The Fallen Queen

The Fallen Queen

By Duston L. Justice

         Once when the world of the living commingled with the land of the dead, there lived a king and queen who ruled over a foreign land in the north. The king was a conqueror and had subjugated a race of proud and feral creatures who were more beast than man. He was a ruthless warrior and spent much of his youth pillaging and plundering until he had acquired enough wealth to make himself a king. It was during these years of raiding that he had claimed his wife. It was often whispered among the conquered tribes that this woman was a cruel witch who loved wealth and power as much if not more than the savage king.
         In time the king and queen had a beautiful daughter who had hair as black as death and skin as pale as moonlight. A nurse was provided for her who lost her own daughter to disease. She spent most of her time exploring the countryside with the nurse and playing with the children of the nearby villages. The dark-haired princess grew to love the land and its people, and became much closer to them than to her own mother and father, who still pursued wealth and power and quite ignored their only child.
         The king continued seeking to expand his influence and gather more riches to fill his near-overflowing coffers. He felt that with his power at last won and his exertions done that he no longer needed to present on the battlefield, and so he appointed the overthrown chieftains as his generals and sent them out to campaign instead. For some of these chieftains, this led to their own increasing wealth, and they grew fat and lazy and promoted their best warriors to carry on in their stead. These warlords often were expected to kill and steal from their own people and neighboring tribes with whom they had once traded and hunted. Moreover, most of what was taken had to be turned over to become the property of the king and the chieftains.
         It was not long before the common warriors led by these warlords rose up in rebellion. The king in his arrogance still refused to take the field, believing the savages would kill each other before ever reaching him. Soon, however, those chieftains that chose to join the rebellion rather than die and those that desired to return to a time when this land and people were free were at his doorstep. They dragged the king out of his keep, tied each of his appendages to one of six horses, and set them to run, tearing him to pieces.
         The former queen and daughter were spared thanks to the nurse, who was the daughter of a chieftain herself. While she had no love for the queen, she did love the dark-haired maiden very much and she couldn't allow anyone to deprive her of her mother. Instead, they were banished and the nurse chose to go with them so that she could always be with the daughter whom she claimed as her own.
         Together they traveled away from the wild lands and back to the country from which the king had come, which took several years due to their poverty and having to depend on the kindness of strangers; many of whom feared the northern tribes and recognized the widowed witch and remembered her husband's bloodlust.
         They finally settled in an old abandoned manor house on the outskirts of a town beside the sea that was ruled by a handsome young lord who had yet to choose a wife. Here they did their best to make a living. The dark-haired maiden made clothes in the manner of the people of the only homeland she knew. The nurse weaved baskets, and the fallen queen, herself still quite the enchanting beauty, found people with money to spend.
         The young lord lived in his manor with some few servants and his great aunt. His mother had died in childbirth and his father had followed not long after, having died of grief. The young man was kind and beloved by the townsfolk, and they hated to see him without a family of his own. His aunt was forever trying to arrange a marriage for him, but he kindly declined each maiden brought before him, preferring to remain alone rather than fall in love only to lose her to the spirits like his father had lost his mother. For him it was better to live a life in melancholy than to find light only for it to be eclipsed by shadow and then to die from the resulting sorrow.
         The dark-haired maiden worked diligently, but was quite homesick for that wild land she was forced to leave. The nurse would tell her stories that were told by her people around the central fire. The nurse loved the girl so, and could see how sad she had become. She hoped she could find herself a husband who could make her partly forget about the land to which they could never return and perhaps find some happiness.
         Once while the fallen queen and the nurse were at the market selling clothes and baskets, they both saw the young lord for the first time. His aunt had persuaded him to get out of the manor and into the streets to walk among the people. The nurse, having heard the gossip in the town, wished the dark-haired maiden could have been there to meet the handsome lord, but she always remained home and continued to work to keep her mind of the home she missed. The fallen queen had ideas of her own and began to see an opportunity to live a life of luxury once more.
