“Never!” cried Hertha.
She looked the demon in the face.
Then, she was woken up. Nyve was leaning over her, anxiously. “What’s wrong? You were speaking in an unfamiliar language, and there was pain in your thoughts. Tell them to me, and I will console you!”
Hertha told her a part of her dream, but not all, for speech is already redoubtable. Sometimes, singularly sharp dreams do not correspond to anything real, now or in the future. Do they come from the depths of conscience or beyond? Hertha wondered momentarily.
“The Queen has summoned you to her palace,” Nyve said.
Three hours later, Hertha found Nacrysa alone on her terrace. She was meditating, her black eyes fixed on Nirvanir at her feet.
Hertha waited beside her. Then the Queen spoke, slowly: “Nevea, I wanted no one to be between us. I see you most highly-placed after us. But I’m anxious about you!
“I do not reproach you at all. You are irreproachable, loyal to me and the Realm, as best you can, devoted to Nyve until death. I would entrust my very life to you. Queens have ears and eyes everywhere, and I know that you rejected the magnificent offer of Drythea of Manharvar. She was sincere! The Red Queen always is. Yesterday, again, she asked me to send you to her. You have brought the disturbance of your world into my Realm. You are making the virgins of Nirvanir lose their heads! On listening to your words and deciphering the writing of your mind, as endless as the sea, before your pale beauty and your golden hair, they imagine something better than their calm happiness. They know that you have come from above, from the stars. Your pupils would believe in you, as in the Goddess, if that did not offend her!
“I have nothing for which to reproach you, personally. I suspect that a terrible knowledge also inhabits your thoughts, of which you have never said anything—but you know as much of the dark abyss as of the great light!
“You are innocent, Nevea! The disturbance comes with you, in spite of you. I want to talk to you about the Princess now—for her soul is in you; she is no more than a reflection of your thought. In your profound eyes, Nyve forgets the Realm! Now, she must reign. She once knew her Duty, and what this Realm that has seen 60 queens demanded of her, and will demand of her—but now her strength and her destiny are in you. You will be able to sustain her, Nevea the invincible—but be careful of what you might break! For Queens pass, and the Realm remains. You know that; you have said so to Nyve. You have been, in that respect too, as clear as fine crystal, seeing her Duty better than she does herself.
“Nothing in the Princess’s heart remains hidden from me, and I know that she has offer you the Veil, the Shadow and the Cup. She would belong to you forever, and Nirvanir, after me. But you refused! A Drymean would have accepted. You see other duties on our horizon. You dread not being perfect. The very excess of our virtues overwhelms me! You hold us in your hands. Your anxiety, spreading among us, has attained all of Drymea. It surpasses your life and your thought, daughter of a tumultuous sun. I look at you, and Anxiety with you. Can you banish from Nirvanir that which you brought with you, in spite of yourself? Be irreproachable one more time. I cannot oppose you because I love you too. Reflect. Judge!”
Hertha raised her head.
“You say, Queen that my words, and more especially my writings, have troubled many young hearts?”
“Yes,” said Nacrysa. “Now that a month gives the virgins of Nirvanir that which formerly cost ten years of difficulty, they believe that the light burns solely in you. A thousand years of experience does not weigh as much as a line from your hand. Their heart is very light!”
“I have done wrong,” said Hertha. “I did not want to disturb you. I have hidden much of the evil on my Earth. Our life, viewed from afar, seems enchanted. Drymea seems a world of monotonous happiness. I was favored on my planet, but the daughters of Nirvanir think that all my sisters out there are like me! I will do my best to combat the error. A new word will efface the old one!”
“You can do that,” said Necrysa, satisfied. “Nothing seems to be impossible for you.”
“Now,” said Hertha, “order me to travel all over Drymea. Permit me to choose companions and pilots for my Seagull. I will travel the seas as far as distant Lisfer. I will come back, and I will have served during my journey. I can charge Nyve with a duty that will please her, and will teach her once again to make decisions and act. Could I think to harm her because I love her? Don’t be hard on me, for I too will be sad. When I am back in Nirvanir after my long ocean voyage, I promise you, by the veiled Being that we all adore, not to see Nyve again if you think that it for the best. I can do no more, except die!”
