PART THREE:
Chapter Seven~
Cel, now known as Snow White, Snowy, or S'White by the village of thieves and runaways, who called themselves the Elven Circle, lived comfortably silent as a member of their community, safe and undetected by Queen Minerva for another four years. She had a knack for finding new soures of water as well as charming the animals, either calming them or keeping them away. On friendly terms with everyone, she was happy in her new home despite the fact that Ranita refused to let her send letters to Silvea. Queen Minerva, at the end of the third year, finally gave up the hunt for Cel, convincing herself that the runaway princess had died, though her magic mirror refused to answer this question. Powers growing stronger every day, Queen Minerva soon overpowered King Victor and was able to bend him to her will. Ruling Fendel through him, everyone suffered under the tyranny of the monarchy.
"Ranita, that dear of yours is a miracle worker. Such a touch with animals," complimented Lada. Cel smiled as she handed the now-calmed squirrel back to Lada. Ranita chuckled.
"Ah, my Snowy is a special one, she is. Sweet as anythin' and cheery all the time. Snowy right makes up for the child I lost." Ranita smiled sadly at the memory. "Like the daughter I couldn't have." Lada nodded knowingly.
"Ranita, d'you want to talk about Tusa? It has been almost fifteen years now. I know nobo--"
"It's alright Lada. I'm fine." Stretching, Ranita waved her arm at Cel. "It's alright, Snowy. Go do whatever it is ya do." Smiling gratefully, Cel scampered off. Watching after her, Ranita's eyes filled with tears before she blinked them away. "If Tusa was still alive, she'd be Snowy's age. I blame meself ev'ryday for Tusa's death."
"It's in the past." Lada said soothingly. "Nobody could make up for Tusa, but seeing you take in a pale stray, raise her up like your own...you look happier now than I've seen you look in the last fifteen years. And I might even say that Snow White, well...that she's as good as a daughter of your own. Growing more beautiful every day, too. A rare beauty, she is, though you'd never expect it."
"What do ya mean, ya'd never expect it?" Ranita asked. Lada flushed.
"I didn't mean any offense. Just a number of things. Like first, when you first took her in, she was a skinny little thing with too long and thin of a face, and with that white skin and black hair, why it just made her look near death. Now, I don't know how it happened, but half the boys here are following her around in high hopes." Lada looked sideways at Ranita. "After living four years with you, she's acting kind of like you now. The way you toss your hair when it's in your face, the way you climb trees."
"Still hasn't said a word yet, though. I'm sure she'd have a beautiful voice if she spoke," Ranita mused. Lada glanced at her sharply.
"I thought you said she's mute!"
"Well, I can tell sometimes by the way she acts that she used to be able to talk. I think it's not so much as that she can't talk, but that she doesn't. I don't press her about it, though."
They continued weaving twigs (to make baskets) in silence. Lada's were better, for she had thinner fingers than Ranita's thick peasant hands. Two sheepish boys walked up to them and nudged each other. Sighing, Ranita put down her basket.
"She went that way," Ranita told them, pointing. Relieved, the boys walked that direction, leaving Ranita shaking her head and Lada gaping.
"That many boys asking after her?"
"Yea. I already know what they're going to ask when they start walking my way."
"Does Snow White favor any of them yet?"
"No. Snowy don't pay them any mind. Oh, she's nice enough, but I always see her givin' their gifts away to Zaria's children. Mostly, she avoids 'em."
"My Maritsa and Mirjam are right jealous of Snow White. I hear them grumbling about it all the time." Lada grinned. "Any chance you could send them to my girls? If Snow White doesn't want them, of course."
"I could try. I know Snowy wouldn't mind. Pass the reeds? Thank you dear."
"Ever wonder about her?" Lada asked. Ranita nodded as she leaned over to accept the reeds.
"All the time. I wonder 'bout her parents, her upbringin', why she was in the forest in the first place. I made a few guesses 'bout it, too. Like, for one, I guessin' she is o' noble birth. Sure acts like it."
"What do you mean? I could never imagine Snow White as a selfish noble!" Lada exclaimed. Ranita chuckled.
"No, not like that. I mean the way she walks. Real upright. Head high, back straight. Like a noble."
"Well, I never noticed it."
"That's 'cause you never paid attention to it," Ranita said softly. "'Cause she can't speak, I pay attention to ev'rything Snowy does. 'Course now her walk ain't so noble anymore. Wouldn't be practical in a place like this. An' I could tell she wasn't fakin' it, 'cause she walks real gracefully. Not stiff. I mean, I tried walkin' with my back straight, head high once, and it was as uncomfortable as anythin'. But when Snowy does it, looks natural. Smooth. Elegant, graceful."
"Oh, I noticed that," commented Lada. "She carries herself like a dancer, not a noble."
"More like a mix, I'd say. Also, I guessin' she never had no proper mother b'fore."
"Why do you say that?" Lada asked, surprised. Ranita shrugged and set the finished basket in the pile with the others.
"Well, for one, she sure acts lot like a boy sometimes. Doing boy stuff, ya know. Slingshots, throwin' snowballs, skippin' stones. An' also 'cause she acts real suprised when-evah I try to do some motherly things with her."
"Maybe her mother was distant and she had many older brothers," reasoned Lada. Ranita looked at her sternly.
"Lada, are you TRYING to point out the flaws of my reasonin'? Now, can I continue?"
"Of course, Ranita."
"Thank ya. Now, I know she can write, too. I sees her writin' things in the mud with a stick sometimes. Or markin' on trees." Ranita heaved a sigh as she stood. "The only thing I haven't figured out yet is what she was doin' in this forest in the first place."
"Mmm," Lada agreed.
Queen Minerva fumed at her daughter. Silvea stared at her feet, shamefaced. Her three-year-old son Aramys hid behind her skirt. Queen Minerva glared at him.
"Get that boy out of here," she snarled. Silvea gave Aramys a gentle shove toward the door.
"Go to your father, Aramys," Silvea commanded him sharply.
"But mama--"
"He's with the horses, Aramys," Silvea said louder. Aramys stuck out his bottom lip but did as he was told. Silvea closed the door after him.
"Mother," Silvea began. "I can't do anything about it. It's binding and effective."
"Don't you talk to me that way!" Queen Minerva spat. "You're worthless! Worthless!"
"Father is dying, Mother," Silvea continued softly. "He's growing sicker and sicker. When he dies, Fendel will join with Telren at Zachiriah and my coronation. You will no longer be queen. So it was planned at our wedding."
"No!" screeched Queen Minerva. "No, treaties can be broken! Plans can be changed! For every rule there is a loophole!"
"Mother--"
"Hold your tongue! You will talk to the Telrenaise councils. The nobles. You do that and it still might work."
"I have no power, Mother! In Telren only the men hold power!"
"Then get your father-in-law to change it! He is king, is he not? Manipulate the old man!"
"Mother!" gasped Silvea, shocked. Queen Minerva sneered at her.
"See? You are worthless! How do you think I got your father to marry me, the poorest girl of all the noble ladies in Fendel?? I manipulated him, that's how! Men are weak scum that hear only what they wish to hear! It is the only way for a woman to survive, to get what she wants!"
Silvea backed away from her ranting mother, gaping openly.
"So, that's what you did?" whispered Silvea. "You manipulated Father? You...you USED him?"
"And will throw him away like an old rag when I'm finished with him!" cackled Queen Minerva.
"Did you ever...did you even..."
"And now you're wondering about yourself, aren't you, DARLING daughter?? Well, the truth is too harsh for your pretty little ears."
"How...how--how..." Silvea was shocked speechless. Here was a side of her mother that she'd never seen before. For the first time in her life, Silvea realized what her mother truly was.
"Worthless brat," Queen Minerva muttered. "Useless, useless!" Grabbing her by the ear, Queen Minerva, dragged Silvea and threw her out of the room.
"Mo--mother," Silvea stuttered.
"I don't want to see you again unless you've completed my task," Queen Minerva said coldly and slammed the door in Silvea's face. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Queen Minerva threw herself onto the couch in front of her huge magic mirror.
"Oh mirror, what am I supposed to do?" Queen Minerva breathed, more talking to herself than actually the mirror. "I guess the only thing I can do now is keep Victor alive. That's the only way to extend my power."