         The young lord's aunt saw the nurse and the fallen queen and, having realized she had never seen them before, excitedly dragged her nephew behind her to meet them.
         The aunt noticed the exotic garments and said, "Which of you ladies made these strange and beautiful clothes?"
         Before the fallen queen could answer, the nurse stepped forward and said, "They were made by my young mistress."
         The fallen queen glared at the impetuous nurse, but said nothing. She turned to look into the face of the handsome young lord, but he too was more interested in the clothes the dark-haired maiden had sewn and felt that he must meet her. Something seemed to call to him from that far off land, though he had never seen it. It could be said he didn't even know the fallen queen was there.
         "Tell me all about this talented seamstress!" the aunt said, practically leaping out of her shoes.
         "Yes, I'd quite like to hear more about her as well," said the young lord, shining with a light upon his face no one had ever seen before.
         The aunt could hardly contain herself at his enthusiasm. The nurse told her all that immediately came to mind of the dark-haired maiden. She told her of hair as black as death and skin as pale as the moonlight. She told her of the lost kingdom, but left out the true cause for the sake of the relationship she must keep with the fallen queen. She told her of the wild land from which they had come and the people who wore clothes much like those they had for sale.
         The aunt exclaimed her interest in a custom garment for herself and allowed the nurse to measure her right there in the street and asked to have the dark-haired maiden deliver it herself. The fallen queen clenched her fists so tightly that her nails bit into her palm and a droplet of blood fell to the cobblestone street. The aunt caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of the death-stare that the fallen queen appeared to be aiming at her. She laughed it off, having clearly overlooked her presence entirely until that moment and she and the young lord began to make their way home.
         When the nurse and the fallen queen arrived home, the nurse burst into a joyful one-woman revelry. She told her beloved lady about the meeting at the market and the maiden too was aglow with thoughts of the young lord and his interest in her and her craft. The fallen queen left them to it and descended into the catacombs of the old manor house, perhaps to be alone where no one disturb her.
         The dark-haired maiden worked for three days on the garment for the young lord's aunt, when word reached them that she had became ill the night she had met the fallen queen and the nurse in the market, and had died that very morning. The nurse noticed a thin and cold sneer on the face of the fallen queen. She remembered the talk of the dark power she was said to possess and an icy chill took hold of her. She brushed it off and soon the maiden had completed the dress and a long, black shroud.
         Considering it the aunt's dying wish, the dark-haired maiden went alone to the young lord's manor to bring him the dress and the shroud. Many of the townsfolk had never seen her before, and none could ignore her as she made her way to the manor. Few of those that she passed did not turn to look at her. She did not know what to think of so much attention and simply continued on, somewhat embarrassed at what she thought must be her lowly appearance.
         The young lord was told of her coming and, though he mourned, he had not forgotten how much he had wanted to meet her. When she arrived he allowed no servant to open the door so that he could do so himself. When they first saw each other neither could speak. She was so different than anyone else in the town. Her beauty was like a blue-black satin sky, when the shadows have fallen in the forest at dusk, and the stars have just begun to appear. She was darkness and light as one and at odds simultaneously, like the fiery reflection of a blood diamond.
         As he looked at her she could see the malaise fade from his eyes and this transition made his face brighten in such a way as to make a handsome young man look like a spirit made flesh. He invited her in, and despite the sorrow of the event that brought them together, they both found themselves able to finally see a future that could be happy. They talked all through the night, and the dark-haired maiden did not return home until dawn.
         The young lord and the dark-haired maiden did not court long, and their wedding was soon announced. The nurse had kept a close eye on the fallen queen, but she did not see any side-long glances or any other signs of ill will towards the bride-to-be. She even seemed happy for her daughter! A woman whom she had not seen work to craft anything in her life made a fine white corset for the dark-haired bride to be.
