“Are you here hoping that your voice will cause us to see new light?” The voice of the opposition grew stronger with each passing moment.
“I have merely come to pay respects to Rose Red,” Marguerite declared loudly.
“How dare you use that name!” Another cried out in tears. “You will address her as Lady Red!”
“She was a sister to me, and I will do no such thing!” Marguerite held back tears as she shouted to the crowd. Iritis placed a hand upon her shoulder and she took a deep breath.
Another stepped forward, “Then what? Force us to Ashok Orai?”
“We can offer you safety and security, something we have failed to do as of late,” Marguerite stated.
“Ashok Orai does not have the room for so many!” A voice called out. The crowd grew in number with every passing moment.
“We shall build the room. Help us. Help us move the stones of Zhan’ding to Ashok Orai. Together, we can build a new city. A new future for both Houses,” Marguerite tried to talk louder than those that opposed her, empty hands in the air.
The House of Red has fallen! People shouted
What of the lands beyond? Who will protect them?
Ashok Orai is the last Great House.
We would be citizens under the banner of the White Rose!
The people called one after the other.
“Then we shall make a new Great House!” Marguerite yelled, “a better House.”
Boos and jeers towards the young ruler. Many of the crowd waved arms and began to walk away.
“Then remain here. And be picked off when the Wolves return, because they shall and in greater numbers,” Marguerite's cheeriness disappeared. She stared at the crowd before mounting her horse.
“Lies and trickery!” Someone threw a stone at Marguerite. Iritis in a motion swifter than the wind, withdrew his sword. A bright flash, and the red stone dropped harmlessly to the ground. He watched it bounce thrice before coming to a rest.
“No trickery. No deceit. They are uniting under a single Clan. A new Queen has arisen!” Captain Iritis barked into the crowd. Sword lowered.
Murmurs and whispers flooded the crowd gathered. Most where prepared to embark to Ashok Orai, but many remained certain they could defend the city. The crowd began to thin.
“What would it take?” Marguerite questioned.
A vote!
Let us decide! The voices called out.
“If all are not unanimous, Lady White. Then no deconstruction can happen,” another arose from the crowd, stepping forward, her arms crossed. Her hair ragged, dirty, blood encrusted in spots. Her tender face the same. This woman clutched a chipped sword.
Marguerite nodded her head, “then speak to every citizen and we will discuss matters civilly after I have paid respects.”
Marguerite strode away from the crowd towards the palace. The Captain followed. Both rode past a group of refugees prepared to leave to a new secure life in Ashok Orai. They marched protected by white clad soldiers. Their lives wrapped in bundles. Mothers carried both life and children. While those that refused, returned with their loved ones with more spite and animosity towards the House of White. They would defend the city as they always have. The House of Red would live on through their service. As Marguerite’s horse trotted along, she could hear the broken, and rusted swords being sharpened against stone. The shrill grinding sent chills through her spine. She tried to ignore it.
Ophiuchi stood among the crowd. The Fairy was almost invisible. Dressed as any another Zhan’ding peasant. Face dirt ridden, but still unnaturally beautiful. The Fairy watched the animosity grow in the hearts of those citizens that wished to stay. The stench was intoxicating to the creature. The Fairy with a smile that encompassed the entire face inhaled the sweet scent of deceit. Not from the people, but Marguerite. It intrigued the ancient creature. Both Marguerite and the Captain trotted past Ophiuchi. Iritis gave the Fairy a nod as the creature watched the two intently without blinking. Marguerite shivered. She shot her head back, but the Fairy was gone. Disappeared into the shadows.
“You all right, Lady White?” Iritis asked.
Marguerite looked back again to find no one, “Just feel as if I am being watched.”
“Perhaps just citizens in their homes,” Captain Iritis spoke.
“Perhaps,” Marguerite shivered one last time, before she rode on in silence with the young Captain.
“Such animosity towards you, Lady White,” Iritis broke the silence.
Marguerite stopped her horse. Ophiuchi slid down an ally adjoining the street and blended into the shadows and listened intently.