She reached for the goblet on the tiny table to her right and drained it. She stared at her reflection. Eight years had been kind to her. Though nearing fifty, Queen Minerva was still a vision to behold. The streaks of white in her dark hair actually looked pretty, and her face was as smooth as ever, containing not a single wrinkle. The only other difference the eight years had made was how much more frail she looked, her veins visible on her hands, which were thinner and weaker.
"Mirror Mirror, magic arise, what is it that you advise?"
"You seek to control Fendel as sole ruler, it's true. Then become the King, is what you could do," her reflection answered emotionlessly.
"What I COULD do? No, no, no! That's all wrong!" Clearing her throat, Queen Minerva asked again, "Mirror Mirror with wisdom great, What do I do before it's too late?"
"Perhaps you can convince Telren to change the treaty, but perhaps not. Plot to seek control of the King, you already have. Now carry through and complete the plan," the reflection in the mirror answered. Queen Minerva sat back in her couch and grinned, then broke out laughing..
"Thank you mirror. That is exactly what I will do. I'll finish what I started all those years ago when I first laid eyes on Victor."
Chapter Eight~
Snow White was the first to feel the coming of winter. When the first soft flakes fell from the sky, she was the first to feel them, the first to know. When the earth was white, she was the first to step into it. The winter brought such joy to her face, her eyes brighter than stars and a smile worn eternally on those red lips.
During the wintertimes, the people of the Elven Circle ate their stored foods, dried fruit, nuts, and jerky. No one ventured down from their homes. None except Snow White, who rose early every morning and trekked through the forest, throwing snowballs at random objects and laying down in the fresh snow. Every day she wandered farther from the village, and Ranita should have grown suspicious when she started arriving home after sunset. However, her love for her adopted daughter convinced her otherwise, and Ranita did not think much of Snowy's daily activities until it was too late.
"Snowy?" Ranita called sleepily. "Snowy, mornin's here. Ya up yet?" She rose groggily and look around the room, expecting to see Snowy eating already, or tidying up the room. Then she glanced at the matress, and saw that it was neat. "Probably already up," she grumbled. Ambling around the room, she grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it with nuts and berries, adding a few mushrooms. Sitting on her messy matress, she ate slowly, still tired. Since Snowy had moved in, the one-room homed had been slightly enlarged, making room for another matress. There was also another window, but it was kept closed by leaves. A large clay pitcher stood in the corner, full of melting snow, which they used for water. Next to it was their clay jar containing their food storage. On the wall opposite the two matresses was a small, low table, with a heaps of leaves as seats.
Poking her head through the hanging reeds that served as a door, she looked 'round at the waking families. Lada's daughter Maritsa was already filling their pitcher with snow, her older sister Mirjam chatting with neighbors. Boys strutted around with their bows, ready for the day's hunting. Among all the sea of brunettes, Ranita could not find Snowy's normally obvious black hair.
"Hann!" Ranita called. "Have you seen my Snowy?" The boy shook his head and walked on. Nervously, Ranita looked around. She spotted Indira, Hann's older sister, and somewhat a friend of Snowy's.
"I haven't seen her, Ranita!" Indira called before Ranita could ask. "Maybe Borsz has, though!"
"Borsz!" she called, as she saw him walking past with his hunting friends. "Borsz, have you seen my Snowy?"
"Snow White?" Borz asked, frowning. "Last time I saw her was...why, last night! She was wandering through the woods again, like she usually does. Why?"
Ranita cursed under her breath. Stepping out of her home, she raced to Lada's home. Rapping on the wood, she waited impatiently. Lada's face emerged, annoyed.
"What is it, Ranita? You know I don't wake this early!"
"It's Snowy. She never came home last night!" Ranita explained anxiously. Lada's expression quickly changed to concerned as she stepped outside.
"Well, maybe she did, and she woke up before you this morning," Lada suggested. Ranita chewed on the inside of her lip.
"Let's see." The two of them stepped off of the branch and landed lightly on the ground. Ranita stared in dismay at the fresh layer of snow.
"Must've snowed during the night," Lada commented.
"So she never came home, 'else her prints'd be ev'rywhere. She never came home."
"Maybe she got lost?" Lada said lamely.
"Y-yea. Maybe she did," Ranita stammered. After all, in the dark, it was easy to get lost, and with the fresh snow, it'd be hard for her to find her way back. She refused to think about the other option, that maybe Snowy had left purposely.
"I'd wait," Lada said swiftly. "S'White's a smart child. She'll find her way home."
"Y-yea." All they could do was wait.
The only sound in the forest was the thumping of her boots in the snow and the heartbeat in her ears. Her breath formed into clouds before she ran through them. Terror clutched at her as did regret. Cel finally stopped to catch her breath at the base of a fir tree. By now, she was far away from the Elven Circle. Cel felt guilty at not having said good-bye to Ranita before she left, but how could she have explained it? Even she did not know why suddenly she fled that night. It was instinct, an urgent sense of danger and nearing doom in her gut, and Cel had always trusted her instincts.
She didn't even know which way she was running, only that the feeling of dread lessened the more she ran in this direction, toward the mountains, away from the Elven Circle and Phanzel Road. Inhaling sharply, Cel began running again.
Having run all through the night and the evening before that, the last time she'd eaten was in the afternoon. When her stomach complained, she'd scooped the snow into her mouth to ease the sharp pains in her abdomen. The mountains never seemed to loom any closer; they simply decorated the horizon, hanging in the distance. She stared at her feet as she ran, the boots that Borsz and Indira had fashioned for her from deer hide, stitched with tendon. The ice cold bit into her feet, which were wrapped in leaves and the shredded remains of her old woolen stockings. Her attire was the same that all the women of the Elven Circle wore, green leggings with a loose dress over it, the sleeves of the top tight. Her cloak was the same that she arrived with, but by now it was weathered and so worn that it offered little warmth. Like everyone else, Cel's hair was chopped short, long hair a nusaince that they could not afford. The longest strands were braided back and knotted messily. The rest of her hair dangled in her eyes, aggravating her even more.
When she bothered to look up again, the mountains were actually closer. Cel stopped again to catch her breath and glance around. For the last few hours the forest had thinned a bit, meadows and clearings more common, the sun streaming easily through. Now, the forest grew back again, not as thick as before, but the trees were closer together. They were mostly pine, needles poking up through the snow.
She'd intended to continue traveling, but oh, how fatigued she was! Surely a short nap could not hurt? Snuggling beneath one low pine, she curled up and slept, hugging her knees for warmth.
The dreams came for her again, as they always had. Peculiar dreams that started soon after her foster mother had died. Always it was the same thing, yet every time it felt more urgent than the time before. In these nighttime visions she saw nothing but whiteness, all around her. Sometimes there would be flashes of blue. Reaching out, she called but heard no answer. Everything was silent in the dream, as if she were deaf. All of a sudden she would begin to rise, floating up. Soft flurries touched her face, cold yet caressing. Strangely, she felt homesick. Now she began to float forward. Sensing rather than actual seeing the beings beside her, Cel floated faster. She floated until her back began to ache, though from what she did not know. Finally she dropped, down down into more whiteness, landing and feeling nothing. Of a sudden, the silence broke, laughter ringing out around her. It was comforting, yet incomplete. Then, a pale bluish mist wafted up before her. Growing upward until the column of smoke was taller than she, it began to take shape. Loosely it formed the shape of a woman, the edges of the image fuzzy, blending in with the surrounding white. The face of this misty woman was not yet formed when, like all the times before, Cel woke with a shudder.
Relieved to see that not much time had passed, Cel ate more snow and continued her journey, trudging wearily onward. For once, Cel began to ponder her own strength. Ever since she could remember, she'd been athletic, having a stamina that many commented on. Drawn to the courts where the boys played, she used to be able to outrun each and every one of them, not even breathing hard by the time they were heaving on the ground. That was, of course, before the sicknesses struck. Still, Cel was quite proud of herself for having run an entire day without food and hardly any rest. That was an encouraging thought.
Aramys was puzzled. All of a sudden, his mother was spending less time with him. Frowning, his three-year-old brain tried to formulate a cause, but in the end he gave up. Looking up, he brightened as he saw his mother sit down in the same room. Rushing over to her, he tugged on his skirt and grinned up at her.
"Not now, Aramys," Silvea told him tiredly. He frowned, a crease forming the middle of his forhead.
"But mama," he whined. Silvea sighed and pulled him up onto her lap.
"Alright, but just one," she gave in. Aramys clapped his hands in glee.
"Magic Mirror!" he cried. Instantly, Silvea shushd him.
