

  ‘So, answer him that, Tirsa.’

  Dubiously she examined Artride to see if she meant it.

  She did.

  Tirsa swallowed away her distress from her former defeat and stared the tree guard straight in the eyes when she said, ‘Peace. The answer is peace.’

  The tree guard was pleased and shrieked in a high voice, ‘The one and only good answer! Well done!’

  Artride touched Tirsa’s shoulder and patted her proudly, withholding an urge to embrace her waist from behind. She seemed to lighten up now that the queen was proud of her again and her self-esteem rose..

  ‘Three more, ladies. What are men without money and … possessions in a paradise?’

  ‘A paradise?’ Tirsa asked reluctantly, but the man didn’t respond.

  ‘What is that for a riddle?’ and she shook her head.

  ‘Come on, Tirsa, think with me. A paradise means you have everything that nature has to offer you, I should say; so men do not need money, but what are they? I assume a man is not alone, otherwise that would be a bit lonely. So a group of people – men, would they be lost, poor, happy?’

  ‘Perhaps indeed most would feel more lost than happy at first, but that’s personal isn’t it, considering the fact of what you leave behind and all that you will miss?’

  ‘So, happy would be too obvious or subjective, would it?’

  ‘Hmm, if you don’t have any money and possessions left, you are poor, right? However, in a paradise you have no use for that, for a paradise holds everything you need,’ Artride thought out aloud.

  ‘Wealthy.’ They both said at the same time and laughed about that.

  The tree guard had heard them and answered, ‘Right again!’ a little surprised this time.

  They cheered and Artride almost jumped off the horse. The tree guard was strangely amused himself, for the more riddles they solved, the more he could ask them. The closer he would get towards his own freedom as well; however, he didn’t think about that anymore. Riddles were his life now. Freedom was something less than a word and he couldn’t even remember the feeling, let alone crave it. He knew they wouldn’t make it through to the fourth riddle. No one ever had, but to ask three unique riddles; even if it came from a voice planted in his brain, somewhere behind his wooden skull, was more that he could hope for. Most candidates only made it to the second riddle, some to the third.

  ‘Now, the third riddle. Concentrate. You always carry it with you, even though you’ll die many times. It survives everything. It is hidden deeply, but sometimes shows itself as lightning, other times as a gentle wave. Sounds and smells are its closest friends.’ The two women listened and realised this was already the third riddle.

  ‘It is older than the oldest tree,’ and he giggled amused about the irony. ‘And the highest mountain. What is that?’

  They asked him to repeat the riddle one more time and both fell silent.

  After a short moment Artride whispered, ‘Maybe the soul or your true self, that never dies, you taught me that.’

  ‘Hmm, but not every soul is old; older than the oldest tree and mountain, and what about showing itself as lightning or a wave? No it must be something else.’

  ‘Hmm, it is hidden deeply, but then again not always; what could that be?’

  ‘Your history, that’s something you’ll always carry with you. You can not outrun it, it is who you are, what you have become,’ Tirsa said, rubbing her sleeves.

  ‘Yes, Tirsa, it could be just that. If you say that we have lived before and will live on; you will carry your past with you, deeply, even though you forget, it is old and the oldest thoughts hidden deeper than the freshest. And sometimes memories come up when you hear a familiar sound, or smell a fragrance; it comes like lightning or a gentle wave; pleasant memories, and bad ones as well.’ Her dark blue eyes twinkled, remembering herself those moments.

  She nodded and they agreed. ‘Your past.’

  The yes of the tree guard almost popped out of his long head. ‘Correct again!’

  Artride shook Tirsa’s hand and laid the other warm hand upon hers. Gratefully she stared at her, smiling and near tears.

  ‘The fourth and final question! Ready?’ he asked really content with them and himself. The women did not understand, but at this point did not care.

  ‘It is the key to peace and harmony, a pure and true thing which cannot be taught, only when experienced can it be fully understood. If you give it away, to one person or more, you will not lose it, but you will get more eventually. What is it?’

  ‘But that’s easy!’ Artride almost yelled and glimpsed at a horrified Tirsa.

  ‘Can you not guess, Tirsa?’

  ‘I have an idea, and you?’ she said earnestly.

  ‘It is love; the answer to all problems, the key to harmony!’

  The tree guard bowed deeply, so that his hair-like branches touched the forest floor.

  He smiled such a warm smile, that they had not seen from him before and in a low voice he softly said, ‘You have convinced me. All four answers were correctly answered. Take hereby your entry to the domain of Sempervirens. Greetings and welcome to you!’ and he vanished like smoke into air.

  They jumped off the horse and flew into each other’s arms, embracing one another tightly, cheering and laughing.

  ‘We’ve done it, Tirsa! I said we would make an excellent team, didn’t I?’ she said still hugging her closely, smelling the rain and sun on her skin, her hair and a hint of jasmine. ‘Yes, you did.’ With tears in her eyes Tirsa held a little longer on to her, but then seemed suddenly aware of the distance she was supposed to keep from the queen, as a bodyguard, and parted with her eyes down.

