by Chris Ward
‘This is true My Lady.’ At this the Queen suddenly held up her hand as if to halt an attack.
‘You must never call me that again.’ The words were clear and unmistakably fierce, and Rema recoiled in shock. This does not make any sense he thought, but the queen pressed on.
‘Do you wonder Rema Bowman why I am always hidden?’
He nodded. ‘I do My...’ he went to say what he had been commanded not to, but caught himself.
The queen turned back to look out the window once more.
‘I have decided that you must know,’ she said and Rema was even more confused.
‘You would tell me, a complete stranger?’ he whispered. ‘I do not see that I am so important...’
‘Rema!’ the words which now came were like great raindrops upon a warm flagstone. Each made its mark. Each had to be heard. ‘In this book of which you speak, tell me, the one whose name you bear, does it speak of who he loved?’ She turned to Rema and he saw once more her distress for she trembled with emotion.
‘It does.’
‘Who then, is this one?’ Rema wondered what he should say. He took so long that the Queen lost patience.
‘Tell me Rema!’
‘It tells of his love for Serenna his wife.’ The Queen took in a deep breath at this name, but waited. ‘It tells of another,’ Rema continued, ‘a woman whom he loved with a great passion and who was captured and lost. In the end she was restored to him but she had changed, and their love grew cold, for she pushed him away.’
The White Queen stood staring at Rema, willing him to continue but he did not.
‘What was her name Rema?’ she demanded hoarsely. Rema suddenly felt himself in the grip of something so much bigger than he could possibly imagine. This woman before him, the White Queen of Revelyn held him in some thrall and he could not understand it. He sought in his memory for what he had read, and as they stared at each other, suddenly it came.
‘Sylvion Greyfeld,’ he said at last. ‘That was her name, and she became queen of all Revelyn in the end when the last arrow had fallen... a phrase my namesake used as title to his book.’ Rema looked on as the Queen once more shook in agitation. ‘I am sorry, what is it that I have done?’ he asked, but his plea went unanswered, for the Queen turned once more to look out the windows and by some great force of will composed herself again. After a time, a long time in which there was nothing but the silence and beating of hearts, the queen spoke.
‘I travel in a strange land Rema and your appearance in my life has altered things greatly.’
‘I do not understand My Lady,’ Rema said in confusion and the Queen ignored his disobedience.
‘No Rema you don’t, but you will.’ She turned to him. He sat perhaps ten paces from where she stood. ‘I will take off my veil now Rema for it is time I did, and Germayne has long encouraged me in this.’ Rema felt his heart thump against his chest, and a tightening in his throat. He did not know why or how such a simple unveiling could possibly change his life. He only knew it would.
The White Queen reached up and in one quick motion revealed herself to Rema. He gasped, taken quite by surprise for not in his wildest imaginings was he prepared for who stood before him. He was speechless.
‘You seem amazed Rema Bowman,’ said the White Queen of Revelyn softly.
‘I have seen you before.’ Rema whispered. ‘You are the woman I saw in the market, down by the magician’s tent. I cannot believe this. I thought you the most beautiful vision I had ever beheld and thought I would never see you again. And now this. It was you. You are the White Queen.’
The Queen smiled. ‘Ah, so you saw me. I do get out amongst my people Rema, but they never know it, for they only imagine me as the veiled and hidden Queen; a mystery.’
‘But why?’ Rema asked still lost in confusion. ‘Why hide yourself when you are so lovely to behold...’ He could not help himself in that moment such was the strength of feelings that the Queen had aroused in him. She smiled graciously.
‘It is because of who I am,’ she said, now calmer and in control of herself.
‘And, so who are you?’ Rema blurted out in confusion.
‘I am the one of whom you just spoke. I am Sylvion Greyfeld.’
Rema did not respond to this amazing revelation for some time. The two looked upon each other trying to assess what was now happening between them; each seeing things from a completely different place.