         It was not a well-kept secret that the girl had become pregnant. The nurse saw no shame in such a thing. Her people seldom waited until the rituals were held to consummate their love for one another, but in this land there seemed to be a bit of shame attached to such a thing. While the fallen queen did appear happy for her daughter, it was clear that she felt this shame. The corset was meant to cover this for the wedding day, which was expected to be seen by practically the entire town and residents of the surrounding countryside. The nurse suddenly realized that she did not know where the fallen queen had come from originally. The conquering king had taken her from some foreign land when he was a young warrior. Was their also shame to be had in her homeland for a woman to lie with a man before the wedding? Could there have been shame to be had for a young girl to run away with a foreigner who no-doubt had slain her own countrymen? Where the nurse had come from there certainly was shame in the latter.
         The fallen queen gave the corset to the nurse and allowed her to prepare the dark-haired girl for the wedding. Her mother had said she would be with the others in the main hall. The nurse was relieved to be left to this task without that woman accompanying her. She still did not trust her, and could not displace a feeling of dread. She felt the fallen queen would try to harm the girl in some way. She looked forward to tomorrow. How could the girl be harmed after the wedding? She would be the lady of the manor and would be guarded. It would not be long now. The nurse would not have to worry about her fair little one after today. She may even ask to return home if her lady promised to visit. She tried to shake the worry out of her mind and continued on to the manor.
         When the nurse arrived she took over helping the dark-haired bride to make herself ready to be married. She already had on a white slip. Her wedding dress was set aside and had been made by the young bride herself. The dress was a blending of the style of this country and of the country she still missed. The nurse was so glad to see how happy she was in that mirror as she gently helped her put on the corset. She slowly began to tighten the laces so the corset would hold but not be uncomfortable. It was only meant to conceal after all. Suddenly the laces tightened to the absolute limit of their own accord. The dark-haired bride spun round to look at her nurse with her arms held out in supplication. She tried to cry out for help, but all that was heard was like the sound of a fierce arctic wind blowing through a single broken reed as the corset constricted her with deadly force, far beyond the limit of the drawing of the laces. Breath continued to be crushed out of the poor bride. Bones grinded and snapped and the servant girls ran out while the nurse backed away in horror, completely helpless.
         Bloody ribs slowly began to protrude from the once-white corset as a chaotic pattern of crimson began to spread over it. The dark-haired girl fell backwards and mercilessly knocked herself unconscious as her head struck and shattered the mirror and her lifeless body slumped to the floor. The nurse could hear the servant girls blaming her for what had had happened. It was easy for them to believe that a savage from a foreign land was an evil sorceress. She didn't care what they did to her. She felt like she had lost another daughter. She would stay and hope that the young lord would be more understanding and help her take vengeance on the fallen queen. There was no doubt that she was the one responsible for the girl's death.
         The nurse thought she could never see anything more horrible than what had just happened before her very eyes. That was before she noticed something moving between the doomed bride's legs beneath her slip. She rushed forward and lifted it to find a tiny baby boy. Miraculously he lived, for now. Fearing what could happen to the child if no one would believe her and the fallen queen was left free to do her worst, she picked him up and ran down the stairs through the commotion and made her way along the empty streets and out of the town and swore not to rest or eat until she was in her homeland again. She had some magic of her own, being trained by the shamans of her tribe as every chief's daughter was. She swore to do her best to save the child's life. Perhaps another time we'll learn whether she did.
         No one saw the fallen queen as she walked up the stairs to go to where the victim of her jealousy lay dead. She knelt beside her and waived a hand over the grisly scene and it was concealed beneath a glamer that made her daughter appear to have simply died of some unknown malady. She left the room in haste and allowed the servants and the handsome young lord to draw their own conclusions, which with the absence of the nurse seemed quite obvious.
