A Rule of Queens

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Darius sat beside the fire at sunset, hunched over, his back raw, stinging, the pain worse than anything he’d experienced. It felt as if his skin had been ripped off his back, and it hurt to breathe, to move, to sit up. Dray sat loyally by his side, whining, his head in Darius’ lap, unwilling to leave his side. Darius offered him small pieces of food but Dray, downcast, would not accept it. He gritted his teeth and grunted as Loti, kneeling at his side, placed a cool rag on his back, doused in ointments, running it along his skin as she had been doing for a while now, trying her best to ease his pain. As she did so, he noticed tears in her eyes, and he could see how guilty she felt.

“You did not deserve this,” she said. “You have suffered for my actions.”

Darius shook his head.

“You have suffered for all of our actions,” he corrected. “It should not have fallen on you alone to have to stand up to the Empire. What you did for your brother, for all of us, was an honorable thing; what I did for you was the only thing.”

Loti cried softly as she rubbed his wounds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“And now?” she asked. “What was it all for? They’ll return in the morning. They will take me, and maim us all. Or worse—they will kill us all.”

Darius shook his head emphatically.

“I will not let them take you,” he said. “I will not see them offer you up to save all of their lives.”

“Then we shall all die,” she stated.

He looked at her, her face grim, severe.

“Perhaps we shall,” he said. “But are there not worse things? At least we shall die together.”

He could tell by her expression how touched she was, how loyal she was, how grateful.

“I shall never forget what you did for me today,” she said. “Never. Not as long as I live. You have my entire heart. Whether we die tomorrow or not, do you understand me? I am yours. I will love you from now to the end of eternity.”

She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back, a long meaningful kiss, and Darius felt his heart beat faster. She pulled back, her eyes glazed, and he could feel her sincerity. Her kiss took away the pain of his wounds; he would do it all again gladly for her, despite all the pain, despite all the suffering.

The village horn sounded, and all around the village fire, there gathered near Darius and Loti the Council of Elders, along with hundreds of villagers. Darius could sense the anxiety in the air, could see the panic across all their faces as they all swirled about, mumbling loudly, arguing with each other, a sense of desperation in the air. Darius could not blame them—after all, this could be their last night on earth. Tomorrow, a wave of mutilation or destruction was coming for them, and there was little that they could do about it.

The horn sounded again, and the villagers quieted as the chief elder, Bokbu, stepped forward, raised his palms, and faced them. He looked down sternly at Loti and Darius.

“Your actions have endangered our people,” he said slowly, his voice grave. “But that matters little now. What matters,” he said, looking out at the people, “is the choice that lies before us. At daybreak, what will we choose? Execution or maiming?”

A loud grumbling arose, villagers arguing with each other.

“We’ll take maiming over death any day!” one shouted.

“I shall not be maimed!” yelled Raj. “I will die first!”

More grumbling erupted, everyone seeming to feel differently about it, and no one happy. Darius was shocked; even with faced with maiming, his villagers still wouldn’t stand up, wouldn’t all agree, as one, to fight back. What more did they need? Had their spirits been crushed so deeply?

“It is not a choice,” one of the elders said, as the crowd slowly quieted. “It is not a choice that any man can make. It is a horror, a curse open us all.”

The crowd fell deeply silent, somber, for a long time, all that could be heard was the whipping of the wind.

“We do have a choice!” a villager yelled. “We can hand the girl over to them!”

There came a muted cheer of approval amongst some villagers.

“She’s endangered us all!” he yelled. “She broke the law. She is to blame! She must pay the price!”

There came a louder cheer of support among the crowd, mixed with arguing. Darius was amazed to see his people at such odds with each other, so willing to give her up.

“There is another choice!” another elder yelled out, raising his palms as the crowd grew silent. “We can offer them the girl and plea for our lives. Perhaps they will relent. Perhaps they shall not maim or kill us.”

“And perhaps they should do both!” another crowd member yelled out.

There came a cheer, and the crowd once again broke into an agitated murmur, long and intense—until Bokbu stood and raised both of his palms. As he did, all eyes turned to him with respect, and finally, there was silence.

He cleared his throat, his presence grave, commanding authority and attention.

“Because of the actions of this one girl,” he boomed, “our entire village has been put in an impossible situation. Of course we cannot accept death. We have little choice but to accept life as the Empire wishes us to have it, as we always have. If that requires handing over the perpetrator to them, then that is what we are compelled to do.

