A woman stood alone at the window of her chambers, watching the sunrise through the trees as the soft, luminescent colors spread their way through the leaves to reach the lush emerald grass that was the forest floor. It was at times like these – times of such peace and solitude – that she knew that if only she could turn around fast enough, she would be able to see her husband standing behind her. Alas, a mortal’s reflexes were not nearly fast enough to reach the impossible, and she was left to watch the coming of morning alone as the colors reflected in her sapphire eyes.
Across the land, far south, two men stood at their own window, high above the flat desert in a lone gray tower. They, however, had little interest in the rising of Arien as she pulled her vessel through the sky; rather, they lifted a mirror to catch the light at a certain angle, sending it flashing in a beam across the land, reaching invisible hands tainted with black magic to the very window that was a single woman’s only shield from power she was now marked to receive and unable to escape.
The peace she stood watching remained undisturbed, and yet she found herself stepping back from the window, almost as though she could feel invisible hands on her shoulders, pushing her back. She laid her hands to her ivory throat; she could sense something wrapped around her throat, and yet nothing tangible.
The mirror was withdrawn and the light captured forever in a single, cut and polished gemstone of a blood-red ruby. It remained on the windowsill, aimed permanently now at the window in the wood so far away, concentrated on the lone figure, penetrating her senses, and it would continue to do so until the day she died.
The clutching feeling vanished, and she backed slowly away from the window, feeling suddenly weak, although it was yet the early hours of the morning. She sank slowly into a chair, her eyes still focused on the window, inexplicably drawn to some entity without that she could not see. A knock at her door and she sent a slight nod at the servant who came to call her to the morning meal, and somehow, she drew herself up to walk down the carven stone halls into the Great Hall.
A brief nod at the king and queen and she took her customary place at their left hand beside their daughter. She spoke little through the meal, listening quietly and speaking only when spoken to. Much later in the day, as she went to open the doors of the hall to leave the suddenly confining spaces of the luxurious halls, something sent her back from the door, back to her rooms, back to sit at the side of her bed, until dizziness overtook her and she collapsed where she was.
And so she suffered silently, confused as to what now afflicted her when none had before. She withdrew to her chambers more and more as the days passed, coming out only when called to meals, until she refused to leave her rooms. Something she could not explain tied her to the… safety of her room, its familiarity. Every step she took that tried to lead her away from those chambers felt like more of a burden, as though her feet were turned to lead.
Three agonizing weeks passed, and she grew more and more frightened as her strength continued to wane, although she blamed it on her lack of movement. Still she stayed in her self-imposed solitude, or so all others thought, until one afternoon when the king knocked gently upon her door. Hearing his voice, she could not simply ignore him, and so, despite every protest in her body, she opened the heavy oaken door to let him in.
With her eyes downcast, she did not see the look of shock that crossed his usually impassive features. “My dear, what have you done to yourself?” he asked her quietly, placing his fingers under her chin and making her meet his eyes.
“I have done nothing – nothing to my knowledge,” she answered quietly. There was no defiance in her words, for to her mind, she did speak the truth.
“You look like one who has not taken a meal in weeks,” he told her, leading her to a chair and sitting across from her. “You have not been at the meals in the Hall as of late; have you taken the trays we have sent?”
“Yes, every meal, and for that I thank you.”
He leaned back slightly, watching her. “You have not been so formal with me since my son brought you in to meet me so many years ago,” he pointed out to her. “What do you seek to hide from me? Are you ill?”
“No. I do not believe so.”
He reached across the space between them and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you certain?” As he spoke, he probed her gently with the power inherent to his race, and there he felt something, something tearing her apart, ravaging through her body so slowly that they weren’t to notice it.
“No I am not,” she answered. “I cannot say yea or nay until later, for I have no basis from which to speak.”
“Then will you at least see a healer?” he asked.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, she nodded. “That I will,” she agreed quietly.
“Very well then,” the king spoke. “I will have our chief healer to see you before Ithil begins her course through the sky tonight.”
Again, she nodded, and the king rose, laid a hand gently on her shoulder, and quietly left her chambers.
True to his word, the chief healer knocked on her door before the sun had left the sky.
“Good evening, my lady,” he greeted her smoothly. “Please – be seated.”
She simply looked at him, and then obeyed. Her eyes followed him around the room as he set some things down on a table, but neither of them spoke a word to the other, until at last the healer turned back to her.
“How do you fare as of late?” he asked her simply, seeming to care for none further than her days’ passage.
“As best as one may expect, lord. I could perhaps be better, but who is to say?”