         The young lord fell ill soon after this ghastly event. The fallen queen was permitted to visit the manor and it seemed everyone believed in her innocence, especially when the young lord began to recover. Some said he was stronger than his father had been. Those few who had frequented the marketplace to supply food for the manor believed he was bewitched by her. Perhaps it was a bit of both, for when the young lord looked at the beautiful fallen queen he could see the face of his dark-haired princess.
         It seemed a blur between the time of his recovery and the wedding. The young lord now felt more like he had before he had ever met the dark-haired seamstress. While the girl's mother did look like her, there was none of the same spirit in her. She was not playful or quick to laugh. In fact, he couldn't recall any time that she smiled. She had nothing to say that held any meaning and she had no love of stories and people like his truly beloved had. When it became known that she was pregnant it became clear that the spell was breaking. Whether it had been real magic or just his attempt to mend his own broken heart was not truly known.
         The fallen queen awoke one night screaming and trembling. She told the young lord how she had seen her daughter's reflection in the mirror or standing above her with her feet apparently planted upon the ceiling. He never saw any such thing, but he did notice that it was always cold in the room when this happened, so much so that they could see their breath in the air. Word of this soon spread throughout the manor and the town as well, as the belief spread that the nurse was innocent and the fallen queen was the true witch and murderer of the beautiful dark-haired girl.
         One night when the fallen queen once again awoke in terror, the young lord swore he saw a dark-haired woman in white clothes gliding down the hall as if she rode upon the wind. He was compelled to follow.
         "Where are you going? You can't leave me alone!" cried the fallen queen, clutching his arm while pulled him back down beside her.
         He looked at her blankly for a moment with all feelings of affection gone from him. He regretted ever letting the woman set foot in his home, but there was nothing he could do now. He wished she could give birth to the child and be cast out of his home if not banished from the county entirely. Perhaps he could send for the nurse to help raise the child. He wished the woman he loved could be here. Perhaps she was, he thought as he looked towards to door leading to the corridor. He remember stories she would tell him of lovers who could not even be separated by death and who would come back from the land of the dead to either rejoin the living because it was not yet their time or to call their mate onward, but those were just stories, beautiful and romantic though such a notion may be. Still, he wanted to be in one of stories right now.
         He snatched his arm away and said nothing, while the once frightening witch trembled in fear herself at last. The young lord walked out the bedroom door and saw the woman in white as she passed around a corner. The witch was left alone in the cold, watching the fog of her breath seem to float away each time she exhaled. Was it the draft of the old manor that had frozen her or was it what she thought she saw in the room with her? Was she really seeing another women looking back at her in the mirror?
         The young lord ran around the corner and looked only to see her just as she passed through another doorway. He made his way there as quickly as he could but he could now see nothing but an empty bedroom. This was the room in which his beloved had died; no the room in which she had been murdered. He had ordered the room sealed, but here it was inexplicably opened again. The room was left mostly as it had been that fateful day and so mirror was not replaced, but it was whole again and in it he could see a beautiful dark-haired girl in a white slip and corset.
         "I've missed you, my handsome young lord," she whispered in a voice like a cool spring breeze. He noticed that his breath hung in the air, but he did not feel cold. He could feel her warmth; her love.
         "My darling, is it truly you? It can't be! Oh, if it could be you and you could not stay with me I would gladly go with you!"
         "Neither can be. You must live on. I came to set things right and to tell you that our child lives. You have a son."
         He couldn't believe his eyes nor his ears. He thought the baby was buried with its mother, never having left the womb.
         "How could that be? I buried you together, did I not?"
         "It is too terrible to explain and I cannot remain. You must live for our son. He will come to you in time. He will be like one of the people out of the stories my nurse told me. Remember the tales I told you by the fire, just you and I? Keep them in your heart. He will be like a one from the land I came to know so well, beyond the fields you know. I must go. I love you, Gerard."
         Her reflection began to fade and with tears in his eyes he called out to her, "I love you too, Kirstia."