“As much as it pains me, sometimes one must sacrifice for the sake of the whole. I see no other way out. We must accept their sentence. We shall be maimed, but not dead. Life will go on for us, as it always has.”

He cleared his throat as the crowd remained silent, and he turned and fixed his gaze on Darius.

“Tomorrow, at daybreak, we will do as the Emperor commands and you, Darius, as they requested, will represent our village and present our offer to them. You will hand over the girl, we will accept their punishment, and we will move on. There shall be no more talk of this. The elders have spoken.”

With that, Bokbu reached out and slammed his staff on the hollow wooden log, making a definitive sound, the sound always used to mark an important ruling. It meant the ruling could not be changed, could not be argued.

One by one, the villagers dissipated, drifting back to their homes, despondent. Darius’s friends, Raj, Desmond and Luzi came over, along with several of his other brothers, as Darius sat there, numb, in shock. He could not believe that his people would betray Loti, betray him, like this. Were they that afraid of death? Were they so desperate to cling to their pathetic little lives?

“We can’t hand her over,” Raj said. “We can’t go down like this.”

“What are we to do?” asked Luzi. “Shall we fight? Us against ten thousand men?”

Darius turned to see his sister, Sandara, approaching, joined by that Queen of the white people, Gwendolyn, and her brothers. He saw the concern across Sandara’s and Gwendolyn’s faces. As Darius looked at Gwendolyn, he could see the warrior in her eyes; he knew that she was their best hope.

“How are your wounds, my brother?” Sandara asked, coming over and inspecting them, her face lined with concern.

“My wounds are deep,” he replied meaningfully. “And not from the lashing.”

She looked at him, and she understood.

“You cannot fight,” she said. “Not this time.”

“You have not lived here,” Darius said. “Not for years. You cannot tell me what to do. You don’t understand what our people have suffered.”

Sandara looked down, and Darius felt bad; he hadn’t meant to be so harsh with her. But he was feeling desperate, furious at the world.

Darius turned and looked at Gwendolyn, who also looked down at him with concern.

“And you, my lady?” he asked.

She looked back at him questioningly.

“Do you plan to leave us now?” he added.

Gwendolyn stared back, expressionless, and he could tell she was consumed by that very decision.

“The choice is yours,” he added, “to leave or to stay. You still have a chance to get out. The Empire does not know you are here. Of course, the Great Waste might kill you, but at least it is a chance. We, though—we have no chance. Yet if you stay, if you stay here and fight by our side, we would have a greater chance. We need you, you and your men, and their armor and their steel. Without you, we have no chance. Will you join us? Will you fight? Do you choose to be a Queen? Or do you choose to be a warrior?”

Gwendolyn looked back and forth from Darius to Sandara to Kendrick, and he could not read her expression. She seemed under a cloud, and he could see how much she had suffered. He could see that she was weighing the future of her people, as Queen, and he did not envy her her decision.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice broken, filled with sadness. “I wish I could help you. But I cannot.”

Gwendolyn, on her way back to the caves at sunset, passed through the village, all the people agitated, a panicked energy in the air, and her mind swirled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she thought of Sandara’s people, of their predicament, and her heart went out to them. She knew how cruel the Empire could be—she had experienced it firsthand. Her first impulse, of course, was to rush to their aid, to throw her people into their fight, to give up all of their lives for their cause, for their freedom.

On the other hand, she was a Queen now. She was not her father’s daughter, not a teenage girl, but a Queen, with responsibilities for her people. They all looked to her and their lives all depended on her. She could not make the wrong decision on their behalf. After all, what right did she have to give up their lives for someone else’s? What kind of Queen would that make her?

Gwen had seen her people suffer so much, too much, and she had suffered so much herself. Did they deserve to be thrown into another war, to end their lives this way, far from home, here in this dusty village? The villagers would be terribly outnumbered in the morning, all of them maimed or worse. She knew the right thing to do, not as warrior, but as a leader, was to round her people up and, at the first light of sun, march them in the opposite direction, into the Great Waste. To begin the great journey to find the Second Ring. It might just be a fantasy, she knew, and they would all likely die out there in the Great Waste—but at least they would be striving for something, striving for another life. Not walking into instant death.

Regardless of what she wanted, she, Gwendolyn, the individual, that was her job as Queen demanded, wasn’t it? To protect her people?

Gwen’s heart broke for the villagers. She believed in their cause, and it was a cause she shared. Yet, even the villagers were divided, and even they didn’t have the heart to fight. Few of them had the warrior spirit—few except for Darius. Could she fight a battle for them that they did not wish to fight themselves?

