Mattius and the Enchantress

Mattius

I hate this place. The towering marble pillars of the majestic palace are like sentries, standing in line, stiff and cold. I peer up at them as I walk, my boots going click click, through the expansive throne room. If I had not been summoned, I would not be here. Though a prisoner, I’m allowed free travel through the royal grounds, and most days I take to the garden where I can be alone and think, pretend to plan my escape, yet knowing there was no chance of relief.
          My container, a silver ring wrapped tightly around my wrist, keeps me from using my magic. I glance at it, despising the sight of the ruins etched into its glossy surface, a binding spell as unmerciful as a swords edge on flesh; if I try to escape it or even attempt to call on my powers it will hurt me. I fought it only once before giving up. The pain had crippled me and for three days I was bed ridden, and another four days I was weak, hardly able to walk. So now I obey, now I comply…I am a slave to my keeper.          
         She is sitting in her throne in the middle of the open, glistening room. An attendant whispers in her ear as I approach, but she waves her away and beckons me with a finger. Gritting my teeth, I kneel, bowing my head. “My lady, you called for me?”          
          “Yes, indeed,” her voice was smooth, melodious. I restrained a sigh. She had this effect on me whenever I see her. Her beauty is like a drug, suspending reality, befuddling my common sense, rearranging my very beliefs. With effort, I remind myself she is the bitch responsible for the deaths of thousands of my countrymen. She had taken me from my family, the ones I love, and subjected me to this life of servitude. “Rise, Mattius, let me see your eyes.”          
          I do as she bids.          
At the sight of my anger-stricken face, she smiles. “Come close, Mattius.”
          I take a single step forward. She says nothing, only stares with crystalline eyes. These eyes haunt my sleep; they penetrate my soul, tempting me, seducing me. Under them I feel naked yet unembarrassed. Instead, a deep, buried desire stirs inside me like a waking creature of the night, hungry. This is not me, I try to tell myself. She is a sorceress, a manipulator; with her arts she conjures these cravings, but I know it’s not true. Perhaps she draws them out, but I know they are of me, and it sickens me to realize it.          
          Then suddenly she looks away. I feel released from some spell, blinking in the morning light that seeps through the window.          
         She says, softly, “An envoy from the Southern Brink is coming today. He wants to speak of peace, but can’t you see, Mattius, I have done so much to bring the opposite. Peace…is slow and I will not live forever; war is the swiftest path to my vision. It is a beautiful vision – if only you could see it! Everything seems ugly now, but not for long. Soon you will not recognize the world. It will amaze you as it does me, the peace, the love and the freedom, so you mustn’t hate me, Mattius, because I’ll be the mother of this wonderful era.”          
          I shake with rage. “I do hate you!” I growl in a rising voice. “You have done too much evil to deserve anything else. Not the greatest good or the most sincere apology could excuse you!” Her guards come forward, pointing the wicked tips of their spears at me. But she raises her hand and they return to their posts. She appears sad. It surprises me, because for an instant I feel a pang of sympathy.
         Then she shakes her head, an angry look coming to her face. “No, Mattius, you mustn’t hate me. I…” She halts as if unsure of herself. “I have…This wasn’t supposed to…” Her eyes are like cold daggers when she looks at me. “You are slave; what I say you shall obey!”
          I draw long breath. “You may have imprisoned my body as well as my magic, but you have no hold over my affections…They at least shall ever be set against you.”
         It seems she has settled; her lovely face is placid and she breathes easy. To my surprise, she laughs. Tears have grown in her eyes. I watch as the beads of moister slide down her blushing cheek to her chin. “You may leave.”
          For a moment I just stand there, staring at her. Have I hurt her? The question eats at me. Why should I care?
          “Did you not hear my lady?” A guard shoves me from the side. “Begone!”
One last glance, I turn and depart.