“Nevea,” said the Queen, “I would like you to be my daughter and Nyve’s sister. We shall see one another again one day. May the Goddess protect you!”
She took Hertha in her arms, and their foreheads touched. The blonde woman returned to the Summer Palace. Then, mingling the bitter truth with the familiar language of Nirvanir, she revealed to the Drymeans what an abyss of evil they had been spared, and that a higher destiny awaited them in the vast universe—for Nevea’s harsh and tumultuous world did not oppress them. Peace extended throughout Nirvanir, for “Nevea has written it.”
Ten days later, Nyve saw the Seagull open her sails. Her blue eyes knew nothing of tears; her race did not weep—but she learned pain then. Sadness weighed upon those who stayed behind.
Standing at her command-post, however, dressed in somber leather, with a helmet, gaiters and a girdle around her waist, the mistress of her vessel after God, Hertha sensed the indomitable soul of the Vikings within her. There was blue sea between the Seagull and the quay. Then Hertha turned to smile at Nyve, with a gesture of farewell, and said in her heart. I love you Nyve, and for you, also, I must leave!
VI. Drythea, the Red Queen
The Seagull arrived in Manharvar a few days later.
“You’ve come back,” said the dark Queen, when Hertha appeared before her eyes. “By our shining Goddess, I’ve been waiting for you. How long will you stay?”
“I obey and I serve,” Hertha replied, “although I am here in my own realm.”
“It rests upon the abyss.”
“If my empire is narrow, it will bear me across the world that I must visit, on the orders of Queen Nacrysa.”
“I shall remain on your ship,” said Drythea. “My scarlet vessel will be able to retrieve me when you leave again.”
And they sailed toward the Charming Cities. Human minds, eyes and hands had harmonized their works with the beauty of nature. The crowned will of queens had served the genius of artists and builders. Destructive war had never passed by. There lived the nobles of Manharvar. Crowned with roses before the blue bays, beneath the flowery ceilings, they forgot that there is a higher life and an inevitable death. They moved among the music and the perfumes, their dark hair ornamented with jewels, brightly clad, their eyes full of dark fire—and beauty crowned them. Hertha watched them from her post, upright in her strict costume.
Beside, her Drythea said, proudly: “Have you seen their like on your world? And what will rival my cities? What is your heart’s desire, then, Nevea? Would you not be better off lying beside me among the flowers in this palace, while songs resonate for you, delivered from the capricious waves? You have done so much for Nacrysa that the Sages cannot reproach you for lingering among my Cities!”
Thus spoke the Red Queen, and any of us who had seen her leaning over the blonde virgin would have compared her to the Tempter. But more evil inhabits a single terrestrial heart than all Manharvar embraced!
Then, after a week’s crossing, Drythea ordered a landfall on the Azure Isle. She took Hertha to the Palace Under the Sea that she had once mentioned to her. Soon, fish similar to flowers were moving above their heads. Crystalline columns sustained the transparent ceiling, Perfumed pools slumbered at their feet. The golden sun, shining through the waves, made the palace iridescent. The dark queen took pleasure in showing her companion the marvels of her
realm’s art. Then came the silver sun, inundating the palace with white light. The impression of a beautiful dream overwhelmed Hertha and, plunging into the warm water, she thought that she was swimming in the moonlight.
“Are you satisfied?” Drythea asked.
“You seem like an enchantress of our world,” said Hertha, sincerely—and she spoke about enchanted beings, children of the mist, the woods and our dreams.
“I love your repose,” said Drythea. “Motionless as a statue, I can gaze at you at my leisure, and your eyes cannot reveal your thoughts, of which I know nothing.”