‘That is impossible,’ Rema whispered finally. ‘You are no older than a score of years, younger perhaps than I. You cannot deny this, it is plain to see, and Sylvion Greyfeld was my namesake’s first love. He died almost fifty summers ago and lived to ninety two. It is engraved in stone upon his tomb...’ The White Queen smiled as Rema continued working the numbers in his head, ‘...so that would mean you would have to be...’
‘One hundred and thirty five Summers Rema,’ the white Queen interrupted, ‘older than any who has ever lived in Revelyn.’
‘It cannot be. You are surely no more than...’
‘Twenty one,’ the Queen interrupted him again, and Rema shook his head, and sat in utter confusion. The woman he saw before him was without doubt the same woman he had seen in the market, the one who had then caused him such a turmoil of emotion for her beauty was beyond any he had ever seen. His thoughts ran wildly, unable to find a satisfactory understanding.
She must be the White Queen for how else to explain her presence here, but to be Sylvion Greyfeld, to be as she was when Rema my forbear was alive, unchanged since then. Rema shook his head. ‘I am unable to understand any of this,’ he said quietly.
‘I will explain myself then, ‘said the White Queen. ‘It is much to ask of you to believe that I am who I claim to be. This in part is why I have chosen for so long to remain veiled, for the people would not easily understand or accept this situation.’ She stood and without warning held back her white gown and Rema saw at her waist a sword. ‘Do you know what this is Rema?’ she asked gently.
The answer came to Rema in a flash. ‘It can only be the Shadow Blade for it is in the book and you were its bearer.’ The White Queen smiled.
‘Yes, it is indeed the Shadow Blade.’ She paused allowing this revelation to be absorbed. ‘But do you know what it can do Rema?’
Rema nodded slowly. ‘From my reading it is told that the Shadow Blade can slow time, it allows the bearer to move in a different manner, to be so fast when others cannot move... or some such thing.’
‘You are right Rema. The shadow blade stops time, and allows the one who bears it to live in a world apart. When I first came to hold this blade, after I had learnt to wield it, it was used to defeat the forces of evil which stood against Revelyn. It also confirmed me in my claim to the throne, and having done this it should have been returned to the vault in which it was kept in times past, alongside the Royal Sceptre, to be brought out only in times of dire danger or to confirm a new ruler in Revelyn.’ A silence then grew between them till Rema finally gave words to what now seemed obvious.
‘You did not give it up,’ he said quietly.
‘No I did not. I did not then understand what would happen. I relied upon it to rule for there was much to be done and evil to subdue. With this Blade I was invincible, and it allowed me to set Revelyn right.’ At this point the Queen took a deep breath. ‘But I did not know that the longer I had it on my person the more it owned my mind, and the harder it would be to give it up. By the time I knew that my youth was unchanging and that I would never age I found I could not let it go. I was vain, I was able to make all sorts of justifications, but in the end I never put it away.’
‘And so you never aged.’ Rema said in awe. ‘You are now as you were then.’
‘That is true Rema. I stopped aging when the Shadow Blade became part of me. To even think of surrendering it seems impossible to comprehend.’ She stood and walked to the window, looked out for a moment and then turned to face him. ‘But what I tell you is the truth. I am Sylvion Greyfeld. I w
ould not lie to you about this.’ They looked at each other for a long time. Rema was lost in wonder at her beauty and yet confused by the knowledge that she was not of his time, she was far older than any human who had ever lived in Revelyn, and he could not imagine what this might mean; for him, or for his quest to understand the suffering of the land. Everything seemed upended.
‘So I did not age, but I have grown older, and there is a difference which I have learnt over many summers,’ the white queen continued her story. ‘I look no different than when I first knew your forebear Rema, and loved him with all my heart, but I have journeyed far further than other s do and learnt many things and built up so many memories and experiences...’ She smiled at Rema and ceased her strange revelation with a final comment. ‘...so I have grown older , and forgotten more than I thought.’
‘You are extraordinary,’ was all he could say.