“It is not towards me, but all of the House of White, I fear. Our two cities used to be so close. When did such division arise?” Marguerite looked to the palace. It began to crumble. Smoke still billowed in small columns out of its roof. It was not as she remembered. The red was not as vibrant as when she was a child. Perhaps it was merely due to age of both her and the city.
Iritis answered, “The divide seems to run deep.”
“A divide I fear that may risk many lives,” Marguerite continued to stare at the broken palace.
“Do you feel the citizens will not unanimous for full relocation to begin,” Captain Iritis asked.
“Unfortunately, I may have to resort to measures unbecoming of both Ashok Orai and the House of White,” Marguerite tucked a strand of hair that fell loose behind her ear.
“You cannot be serious?” Captain Iritis trotted directly next to Marguerite's horse.
“We may have to force those that refuse to relocate, for their own safety,” Marguerite continued on to the palace, to her mission.
“At what cost?” Captain Iritis trotted along side Marguerite, who stared deep at him,
“I do not know.” Marguerite tried not to cry as she and Iritis continued on towards the palace, “but it will be great.”
Ophiuchi heard all that was needed. With a grin of delight and excitement the Fairy moved about the ally. Peasants clothing vanished in a mist of velvety smoke. From the shadows was pulled dark robes that swirled around the Fairies body. Ophiuchi walked without a sound upon the stone until the creature approached a puddle. Deep crimson red was the pooled blood the Fairy stopped before. A Wolf, dead was the cause. Ten arrows pierced its flesh. The ally smelled terrible from the dead beast. The Fairy knelt down and looked into its own ghostly reflection,
“Show me, Theodora Talisa!”
The Fairies deep voice whispered. A hand waved over it.
The puddle vibrated, and shifted and bubbled, until it showed the ghostly image of Theodora Talisa, “What news do you have?”
“I have been unable to locate what you seek.”
“Then you have failed me, Fairy,” Theodora Talisa echoed voice spoke, the red water rippled violently.
“Not quite. Great animosity runs through the hearts of many citizens of Zhan’ding. They distrust the House of White, and their intentions. This animosity could work in your favor, my Queen,” The Fairy continued.
“Yes. Yes it could. Sow the seeds. Do what you do best, Ophiuchi. Turn them against the House of White,” Theodora Talisa’s ghostly shadow disappeared from the puddle and Ophiuchi exited the alley.
Whilst the Fairy plotted the distrust that was to be sown, Marguerite stood silently before Saledii’s closed chamber doors. Captain Iritis next to her, “No one is to enter this room, until I have exited.”
The Captain understood, and took post before the door hands folded behind him as Marguerite entered the darkened room.
Many of the candles had burned away casting the room black as midnight. Heaping piles of wax littered the floor and brass candleholders. The candles that did remain almost spent. That is when they would move her body. They would move her, and entomb the delicate remains within the catacombs far below the city. Just like her father, and those countless rulers before her. Just as in Ashok Orai, a great statue would be placed to guard her, to remember her. It broke Marguerite’s
heart nearly in two.
Marguerite stood at the foot of the bed. Through the darkness she looked at the pale, dream like face of Saledii. She was covered in a black gown of silk that draped over the entirety of the bed. Her bright, curly red hair, the only color in the room of darkness, but even that had lost some of its luster and shine. Hands folded softly before her stomach. The large ring of Zhan’ding, which had once belonged to her father, glistened in what candlelight was left. There were none left to bequeath it to. Marguerite thought of the catacombs. She knew that Saledii deserved better than that cold stone for eternity. She deserved better than all that transpired. Marguerite stared at Saledii, and could see the stained blood that could have be removed.
“Little Rose Red. Our fates our own,” Marguerite fell to her knees before the foot of the bed. She could barely look upon her dead friend, and sister, “Why didn’t you summon help? Were you that full of pride that it was beyond you? Ashok Orai would have come! I would have come!” Marguerite wiped tears that fell from her eyes and looked at the remaining candles again. “What drove us so apart?”