She was clad in a dark, starry garment. The whim seized her of ornamenting Hertha in her fashion, with heavy jewels and bright clothing of Manharvar. She loosened her abundant hair and led her to a tall silver mirror. “Look at yourself, Nevea. I want to add the final touch. Life is beautiful above all things.” She placed a golden diadem on Hertha’s forehead. “Only a crown befits your royal beauty!”
“My futile beauty,” said Hertha, sadly. “Never will my child smile, for my world is not yours. The past still oppresses me, the future holds ordeals in store.” Suffering marked her face.
Pity overtook the queen at these passionate swords. With a bound, she was beside Hertha, lying by her side. She placed her blonde head on her shoulder and said: “Nevea, Nevea, you can be sad. I am scarcely acquainted with pain, but I know sympathy. Your destiny is marvelously mingled with the pain of life. You have lost everything that you loved, and your daughter will never come!”
She spoke many other tender and consoling words, and was able to show her the luminous path of good that Nevea was following. “You seem to me dearer for not being inhuman, Nevea. Your knowledge, your wisdom and your strength are not worth as much as your soul, which was sincere for me.”
“For the last time,” Hertha said, “I will l think of myself. “Among my Earthly sisters, there are those who have more to bear! Hope and magnificent duty remain to me. I shall serve Drymea. Nevea will be wiser, by virtue of the suffering of she who was Hertha on Earth! Queen, I shall think of you tenderly, for I have sobbed in your arms and you have felt pity.”
When Drythea’s vessel appeared the next day, the Red Queen said to Hertha: “You must go, but you will remember me. I shall give you Flormal, the most beautiful of my Charming Cities, with the 2000 faces of its inhabitants. That’s not enough. You shall choose from all of Maharvar the virgins with the beautiful eyes who please you the most; they will be charmed, for your law reigns gently. You will be a sovereign , having no one above you but the Council of Queens and the Goddess. A crown alone befits you.
“You should go to spend a few months in Flormal before your departure. The daughters of Nirvanir have lukewarm blood in their veins, but ours burns red! Everyone obeys me, all remain faithful to me—but you would reign by your profound eyes and your beauty alone. If you wished it! You would have them body and soul. Those who would be our subjects would take your slightest caprices for law. On their knees, they would present the golden cup to you. They would be the royal support for your pale beauty; they would place their foreheads on the hem of your tunic and your silver sandals would trample their hair. To your will, no one would dare say ‘No!’ You would inspire all the masterpieces, for you are wise, and your life would be nothing but one sole joy. You would wake up beneath a shower of roses, in perfumed waters. And it would not be by your orders, but in spite of you! For I know that Manharvar has embraced you, and we know how to love. Do you doubt that I am the first of those who would obey you? For I am thirsty for your eyes, which render me better.”
“Drythea, Drythea,” said Hertha, gravely and gently, “even if I had on my head the 37 crowns of Drymea, what use would that be to me if I lost myself? You are not of my race, beautiful queen, and you do not know its terrible heritage; you do not know what flames might set me ablaze! I dread absolute power; I dread its intoxication; I dread, above all, those foreheads bowed down beneath my sandals. I have already been obliged to choose my route on Drymea, not once but 20 times, between renunciation and damnation. As you have said to me, I dread black shame and I must direct the prow of my ship far from the Charming Cities. For I am a stranger, and believe me, Red Queen, I have reason to flee virgins with beautiful eyes who do not know how to say ‘no’ and the perfume of roses!”
Drythea gazed at her, smiling.
“I want you, however, to retain some of the sweetness of our encounter. You must go; that is your wish. Flormal is yours, unconditionally. Name a Regent! It will, however, be necessary for you to rest your golden hair on its fertile soil, O beautiful vagabond of the seas!”
Then they went on to the Seagull’s bridge. Hertha reflected. She raised her voice slightly to summon Greena, the virgin of the butterflies, the friend of her earliest days. She ran a tender hand through her hair. “Thank the Queen, Grena, and be loyal to her, for by her desire you shall be regent in Flormal, the Charming City that belongs to me. You will go with the Queen on her departure, Greena. Respect the Sages, and may generosity secure justice in your new power!”