"Shh! No, Aramys, I can't tell you that story. Why don't I tell you about Princess Phidella?" Silvea suggested. When Aramy's lower lip trembled, Silvea hugged him tightly. "Oh, fine. But this is the last time I'll tell it."
Aramys grinned and knew that she didn't REALLY mean that.
"Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a princess."
"Grandmama!" Aramys said knowingly. Silvea nodded.
"Yes, your grandmama. Princes Minerva Serenity of the Ahgigi line."
"In the land of Morranilith!" Aramys cried excitedly. Silvea chuckled, amused.
"No, in the land of Mornth, which is now part of Fendel. It--"
"It's where all the big bad monsters live!" Aramys cut in. He pretend to swing a sword. "It's dirty and fiery, with demons that will eat you up--GAR! Nobody lives there, and it stinks, and I wanna go there!"
"Maybe one day, as a knight. All the brave knights go there, wanting to slay devils. Some come back. Some don't."
"I'll come back," Aramys said stubbornly. "I'll kill them ALL!"
"Can I continue with the story? I thought you wanted to hear this?" When Aramys closed his mouth, Silvea kissed him and continued. "So, everyone knew that she was beautiful. Not fashionably pale, but truly beautiful. When Prince Victor of Fendel, eldest of the three sons of King Adnan, conquered her country and killed her father, she begged him to spare her. Promising to give him whatever he asked. Well, Prince Victor took one look at her and fell in love."
Silvea paused. There was part of this story that she dared not share, the darker side of it. The real truth of it was, Prince Victor was already married when he met Silvea's mother. He was married to the beautiful Elyce of Canelrie, the kind and shy daughter of a baron. When Prince Victor killed the King of Mornth, Princess Minerva fled to another fortress, where she gathered an army. Somehow, she managed to draw Prince Victor there, and soon had him at her mercy. It was he who begged her to spare his life. Princess Minerva then did the unimaginable--she demanded that he marry her in exchange for his life and her country.
"They married," Silvea said slowly. "It was an uncomfortable marriage for first several years." Ten years later Elyce had died. "But soon Prince Victor gave her his undivided love and attention. He gave her whatever she wished for. What Princess Minerva wanted most, though, was the best mirror in the world."
"The Mirror of Lady Llewellyn," Aramys breathed.
"The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn," Silvea corrected. "It was thought to have magic powers, huge and beautiful. Lady Lleilanellyn supposedly came from another world, a terrifying enchantreses she was. Princess Minerva wanted that mirror. Unfortunately, it was said to come from the Mornth lands. Prince Victor sent his brothers there to fetch it. They never returned. After waiting for them for two years, when I was nearly six, and your auntie Icelynai nearing one--"
"Adopted Auntie IthelyNAI!" Aramys cried, emphasizing the last sound.
"Yes, she was adopted, around when I was five. Anyway, Prince Victor your grandpapa, finally set out for Mornth."
"'On a horse of black and armor of gold.' I want gold armor!"
"No, you don't," Silvea scolded, making a face. "He set out on his black horse Maldi, and wore enchanted gold armor, a gift from Princess Minerva, for the Mornth people were magnifacent armorers. Bravely he rode, to his doom, we all thought. In Mornth he fought dragons and pits of tar. And--"
"The Minesmen!" Aramys added. "They're black as night, covered in soot, strong as six oxes."
"Oxen."
"Strong as six oxen. And they carried axes, they could see in the dark, they had four arms each, and they were three men tall! Grandpapa beat whole herds of 'em!"
"So the rumors go," Silvea smiled. "At last he came to Mornth-he, the largest and thickest forest in Mornth. He fought wood-ogres and Spirit Trees, the distant relatives of our pleasant Oakshees. In the middle of Mornth-he was the ruins of Lady Lleilanellyn's tower. Digging through the rubble, he found the mirror shattered. Still, he took the largest piece he could find and brought it back. Oh, Princess Minerva loved that mirror! She ordered it to be framed and hung in her rooms. Nobody knows for sure if the mirror truly is magic, but some of the servants whisper that she can spy with it, or ask for the future. Ol' Welborne, he was convinced until the end of his days that Queen Minerva spoke to it, asking every morning: Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"
"And it always told her that she was!" Aramys finished, satisfied. This was his favorite story because it concerned people he knew. His own grandpapa was a hero! He fought monsters! Leaning against his mother, Aramys closed his eyes and dozed off, dreaming of glory and knighthood.
Chapter Nine~
Intolerable pain shot up her leg with every new step she took.
Oh, sweet gods have mercy! she thought. Hunger was causing the edges of her vision to dim. Three days straight, she'd walked, having neither rested nor ate. In fact, she hadn't eaten since she left the Elven Circle more than a week ago. Cel shook from the cold, though no winds blew. The mountains were much closer now, and Cel almost believed that she might reach them alive. Another coughing fit seized her, and Cel knew that she had to find food and shelter soon. Gazing at the mountains a while, she could see the many caves that pocked its side. Just a little further, she told herself. If she could make it to the mountains before fainting from exhaustion, hunger, or cold, then she would sleep in a warmer place for that night.
All her physial reserves were long gone--Icelynai was moving by sheer will alone. It was her mind that FORCED her legs to continue, her heel to inch forward and strike the ground before her. Heel, toe, heel, toe, left, right, left, right, one step at a time. Breathing had become more than a labor, for it was now a fight. Almost as if something large and heavy sat on her chest, Cel struggled to suck in air. Added to this was the pains in her sides, like serrated knives. Between the knives lay the void, where her stomach had stopped complaining and instead punished her.
At last she could go no further. Her body simply would not permit it. She slumped, like the heap that she was, to the ground, knees hitting first and then the rest of her following. The upper part of her body tipped dangerously forward. Suddenly, Cel was pitched forward, tumbling down, down, down. Sticks and stones hurt her as she rolled, toward the frozen river at the bottom, which the land sloped down to meet.
On instinct, she threw up her hands as she hit the ice. From the momentum that had built up, not to mention her weight, the ice broke through easily. Freezing water swept through her, chilling her instantaneously to the bone. Her mouth opened to scream but instead the water rushed in. Trying to fight to the surface with what little energy she had was impossible. For a few moments, Cel struggled in the water, choking and swallowing liquid by the quarts. At last, with nothing left in her, the thrashing ceased.
All was silent.
Sen was the one who saw the broken ice. It was he who dove into it and pulled the floating body to land. To his lips did she awaken. After finding no pulse, Sen had pushed on her belly, on her chest, then pressed his mouth to hers and blew the breath of life. After several minutes of this, Sen almost dispaired, but at last she spit out water and gulped sweet oxygen.
In his arms he carried the shivering maiden up to higher lands. Trekking through the forest, his wet boots making sloshing sounds, they headed toward the mountains. He moved quickly, half-running. Like a wolf, he moved effortlessly despite the burden he carried. His legs and strides were long.
The land sloped upward and still his speed did not cease. There was no road to follow, but there was no need. Sen knew the mountains and the surrounding forests better than anyone could possibly hope to learn in a lifetime. He could avoid even the smallest scratch of a branch or a snaring of his clothing, almost as if the plants made way for him.
The trees never thinned, but the beneath the snow underfoot was no longer soil, but stone. Black stone, hard and transparent at times, was the color of the ground and the mountain. It was sturdy and had many uses, perfect for caves and mining. While any less experienced person would've slipped, Sen ran smoothly over it, his feet barely touching the ground.
At last they arrived at a tiny cave, more of a hole, really. Sen had to walk sideways into the entrance and duck his head. Instantly, they were plunged into darkness, but that was to be expected. His eyes adjusted immediately. The cave was not as small as it appeared on the outside. Rather, it was enormous, ten men high and nearly thirty across.
"Gaelan!" Sen called, his voice echoing in the large chamber. "Gaelan, come quickly!" A man half a foot shorter than he, broad-shouldered, strong, and burly, hurried forward with torch in hand.
"What ye've gone and done now?" his deep voice sounded. Sen sighed.
"Kistur, where is Gaelan? This is important! I found this fair maiden in the river. She will freeze to death if we don't hurry!" The man frowned. "Please," Sen begged. "You can't just let her die!" At last the Kistur relented.
"Gaelan's not 'ere now, but we'll do the best we can." He tore off his shirt and placed it over the shivering figure in Sen's arms. "I'll fetch cloth."