He nodded, sensing the guarded caution behind her plain words. “Give me your hand,” he ordered, and she obeyed. As he gently searched her, he continued speaking. “His Majesty tells me that you seem ill. How long have you felt a change?”
“Several weeks past, perhaps, but I am told that it becomes apparent now.”
“And what do you notice?”
The lady hesitated noticeably – enough that the healer looked up at her, a question in his dark eyes. “A… weakness,” she answered finally. “A lack of desire to leave my chambers, and an absence of appetite. I have little desire to do else but remain here, and something warns me against all other courses of action.”
The healer drew back, letting go of her hand, and looked her in the eyes. Within their depths, she read a truth that she had feared since the beginning, and her intuition told her that her fears were about to become manifested into reality.
“This soon?” she asked quietly.
The man sighed. “I will be frank with you, my lady – I wish you had seen fit to speak to someone of this ailment you have felt sooner than you have.”
“Then is it finished?”
“I do not know what plagues you. I cannot lie and tell you that I do. Something seeks to take your life, and I fear that it will succeed. It devours from within, taking your will and your strength, until your soul departs. Perhaps if you had called for us sooner, we may have been able to aid you further, but now…” he hesitated, as though searching for gentler words. When he found none, he continued. “Now, there is little we can do for you. I am sorry, my lady.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, trying to understand what she had just been told – the simplest words, and yet she could not seem to process their meaning. “How long do I have?”
“That I cannot answer – there is nothing that can give me insight to it. But if you desire my frank answer… I cannot give you more than three full passages of Ithil through the sky.”
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I will send the king in to see you, and return later tonight to leave you with some temporary treatments.”
She nodded numbly as he quietly gathered his things and left the room, closing the door behind him. Her intuition had been better than accredited, for something had told her from the beginning that her life was nearing its end; she had refused to believe it. Now, it seemed, she was going to have to.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The healer made his way down the hall until he came to the king and queen’s private chambers and knocked softly upon the door. It opened before him, and the king ushered him in immediately.
“How is she?” he pressed without preamble.
He hesitated. “As close to the Doors of Night as a mortal can be without entering. She lies on their threshold in wait of the close.”
The queen closed her eyes for a moment, and her husband laid a hand on her shoulder. “How long does she have? Is it definite?”
“I do not know for sure. If I guess correctly, however, then I give her perhaps less than three full courses of Ithil.”
The king sighed. “Very well then. It is as fate wills it. What ails her?”
“I do not know, my lord – I have never seen anything like this. I can find no source, and yet, something devours her from within.”
“Can you aid her in any way?” the queen interjected quietly.
The healer hesitated. ”It depends on what you mean, my lady. I know I cannot heal her, but I can make things easier for her.” He hesitated briefly. “Perhaps we should contact her daughter, your majesty.”
“Yes. Yes, we should…”
“How fast can she reach us?”
“I cannot say. I will send a message to her as soon as I may, but she cannot defy time.”
“But she –”
“I know,” the king answered, holding up a hand. “She is powerful, but her powers are still growing, and there is only so much she can do.”
He nodded. “Then if I may take my leave of you, my lord.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
He nodded once more, and turned. With his hand on the polished handle, he glanced over his shoulder at the king and queen. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, before he disappeared out the door.
The king turned to his wife. “Did you know?”
“Somewhat… I could not see her this time – and yet something warned me.”
He nodded, drawing a sheet of parchment to him and dipping a quill in ink. For the first time in his long years, he was at a complete loss for words, and yet, this was the one time that a palace scribe could not take the pen from him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Far across the seas to the South, a young woman rose from her desk as a dove landed lightly upon her windowsill. Smiling slightly, she took the folded parchment it bore with a silent thank you. As the graceful animal flew away, she slid her finger under the seal, frowning as she recognized the intricate design.
Unfolding the paper, she immediately recognized the king’s precise hand, as opposed to the flowing script of a palace scribe. Her unusual eyes, never staying a single shade but flowing somewhere between those of amethyst and sapphire, scanned the paper quickly, and a delicate hand flew to her throat.
“No…” She breathed the single word, gaze frozen to the parchment whose letters now swam before her eyes.
Instinct snapped her back to the pained reality she now faced, and she shoved the paper into her belt, slid her swordbelt around her waist, threw a cloak over her shoulders and grabbed her bow, and dashed down the stairs, throwing a spell over her shoulder to lock her door. In the fields, she beckoned to her mare, ignoring the absence of any tack, and galloped out of the courtyard, all her thought bent upon a single room in a vast forest, somewhere across an ocean. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t be too late.
