Part Eight
First let me apologize: I did not forget you! SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY for the long update!! I tried, really really, to overcome my writer's block. Yeah, I had MAJOR writer's block!!!!! I rewrote this chapter 3 times! That's why it took me so long. I kept reading it and going: No, this isn't good. Then I'd delete it and start again!!
*sigh* I'm only now realizing how inadequate my first few chapters were. I cannot wait until I complete this version of the story and then rewrite it, with a thoroughly sufficient beginning!!
Chapter Twenty-two~
MORNTH-HE, 148 YEARS EARLIER
"It's a riddle," Lei explained impatiently. "The whole thing's some excerpt of a passage; it must be. I went to Gemadir Hèrawyn for more books about the histories of the Northern People."
"While you were busy with fanciful balls and pompous royal duties," Amedon teased, "we slaved away over these books; boring, droning passages that we fell asleep over."
"It's not my fault!" Evelwyn protested. "I'm the Druis--I have to make an appearance! It's the--"
"We understand," Lei interuppted, giving Amedon a warning look. "What it says here, on the top of the box, is a passage from a poem, called by the Northern People the 'Celska Kiasci Icèlæni Bïané,' or, Song of the White-Snow'd Queen. It's a very popular poem, an important part of their culture, it seems."
"Written by a bard during her reign," Amedon said, holding the book open. "It's a ballad, actually. It mostly tells about her great beauty and power. The usually court flattery."
"Only perhaps not," Lei said. "They have paintings of her, and I must say, she is rather lovely. Then again, painters tend to improve the appearance of nobility when they paint portraits, but that is besides the point. What the history of the Northern People, or at least these books and records, claim is that she had powers the likes of which had never been seen before since The Great Mage himself."
Lei opened the large, leather-bound book to a series of colorful sketches. One image was of a woman, her smooth skin a pale blue and graceful, arching wings of a darker blue. She was long-limbed and -fingered and wore a white gown, simple and regal. From admist her white hair shone a bright blue gem inlaid in silver, her crown. The queen's face was young and sad.
Amedon turned the page to reveal a painting. The same sad-eyed woman was now hovering in flight above a row of ice-carved statues, their gaping expressions so terrible and lifelike that they seemed like real people, frozen in time...
"This is what happened in the Battle for Skilscekan," Amedon explained. "From the records, it seemed that she incased her enemy army in ice. An entire army of six hundred soldiers, frozen!"
"So what does this have to do with my box?" Evelwyn demanded irritably. "Did it really belong to her?"
"Well, we're not really sure." Lei closed the book. "This Kiasci was a hard queen, merciless to her enemies, ruthless when doling out punishment to those who disobeyed her. She had a sad childhood, though, which might explain that. But, more to the point, around the box is just incantations and spells, simple ones and complex ones. The lid, right here, just says 'Icèlæni Bïané' in the Common Tongue, but these swirls around it is the passage from the poem, in Northern."
"'When moon covered sun,'" Amedon read,
"'Her power waned, power grew.
Of weaving spells and potions,
Our Queen, white as snow, was skilled.'
Then it skips to the middle of the ballad:
'With her mighty power,
She defeated our foes.
With strength, her magic so great,
Our White-Snow'd Queen!'
Eh, then down to the last part of the ballad:
'Sealed away her Gifts,
Her magical Blessings.
Imprisoned in wood, her essence,
Our Queen!
Her fair beauty diminished, locked away.
The Fairest of them All she was,
Until day became night.
Never again shall she be free,
Until unleashed by maiden fairest,
Then again will she walk, Fairest of Them All,
When Night and Day join at last.'"
"It rhymes in the Northern Tongue," Lei apologized, "and it's a beautiful ballad, actually, though sad. Anyway, this is what we make of it--for some reason, she tired of being a queen, or maybe just tired of life, so she put away her powers into chests of wood. In forsaking her Faerie powers, she became mortal and died."
"So, what you're saying is that this box contains her power?" Evelwyn demanded incredulously.
"Well, that's our guess...and it can only be opened when 'moon covers sun' and by a really beautiful maiden, though I don't know if they mean physically beautiful or spiritually beaufiul," Lei finished. "I suppose these spells on the side are to protect the chest, or something of the sort."
"What do you think, Evel?" Amedon asked excitedly.