         He stood there looking into his many small reflections in the broken mirror. Just then he heard the beginnings of a scream that was silenced almost as quickly as it began. It came from where he had left his wicked wife.
         He ran down the hall and turned the corner, but he could not see the end of the hall. It seemed to stretch before him as if it was miles long. He could hear the sound of a struggle and an otherworldly wind that seemed to speak unintelligibly. He could see the bedroom door now. He ran to it, but he seemed to draw no nearer to it despite what seemed like an eternity of exertion.
         Suddenly there was silence and in that moment the doorway was before him. He walked into his bedroom, and found the fallen queen in the floor exhaling her last breath, which sounded like an arctic wind blowing through a single broken reed. She was a terrible sight to behold. Her ribs were crushed, with many protruding through her twisted flesh, staining her gown with blood. There were slashes all over her body with marks like rope-burns that seemed to wind all around her torso. He dared not touch her or speak. He looked towards the mirror on the wall and saw a dreadful apparition floating above the floor between him and the glass staring at him. It made a sound like a rasping breath ending in the death-rattle but with no accompanying inhalation. It seemed to only breathe out in a continual final breath. It vaguely had the shape of a woman wearing a white slip and corset drawn inward so as to conceal nothing more than skin and spine for there was no room for ribs or viscera. Its frightful visage was as skin stretched tight as a drum over bone with a mouth stretched far wider than is humanly possible full of sharp, carnivorous teeth. The arms were so long that the knuckles would have reached below the feet of the thing, if it had feet or anything that truly resembled hands. Instead the arms ended in a writhing mass of jointed appendages resembling hundreds of fingers stitched together end-to-end, each one being long enough to encircle the human body many times over.
         When he gazed upon the fearful specter in horror and revulsion it turned and looked away, instantly becoming the form of his beloved again. She hid her face and flew into the mirror and became smaller and smaller as if she was traveling down an infinitely long hallway. He swallowed hard and shuddered, trying to cleanse his mind of the image that seemed imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
         He hoped she could find peace now and would never have to appear to anyone in that shape again. He hoped that some of the dark force her mother had dabbled in had not tainted her spirit in some way. He turned his back on the mirror and left the room to fetch servants to help remove his dead wife's body. He did not see the little girl standing with her feet apparently planted upon the ceiling. She looked down at her dead mother, and back over her shoulder at the mirror into the abyss where her sister had flown. She could no longer reach the spirit that had deprived her of a chance at life. She was not strong enough to remain or to haunt the halls of her father's house. She did not want to hurt anyone anyway. She just wanted a chance to be born.
         Her mother's sorcery was as a grain of diamond dust within her ethereal form. Only in the darkness when the slightest light struck it could it be seen or perhaps felt, but it was there, and it could grow. She feared this. She wanted no part of the evil energy that doomed her to an existence between the worlds.
         She found she could hear the call of two cuckoo birds, far, far away from her. The sound of the birds became the voices of a man and woman calling out to her. They promised her life and parents. She became as happy as any spirit could be and followed their voices to the mounds in a forest clearing where an ancient people buried their dead. There was a stone monument that looked quite like a table with two stones besides that were quite like two chairs.
         The next night Gerard sat beside the fire alone. He had his wicked wife burned like the people in the tales his beloved had told him beside the fire. The tales that the nurse had told her became a new tale. This tale was no tale of heroes or hunters, but instead was a tale of woe and of death. From this bleak beginning, however, came many more tales, like a many-branched sapling that had sprouted where a creature that had lived the fullness of its time had laid down its life so that other things might live and grow.
         The tales the nurse told were the tales of the northern tribes. These were tales told where many sat around a central fire and passed the cold evenings together. Then Kirstia told them to Gerard, and they became the tales of two who laid together beside a fire and fell in love. Now, there was only one man beside a small fire remembering the tales alone. These are the Lonely Fire Tales.

This tale is done

But more are yet to come

THE END