A Fairy Tale: Part V

"Whatever you do, do not disturb the Duke and the Duchess," the knight's lady warned.

The Queen nodded as she mentally took down the estate rules being given to her by the lady. Her people would work for their keep, as would she. The old knight's estate was at the base of great mountain range. The manor was always on the colder side. She was given rooms in the lower part of the estate. She would cook, clean, and contribute when she could.

She began work at the village library. The Queen was amazed at the variety of people who lived in the small village. Some were well educated and others she wondered where in life education had failed them. She was continually surprised by the town's folks lack of manners or consideration for the everyday worker. She enjoyed the people she worked with, but she could not escape the feeling of not belonging or the feeling there was another purpose for, something else she was meant to do.

Each day began to blend into the next.There was very little excitement in her days. She would often fall asleep among the stacks at the library. Curled next to one volume of writings or another is how she would wake most mornings with sound of the Duchess preparing for the day ringing in her ears. The days came and the days went. The days continued to get colder. Occasionally she was visited by the glimmering voice. He gave her hope of something better. But he always seemed like a dream to her. Coming and going at random times, never saying much about himself, always teaching her something new. He would disappear for weeks and return suddenly, always to her surprise and always to her delight.

The library was a well known establishment in the village. It was run by a small middle aged lady, Lady Beaghmeid. She was well educated and well organized. She had four ministers that helped her manage and organize all that went on in the library. The library staff was divided into specialized jobs and each division had its own unique set of workers. There was the Sorters, three of them. They found and sorted new books and materials for the library. Two accountants that balanced the books and kept records of what books left where and when they were to return. They also conducted the business deals making sure money was always flowing through the library. There was the New Inventions division. It was a rather strange division for a library but with the ever increasing demand for the new and latest, and then someone to explain the new and the latest, the Lady Beaghmeid could hardly refuse to open the division. There was a special section for children run by three women. And last there was ten general workers, which the Queen was one of. And like every library in the lands there were three Seanmhair or grandmas. No one knew what they did, but whatever it was, it was done well.

The Queen worked as much as she could at the library. She began to feel at home there and with all of the people within. She even started to become friends with those she worked with, occasionally finding herself swapping stories at a local pub with them.

She would return to the manor house after each shift to do her work there and shuffle off to her rooms to sit in silence. She found means of regaining her health but she constantly struggled with the shackle around her waist. The old knight and his lady were rarely aware of her struggle. She did her best to follow their rules and at all costs tried to prevent upsetting the Duke and the Duchess.

No one at the library was aware of the Queen's shackle. They noticed her good days and her bad. They increasingly noticed her lack of care for her appearance. She had been wearing gray and black and pinning her hair back more for functionality rather than beauty. One day two of the librarians approached her as she was helping a disgruntled villager.

"You know dear, if you stopped dressing like a Holy Sister the villagers may find you more inviting," suggested Rothar. He was an older gentleman and had worked for the library for some time.

"Yes, and a little rouge and curl to your hair, might give you a friendlier appearance, rather than looking tired and cross," added Feargach. He was a man about her age who had suffered the loss of his love recently and had not yet completely recovered. The Queen looked at both men and wanted to explain her plain dress and appearance as a ploy to blend in, to hide her suffering, her lack of sleep, and her general sadness. But in the end she concluded they might be right. A change of dress and a little care to her appearance would probably hide her suffering better.

The Queen did not sleep well at night. She would often read something from the library until her eyes grew heavy or the light of morning peeked through her windows. When she did sleep, she dreamed. Her dreams were so real and vivid it seemed almost as if she were awake, transported to another reality.

She dreamed of secret sisterhoods her other librarians and friends from long ago were apart of. She was not allowed in because she was not academically smart enough. Eventually she was asked to be a chaperon and made a member by proxy. When the Queen awoke she felt ashamed of her lack of knowledge and humiliated.

She dreamed she was once again able to claim her own manor, when the old knight discovered a murder had taken place in the manor and blood began to seep through the green carpet. She thought she had found her home, but when she saw the blood and felt the deaths, she ran screaming from the manor and woke in sweat and fear.