Not much time remained.
She inhaled deeply and removed any remaining sadness from her brow. While mourning Saledii was needed, there were other, more pressing issues that she must deal with.
With a silent rush to the fireplace, Marguerite felt around the mantle. She knew it was there. Saledii showed her once, years ago when they were children. Lord Red forbade using it, or speaking of it. She felt around with her fingers and found it, a small bump.
Click
The fire died. The back slid away. An ancient and almost forgotten stairway led down. Across the threshold of the fireplace, torches that hung on the wall lit to life the entire length. Spark after spark of fire. Small sections of stairwell lit. Their own little bubbles of hope against the ever-encroaching blackness. It was into this that Marguerite traveled down. Down into near pitch black, damp darkness.
Outside Saledii’s chamber, two handmaidens approached. The thin black dresses they wore a dark mist within the already somber halls. They were both veiled. Their hair tucked away. One carried a class carafe of oil. The other carried white linens. They stopped short when they saw Iritis standing with weight upon his left foot, before the chamber door, “I am sorry ladies, but until Lady White finishes, no one is allowed entrance.”
“We must finish preparing, Lady Red for burial,” The first maiden spoke.
“Once Lady White comes out,” The Captain reiterated.
“This is most irregular, even for Lady White,” the second maiden huffed loudly. Her hands unfolded, white linen hung like snow off her black clothed hip.
“Lady White is merely paying respects to a dear and close friend. You understand?” Iritis lightly touched one of the handmaidens on the chin. Her blushed cheeks were vibrant against the bleakness of her gown.
The maidens huffed away. As they did, both gossiped low, pointed and giggled at the soldier. Iritis cleared his throat and readjusted himself to stand taller. He remained silent like a statue, cheeks slightly red. The giggles died away when they turned the corner.
Ten.
Marguerite's steps echoed endlessly all around the damp fire lit stairs. Invisible droplets of water plopped upon the stones. Tiny waterfalls raced down many cracks on the wall. She could hear them. It made her smile as it all reminded her of the spring rains, a season that seemed to grow shorter and shorter the older her memories of them became. Her tan riding boots disrupted the streams they formed. Streams that cascaded silently down the steps. Marguerite traveled down. To the deepest recesses of Zhan’ding, down to what was known only to few. She remembered this path as a child. Having taken it numerous times with Rose Red in secret.
The stairs ended at a half open wooden door. Marguerite’s heart raced. A delicate click, and tick could be heard. A faint light pulsed and beat like a heart. The pulsating glow was an unnatural pink, blue, and orange. The glow alternated with each beat, but yet all three at once. The glow reminded Marguerite of the moon and twilight sky. Hand steady. The light grew red as the burning sky. She pushed the door.
The light vanished.
The door swung open.
An elderly woman sat knitting away happily in the fire lit room. A gentle nod of her head and a smile towards Marguerite,
“Ah, Snow White. A pleasure to see you, my how you’ve grown.”
“Hello Grandmother,” Marguerite entered. Her voice echoed, but the elderly woman’s did not. It hung warmly upon the chilled, damp air.
The door swung open until it hit the wall. All was silent. The fires were silent. All Marguerites’ ears could hear was the old woman’s knitting needles as they scraped upon each other.
Tick
Tick
Tick
She looked at them with intent. They were long, and made of bone, bright white, yet a strange dampness hung upon them. The needles reminded Marguerite of teeth, pulled from some monstrous beast. The yarn she used was a pale rose, interspersed with aging grey-white.
“If you have come to tell me of my dear, Rose Red’s passing. I am afraid I already know,” Grandmother clicked her tongue thrice and shook her head, knitting never ceased. “Tragic.”
“There is no need to tell you of things that happen in the world above,” Marguerite began,
“I have come to go beyond this room,” Marguerite stepped forward to an empty wall, her fingers rubbed along the damp stone. Moss and dirt stained her fingers. Grandmother continued to knit she never looked up.