‘And you Rema look exactly as I remember my Rema so many summers ago, so perhaps you will understand now something of my agitation since we first met.’
And this at last made sense to Rema.
He joined Sylvion at the windows and shared with her the mighty view. They did not speak; indeed for a time there were no words which could fill the silence which existed between them. Rema was overwhelmed with what had been revealed and Sylvion experienced a strange relief to have finally shared her secret to one beyond her court, and now a new feeling surprised her. She glanced sideways at Rema who stood fixedly staring into the distance. It could be that we are together again she thought. He is you, so completely, even the way he ran his hands through his hair. His voice, his skill with the bow... she took a deep breath. Be careful Sylvion, there is too much at stake in Revelyn to allow these feelings too much attention.
‘So you have ruled Revelyn since the defeat of Zelfos, the one I read of in the book?’ Rema said quietly.
Sylvion nodded and then whispered, ‘It has been a long time Rema.’
‘And the people do not demand to know who is on the throne for surely they must know there has been no change in that time.’
‘There is a great mystery in this,’ Sylvion replied. ‘While I rule there is no challenge. By hiding myself it seems that the people are happy enough to know that there is a Queen on the throne and if the land is ruled well then ...’ she paused, ‘I do not know the words for this but all I hear are rumours of my age or disfigurement, it is as if the veil has hidden more than just myself from them.’
‘Who knows?’ asked Rema.
‘Germayne, and only a handful of others who still live. They are sworn to secrecy and in the time that I have been veiled only one has betrayed me and no one believed him.’
‘I suppose the truth would seem too fanciful.’
‘Just another rumour,’ Sylvion added quietly with a wry smile. She noticed then how Rema was looking at her and she felt a rush of emotion, her cheeks flushed and for a moment she thought to replace her veil, but it passed and she remained as she was.
You are so beautiful, Rema thought as he looked upon her, how does anyone deal with a situation such as this?
‘I would still like to speak with the Wisden,’ he said finally trying to keep some focus on what he had planned to do. I swore to discover what I might about the sickness in the land. My people in the Highlands have great interest in this. ’
Sylvion sighed.
‘Come and sit with me Rema, for you have only heard the smallest part thus far.’ And so he obeyed and they shared some simple refreshment. After a span Sylvion spoke once more.
‘The Wisden Rema are no more. The last one died almost a score of years ago, and with him their line came to an end.’ Rema was greatly shocked to receive this news.
‘How did this come about, for I read that they have always served the ruler in Ramos, and only they can interpret the Book of Prophecy?’ he asked. Sylvion shook her head sadly.
‘That is true Rema; but no longer.’ She paused. ‘Their passing is my fault and mine alone. I have failed Revelyn in this Rema and it is another of my great regrets.’ Rema was once more perplexed but waited for Sylvion to continue.
‘Let me explain as best I can. The Wisden were all old, and none had been added to their number for almost three score years. It is rare that any have the gift which they possess.’ Sylvion paused as if to decide just what should be revealed before continuing softly. ‘I will tell you something about them which no one beyond a few have ever known. ‘
Rema sat forward greatly interested.
‘The Wisest of the Wisden have always been blind. They can see in special ways, and to sit and talk with one you would not guess their affliction. They can make their way around using a level of hearing which we sighted mortals can only marvel at...’
‘How then do they read the Book of Prophecy?’ Rema interrupted.
Sylvion smiled. ‘An excellent question and I will show you something of this, but not now. Now is the time for my confession.’ She said this in true humility and with such a note of deep regret and sadness in her voice that Rema was greatly moved. I cannot believe you capable of anything which demands such sorrow he thought, and then realised that Sylvion was speaking once more.
‘Over almost an age the Wisden have lived here in the White Palace. They were never many; I think six at most in any one time, and most often three. As they aged their numbers were always replenished in the most remarkable manner. Always another with the gift would find their way to Ramos and to the Palace. They knew their destiny and demanded entrance to Hall of the Book where the Prophecies were kept and studied. It is said that there is a single Book, but in truth there are many manuscripts which once perhaps were bound together, but long ago these were separated and they have never been rejoined. I will show you when the time is right.’ She paused and took a sip of a cool cordial. She smiled at Rema and he felt a wonderful surge of warmth encompass his heart.