  ‘I don’t not understand why they were so easy, though,’ Tirsa said to break the sudden tension, and watched the trees, like she expected them to change back into humans. Unfortunately it did not work that way. ‘Well, we made it,’ the queen responded quietly, staring at the trees as well, realising they once were humans all to well.

  ‘But why didn’t they?’

  ‘Maybe we can ask the sorceress to release them. We can’t do anything for them now and I doubt the wicked tree guard could or wanted to,’ Tirsa stated when she saw it was bothering Artride.

  ‘I have a feeling it was some sort of test,’ Artride suggested. ‘To get into her domain, and that this is only the beginning.’

  ‘You could be right about that, but come on, my Lady. We will see what tomorrow brings.’

  They
mounted their horse and Tirsa suddenly looked stone white. ‘What is it, Tirsa?’

  Staring at the empty sword cane she muttered, ‘My sword. It’s gone!’

  ‘How can that be?’

  ‘I cannot be of any use without my sword,’ she muttered as if she hadn’t heard the question.

  ‘Nonsense. I suppose we are not allowed to wear weapons in this domain of hers we are entering. Something or someone magical must have taken it, otherwise you would have noticed. Although we do not have hostile intentions, so …’

  How naïve she is! Tirsa thought acidly and as if the queen had heard the unspoken remark she said, ‘We shall have to respect the ways of this country and if it means no weapons than that’s the way it’s going to be. Do not worry. I know that you can protect me without your sword, is it not?’

  Tirsa nodded stubbornly. ‘I just had not thought I would have to do without.’

  Artride smiled reassuringly at her. ‘You will do fine.’

  They continued their way through the oak and beech wood, avoiding looking at the sad odd tree creatures too much, which strangely, somehow, seemed not that sad anymore. Perhaps they too gained some hope.

  ‘We forgot to ask him whereabouts the sorceress lives.’

  ‘I doubt he would have told us,’ Tirsa reflected cynically.

  ‘But he seemed kinder when we solved his riddles. He might have told us.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can find some sort of path to those snow-capped mountains west.’ Tirsa pointed and urged her horse on. ‘A track leads mostly to someplace.’

  CHAPTER 9

  DESPERATE THOUGHTS

  Death and misery

  Stench and decay

  Poisoned ground,

  Darkness

  enclosing my mind

  Pulling, grabbing

  at my very being

  It’s so easy to give in to end it all…

  When the sun was highest they left the trees behind and reached the first mountain range. The terrain began to descend; gradually at first, then more steeply. All sizes of loose grey rocks lay scattered about, discouraging various forms of life. Roalda had said that the domain of Sempervirens should start behind these mountains and that those were a natural border.

  ‘Perhaps they are protected by another guard,’ Artride warned. ‘We should be cautious.’

  With the sun shining on their faces, and crossing a wide, rather wet mountain valley full of blossoming tiny flowers, such as daisies and small bluebells between thin grass, they felt relaxed and at ease. A few birch trees had managed to nestle their roots in the wet rocky soil, and although small they waved gently in the wind. There was no track to follow, so they used the sun as a guide to find the west.

  They decided to rest and eat a little at a nice spot with a marvellous view of the slanting rays of the spring sun glistening on the snow-capped peaks. It had been quite steep and Fiosa needed to rest and drink water.

  Artride jumped off the horse and stretched her legs before reaching a hand to Tirsa. She grabbed it without thinking and let herself slide from the saddle. When touching the ground and almost falling into her arms, she looked up at the queen who was the same height as her, looking her straight in the eye for a fleeting moment and smelling her intoxicating sweet scent; like strawberries or –no – it came to Tirsa: passion fruit. Rapidly she tried to look away, only to see her appealing long legs and hips in the tight fitting black trousers and black knee length boots. Artride still held her hand, but there was no apparent reason for that anymore, so Tirsa let go and turned around to avoid her stare: as if the queen wanted to make some sort of connection. It confused her, making her feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. I wanted to look … She was growing too close and feeling too much. Feelings of attachment and yearning had been gradually building up ever since she had first become involved. This could only serve to complicate her life.

  Tirsa opened the saddlebags to get to the food and the water bag. ‘We have to refill it soon, my Lady,’ she announced, trying to regain the wanted distance.

  When she did not answer she glimpsed at Artride, noticing she was staring into nowhere, with an absentminded, sad expression on her face. It reminded her of Mabel, who could look the same in troubled times; locked up in her own thoughts, ten thousand miles away.