The worst dreams of all, where the ones that made her happy. Those that made her feel beautiful and conjured feelings of passion in her. They always had something to do with the mysterious man from her dream in the woods. She never in her life felt so complete like she did when she had these dreams. But waking was like dying. She would wake and know the happiness was just a dream. The passion was so high in her body and brain that she felt an immediate crash for hours after waking. The sadness would follow her throughout the day and remind her of how very lonely she was.

No matter how lonely she was, she still refused to take her chances with the frogs. She had not seen the glimmering voice in many weeks now. She did not realize how obsessed and needy she had become for his company and conversation. She would wait up at her window with a book late at night hoping to see him, but every night she was disappointed.

The Queen began to bury herself in the work she did at the library and at the manor house. She let no one see her daily struggle with her punishment. Some days she felt she was use to the weight around her waist. There were days where her punishment not only weighed on her where They clasped it, but it weighed on her limbs, so she could not move. On her head so she could not lift it. On her soul, so the world looked bleak and gray. There were days she could not move from the pain of it. She would cry with all her soul with anguish that crushed her heart.

Friends tried many things to give her hope, but while they lifted her spirits and she was thankful for them, she still felt the loss of hope. She no longer had pleasant day dreams.

She would see herself walking along a beach at sunset with a Wise Man, a Savior. They would be deep in conversation. The next thing she would understand would be that she was on her back in the sand and the Savior was gone. The sand gave no heat. The air had no warmth. She would look into the sunset and be blinded by its fire. She would stretch out her hand to the silently lapping waves and would not be able to reach them. She would look up and at her bare feet would be the smooth, cold granite of an insurmountable cliff. She could not see the top of the cliff, just the clouds that swirled around its high reaches. In her heart the Queen knew she would have to climb the cliff alone, without a guide. She would suddenly feel very alone. Her throat would close, her chest would feel heavy, an overwhelming sense of doom would come over her. How? she would ask herself. How was she to surmount this cliff? How would she do this alone, without a guide? She would heave sobs of sorrow. Where did the Savior go?

There were days she would see herself miles above the beach she could no longer see. She would be living on a small ledge she would cling tightly to when the storms blew. She was surrounded by the things she gathered on her climb. She knew most would be useless for the continuing climb. She would look at some of the things with anger and in fits of rage, frustration and disappointment she would smash the things, kick them over the side and find a sick satisfaction in letting them go, but some things had wicked ways of returning. She knew she could go no farther up the cliff without letting some those things go. The hardest were the things that caused her pleasure and pain. She would let them go in pain but they always found ways of returning. She knew she was stuck unless she found the right help, the right key, the right magic word. But she found none on her ledge and so she would sit and wrap her arms around her knees and dream of giving up until she would fall asleep.

Her worst daydream of all would be the one given to her by the glimmering voice. She would imagine herself hiking up a mountain. Pleasant in spots, difficult in others. She would be presented with several paths at once or sometimes there was one ugly way to go on, but in any case she felt confident and strong. She didn't know where she was going, but in her heart she knew it was somewhere great.

Something would shake her back to reality and she would see she was only staring at the mountains that surrounded the village. She was not climbing them, nor were there good things beyond them. She heard stories of dragons and loneliness. Death in more ways than one lurked beyond the mountains. The Queen was bound by duty to stay where she was. She could not leave while she still carried the weight of her punishment.

Between the weight of her punishment, the work at the library, and the chores at the manor house the Queen was constantly exhausted. By the end of most days it was all the Queen could do to drag herself through her nightly routine and pull down the sheets of her bed, even though sleep would allude her.

She woke in the middle of the night, she failed to notice the sunlight, muted by clouds heavy with rain. Without thinking she pulled on her work boots, but wore only her night gown. She picked up the little serrated knife she kept by her bed and left her room. Something in her brain told her to be silent, the rest of manor was not up yet, although the light suggested it was full daylight outside.

The ground was wet from rain, she could hear her boots suck through the mud. The old knight had allowed a back corner garden go to fallow. It was at the far end of his fields and butted up next to an old forest, a green skirt around a large mountain. By the time the Queen reached the wild garden her white night gown was wet past her ankles and covered in mud.