‘Three score and two summers ago, a young man came to Ramos and requested to be joined to the Wisden. I remember the day well for he was so beautifully spoken. His manner with words was almost to enchant the listener. He was blind of course and when the oldest of the Wisden took him to the Hall he proved most able to read the manuscripts and seemed to have a heightened ability to explain all he read.’ Sylvion smiled to herself. ‘His name was Cyron, and I must admit that I was immediately attracted to him.’ She looked at Rema as though seeking his approval. ‘You must understand that since Rema and I parted, I had not found love or even searched for it. I was so lost in serving my people...’
‘But did you not regret your losing his love?’Rema asked boldly, and saw straight away that his words pierced Sylvion’s heart for she shook her head in sorrow and silent tears wet her face.
‘It has been my greatest sorrow over more than one lifetime, and I have had longer than any to suffer for my actions.’ She stood and walked about as Rema sat and watched. You appear as but a young woman, and yet you carry the sorrow of the wise and old, he thought. ‘I am sorry to have asked such a cruel question,’ he said, but Sylvion waved it away.
‘It is the only question which seems right.’ She said fiercely, and then to herself more gently as if alone, ‘I was such a fool. Such a blind fool.’ Suddenly, as though remembering herself she returned to her seat and continued the story.
‘Measured in summers I was so much older, but in feelings and vigour I was but as I am now, a young woman. Cyron was perceptive but naive in the way of love, although he knew that the Wisden were forbidden to marry for it was the only restriction which ruled their lives. They were married to their scholarship.’ Rema suddenly sensed what was coming.
‘But we shared a brief love, a passion which I allowed and none could stand against me for I was the White Queen and bore the Shadow Blade.’
‘You married Cryron?’ Rema whispered and Sylvion nodded.
‘It was a simple ceremony. It was not announced and few knew, but that did not stop the hurt which was to follow.’ Sylvion wept openly
and Rema was amazed that she was so unashamed of her tears. She smiled at him.
‘I have not shared greatly with any on this but you are like a vision and it seems unreal so it is good for me, and I knew that one day I would talk of this...indeed I need to do so.’ Sylvion took a deep breath and once more Rema witnessed some great inner strength restore her composure. He sat silently and waited for the Queen to continue.
‘The two other Wisden were very angry. Cyron did not want to believe that he could not be my husband and also a Wisden, but his great gift lessened and within a few seasons he could no longer read the manuscripts or understand their deeper meanings. He changed, his heart was torn in two and his regret was far greater than his love for me. I could do nothing. For all my mighty power I could not convince him of my love for him and the times between us became hurtful and I felt his rejection and his blame. And in this he was right. I had taken from him the very thing which was dearest to his heart; his scholarship. His prophetic wisdom.’
Rema could not speak for the story was so sad and Sylvion’s distress so dire that he dared not interrupt. He sat and witnessed her great grief.
‘Cyron took his life.’ She continued suddenly with great sobs of sorrow. ‘I feared he would, and I tried to ensure his safety but he threw himself from the Palace walls one evening as we walked together. I thought him calmer but it was not so.’ Rema wanted to comfort her then but could not move, and Sylvion seemed almost unaware of any other, speaking as though to give words to the deepest feeling which had long lain hidden in her heart, and which now had found a way to escape.
‘And so the Wisden died out. There was no other to replace Cyron and within three summers the others had died, and it was law that they were to be a continuous line; once broken there would be no more.’ Sylvion looked sadly at Rema, ‘I did all this in weakness. I knew the consequences, but I blindly chose a path and so I have reaped what I have sown. Worse, Revelyn has suffered for my evil, for there are no longer Wisden to give counsel to the throne, and more than ever Revelyn needs this now.’