The two of them raced toward the back of the cave. This large chamber, if looked at closely, had many holes in its sides. The two of them slipped quickly into one. The passageway was narrow and low, like all the others. They traveled this way for a long time, the passage dipping lower and lower, growing quite cold. After some time, the passageway widened. Now there were passageways that branched off this main hallway. Kistur swung into one of them, a small cave which served as a room.
Onto the straw mattress in the center the pale lady was placed. Sen lit candles around the room, while from a trunk Kistur pulled yards of cloth. These they wrapped around the shivering figure. Even in her unconscious state, coughs racked from her being. Underneath her eyelids, eyes roved. From a pouch at his waist Sen drew leaves. These he placed under her nose, willing her wake.
"We need hot water," he told Kistur, who understood instantly. Quickly the man bustled out of the room. Sen rubbed the maiden's arms in vain attempts to warm her. By the time Kistur return with a kettle of boiling water, she still had not awakened. Grunting, Kistur cupped a hand over her mouth and nose. Sen looked at him in alarm.
"What are you doing?"
"Me friend taught me. Cut off 'er air, and she wakes. You see?" he exclaimed as her eyes fluttered open. Sen filled an earthen cup with the water and blew across its surface, handing it to her.
"Careful, it's hot," he warned her. Heedless of his warning, she drained the cup. Then she crawled further under the cloth and shivered, teeth chattering. The normally white skin was blue, veins easily visible along her face. She glanced curiously up at them, smiling gratefully.
"What's ye name, lass?" Kistur asked roughly. When she did not answer, Kistur grew angry with her. "Lass, we saved yer life. We deserve an honest answer."
"Kistur, don't," Sen said softly, holding his shoulder. He eyed the girl. From her hollowed cheeks, he could tell that she hadn't eaten in a while. Reaching into the deerskin pouch, he withdrew jerky and handed it to her. "I think you'll be wanting this."
Without a second's hesitation, her hand lashed out and scooped up the dried meat. In the blink of an eye, they were gone. Smiling ruefully, Sen emptied the contents of his pouch onto the mattress. It mostly contained nuts and more jerky. There were even a few tiny slices of bread. These, too, were devoured in seconds. With her eyes she begged for more. Sen sighed.
"Kistur, I'll go fetch more of the jerky from the storage rooms. Could you do your best to find Gaelan?" Without waiting for an answer, Sen left. Kistur glared at the girl. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"Now ye listen, lass. I'll tell ye now--I lose my temper easy. And I'm not happy with ye. Sen went through a lot of trouble bringin ye up 'ere. Didn't even do the day's hunting. So ye best think up a good story by the next time I ask."
When she didn't answer, Gaelan grew even angrier. Now she was being rude and disrespectful. Curling his fingers into a fist, he pulled the arm back, pretending to strike. When the maiden flinched, he laughed. It was not a laugh of amusement, but menacing and filled with malice, meant to scare and hurt her. Obviously it worked, for she shrank back from him.
Kistur laughed harder, this time in amusement, and turned out of the cave.
Cel watched him leave with relief and dread. She couldn't speak, so how could she get out of this horrid predicament? Clutching the cloth closer, Cel decided that death wouldn't be too horrible. What was there to live for, anyway?
For now, her stomach was eased a little, and she was warm. That was something, at least. Kistur and Sen. They were uncommon names, but not overly unusual. Sen seemed to be the kinder. He'd saved her, after all, and offered her food. Even his black eyes were smiling, and his voice was calm. Tall and lean, his long black locks were tied at the nape of the neck.
Kistur, on the other hand, had ruddy hair and a shaggy beard that hid the majority of his face. Large blue eyes were his best feature, but there was nothing nice about them. To his deep, loud voice there was a ferocity. If Gaelan was anything like Kistur, then she would be doomed.
A coughing spell clutched her again, but it was shorter than the ones she'd had before. Calling up everything she had in her, Cel stood and poured water from the steaming kettle. With shaking malnutritioned hands she drank the water. The warmth of it traveled down her body, causing her to shake from its warmth. Sometimes she sipped the water, and other times she downed it quickly, but the kettle was empty by the time Sen arrived, basket of food in his arms.
Cel's mouth watered. Food! Sweet and glorious food! It was mostly dried, but food was food, and Cel heartily gorged herself. Sen watched with amusement, but after some time he took the basket from her. Cel waved her arms in protest, mouth still full of food.
"It's best not to eat too much and then kill yourself," he told her reasonably. He looked over her now-damp clothing. "It might be a while until we get you clothing. Unless you don't mind wearing men's clothing."
The latter had been a joke, but when Cel shrugged he frowned. "Honestly, you wouldn't mind wearing men's clothing?" When Cel nodded he laughed. "Well, I supposed to you any dry clothes are good."
"Is this her?" a light voice asked from behind Sen. Quickly Sen gave a tiny repectful bow, then gestured toward Cel. The newcomer was shorter than Sen by only a few inches, taller than Kistur. Unlike Kistur's long shaggy beard, he wore his beard but close to the skin. The beard was white and he was bald. Still, he seemed to be not old. His build was much like Kistur's, heavily muscled everywhere, broad-shouldered and broad-chested. The pale green eyes were small, but wise.
"She's eaten already," Sen commented. Gaelan looked her over.
"Well, she needs it. Hasn't eaten for more than a week, eh?" When Cel nodded, he felt her forhead with a very calloused hand. "No fever," he commented. Then he felt for her pulse. Finding nothing strange, the man placed an ear against Cel's back and ordered her to breathe. "She seems well enough. No peculiar sickness that I can tell. Plenty of sleep and a good diet should be the cure. I hear a loud wheezing in the lungs, but that should be just the common cold."
"Have you spoken with Bazek yet?" Sen asked quietly. The older man shook his head.
"Ye know I haven't." His accent, Cel realized, was much like Kistur's, but more educated. "Though I gather he won't be happy. This is the second day that ye've brought back no game."
"I'll leave at once," Sen told him, and he did. With a new warm cloak around his shoulder and dry boots, Sen whirled 'round and turned out into the passageway. Gaelan watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Cel. To her throat he placed his hand.
"Say something," he instructed her. Cel stared at him. She could not speak! Why, it'd been nearly eight years since she had uttered any word! The man tapped a foot impatiently. "Say 'aye.'"
Swallowing nervously, Cel was did her best. Her mouth opened to form the words. Her throat convulsed. The sound that came out was like a gurgling cough. When the man was startled, Cel tried again, afraid that if she didn't say anything, Gaelan would diagnose her with a strange illness. Again she opened her mouth. The back of her mouth quivered. Her throat vibrated.
"Aye," Cel whispered hoarsely. Then she gasped. "Aye," she repeated. It was a miracle! She was--she was SPEAKING! "I can speak!" Cel hissed. Her voice was rough from disuse, but she was making sounds. She was speaking. Cel wanted to jump for joy, scream to the world. Indeed she did try, but her weak voice what not premit it. Gaelan was suprised as she beamed up at him. He could not figure out why she was so excited.
"Well, yer voice is rather worn out. Most likely from the coughing," he concluded. Cel shook her head.
"No. I haven't spoken in eight years."
"Eight years?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Are ye going to tell me why?"
"Yes," Cel answered, savoring every word. She wanted to talk every moment of every day for the rest of her life. Oh, the joys of speech! "It's simple. I couldn't speak. When I was close to eight, my voice suddenly stopped. The healers tried everything, but it seemed that I was mute."
"Very strange," Gaelan muttered. "Very strange indeed." Then he brightened. "Well, 'tis a good thing for ye. Now ye can tell yer tale to King Basilius. What is yer name, lass?"
Cel paused. If she told them her real name, would they return her to her stepmother? Pondering a while at this, Cel finally decided that it would be safer not to.
"I was called Snow White for the last four years," she answered. It was actually a truthful answer. After all, her full name, Icelynai Bianca, indeed meant 'Snow White.' Perhaps it was a kind twist of faith, or just pure coinincidence that Ranita of the Elven Circle had chosen that exact translation.
Gaelan looked at her closely for a moment, studying her face. Then he nodded, satisfyied that she wasn't lying.
"Have yer tale ready for supper tonigh'. 'Til then, yer free to rest. We've an empty cave down the hall. Let me show it to ye." Cel smiled and followed him timidly. The third home of her life. Kistur's unsaid threat played in her mind. Despite that she was no longer cold, Cel shivered. Maybe luck be kind to her just once more.