“As Queen, surely you cannot be considering their predicament?” Aberthol said as he walked beside her. “True, they are a good people. A kind and fair people—”

“And they took us in,” Gwen added.

Aberthol nodded.

“They did,” he replied. “But they do not fight our wars for us. We have no obligation to fight theirs for them. Not that we could win anyway. It is not, you see, an invitation to join them in battle—but an invitation to join them in death. Those are two vastly different propositions, my lady. Your father never would have approved of that. Would he have sacrificed all of his people? For a fight they do not wish to fight, and a fight they cannot win?”

They continued to walk, falling into a comfortable silence as Gwen pondered his words.

Kendrick and Steffen walked alongside here, and they did not need to say anything; she saw the compassion on their faces. They understood, all too well, what it meant to make a hard decision. And they understood Gwendolyn, after all this time, all these places together. They knew the decision was hers to make, and they gave her the space to make it.

All of which made Gwendolyn feel even more tortured by it. She could see both sides of it; yet her mind felt muddled. If only she had Thor here, by her side, with his dragons—that would change everything. What she wouldn’t give to see her old friend Ralibar appear in the horizon, swoop down with his familiar roar and let her take a long ride.

But he was not here. Nor would he come. None of them would. She was, once again, on her own. She would have to make her own way in this world, just as she had done so many times before.

Gwendolyn heard a whining noise, looked down and saw Krohn walking at her feet, and was reassured by his presence.

“I know, Krohn,” she said. “You would be first to attack. Just like Thor. And I love you for it. But sometimes we need more than a white leopard cub to win.”

As they hiked all the way to the base of the caves, Gwen stopped and looked up the hillside, to the small cave in which Argon lay. Steffen and Kendrick stopped and looked at her.

“Go ahead,” she said to them. “I will join you shortly. I must ascend alone.”

They nodded and turned away, understanding, and Gwen turned away from them. As the sun was setting, its last rays caressing the hillside, she turned and hiked up the hillside, going to the one person she knew might be able to give her answers, who had always been able to give her solace in times of need.

As she hiked, she felt something at her heels, and looked down to see Krohn.

“No, Krohn, go back,” she said.

But Krohn whined and stuck to her ankles, and she knew he would not be deterred.

They hiked up the mountainside until she reached Argon’s cave, and she paused at the entrance. She prayed he would be able to help her. He had not answered her the last several times she’d visited, still more out of consciousness than in it. She did not know if he would answer now, but she prayed he would.

As twilight fell, the last glimmer of light illuminating the sky and the first of two moons rising, Gwen took one long look at the countryside, beautiful in a barren sort of way, then turned and entered the small cave.

There lay Argon, alone, in this small cave, as he had requested. There was a heavy energy in the air; when she was young, she remembered an aunt she’d had who’d laid in a coma for years. The air in this cave felt like that.

Gwen walked over and knelt beside Argon. She reached down and felt his hand; it was cold to the touch. As she held his hand, she felt more confused than ever, more in need of his counsel. What she wouldn’t give for answers.

Krohn walked over and licked Argon’s face, whining; but Argon did not stir.

“Please, Argon,” Gwen said aloud, unsure if he could hear her. “Come back to us. Just this once. I need your guidance. Should I stay here and fight with this people?”

Gwen waited a long time, so long, she was sure he’d never answer.

Just when she was ready to leave, she was shocked to feel him squeeze her hand. He opened one eye and stared at her, his eye shining dimly.

“Argon!” she said, overwhelmed, crying. “You live!”

“Barely,” he whispered.

Gwendolyn’s heart lifted to hear his voice, however raspy. He was alive. He was back with her.

“Argon, please, answer me,” she pleaded. “I’m so confused.”

“You are a MacGil,” he said, finally. “The last of the MacGil Kings. The leader of a nation without a home. You are the Ring’s last hope. It is up to you to save your people.”

He fell silent a long time, and she didn’t know if he would continue; yet finally, he surprised her by going on.

“Yet it is not a land that makes a people; it is the heart that beats within it. What they are willing to live for—and what they are willing to die for. You might find land beyond the Great Waste, you might find safe harbor, a great city. But what will you give up for it?”

Gwendolyn knelt there, struck by the gravity of his words, waiting, hoping for more. But there was no more. He fell silent again, closing his eyes, and she knew he would not stir.

Krohn lay his head on his chest and whined, and Gwen knelt there, all alone in her thoughts, as a gale of wind ripped through the cave.

What will you give up for it?

What mattered more, she pondered: honor? Or life?