Elsar

His words repeat themselves over and over in her head; torturing her…I do hate you! In the solace of her quarters, she cries, letting the pain seep from her in waves of loud, aching sobs. The throb in the core of her is unbearable. She fights against it, thrashing out in wild frenzy but it only persists. Soon she is silent, her teary eyes staring into nothingness.
          A knock on the door, brings her to. She answers in a cruel voice, “Come!”
General Padrake enters. He is her most loyal servant. At the sight of her, he drops to a knee and bows deeply, earnestly; he puts his whole heart into that stoop, his entire soul. It warms her to know at least one man loves her.
         “The envoy has come, my lady.”
“What is he like?”
          “An arrogant bugger with fine clothing. He looks at milady’s palace with raised brows, as if he, lowly emissary, is superior to you ladyships home. I would cut his heart out now if you would permit me. It would be an honor…”
         “No.” She smiles to herself. Dear Padrake is always ready to kill. “He comes in peace. Let us respond in like.” Gathering her composure, she stands. “It won’t do to act like violent, uncontrollable animals. They must know we’re clever as well as ruthless, so that their fear of us might deepen.”
         Padrake comes to his feet with a nod and sharp grin. “As you wish, but say the word and I’ll loosen his head from his neck.”
         “I’ll keep that in mind should things get out of hand…”
The envoy is just as her general described. In her own home he sneers and belittles her with his eyes, subtly with his accent-gilded words. It rakes on her patients, but she endures it long enough to hear what he has to say.
         “Most gracious…Lady,” he spits in a contemptuous tone. “We, children of the Southern Brink, are willing to offer a boon of our land and our pale slaves in return for your word as our ally.”
         She chuckles gently from her throne, drawing a perplexed look from the man. “You Arganians change your tune quite suddenly, don’t you? Not more than four seasons ago, you were cursing my name, calling the women of my lands whores, the men brutes. You said we were inferior, that we needed our noses rubbed in our own waste in order to teach us our place.”
          He clears his throat, looking about the room at the surrounding attendants and clan-leaders. Finally he spoke, in a far more respectful tone. “We were mistaken, majesty. We see now you are equal…”
          “Equal?” She rises from her seat and walks forward, her eyes measuring the man with disgust. “We are more than equal! In less than three moons my soldiers have penetrated your lands so effectively that your own people are beginning to question whether you are worthy of protecting them. In the midst of battle, your own warriors have throne down their standard and vowed loyalty to me. Who are you to suppose we are equal? You are merely a pest assuming he still has a right to call himself a man.”
          A chuckle goes through the crowd and the guards seem to close in around the men. He fidgets nervously, eyes darting wildly, perhaps hoping for an escape. He finds none and stands still, suffering her verbal blows like a broken dog.
          She sees him, walking in the shadows behind her countrymen and women. For a while her eyes follow him and she wonders what he is thinking of her. Does he still hate her? Of course he does. Like so many, she has crippled his country, shamed him, and imprisoned him. He should hate her. Thrusting the thoughts from her head she continues.
         “These are my terms, ‘child of the Southern Brink’: absolute surrender, absolute allegiance, or my armies will complete the job I sent them to do. They will carve your lands into a deathbed of men, women and children, sparing only those who serve me. Either way, I reign, through surrender or bloodshed. Now leave, communicate these conditions to your lords and pray they choose to accept them.” She returns to her throne as the fool bows quickly, and then leaves even quicker. She watches the tail of his coat disappear through the hefty twin doors and mutters under her breath.
         Mattius is at the corner of her vision. He stares at her, making her feel more vulnerable than ever. Growling, she says, “What is he doing in here? Get him out.”
         Mattius is still as the guards seize him and take him roughly from her sight. Till the moment he is gone, he watches her.