Chapter Seven~
Cel, now known as Snow White, Snowy, or S'White by the village of thieves and runaways, who called themselves the Elven Circle, lived comfortably silent as a member of their community, safe and undetected by Queen Minerva for another four years. She had a knack for finding new soures of water as well as charming the animals, either calming them or keeping them away. On friendly terms with everyone, she was happy in her new home despite the fact that Ranita refused to let her send letters to Silvea. Queen Minerva, at the end of the third year, finally gave up the hunt for Cel, convincing herself that the runaway princess had died, though her magic mirror refused to answer this question. Powers growing stronger every day, Queen Minerva soon overpowered King Victor and was able to bend him to her will. Ruling Fendel through him, everyone suffered under the tyranny of the monarchy.
"Ranita, that dear of yours is a miracle worker. Such a touch with animals," complimented Lada. Cel smiled as she handed the now-calmed squirrel back to Lada. Ranita chuckled.
"Ah, my Snowy is a special one, she is. Sweet as anythin' and cheery all the time. Snowy right makes up for the child I lost." Ranita smiled sadly at the memory. "Like the daughter I couldn't have." Lada nodded knowingly.
"Ranita, d'you want to talk about Tusa? It has been almost fifteen years now. I know nobo--"
"It's alright Lada. I'm fine." Stretching, Ranita waved her arm at Cel. "It's alright, Snowy. Go do whatever it is ya do." Smiling gratefully, Cel scampered off. Watching after her, Ranita's eyes filled with tears before she blinked them away. "If Tusa was still alive, she'd be Snowy's age. I blame meself ev'ryday for Tusa's death."
"It's in the past." Lada said soothingly. "Nobody could make up for Tusa, but seeing you take in a pale stray, raise her up like your own...you look happier now than I've seen you look in the last fifteen years. And I might even say that Snow White, well...that she's as good as a daughter of your own. Growing more beautiful every day, too. A rare beauty, she is, though you'd never expect it."
"What do ya mean, ya'd never expect it?" Ranita asked. Lada flushed.
"I didn't mean any offense. Just a number of things. Like first, when you first took her in, she was a skinny little thing with too long and thin of a face, and with that white skin and black hair, why it just made her look near death. Now, I don't know how it happened, but half the boys here are following her around in high hopes." Lada looked sideways at Ranita. "After living four years with you, she's acting kind of like you now. The way you toss your hair when it's in your face, the way you climb trees."
"Still hasn't said a word yet, though. I'm sure she'd have a beautiful voice if she spoke," Ranita mused. Lada glanced at her sharply.
"I thought you said she's mute!"
"Well, I can tell sometimes by the way she acts that she used to be able to talk. I think it's not so much as that she can't talk, but that she doesn't. I don't press her about it, though."
They continued weaving twigs (to make baskets) in silence. Lada's were better, for she had thinner fingers than Ranita's thick peasant hands. Two sheepish boys walked up to them and nudged each other. Sighing, Ranita put down her basket.
"She went that way," Ranita told them, pointing. Relieved, the boys walked that direction, leaving Ranita shaking her head and Lada gaping.
"That many boys asking after her?"
"Yea. I already know what they're going to ask when they start walking my way."
"Does Snow White favor any of them yet?"
"No. Snowy don't pay them any mind. Oh, she's nice enough, but I always see her givin' their gifts away to Zaria's children. Mostly, she avoids 'em."
"My Maritsa and Mirjam are right jealous of Snow White. I hear them grumbling about it all the time." Lada grinned. "Any chance you could send them to my girls? If Snow White doesn't want them, of course."
"I could try. I know Snowy wouldn't mind. Pass the reeds? Thank you dear."
"Ever wonder about her?" Lada asked. Ranita nodded as she leaned over to accept the reeds.
"All the time. I wonder 'bout her parents, her upbringin', why she was in the forest in the first place. I made a few guesses 'bout it, too. Like, for one, I guessin' she is o' noble birth. Sure acts like it."
"What do you mean? I could never imagine Snow White as a selfish noble!" Lada exclaimed. Ranita chuckled.
"No, not like that. I mean the way she walks. Real upright. Head high, back straight. Like a noble."
"Well, I never noticed it."
"That's 'cause you never paid attention to it," Ranita said softly. "'Cause she can't speak, I pay attention to ev'rything Snowy does. 'Course now her walk ain't so noble anymore. Wouldn't be practical in a place like this. An' I could tell she wasn't fakin' it, 'cause she walks real gracefully. Not stiff. I mean, I tried walkin' with my back straight, head high once, and it was as uncomfortable as anythin'. But when Snowy does it, looks natural. Smooth. Elegant, graceful."
"Oh, I noticed that," commented Lada. "She carries herself like a dancer, not a noble."
"More like a mix, I'd say. Also, I guessin' she never had no proper mother b'fore."
"Why do you say that?" Lada asked, surprised. Ranita shrugged and set the finished basket in the pile with the others.
"Well, for one, she sure acts lot like a boy sometimes. Doing boy stuff, ya know. Slingshots, throwin' snowballs, skippin' stones. An' also 'cause she acts real suprised when-evah I try to do some motherly things with her."
"Maybe her mother was distant and she had many older brothers," reasoned Lada. Ranita looked at her sternly.
"Lada, are you TRYING to point out the flaws of my reasonin'? Now, can I continue?"
"Of course, Ranita."
"Thank ya. Now, I know she can write, too. I sees her writin' things in the mud with a stick sometimes. Or markin' on trees." Ranita heaved a sigh as she stood. "The only thing I haven't figured out yet is what she was doin' in this forest in the first place."
"Mmm," Lada agreed.
Queen Minerva fumed at her daughter. Silvea stared at her feet, shamefaced. Her three-year-old son Aramys hid behind her skirt. Queen Minerva glared at him.
"Get that boy out of here," she snarled. Silvea gave Aramys a gentle shove toward the door.
"Go to your father, Aramys," Silvea commanded him sharply.
"But mama--"
"He's with the horses, Aramys," Silvea said louder. Aramys stuck out his bottom lip but did as he was told. Silvea closed the door after him.
"Mother," Silvea began. "I can't do anything about it. It's binding and effective."
"Don't you talk to me that way!" Queen Minerva spat. "You're worthless! Worthless!"
"Father is dying, Mother," Silvea continued softly. "He's growing sicker and sicker. When he dies, Fendel will join with Telren at Zachiriah and my coronation. You will no longer be queen. So it was planned at our wedding."
"No!" screeched Queen Minerva. "No, treaties can be broken! Plans can be changed! For every rule there is a loophole!"
"Mother--"
"Hold your tongue! You will talk to the Telrenaise councils. The nobles. You do that and it still might work."
"I have no power, Mother! In Telren only the men hold power!"
"Then get your father-in-law to change it! He is king, is he not? Manipulate the old man!"
"Mother!" gasped Silvea, shocked. Queen Minerva sneered at her.
"See? You are worthless! How do you think I got your father to marry me, the poorest girl of all the noble ladies in Fendel?? I manipulated him, that's how! Men are weak scum that hear only what they wish to hear! It is the only way for a woman to survive, to get what she wants!"
Silvea backed away from her ranting mother, gaping openly.
"So, that's what you did?" whispered Silvea. "You manipulated Father? You...you USED him?"
"And will throw him away like an old rag when I'm finished with him!" cackled Queen Minerva.
"Did you ever...did you even..."
"And now you're wondering about yourself, aren't you, DARLING daughter?? Well, the truth is too harsh for your pretty little ears."
"How...how--how..." Silvea was shocked speechless. Here was a side of her mother that she'd never seen before. For the first time in her life, Silvea realized what her mother truly was.
"Worthless brat," Queen Minerva muttered. "Useless, useless!" Grabbing her by the ear, Queen Minerva, dragged Silvea and threw her out of the room.
"Mo--mother," Silvea stuttered.
"I don't want to see you again unless you've completed my task," Queen Minerva said coldly and slammed the door in Silvea's face. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Queen Minerva threw herself onto the couch in front of her huge magic mirror.
"Oh mirror, what am I supposed to do?" Queen Minerva breathed, more talking to herself than actually the mirror. "I guess the only thing I can do now is keep Victor alive. That's the only way to extend my power."