“Now, Nevea,” said Drythea, “depart, as you wish. After all, you have accepted from the Queen that which your friend offered you! My grandeur sometimes isolates me, but today, I bless it, because of you. You have not worn a crown, but you are my equal. In Manharvar my palace will always be yours.”
The next day, the ship’s paddle-wheel was driving it across the sea toward Oaryl, the realm of a thousand isles. Its capital, Rynea, loomed up before the prow, a sentinel of peace and prayer in that calm land. The realm is that of quietude between work and heaven. Its inhabitants feel the presence of the veiled Being more keenly than others. The queen also wears a priestess’s mantle, and the invisible bonds are doubled for her.
Hertha thought about the weights of those lives that followed her. Vain curiosity did not attract her as much as the need to know, in order to be better able. The Seagull went along the coasts, traversed arms of the sea, entered into gulfs, went up large rivers and anchored in cities on the shore of changing seas along the entire length of the central continent. A hundred cities appeared and dwindled in Hertha’s eyes. Where her ship could not penetrate, flowery boats came to meet her. Faces passed by in multitudes, a thousand edifices charmed her. Multiple languages greeted her. Her name had preceded her everywhere. Everywhere in 20 realms, serving Drymea, she held conferences with the sages. She saw mountains and plains without end. In Normany of the Marbles, as autumn came to a close, the queen, clad in the spotted folds of her gilded garments, offered her hospitality for as long as she wished.
The Drymeans do not live longer than 50 of their years, which are a third longer than ours, and the birth of their children occurs at 24 or 35. Hertha resumed on land the costume of Nirvanir, and the gold star of her principality of Flormal shone in her hair. She greeted more than one Queen, and Princesses asked her for news of Nyve with the soft eyes. She saw those who honored Drymea by beauty or wealth. Then, Helgar’s daughter discovered the full extent that her renown had attained. In a world without war and vast suffering, where the daily struggle does not crush humanity, her arrival opened a new era.
Confusion would soon have arisen in her mind, without the notes and letters she sent to Nacryra. All that seemed beautiful to her departed for the Summer Land with Nyve’s courier, for Drymea, with its immense circulation of living beings, admits errant thought, oral or written, better than ours.
Tremelha, the last realm of the East, intermediate between the central continent and Lisfer, mingles the various beauties of the Drymeans. Its ports resonate to 20 languages. Queen Rheeve had just inherited the realm, and power weighed heavily on her 22 years. Her azure-hued vessel came to meet Hertha. With a blue fur on her supple body, the young queen with the handsome face pleased the blonde virgin. Rheeve spoke the language of Nirvanir fluently.
Before launching forth on to the great Ocean, it was necessary to examine the Seagull inch by inch, and to supply her with skillful pilots
. Then Hertha wanted to let her crew rest. A month ran by in Rheeve’s company. When they parted, the Blue Queen regretted losing Hertha and told her so, for the women of Drymea are frank. They have never learned to use cunning against strength.
The ocean opened up—not always clement, but they won the game. Lisfer expanded. Its daughters live at a higher altitude, with winds from four seas to sweep their continent. They know how to bring harvest forth from the soil; they quarry and carve rock, fell trees, dig mines and send forth convoys of boats in joyful activity.
The Seagull went up the great river Nerval, which penetrates further than Martelar, city of metals, the capital of the third realm. Enormous quarries open in the hillsides. The workers extract iron therefrom ingeniously, manipulating the heavy material with fire and water at their leisure. Smoke rises on the horizon and the sound of metal striking metal dominate all other noises.
If Hertha had thought she was in Essen or Pittsburgh she would have been rapidly undeceived. The spirit of the planet was still dominant, and put the instinct of the group and the pity of all for all above the great organization that frames iron with human dust. The powerful nature of Lisfer, however—lakes, rocks or woods—stamps its mark on the harder labors of its women, compared with the gentle plains of Nirvanir or the pleasant shores of Manharvar, and activity dominates its Queens with paler faces.
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