"Let's open it!" Evelwyn said enthusiastically. "Lei, you're always stargazing. When will this 'moon covers sun' thing happen?"
"I have no idea," Lei admitted. "I'll do more research."
Evelwyn groaned.
SOUTHERN SLIVITT PROVENCE
A swirl of white and blue pressed downward, sweeping across the plains and leaving behind snow and ice five feet deep. The roaring of wind and wings moved over the mountains, leaving the bare trees laden with gifts of white and crystal.
Faster and faster they moved south, the Children of the Snow. Their bodies were already weary, their frozen, brittle wings thinning from the constant beating of the air. From the front, their prince urged them onward, motivating them.
'Only a little farther!' he cried. 'Only a little while until we claim the South again as our own! My people, have courage! Strength!"
'They need rest!' Ciak gasped. 'They cannot go much further!'
'Ai, we only need go a little further! Only a little further until we cross the borders of the Slivitt Provence!' declared his prince.
And they continued south with a flurry of beating wings, as one body. They watched the land slope down, down, ever downward as they peeled further away from the mountains. The trees of the forests changed. They grew denser here; tighter and tighter they pulled together until the forest was a dark blanket beneath them that became a white blanket once they passed.
At last the trees began to thin again and the lands rose into slopes. Together, they dropped from the sky and plummetted into the shadows of the forest. Should any but the Faerie folk pass them, they would not be able to see the beings against the piles of freshly fallen snow.
The prince clutched his sides and felt his battered wings quivering as the magic in his faerie blood worked swiftly to repair the damage done during the flight. Soon he straightened again and stood tall and proud as he swept an expert eye over his people.
Already they had begun their work. Here the snow was several feet deep already; they could not stay long else they would freeze the ground and kill the life in it. Adults rested against huge heaps of hardened snow while tired children were already curled in sleep.
"Kinsaik! Slaenkii!" cried one female, Lachii. "Celska! Ai, Ichaaniskk! Celska, icelainii! Kkaich celska!"
He watched as she gestured furiously to her weary companions nearby. They were in no mood to whisper, much less sing. With an amused smile, he watched as she continued to urge people to maintain one of their people's oldest traditions: the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, the night of singing that followed a long flight. The prince agreed with them; he didn't feel like singing, either.
"Ai, Kiasc celska," suggested some one. Surprised, the prince turned to find his mother, feeble in her old age, sitting atop a mound of ice and smiling with a tired content she had not shown in years. To her left stood Ciak, on her right was Nekkail; they had carried her weakinging body during the entire trip.
'Mother,' he said softly, and bowed respectfully.
'I remember well,' she said, 'the days when I was young enough to fly south, the days when it was safe enough for us to fly south.'
'Yes,' he murmured.
'And the only good thing about those long, tiring flights was the singing afterward,' she said, giving him a stern look. Her skin and hair were now the purest white, the sacred color that came only with wisdom and age. Being so old, her ice-wings were thin as gossamer and completely useless for flying. Her eyes remained ever the same, however, pale blue of sky and still sharp.
'During the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, we can find heart again, and comfort. You young ones brush it aside, but you have never witnessed the power of it,' she told him. 'Lachii, what shall we sing?'
'What of... what of Celska Kaisec Skilscekan?' Lachii asked cautiously. The old queen frowned.
'No, that is not proper. We do not sing of dishonor or battle in the Celska kailech Slaenkii. We sing of great deeds and great people who deserve to be remembered, if they reached good ends or not.'
'How will Celski Kkaich Icelainii do?' Lachii suggested. Again the queen shook her head.
'Let us sing something sad. I feel too weary as of now to be merry. Let us sing of Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané.' She turned to her son. 'Let our leader lead us in the first song of the Celska Kailech Slaenkii.'
'Celska Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané?' he said doubtfully. 'I'm not sure I remember all of it, but I will try nonetheless. I have not sung anything in a long time,' he added, 'so do forgive my bad voice.'
'The Faerie People can sing nothing wrong, my son' she said, her humor evident. 'It is one of our Blessings.'
'Yes, mother.' He swallowed nervously.
"K-iich cesik iichi," he began, his voice forming the words of his people like a sharp and biting cold wind, yet strangely soft like flakes of snow at the same time.