  I do not want to compare Artride with my Mabel; they are so dissimilar. Mabel had been a girl when alive, while Artride was a woman. She had such a typical kind of humour, Tirsa always admired that in her. It amazed her that she could think of her now and not feel that terrible pain anymore. It upset her slightly, but she remembered what Mabel had told her while she was on the other side and she knew she was letting her go, finally. The emptiness and the missing still remained, but that had been with her for so long now she had grown used to that. Somehow the emptiness seemed to fill up by the appealing presence of the queen.

  They were silent when they settled against a big rock, eating their simple meal of bread and dried fruit.

  After a quiet afternoon they reached a wide open area with lumps of grass and plants that grew near water, which indicated this was peat. Its width stretched as far as they could see, but they noticed a small forest framing the distance in the west, the direction in which they were still heading.

  ‘A strange place for peat,’ Artride remarked, knowing the mountain valleys could be wet, but peat, however, normally was to be found further below.

  ‘Things are different here, remember Roalda told us.’

  ‘Well, fact remains we have to cross it somehow,’ Artride stated, examining the muddy soil with her feet. ‘There seems to be no way around it.’

  Tirsa dismounted and stepped on a sod. ‘I will check if it’s safe enough.’ And she carefully stepped from sod to sod, not to get her feet wet, so that the queen would not when following her. She trod heavily on one sod and nodded approvingly. Artride saw her stepping off a sod and sinking to her knees in the water, but no deeper. She reached for the grass and crawled onto a sod to get up again. Her black boots were shiny black-brown from thick, sticky mud. Insects immediately buzzed around her, attracted by the foul smell. The queen could smell it too when she returned, standing next to her.

  ‘Some sods are looser than others and you have to be aware that they are floating in the peat underneath. The smell is awful is it not?’ and she made an ugly face.

  ‘To put it mildly,’ Artride laughed. ‘You better find the best spots to step on then.’

  Tirsa glanced at Fiosa and bit her lip.

  ‘You feel reluctant to lead her across?’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid that with her weight she will sink. I have seen it happen before. Horses are too heavy for this. If you do not mind I would like her to stay.’

  Artride’s face was unreadable. ‘It’s your decision. However, without her we shall be slower. We are approaching the end of the first week.’

  ‘I am awfully aware of that. The home of the sorceress can’t be too far away now. If necessary we will travel day and night. And Fiosa here will wait for us. Most likely we will go the same way back.’

  Artride had an incredulous expression on her face.

  ‘She will wait for us?’

  Tirsa smiled lightly and said daintily, ‘She is very loyal, she will be around.’ And she turned to her horse and loaded a backpack with most of the contents of the saddlebags. After she patted her on the neck and caressed her over her nose she said her goodbyes.

  ‘What if we do not return, Tirsa, will she still be waiting … in vain?’

  Reluctantly she stared at the mare and quietly reflected, ‘We will return.’

  She doesn’t want to lose her as well.

  Tirsa soon joined her, hauling the heavy backpack onto her back.

  Artride followed and watched her every move. Tirsa moved like a fox; very light-footed and slim.

  The first few hundred metres went rather well. Some sods sank faster than others, so they had to be quick; but they managed them with getting thei
r boots just a little wet.

  Tirsa had to think about people of long ago who sacrificed members of their tribe to places like this in order to satisfy their gods for assuring a good harvest season or so that the sun would return. The person, most likely already killed, would sink and the peat around the body would not consume it, but preserve it for many centuries because of a lack of oxygen in the peat needed for digestion, until it was found and exposed to air. Tirsa had seen dark shrivelled bodies, but quite intact, which had been found by peat cutters in the moors in the east of Ceartas. The compact lumps of peat were a wanted, but expensive fuel for the fires of the households in Ceartas. The fire was warmer and lasted longer than a wood-fire.

  Above the ancient layer of peat was the younger layer; containing rotting plant and animal life, floating in the dark mud around it.

  When their feet came loose from a sod, a foul smell would come with it – from the younger layer, exposed to the air. The water was pitch-black and mosquitoes and little flies were following the two women. And in addition it was getting warmer, although the sun was hiding behind thin clouds. The air was moist and hot, without any sign of wind.

  The flies were bothering Artride and she waved with her hands to get rid of them and to create a little wind, but that did not seem to help much. They were not only attracted by the foul smell of the rotting water, but by their salty sweat as well; forming tiny drops on their foreheads and sticking in their hair.

  It became slightly harder to move on as well, for the sods became fewer and there was more water, and when they did step on a loose sod, it would sink awfully fast and their feet with it. Tirsa moved faster than her queen could cope with and many times she had to extend a hand to her and prevent her from slowly sinking.

  Increasingly they were surrounded by shallow water and in addition to that the heat became oppressive; the sun scorching them.

  ‘Can we not just swim from here?’ Artride asked with a tiny voice. Tirsa stopped to look at her and at the same time she sank a few feet. It was still a couple of hundred steps to the other side, where a thin forest began, but for all they knew even those trees stood in water. They were birch trees, she noticed, and knew they could grow in water quite easily.