She dropped to her knees and began to dig with her bare hands and the knife. She frantically ripped weeds and plants from the moisture softened soil. She dug for roots and vegetables that grew into the ground. She pulled and dug and ripped. She was already drenched with sweat when it began to rain. She kept at her task not knowing what she was doing exactly. She could feel every once of anger and frustration she carried in her heart go into her task. As she worked she began to talk to herself. She muttered angry about loss, about abandonment, failure, jealousy. She began to talk louder. Words flew out of her mouth in languages she didn't speak. Before long she realized she was screaming . She stood, continuing to scream until she could do nothing but sob. The weight around her waist brought her to her knees. She clawed at the soil as her tears mingled with the rain.

She did not know how long she had knelt like that until she realized she was no longer listening to her own cries but the sound of the rain falling on the bare fields and on the quiet trees of the forest.

Without knowing why the Queen looked up and into the forest. She could swear someone in the wood was calling out her name. She stared vacantly into the wood. Again she heard her name. The knife she had been digging with and clutching with all her strength, slipped from her fingers. She was drawn into the wood. She didn't look left or right, her mind was blank. She stumbled over great roots, rocks, and undergrowth. She finally tripped and came to her senses. She was terrified without knowing why.She scrambled around to find something to protect herself with, she found a good sized rock and pulled it from the earth and quickly stood. Her name was still being called, now more wraith like voices joined the call. She continued to walk in the direction of the voices until she reached a stone table in the wood.

It was lit by the could covered sunlight that shone through the canopy of trees. She circled it, trying to understand it. The voices stopped. She looked up and around. If whom ever it was wanted her she was not going to call out to them.

"I told you she would show up," said a voice.

The Queen looked around and could not find its source. She began to tremble some.

"Of course we all knew she would. Do not pretend to be superior," said another voice.

The Queen suddenly felt surrounded. She gripped the rock in her hand tighter. She tried to clear her head enough to formulate a plan of escape.

"Oh darling your little rock will have no effect on us. And there is no escape from us. You should know that by now!" laughed a third voice.

Between the trees around her figures began to emerge. There faces were unclear seemingly constantly moving. Their bodies transformed ghost-like between beautiful and grotesque. They emerged from behind her, to the sides of her, and in front of her. She scrambled on top of the table for lack of knowing where to go.

"Who are you? What are you? What do you want?" the Queen whispered, the terror rising through her was unbelievably powerful.

"Do you not recognize us?" asked the first voice.

"We are the Rasha'im," the second voice replied.

"The Rasha'im...what?" the Queen could barely find her voice. The knot of terror in her throat was beginning to grow larger. Tears began to fill her eyes. The trembling became worse. Something began to stalk the woods behind the Rasha'im.

"We are the Wicked Ones. I am Charon- anger," said the first voice.
"Yirah- fear" replied the next.
"Kazah- liar"
"Levad- alone"
"Natash- abandon"
"Ramai- deceiver"
"Balaha- nightmare"
"Kishalon- failure," eight voices stated their names and presented themselves to the Queen with wicked smiles. She shook with terror, choked down her screams, and began to cry. The creature in the back took on the form of a human shadow and began to circle the Rasha'im.

"What..." the Queen swallowed, "What do you want?" she croaked in agony.

"Your stone of course!" exclaimed Levad.

A silver chain slithered around the Queen's neck and she fell forward from where she crouched on the table. The rock she clutched fell from her hand and skittered to the edge of the table. The Queen grabbed at the chain around her neck. It was a delicate thing. Easily broken if pulled hard enough, but it wasn't the chain that weighed her down, it was the stone attached to it. Her stone. The one the sisters had given her on her journey. She stared at it in the palm of her hand. Such a small thing to be so heavy, she thought in a moment of clarity. It was smooth and cool, uniquely shaped just for her. The stone had caused her nothing but trouble since she had received it from the sisters. She bore a scar where one frog had dug it into her breast. She was sure the pain and trouble had not been the intention of the sisters when they had given it to her.

A frog croaked bringing her out of her thoughts. Each Rasha'im had a frog held before it. The Queen saw them move closer to her. The shadow began to race behind them, as if pushing them forward. She saw a flash of the shadow's face. With a devastating shock she realized it was the man from her dream on her journey. He began to glow with the light of the glittering voice. The Queen was horrified. He was pushing the frogs toward her, forcing her. He was pushing anger, encouraging fear, dancing with lies, imposing loneliness and abandonment on her like the pair of twins they were. He deceived her and became her nightmare.