'When moon covered sun, she was born, in unending night, cold evermore. Winter child, daughter of Cold, a queen emerged. White Snow of Snow Children, pride of the People, she was. Beautiful, Fairest of Them All, she grew to be. Lovely child, darling Daughter of Snow. Pure of blood, pure of heart, pure of soul, Snow White!'
'So long ago, raised by Lai-Kiaiin, her mother's sister, jealous, envious. Hated White Snow, the mother's sister, who could not see it. Hated her, hurt her, our poor Snow White! Lost, lost she was in Kiaiin's spells.'
'Yet: Strong and wise, kind became she. The Lai she watched, from her she learned. O, clever White Snow! When moon covered sun, her power waned, power grew. Of weaving spells and potions, our Queen, white as snow, was skilled. The Lai she fought; victorious she was! So came our White Snow'd queen, O' Snow White!'
'Happy times, we rejoiced, celebrated! Here was a queen, a Child of Snow like never before! We loved her, worshipped her, White Snow. Ai, the great Queen, ruling wise, reigning just...'
His voice was with the strength of youth. Others had joined in now, singing along to the well-known ballad. Their voices rose into the sky. The old queen had spoke true, for in this song they found again strength and felt as if they had rested well for days. She added her own voice, filled with power, to theirs. Even the young ones, who did not know the words, offered wordless cries to mingle with the sad melody.
From afar, their voices sounded like a giant storm, the wrath of the gods unleashed on earth. They sang long into the night. When at last the song was finished, they rose again, and flew in the embrace of the Moon.
Chapter Twenty-three~
Cel could hardly believe her good luck. Here she was, sitting in the back of a jewel-filled cart beside Sen as Gaelan spoke comforting words to Vortnethismi to hurry them along to Salpas. The day before, after an hour of arguing, Bazek had finally let her go, as compensation for the flying-carpet-incident.
"Old Man Kookos--"
"Old Man KOOKOS??"
Sen smiled. "He's been called that for ages. He's the fisherman. No one else can catch Royal Salmon like Old Man Kookos. We go to him first and buy three barrel-fulls. Next is the Crazy Cove for cloth. The innkeeper's wife makes the best. We'll need to buy extra this year, for you."
"That's not necessary," Cel said quickly. Sen glanced down at her patched trousers.
"You can hardly continue wearing my clothes," he pointed out politely. "Then we need to buy new shoes. Hamel makes good boots, sturdy ones, but Jongo makes the comfortable shoes."
"Which one do we buy from?"
"Both. Yumon makes paper; we'll need leafs for Bazek. His twin Yukinn creates nice, leather journal-books. Those are for Gaelan--he's our bookkeeper when he has time."
"How long will we be staying in Salpas? Is it nice there?"
"We stay a week, usually. Sometimes two. It's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you. Anyway, after Yumon and Yukinn, we see Khalei for soaps."
"But not to you?"
"I beg your parden?" Sen blinked.
"You said that 'it's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you.'"
"It's a very Human village, Cel. Stone homes,"--Sen looked uncomfortable for a moment--"dirt roads, livestock everywhere, open fields, children running around, overgrown gardens and long grasses... Now, after Khalei, we visit Sibet for a new set of brooms, and then--"
"What's wrong with that?" Cel asked in surprise. "It sounds like a lovely place to live. Very homey."
"I knew you'd think so," Sen said with a sigh.
"What sort of home do you prefer?" she asked curiously. Sen frowned for a moment and glanced to Gaelan, who was suddenly fascinated with the trees flanking the road to Salpas.
"Caves, of course," Sen said quickly, "glistening with minerals, ready to be plucked. The home of any Minen."
"Mm-hmm," Cel remarked skeptically, obviously unconvinced.
"Anyway, bartering and arguing over prices takes time," Sen continued. "So we usually stay a week, at the abandoned cottage near the edge of the wood. Nobody minds that we take up residence for a week in that place--after the witch left it, travellers passing through Salpas have been free to shelter themselves there."
"A witch used to live there??"
"Village gossip," Gaelan muttered. "Superstitious folk, in Salpas. They're a bit shy o' the likes of us. Rather not have anythin' to do wit us, but they need the money and we need the trade. As for ye, lass, I suggest ye stay nice and safe in that cottage while we do our bit o' work."
"But then I might as well not have come!" Cel cried.
"I thought ye wanted to go places, and ye are."
"That's not what I meant!" Cel protested.