“There is nothing beyond this room, Snow White. You know this. You have been here many times as a child,” Grandmother knitted away, her chair rocked back and forth softly, “and not always with Lord Red’s permission, may I add.”
Marguerite searched the wall endlessly. Her eyes never looked at Grandmother, “As heir to Ashok Orai. I am privy to certain secrets. You know this, as you helped found the two cities, Lady Aka.”
Grandmother stopped her knitting, “how long have you known?”
“Too many years,” Marguerite smiled to the elderly woman.
“My little Snow White with feet firmly planted to the ground. My little Rose Red, with her heads in the clouds,” Lady Aka seemed to sing softly to herself as she stood. All that she knitted tumbled out of her lap. It disappeared to dust and mist before it hit the ground. The dust and mist clung tenderly to the ground, and hung as if time stopped.
“I need to go beyond,” Marguerite watched the elderly woman with slight hunch to her back hobble to the wall. The mist caused by her knitting swirled around the bottom of her gown. It followed her, as if it came from her.
“Beyond this room, Marguerite,”
She placed an aged hand upon it. Not far from where Marguerite looked. The moss and dampness, did not affect her wrinkled fingers. She closed her milky aged eyes, shortly after she removed thin spectacles,
“You will find nothing but sorrow, answers to questions unasked. And loyalties questioned.”
“I understand,” Marguerite was unsure that was the answer her heart wanted to say, but it was the words she spoke hastily.
“You do not, but that is all right, for when you do, I ask only one thing.” Grandmother opened her eyes her teary eyes.
“Anything, Lady Aka,” Marguerite looked at the old woman.
“Do not judge too harshly my poor, Saledii. She did what any ruler would have done. And that you yourself must do,” Grandmother’s milky eyes stared at Marguerite through dust covered spectacles, “Promise me this.”
“I promise.”
Marguerite’s words hung upon the air heavily. She watched the long dead ghost of Lady Aka melt away into the stone with a sad smile. The chair melted away, same as the knitting. They fell to dust and mist. The wall broke apart along the middle and moved to the side. Another doorway, to which existed another small room. A stone pedestal carved with deep grooves and protective runes sat empty. On the wall, hung a Mirror. Deep cracks ran across its surfac
e.
It seemed sad to Marguerite, almost lonely. She looked at the Mirror with pity. She wished she could wrap her arms around it tight. The glass surface glowed with utter softness. Much like the Magic Mirror her mother once possessed.
Diamond frame was petrified wood. Animals of all sorts carved and etched into its surface. Bright, colored jewels represented both the four principle elements and four corners that made up the world were placed into the four corners. The colored jewels glistened like stars in the Mirror’s glow. The room should have been dark, as the torches from the previous room extinguished themselves. The light came merely from the Mirror’s cracked and splintered surface. Marguerite could barely make out her ghostly image through the glow.
She was compelled to touch it. An urge that needed to be satisfied, the Mirror’s magic called to her. It beckoned her. Her fingers reached out. They shook uncontrollably. The surface was warm to her fingers, rippled like water, and rebounded as her finger moved away. The ripples danced within each separate shard of the broken surface.
“Hello,” a childish voice called out.
A young, pale, and tired face appeared. Eyes sunken with rings under them. It appeared throughout each fractured piece. Some close, some faraway. One held a single green eye. Marguerite stifled her scream with her hand. The face had surprised her but now looked at her with utter curiosity. Heart raced from shock.
Marguerite lowered her hand, “Who are you?”
The Mirror’s childish voice rang out like a bell, “I am not which you were expecting. Did Grandmother not tell you that much?”
“I meant do you have a name?” Marguerite wondered.
“I have no name. Having been destroyed before one could be bestowed,” the Mirror commented.
“You—” Marguerite began to speak but trailed off. Her voice did not carry as far or as long as the Mirror’s did. Her voice seemed stale in comparison to the ethereal chime of the unnamed Mirror before her.
Marguerite merely stared through teary eyes at the Mirror and his blunt honesty, “Why do you look at me as such?”
Bound by Roses (The Bound Series Book 1) Page 11