She reached for the goblet on the tiny table to her right and drained it. She stared at her reflection. Eight years had been kind to her. Though nearing fifty, Queen Minerva was still a vision to behold. The streaks of white in her dark hair actually looked pretty, and her face was as smooth as ever, containing not a single wrinkle. The only other difference the eight years had made was how much more frail she looked, her veins visible on her hands, which were thinner and weaker.
"Mirror Mirror, magic arise, what is it that you advise?"
"You seek to control Fendel as sole ruler, it's true. Then become the King, is what you could do," her reflection answered emotionlessly.
"What I COULD do? No, no, no! That's all wrong!" Clearing her throat, Queen Minerva asked again, "Mirror Mirror with wisdom great, What do I do before it's too late?"
"Perhaps you can convince Telren to change the treaty, but perhaps not. Plot to seek control of the King, you already have. Now carry through and complete the plan," the reflection in the mirror answered. Queen Minerva sat back in her couch and grinned, then broke out laughing..
"Thank you mirror. That is exactly what I will do. I'll finish what I started all those years ago when I first laid eyes on Victor."
Chapter Eight~
Snow White was the first to feel the coming of winter. When the first soft flakes fell from the sky, she was the first to feel them, the first to know. When the earth was white, she was the first to step into it. The winter brought such joy to her face, her eyes brighter than stars and a smile worn eternally on those red lips.
During the wintertimes, the people of the Elven Circle ate their stored foods, dried fruit, nuts, and jerky. No one ventured down from their homes. None except Snow White, who rose early every morning and trekked through the forest, throwing snowballs at random objects and laying down in the fresh snow. Every day she wandered farther from the village, and Ranita should have grown suspicious when she started arriving home after sunset. However, her love for her adopted daughter convinced her otherwise, and Ranita did not think much of Snowy's daily activities until it was too late.
"Snowy?" Ranita called sleepily. "Snowy, mornin's here. Ya up yet?" She rose groggily and look around the room, expecting to see Snowy eating already, or tidying up the room. Then she glanced at the matress, and saw that it was neat. "Probably already up," she grumbled. Ambling around the room, she grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it with nuts and berries, adding a few mushrooms. Sitting on her messy matress, she ate slowly, still tired. Since Snowy had moved in, the one-room homed had been slightly enlarged, making room for another matress. There was also another window, but it was kept closed by leaves. A large clay pitcher stood in the corner, full of melting snow, which they used for water. Next to it was their clay jar containing their food storage. On the wall opposite the two matresses was a small, low table, with a heaps of leaves as seats.
Poking her head through the hanging reeds that served as a door, she looked 'round at the waking families. Lada's daughter Maritsa was already filling their pitcher with snow, her older sister Mirjam chatting with neighbors. Boys strutted around with their bows, ready for the day's hunting. Among all the sea of brunettes, Ranita could not find Snowy's normally obvious black hair.
"Hann!" Ranita called. "Have you seen my Snowy?" The boy shook his head and walked on. Nervously, Ranita looked around. She spotted Indira, Hann's older sister, and somewhat a friend of Snowy's.
"I haven't seen her, Ranita!" Indira called before Ranita could ask. "Maybe Borsz has, though!"
"Borsz!" she called, as she saw him walking past with his hunting friends. "Borsz, have you seen my Snowy?"
"Snow White?" Borz asked, frowning. "Last time I saw her was...why, last night! She was wandering through the woods again, like she usually does. Why?"
Ranita cursed under her breath. Stepping out of her home, she raced to Lada's home. Rapping on the wood, she waited impatiently. Lada's face emerged, annoyed.
"What is it, Ranita? You know I don't wake this early!"
"It's Snowy. She never came home last night!" Ranita explained anxiously. Lada's expression quickly changed to concerned as she stepped outside.
"Well, maybe she did, and she woke up before you this morning," Lada suggested. Ranita chewed on the inside of her lip.
"Let's see." The two of them stepped off of the branch and landed lightly on the ground. Ranita stared in dismay at the fresh layer of snow.
"Must've snowed during the night," Lada commented.
"So she never came home, 'else her prints'd be ev'rywhere. She never came home."
"Maybe she got lost?" Lada said lamely.
"Y-yea. Maybe she did," Ranita stammered. After all, in the dark, it was easy to get lost, and with the fresh snow, it'd be hard for her to find her way back. She refused to think about the other option, that maybe Snowy had left purposely.
"I'd wait," Lada said swiftly. "S'White's a smart child. She'll find her way home."
"Y-yea." All they could do was wait.
The only sound in the forest was the thumping of her boots in the snow and the heartbeat in her ears. Her breath formed into clouds before she ran through them. Terror clutched at her as did regret. Cel finally stopped to catch her breath at the base of a fir tree. By now, she was far away from the Elven Circle. Cel felt guilty at not having said good-bye to Ranita before she left, but how could she have explained it? Even she did not know why suddenly she fled that night. It was instinct, an urgent sense of danger and nearing doom in her gut, and Cel had always trusted her instincts.
She didn't even know which way she was running, only that the feeling of dread lessened the more she ran in this direction, toward the mountains, away from the Elven Circle and Phanzel Road. Inhaling sharply, Cel began running again.
Having run all through the night and the evening before that, the last time she'd eaten was in the afternoon. When her stomach complained, she'd scooped the snow into her mouth to ease the sharp pains in her abdomen. The mountains never seemed to loom any closer; they simply decorated the horizon, hanging in the distance. She stared at her feet as she ran, the boots that Borsz and Indira had fashioned for her from deer hide, stitched with tendon. The ice cold bit into her feet, which were wrapped in leaves and the shredded remains of her old woolen stockings. Her attire was the same that all the women of the Elven Circle wore, green leggings with a loose dress over it, the sleeves of the top tight. Her cloak was the same that she arrived with, but by now it was weathered and so worn that it offered little warmth. Like everyone else, Cel's hair was chopped short, long hair a nusaince that they could not afford. The longest strands were braided back and knotted messily. The rest of her hair dangled in her eyes, aggravating her even more.
When she bothered to look up again, the mountains were actually closer. Cel stopped again to catch her breath and glance around. For the last few hours the forest had thinned a bit, meadows and clearings more common, the sun streaming easily through. Now, the forest grew back again, not as thick as before, but the trees were closer together. They were mostly pine, needles poking up through the snow.
She'd intended to continue traveling, but oh, how fatigued she was! Surely a short nap could not hurt? Snuggling beneath one low pine, she curled up and slept, hugging her knees for warmth.
The dreams came for her again, as they always had. Peculiar dreams that started soon after her foster mother had died. Always it was the same thing, yet every time it felt more urgent than the time before. In these nighttime visions she saw nothing but whiteness, all around her. Sometimes there would be flashes of blue. Reaching out, she called but heard no answer. Everything was silent in the dream, as if she were deaf. All of a sudden she would begin to rise, floating up. Soft flurries touched her face, cold yet caressing. Strangely, she felt homesick. Now she began to float forward. Sensing rather than actual seeing the beings beside her, Cel floated faster. She floated until her back began to ache, though from what she did not know. Finally she dropped, down down into more whiteness, landing and feeling nothing. Of a sudden, the silence broke, laughter ringing out around her. It was comforting, yet incomplete. Then, a pale bluish mist wafted up before her. Growing upward until the column of smoke was taller than she, it began to take shape. Loosely it formed the shape of a woman, the edges of the image fuzzy, blending in with the surrounding white. The face of this misty woman was not yet formed when, like all the times before, Cel woke with a shudder.
Relieved to see that not much time had passed, Cel ate more snow and continued her journey, trudging wearily onward. For once, Cel began to ponder her own strength. Ever since she could remember, she'd been athletic, having a stamina that many commented on. Drawn to the courts where the boys played, she used to be able to outrun each and every one of them, not even breathing hard by the time they were heaving on the ground. That was, of course, before the sicknesses struck. Still, Cel was quite proud of herself for having run an entire day without food and hardly any rest. That was an encouraging thought.
Aramys was puzzled. All of a sudden, his mother was spending less time with him. Frowning, his three-year-old brain tried to formulate a cause, but in the end he gave up. Looking up, he brightened as he saw his mother sit down in the same room. Rushing over to her, he tugged on his skirt and grinned up at her.
"Not now, Aramys," Silvea told him tiredly. He frowned, a crease forming the middle of his forhead.
"But mama," he whined. Silvea sighed and pulled him up onto her lap.
"Alright, but just one," she gave in. Aramys clapped his hands in glee.
"Magic Mirror!" he cried. Instantly, Silvea shushd him.