Mattius

She is powerful. I’ve never seen someone so powerful. Her appearance alone demands respect, admiration. I would admire if she was my Lady. I would worship her, I think, burying my face in my hands. I sit in the garden upon a bench. The sun has gone and twilight cuts harsh shadows in the world as the air cools, stirring with a light breeze. A beautiful evening, already stars are blooming in the dimming sky. It is silent around me, as silent as the wild wood, though I am confined by the thick walls of the palace. Walk too far in any direction and the allusion would dissipate.
          Soon I will have to return to the palace. The Queen requires that I join her for dinner every night. Why she demands this of me I cannot guess. I only know I hate it. Her attendants and generals and clan-leaders all look at me with distaste. They want me dead or at least not around. To them, being a mage meant I was cursed. I don’t understand why when their Queen uses the same magic I do. Sometimes I think they fear me.
          I stand to leave, but before I do something draws my attention. The sound of feet falling against the grass; I am not alone. Through the trees I see her, the Queen. She is alone. This surprises me; usually she is surrounded by guards and attendants. Unlike earlier today, she is not garbed with rich, heavy robes, nor is her features painted to enhance her terrible beauty, and her pale gold hair hangs free in wild curls. From this angle she appears not a mighty and cruel sovereign of the land, but a young girl, slight in frame though somewhat taller than most women, with soft blue eyes set in a sweet innocent face. To my wonder she is singing and her voice captures me, moves through me. For a breathless moment I only listen, savoring her sublime timbre as I close my eyes. I forget the horrors she has committed and I sink into the reverie of the song, lost to it.
          The song ends and my eyes come open quickly. She has seen me through the obscuring wood.
          “Mattius…”
“My lady…” I turn quickly but her voice holds me.
         “Stay.” It does not sound like a command.
“If you wish it.” I remain with my back to her, my eyes traveling the distance anxiously. Oh, to face her and behold her beauty!
         There is silence for a long time. I hear her move closer and then I feel her hand upon my back. It is a gentle stroke, timid almost. The tremble of her fingers is obvious. My confusion deepens. Then she moves away and I find myself aching for the loss of her touch.
         “What is your name?” I find myself asking. Still I have not looked at her.
She responds slowly, “Elsar.”
          “Starflower,” I breathe. I did not expect her name to be so average, nor so gentle and lovely. At last, I rotate to see her. Elsar stands not far away, looking at me. She looks almost afraid…Why should she not be? For once she is alone and I am a man who has suffered much because of her. In a single stride I am before her, close enough to feel her breath on my chest. I grasp her shoulders, glaring down at her, but she makes not a sound, so I push her back against a tree. Everything spills from me. “The Gods curse you! I will make you pay for what you have done. I care not for the consequences, for justice shall be my relief from any punishment I’ll endure from you blind followers. Now what have you to say? Perhaps you should ask for forgiveness. Admittedly, I would never grant it, but it would tempt me to make things quick, though you deserve your death to be drawn till eternity. I am a merciful man.” Under my hands she shakes, tears springing to her eyes as she looks up at me. She places her hands on my chest, giving me a weak push. In response I take a step forward, closing the space between us. Still she does not scream. I wonder why. Her whimpers have become constant now. They pierce my ears. “Stop it,” I hiss. “You have not right to cry, no right to feel remorse for your fate; you have earned it, you deserve it.” Roughly I seize her wrist and squeeze. My heart pounds, anger boils in my veins. She cries out faintly in pain. This single sound seems to awaken me and I look on what I am doing with revulsion. I do not recognize myself. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, loosening my grip. Still she cries. I repeat myself, willing her to hear me, to forgive me. “…I’m sorry.” My hands cup her face, thumbs wiping her tears away. Surprised, she looks into my eyes. Again, I murmur, “I’m sorry,” and bend my neck, placing my lips against her forehead.
         Something inside me screams for me to stop, reminding me that we are enemies, but I do not listen. My lips travel down to her cheek, to her jawbone, to her throat, growing more fervent with each passing moment. At first she struggles, and then she welcomes it, tipping her head back to allow better access. Her skin is like…cream, silk, soft, buttery, heaven against my lips, warm and tantalizing, and her taste and scent attacks my senses, distorting my logic, replacing it with pure desire. I should fight, resist. It is too hard; I succumb willingly, happily. Thank the Gods for my weakness. After a long while it seems I raise my head, panting and my gaze on her parted red lips, calling to me. Roughly are lips come together, our breath mingles, frantic, impatient.
          I make love to her. I drown in the curves of her flesh and the moans of her pleasure. Shamelessly, I give her everything. That night she is my mistress, I her eager servant. I would do anything for her…I betray my people, myself.