"Look, princess--we've taken ye in," Gaelan said patiently, "and so now we've got to care for ye. So I can't have ye gettin' hurt or anythin', hear? So yer to stay in the cottage while we trade or I'll turn this cart right 'round and take us back to Vortneth!"
"Fine," Cel agreed sulkily. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"The cottage could use repair," Sen suggested. Cel sighed.
"This is just great. I finally get out to travel and end up doing MORE chores!!"
Gaelan and Sen grinned.
The cottage was as lovely as they promisd her. Though its rosy bricks were crumbling, and the black shingles on its roof were falling down, it still managed to be a charming building. If she squinted, Cel could see it as it probably used to appear.
After Sen and Cel had jumped out the cart, Gaelan loosed the wagon from Vortnethismi, letting the horse loose into the overgrown garden behind the cottage. The wagon they pushed into the falling, leaning unstably aginst the side of the building.
Eagerly, Cel ran inside, hoping the inside would be better than the cottage's exterior. When she looked around, she was barely able to swallow her disappointment. There was one large room only, the floor earthen. A couch against the east wall was riddled with holes. A large dining table with chairs was in the center of the room, covered in rotting leftovers and unwashed dishes. Cel thought she spied rats, but couldn't be sure.
The kitchen was nestled against the wall to her left. The sink, too, was filled with dirty dishes. The pots had been left out, crusty food still in them. The entire place reeked.
"Oh!" was all Cel could manage.
"Seems like not one's pass'd by lately," Gaelan muttered.
"It looks nice when it's been fixed up," Sen told her apolegitcally.
"An' ye've got a whole week to do it," Gaelan remarked with a grin.
Grumbling, she noticed the stairway in the corner was missing several steps, but nonetheless she raced up them to the attic. The attic, too, was an absolute mess. Beds, pallets, and cots of different sizes were scattered around the dusty room. A section of the roof had fallen in, the shingles and wood on the floor.
Now she openly gaped in exasperation.
"I was going to warn you not to come up," Sen said as he stepped up the stairs. "Oh--it looks as if the rain season was none to kind to our roof."
"We can't stay here," Cel said suddenly.
"Were do you propose we stay?"
"I don't know, at an inn or something," Cel snapped, glaring at the pile of shingles. What was supposed to be a grand escape had turned into a horrible week of work and she was frustrated and angry.
"We can't," Sen said.
"What do you mean, we can't?" Cel demanded, running furiously down the steps.
"Ai, the natives won't let us stay in the village," Sen explained, following her. "They're wary of us, remember?"
"An' after all these decades o' doin' work wit 'em," Gaelan said, shaking his head. "Are ye hungry, lass?"
"Not really," Cel said, eyeing the dining table. Gaelan chuckled.
"Ah, ye needn't cook tonight. We'll go into town for lunch."
"Really?" Cel brightened considerably.
"Aye. They've an inn a bit ways off from the main parts o' town--what do they call it, Sen?"
"The Crazy Cove, I think," Sen said, smiling. "Charming people there, and the food is quite filling, though a bit lacking."
"Aye," sighed Gaelan. "Food just isn't right wit no Gamelin."
"That's what you think," Cel teased. "Me, I like food without Gamelin just fine. I hope they have some nice ice-malts, and rabbit stew, and--"
"Our rabbit stew is just fine!" Sen cried in alarm.
"Well, I've never tried your rabbit stew," Cel admitted, "but I suppose that might be because you don't like trapping very much."
"We had those hares once," Sen said, "but you didn't try them."
"An' trappin's for them that can't hunt," Gaelan told her. "Now we'd best hurry on, as we're goin' to walk there."
"Are we just going to leave Vortnethismi here with all the jewels ungaurded?"
"Ai, Cel, Vortnethismi can defend our goods by himself, don't ye worry," Gaelan told her. "Kistur's seen t' that."
"What're we going to pay for our meals with?" Cel cried.
Sen pulled a pouchful of gem scrapings from his tunic. "These, of course."
Chapter Twenty-four~
Queen Minerva was ecstatic as she beheld her creation. Of course, to others it appeared nothing but a simple apple, but that was the ingeniousness of it.
Long had she slaved away on the potions and at last, here it was. One half of the apple was a rose red, melting away to a pear-white color.
This one mere fruit would grant her both beauty and the death of her hated stepdaughter in one brilliant stroke. After years of strengthening her powers, she was strong enough for this.