"Shh! No, Aramys, I can't tell you that story. Why don't I tell you about Princess Phidella?" Silvea suggested. When Aramy's lower lip trembled, Silvea hugged him tightly. "Oh, fine. But this is the last time I'll tell it."
Aramys grinned and knew that she didn't REALLY mean that.
"Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a princess."
"Grandmama!" Aramys said knowingly. Silvea nodded.
"Yes, your grandmama. Princes Minerva Serenity of the Ahgigi line."
"In the land of Morranilith!" Aramys cried excitedly. Silvea chuckled, amused.
"No, in the land of Mornth, which is now part of Fendel. It--"
"It's where all the big bad monsters live!" Aramys cut in. He pretend to swing a sword. "It's dirty and fiery, with demons that will eat you up--GAR! Nobody lives there, and it stinks, and I wanna go there!"
"Maybe one day, as a knight. All the brave knights go there, wanting to slay devils. Some come back. Some don't."
"I'll come back," Aramys said stubbornly. "I'll kill them ALL!"
"Can I continue with the story? I thought you wanted to hear this?" When Aramys closed his mouth, Silvea kissed him and continued. "So, everyone knew that she was beautiful. Not fashionably pale, but truly beautiful. When Prince Victor of Fendel, eldest of the three sons of King Adnan, conquered her country and killed her father, she begged him to spare her. Promising to give him whatever he asked. Well, Prince Victor took one look at her and fell in love."
Silvea paused. There was part of this story that she dared not share, the darker side of it. The real truth of it was, Prince Victor was already married when he met Silvea's mother. He was married to the beautiful Elyce of Canelrie, the kind and shy daughter of a baron. When Prince Victor killed the King of Mornth, Princess Minerva fled to another fortress, where she gathered an army. Somehow, she managed to draw Prince Victor there, and soon had him at her mercy. It was he who begged her to spare his life. Princess Minerva then did the unimaginable--she demanded that he marry her in exchange for his life and her country.
"They married," Silvea said slowly. "It was an uncomfortable marriage for first several years." Ten years later Elyce had died. "But soon Prince Victor gave her his undivided love and attention. He gave her whatever she wished for. What Princess Minerva wanted most, though, was the best mirror in the world."
"The Mirror of Lady Llewellyn," Aramys breathed.
"The Mirror of Lady Lleilanellyn," Silvea corrected. "It was thought to have magic powers, huge and beautiful. Lady Lleilanellyn supposedly came from another world, a terrifying enchantreses she was. Princess Minerva wanted that mirror. Unfortunately, it was said to come from the Mornth lands. Prince Victor sent his brothers there to fetch it. They never returned. After waiting for them for two years, when I was nearly six, and your auntie Icelynai nearing one--"
"Adopted Auntie IthelyNAI!" Aramys cried, emphasizing the last sound.
"Yes, she was adopted, around when I was five. Anyway, Prince Victor your grandpapa, finally set out for Mornth."
"'On a horse of black and armor of gold.' I want gold armor!"
"No, you don't," Silvea scolded, making a face. "He set out on his black horse Maldi, and wore enchanted gold armor, a gift from Princess Minerva, for the Mornth people were magnifacent armorers. Bravely he rode, to his doom, we all thought. In Mornth he fought dragons and pits of tar. And--"
"The Minesmen!" Aramys added. "They're black as night, covered in soot, strong as six oxes."
"Oxen."
"Strong as six oxen. And they carried axes, they could see in the dark, they had four arms each, and they were three men tall! Grandpapa beat whole herds of 'em!"
"So the rumors go," Silvea smiled. "At last he came to Mornth-he, the largest and thickest forest in Mornth. He fought wood-ogres and Spirit Trees, the distant relatives of our pleasant Oakshees. In the middle of Mornth-he was the ruins of Lady Lleilanellyn's tower. Digging through the rubble, he found the mirror shattered. Still, he took the largest piece he could find and brought it back. Oh, Princess Minerva loved that mirror! She ordered it to be framed and hung in her rooms. Nobody knows for sure if the mirror truly is magic, but some of the servants whisper that she can spy with it, or ask for the future. Ol' Welborne, he was convinced until the end of his days that Queen Minerva spoke to it, asking every morning: Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"
"And it always told her that she was!" Aramys finished, satisfied. This was his favorite story because it concerned people he knew. His own grandpapa was a hero! He fought monsters! Leaning against his mother, Aramys closed his eyes and dozed off, dreaming of glory and knighthood.
Chapter Nine~
Intolerable pain shot up her leg with every new step she took.
Oh, sweet gods have mercy! she thought. Hunger was causing the edges of her vision to dim. Three days straight, she'd walked, having neither rested nor ate. In fact, she hadn't eaten since she left the Elven Circle more than a week ago. Cel shook from the cold, though no winds blew. The mountains were much closer now, and Cel almost believed that she might reach them alive. Another coughing fit seized her, and Cel knew that she had to find food and shelter soon. Gazing at the mountains a while, she could see the many caves that pocked its side. Just a little further, she told herself. If she could make it to the mountains before fainting from exhaustion, hunger, or cold, then she would sleep in a warmer place for that night.
All her physial reserves were long gone--Icelynai was moving by sheer will alone. It was her mind that FORCED her legs to continue, her heel to inch forward and strike the ground before her. Heel, toe, heel, toe, left, right, left, right, one step at a time. Breathing had become more than a labor, for it was now a fight. Almost as if something large and heavy sat on her chest, Cel struggled to suck in air. Added to this was the pains in her sides, like serrated knives. Between the knives lay the void, where her stomach had stopped complaining and instead punished her.
At last she could go no further. Her body simply would not permit it. She slumped, like the heap that she was, to the ground, knees hitting first and then the rest of her following. The upper part of her body tipped dangerously forward. Suddenly, Cel was pitched forward, tumbling down, down, down. Sticks and stones hurt her as she rolled, toward the frozen river at the bottom, which the land sloped down to meet.
On instinct, she threw up her hands as she hit the ice. From the momentum that had built up, not to mention her weight, the ice broke through easily. Freezing water swept through her, chilling her instantaneously to the bone. Her mouth opened to scream but instead the water rushed in. Trying to fight to the surface with what little energy she had was impossible. For a few moments, Cel struggled in the water, choking and swallowing liquid by the quarts. At last, with nothing left in her, the thrashing ceased.
All was silent.
Sen was the one who saw the broken ice. It was he who dove into it and pulled the floating body to land. To his lips did she awaken. After finding no pulse, Sen had pushed on her belly, on her chest, then pressed his mouth to hers and blew the breath of life. After several minutes of this, Sen almost dispaired, but at last she spit out water and gulped sweet oxygen.
In his arms he carried the shivering maiden up to higher lands. Trekking through the forest, his wet boots making sloshing sounds, they headed toward the mountains. He moved quickly, half-running. Like a wolf, he moved effortlessly despite the burden he carried. His legs and strides were long.
The land sloped upward and still his speed did not cease. There was no road to follow, but there was no need. Sen knew the mountains and the surrounding forests better than anyone could possibly hope to learn in a lifetime. He could avoid even the smallest scratch of a branch or a snaring of his clothing, almost as if the plants made way for him.
The trees never thinned, but the beneath the snow underfoot was no longer soil, but stone. Black stone, hard and transparent at times, was the color of the ground and the mountain. It was sturdy and had many uses, perfect for caves and mining. While any less experienced person would've slipped, Sen ran smoothly over it, his feet barely touching the ground.
At last they arrived at a tiny cave, more of a hole, really. Sen had to walk sideways into the entrance and duck his head. Instantly, they were plunged into darkness, but that was to be expected. His eyes adjusted immediately. The cave was not as small as it appeared on the outside. Rather, it was enormous, ten men high and nearly thirty across.
"Gaelan!" Sen called, his voice echoing in the large chamber. "Gaelan, come quickly!" A man half a foot shorter than he, broad-shouldered, strong, and burly, hurried forward with torch in hand.
"What ye've gone and done now?" his deep voice sounded. Sen sighed.
"Kistur, where is Gaelan? This is important! I found this fair maiden in the river. She will freeze to death if we don't hurry!" The man frowned. "Please," Sen begged. "You can't just let her die!" At last the Kistur relented.
"Gaelan's not 'ere now, but we'll do the best we can." He tore off his shirt and placed it over the shivering figure in Sen's arms. "I'll fetch cloth."