"Give us your stone," the Rasha'im spoke together. The Queen tried to clear her mind of the terror. What if it no longer existed? He seemed everywhere. Faster, faster. The frogs began to croak. The Queen frantically looked for an escape, when she spotted the rock she had dropped. It came to her. Smash the stone! She dove for the stone before the Rasha'im could get it. His voice began to yell and the frogs began a deafening croak. She ripped the stone from her neck and set it down on the table without thought she raised the rock above her head and with all her might sent it smashing down onto the stone the sisters had given her. The gift stone shattered into larger pieces than the Queen thought possible.Thousands of rainbow colored shards went flying through the forest. Had the Queen not been so terrified, she would have found the scene to be beautiful. The Rasha'im screamed., the frogs began to croak so loud she thought her ear drums would burst. He became enraged. His shadow and blurred face stopped between Levad and Natash. She needed to escape. She backed up to the edge of the table and turned. She was faced with Yirah and Balaha. She had no choice.She leaped from the table prepared to fight them, but as she passed through she felt they had no substance, they were cold mist than made her hands and arms tingle. She didn't stop to wonder, she just ran.

Her boots slipped as she ran. Branches of trees whipped across her face and limbs and tore at her night gown. She did not know if she was being followed, all she could hear was her heart beat and the screaming in her head. She didn't know how long or how far she ran. The forest cleared before her. She slowed to a stop. The clouds seemed to be breaking up. She stared straight ahead to the cliff before her.

Breathing heavily, she calmly walked to the ledge. The jutting slab of granite looked vaguely familiar to her. There was something about it. A small travel pack sat on the very edge . The Queen cautiously moved forward to look over the edge. She could not see a bottom to the granite cliff. Granite Cliff! The Queen turned to return to the old knight's manor before she became trapped in the ledge of her nightmares.

When she turned she came face to face with a granite wall. "NO!" she screamed. She slammed her hands on the granite and continued to scream. She used her fists to pound at the stone, she tried to dig and climb the wall until her fingers were bloody and bruised. She turned to face the ledge and sat down and tucked her knees under her chin. She was bloody, bruised, filthy, exhausted, soaked to the bone with no way to escape. She began to cry. The sun peaked through the clouds. Through her tears the Queen looked at the travel pack. Draped across the pack was the cloak she was given. She knew it belonged to him. Let it go. She heard a whisper. She got up and walked to the ledge. She looked at the abyss below. She looked back at the cloak. Let it go. Without thinking the Queen lightly stepped over the edge and into the abyss.

She awoke with a start. Her arms and hands aching from the way they had cradled her head. Her legs were twisted in her sheets. She was soaked with sweat. Her pulse was thready and racing. She sat up in the darkness and took a deep breath to calm herself. It was only a dream. She had never left her bed.

Breathing deeply she walked to her writing desk and lit a candle, she sank into the chair. She looked at the tangled state of her bed. Draped over the end was the cloak. Let it go. The words of the dream came ringing back to her. She had worn the cloak every day since receiving it. She carefully cleaned it by hand. It was her most cherished gift. Let it go. She heard the words again.

She turned to her writing desk and pulled out her paper and pen:
I am letting you go. Stitch by stitch. I am letting you go. Thread by woven thread. I am unbraiding you, unwinding you, unentwining you from around what is left of my broken heart. You have lied to me, deceived me, abandoned me. You have left me hurt, wounded, and angry. You have made my attempt at healing, at reclamation, a failure. I now fear the future you have left me with. You have become my nightmare. I am letting you go. And with you goes all my hope, my love. I will not come after all that you have taken. It is the gift I give to you. I am letting you go.


The Queen emotionally exhausted, returned to her bed. The next morning the Queen pulled out her sewing box and found a small tool for removing stitches. She lit a fire in the small hearth and pulled up her most comfortable chair. She took the cloak and starting from the top right corner she began to pull out the elaborate silver embroidery of the cloak. Each broken thread was thrown slowly into the fire. She knew the work of dismantling the cloak thread by thread would take her months, but that is what it would take to let go.

Something in her had died that night. She no longer cared to dress like a Queen. She donned the colors and garb of the Holy Sisters. She was already plain, she just made herself plainer. She began to bear her punishment with more strength even though it constantly wore her down. She showed limited joy to others, but was always grateful to those who showed her kindness. The dream had left her empty.

To be continued...