Then Evelwyn's Gift would be hers.
"I find it strange," Perita said in a bored tone, "that people search so hard to find what is most likely a myth or an old wives' tale."
"It's true; I know it!" snapped Queen Minerva, momentarily pulled out of her good mood. "My mother searched her whole life for it."
"And she was a fool," drawled Perita, "like so many others before her. Do you have any idea how many people have wasted their lives in the obsession that is finding Evelwyn's Gift?"
"Yes, yes, I know," muttered Queen Minerva. "But I will be the one to find it."
"Foolish, everyone," Perita smiled, shaking her head. "Even if they do find Evelwyn's Gift, they don't know what they'll find. They don't know what it is."
"It is power like no other," Queen Minerva said angrily.
"What if it is the power to turn into a chair?" Perita retorted. "I'd certainly call THAT a 'power like no other.'"
"In it lies a great power," answered Queen Minerva through gritted teeth.
"Well, 'great' can be defined in many ways," replied Perita. "Personally, I don't think it's worth it. All the Great Mages of our world have been obsessed with finding it once they heard about it, and look where it led them. Merwyn the Sighted grew mad, Grinning Helda was lost in the He, L--"
"I KNOW!" Queen Minerva snapped. "But none of them were the Fairest, where they?"
Ranita whistled cheerfully as she scrubbed down the tables. Working at the Crazy Cove was hard, especially compared to the lighter work in the Elven Circle, but it was some how more fulfilling at a day's end than an evening of food-gathering could ever be.
The Crazy Cove was usually more prosperous, Willem told her, but to Ranita it seemed prosperous enough. Simply the village men arriving without fail every noon for lunch and every night to get drunk was enough money to keep the inn alive.
The busy lunchtime was already over and Ranita could relax soon. She'd finished scrubbing the last table when two men entered. Ranita stifled a groan and instead adopted a bright smile.
"Good day, sirs--"
She stopped short when she saw them, as it was obvious that they weren't locals. The two gave her a shy smile and sat down at the table she had just cleaned.
"We'd like rabbit stew," the black-haired one told her with a laugh. "Three bowls, please. No ale, just--"
"Ice-malts," the older-seeming one finished, laughing as well.
"But there are only two of you," Ranita said with a frown.
"Cel will be here in a bit," the one with onyx eyes told her.
Still frowning, she nodded and hurried to the kitchens in the back.
"Rabbit stew, three bowls," she told Revinn.
"More?" he demanded incredulously.
"Some men just walked in here--they're not locals," she said.
"Are they tall or short?" Revinn asked as he began to start the fire again. "The traders from Burtain come 'round at this time of the year, when they feel like it."
"I dunno," Ranita said as she began to knead dough for rolls. "About normal height, I'd say, but they seems strange, that's what."
"Whaddya mean, strange?" Revinn asked curiously.
"Well..." Ranita hesitated. "It's more a feelin' than anything else," she admited at last.
"What do they look like?"
"Ah--one of them is black-haired and -eyed. The other one is shorter has a white beard though he is bald. I haven't seen the third, yet."
Revinn nearly dropped his pot. "Are they dressed strangely?"
"Aye," Ranita said, recalling their clothing. "Not like any fashion I've seen 'fore."
"Those must be the Minen, then," Revinn grunted. "Thought they wouldn't come this year. They're far too late."
"Minen?"
"Dwarves. Children of the Mines. Call 'em what you will, they bring nothin' good. One can feel it. We only deal with 'em 'cause we need the jewels."
"Jewels?" Ranita asked politely.
"Remember what Willem told ya? They trade us jewels for our goods. It's always those two that come. They've never brought a third 'fore. Wonder what this one looks like."
"Well, the other one called him 'Cel.'"
"Don't care much for those names," grunted Revinn.
"Enough talk," Willem scolded, poking his head into the room. "We can't keep our customers waiting!"
"Yessir," Ranita responded cheekily. Revinn and Ranita worked in efficient silence after that. In no time at all the leftover rabbit stew had been reheated, the rolls were golden-brown, and the ice-malts were ready. All done in typical Crazy Cove fashion.
With now-experienced grace, Ranita balanced a hot bowl in each hand and pushed open the swinging door with her shoulder. The third person had arrived, though Ranita couldn't get a good look at him, as his back was to her. However, his hair, too, was ebony-black, though it was waist-length.