The two of them raced toward the back of the cave. This large chamber, if looked at closely, had many holes in its sides. The two of them slipped quickly into one. The passageway was narrow and low, like all the others. They traveled this way for a long time, the passage dipping lower and lower, growing quite cold. After some time, the passageway widened. Now there were passageways that branched off this main hallway. Kistur swung into one of them, a small cave which served as a room.
Onto the straw mattress in the center the pale lady was placed. Sen lit candles around the room, while from a trunk Kistur pulled yards of cloth. These they wrapped around the shivering figure. Even in her unconscious state, coughs racked from her being. Underneath her eyelids, eyes roved. From a pouch at his waist Sen drew leaves. These he placed under her nose, willing her wake.
"We need hot water," he told Kistur, who understood instantly. Quickly the man bustled out of the room. Sen rubbed the maiden's arms in vain attempts to warm her. By the time Kistur return with a kettle of boiling water, she still had not awakened. Grunting, Kistur cupped a hand over her mouth and nose. Sen looked at him in alarm.
"What are you doing?"
"Me friend taught me. Cut off 'er air, and she wakes. You see?" he exclaimed as her eyes fluttered open. Sen filled an earthen cup with the water and blew across its surface, handing it to her.
"Careful, it's hot," he warned her. Heedless of his warning, she drained the cup. Then she crawled further under the cloth and shivered, teeth chattering. The normally white skin was blue, veins easily visible along her face. She glanced curiously up at them, smiling gratefully.
"What's ye name, lass?" Kistur asked roughly. When she did not answer, Kistur grew angry with her. "Lass, we saved yer life. We deserve an honest answer."
"Kistur, don't," Sen said softly, holding his shoulder. He eyed the girl. From her hollowed cheeks, he could tell that she hadn't eaten in a while. Reaching into the deerskin pouch, he withdrew jerky and handed it to her. "I think you'll be wanting this."
Without a second's hesitation, her hand lashed out and scooped up the dried meat. In the blink of an eye, they were gone. Smiling ruefully, Sen emptied the contents of his pouch onto the mattress. It mostly contained nuts and more jerky. There were even a few tiny slices of bread. These, too, were devoured in seconds. With her eyes she begged for more. Sen sighed.
"Kistur, I'll go fetch more of the jerky from the storage rooms. Could you do your best to find Gaelan?" Without waiting for an answer, Sen left. Kistur glared at the girl. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"Now ye listen, lass. I'll tell ye now--I lose my temper easy. And I'm not happy with ye. Sen went through a lot of trouble bringin ye up 'ere. Didn't even do the day's hunting. So ye best think up a good story by the next time I ask."
When she didn't answer, Gaelan grew even angrier. Now she was being rude and disrespectful. Curling his fingers into a fist, he pulled the arm back, pretending to strike. When the maiden flinched, he laughed. It was not a laugh of amusement, but menacing and filled with malice, meant to scare and hurt her. Obviously it worked, for she shrank back from him.
Kistur laughed harder, this time in amusement, and turned out of the cave.
Cel watched him leave with relief and dread. She couldn't speak, so how could she get out of this horrid predicament? Clutching the cloth closer, Cel decided that death wouldn't be too horrible. What was there to live for, anyway?
For now, her stomach was eased a little, and she was warm. That was something, at least. Kistur and Sen. They were uncommon names, but not overly unusual. Sen seemed to be the kinder. He'd saved her, after all, and offered her food. Even his black eyes were smiling, and his voice was calm. Tall and lean, his long black locks were tied at the nape of the neck.
Kistur, on the other hand, had ruddy hair and a shaggy beard that hid the majority of his face. Large blue eyes were his best feature, but there was nothing nice about them. To his deep, loud voice there was a ferocity. If Gaelan was anything like Kistur, then she would be doomed.
A coughing spell clutched her again, but it was shorter than the ones she'd had before. Calling up everything she had in her, Cel stood and poured water from the steaming kettle. With shaking malnutritioned hands she drank the water. The warmth of it traveled down her body, causing her to shake from its warmth. Sometimes she sipped the water, and other times she downed it quickly, but the kettle was empty by the time Sen arrived, basket of food in his arms.
Cel's mouth watered. Food! Sweet and glorious food! It was mostly dried, but food was food, and Cel heartily gorged herself. Sen watched with amusement, but after some time he took the basket from her. Cel waved her arms in protest, mouth still full of food.
"It's best not to eat too much and then kill yourself," he told her reasonably. He looked over her now-damp clothing. "It might be a while until we get you clothing. Unless you don't mind wearing men's clothing."
The latter had been a joke, but when Cel shrugged he frowned. "Honestly, you wouldn't mind wearing men's clothing?" When Cel nodded he laughed. "Well, I supposed to you any dry clothes are good."
"Is this her?" a light voice asked from behind Sen. Quickly Sen gave a tiny repectful bow, then gestured toward Cel. The newcomer was shorter than Sen by only a few inches, taller than Kistur. Unlike Kistur's long shaggy beard, he wore his beard but close to the skin. The beard was white and he was bald. Still, he seemed to be not old. His build was much like Kistur's, heavily muscled everywhere, broad-shouldered and broad-chested. The pale green eyes were small, but wise.
"She's eaten already," Sen commented. Gaelan looked her over.
"Well, she needs it. Hasn't eaten for more than a week, eh?" When Cel nodded, he felt her forhead with a very calloused hand. "No fever," he commented. Then he felt for her pulse. Finding nothing strange, the man placed an ear against Cel's back and ordered her to breathe. "She seems well enough. No peculiar sickness that I can tell. Plenty of sleep and a good diet should be the cure. I hear a loud wheezing in the lungs, but that should be just the common cold."
"Have you spoken with Bazek yet?" Sen asked quietly. The older man shook his head.
"Ye know I haven't." His accent, Cel realized, was much like Kistur's, but more educated. "Though I gather he won't be happy. This is the second day that ye've brought back no game."
"I'll leave at once," Sen told him, and he did. With a new warm cloak around his shoulder and dry boots, Sen whirled 'round and turned out into the passageway. Gaelan watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Cel. To her throat he placed his hand.
"Say something," he instructed her. Cel stared at him. She could not speak! Why, it'd been nearly eight years since she had uttered any word! The man tapped a foot impatiently. "Say 'aye.'"
Swallowing nervously, Cel was did her best. Her mouth opened to form the words. Her throat convulsed. The sound that came out was like a gurgling cough. When the man was startled, Cel tried again, afraid that if she didn't say anything, Gaelan would diagnose her with a strange illness. Again she opened her mouth. The back of her mouth quivered. Her throat vibrated.
"Aye," Cel whispered hoarsely. Then she gasped. "Aye," she repeated. It was a miracle! She was--she was SPEAKING! "I can speak!" Cel hissed. Her voice was rough from disuse, but she was making sounds. She was speaking. Cel wanted to jump for joy, scream to the world. Indeed she did try, but her weak voice what not premit it. Gaelan was suprised as she beamed up at him. He could not figure out why she was so excited.
"Well, yer voice is rather worn out. Most likely from the coughing," he concluded. Cel shook her head.
"No. I haven't spoken in eight years."
"Eight years?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Are ye going to tell me why?"
"Yes," Cel answered, savoring every word. She wanted to talk every moment of every day for the rest of her life. Oh, the joys of speech! "It's simple. I couldn't speak. When I was close to eight, my voice suddenly stopped. The healers tried everything, but it seemed that I was mute."
"Very strange," Gaelan muttered. "Very strange indeed." Then he brightened. "Well, 'tis a good thing for ye. Now ye can tell yer tale to King Basilius. What is yer name, lass?"
Cel paused. If she told them her real name, would they return her to her stepmother? Pondering a while at this, Cel finally decided that it would be safer not to.
"I was called Snow White for the last four years," she answered. It was actually a truthful answer. After all, her full name, Icelynai Bianca, indeed meant 'Snow White.' Perhaps it was a kind twist of faith, or just pure coinincidence that Ranita of the Elven Circle had chosen that exact translation.
Gaelan looked at her closely for a moment, studying her face. Then he nodded, satisfyied that she wasn't lying.
"Have yer tale ready for supper tonigh'. 'Til then, yer free to rest. We've an empty cave down the hall. Let me show it to ye." Cel smiled and followed him timidly. The third home of her life. Kistur's unsaid threat played in her mind. Despite that she was no longer cold, Cel shivered. Maybe luck be kind to her just once more.