"Here is your stew," Ranita said with her usual cheer, placing the bowls down before them. "I'll get yours, sir--"
She froze upon seeing the third member of their party.
"Ranita?" gasped Cel.
"Snowy?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Grr.... things I plan to do in the revised vision:
*Don't take away Cel's speech
*Give more base info about Minen in the beginning
*Develop Silvea's character more
*Develop Laich's character more
*While I'm at it... develop CEL'S character more!!!! Grr... she has no personality!!! God, this version is SO lacking!
*Revise the whole Maximilian thing... that was kinda pointless... I had originally a quite different plot, but... :shrug:
*Possibly bring Evelwyn into the story much earlier
*Definitely bring up the subject of Evelwyn's Gift much earlier
*Edit Perita's personality a bit, and make her appear much earlier in the story
*Make Cel run away much later
*Edit the whole Elven Circle bit (can you believe that the Elven Circle was inspired by The Lost World and Robin Hood? Yeah... what do THEY have to do with Elves???)
*Revise circumstances surrounding Ranita's leaving the Elven Circle
*More scenes regarding Silvea
Object to any of my planned revisions??
One more question... (for another story I'm working on...)
Other than Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, can you think of any other fairy tales that involve 3 sisters???? I'm desperate!!
P.S. Why IS it that inns always have to have animals and alliterations in their names? i.e., The Prancing Pony, the Dancing Dove
First let me apologize: I did not forget you! SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY for the long update!! I tried, really really, to overcome my writer's block. Yeah, I had MAJOR writer's block!!!!! I rewrote this chapter 3 times! That's why it took me so long. I kept reading it and going: No, this isn't good. Then I'd delete it and start again!!
*sigh* I'm only now realizing how inadequate my first few chapters were. I cannot wait until I complete this version of the story and then rewrite it, with a thoroughly sufficient beginning!!
Chapter Twenty-two~
MORNTH-HE, 148 YEARS EARLIER
"It's a riddle," Lei explained impatiently. "The whole thing's some excerpt of a passage; it must be. I went to Gemadir Hèrawyn for more books about the histories of the Northern People."
"While you were busy with fanciful balls and pompous royal duties," Amedon teased, "we slaved away over these books; boring, droning passages that we fell asleep over."
"It's not my fault!" Evelwyn protested. "I'm the Druis--I have to make an appearance! It's the--"
"We understand," Lei interuppted, giving Amedon a warning look. "What it says here, on the top of the box, is a passage from a poem, called by the Northern People the 'Celska Kiasci Icèlæni Bïané,' or, Song of the White-Snow'd Queen. It's a very popular poem, an important part of their culture, it seems."
"Written by a bard during her reign," Amedon said, holding the book open. "It's a ballad, actually. It mostly tells about her great beauty and power. The usually court flattery."
"Only perhaps not," Lei said. "They have paintings of her, and I must say, she is rather lovely. Then again, painters tend to improve the appearance of nobility when they paint portraits, but that is besides the point. What the history of the Northern People, or at least these books and records, claim is that she had powers the likes of which had never been seen before since The Great Mage himself."
Lei opened the large, leather-bound book to a series of colorful sketches. One image was of a woman, her smooth skin a pale blue and graceful, arching wings of a darker blue. She was long-limbed and -fingered and wore a white gown, simple and regal. From admist her white hair shone a bright blue gem inlaid in silver, her crown. The queen's face was young and sad.
Amedon turned the page to reveal a painting. The same sad-eyed woman was now hovering in flight above a row of ice-carved statues, their gaping expressions so terrible and lifelike that they seemed like real people, frozen in time...
"This is what happened in the Battle for Skilscekan," Amedon explained. "From the records, it seemed that she incased her enemy army in ice. An entire army of six hundred soldiers, frozen!"
"So what does this have to do with my box?" Evelwyn demanded irritably. "Did it really belong to her?"
"Well, we're not really sure." Lei closed the book. "This Kiasci was a hard queen, merciless to her enemies, ruthless when doling out punishment to those who disobeyed her. She had a sad childhood, though, which might explain that. But, more to the point, around the box is just incantations and spells, simple ones and complex ones. The lid, right here, just says 'Icèlæni Bïané' in the Common Tongue, but these swirls around it is the passage from the poem, in Northern."
"'When moon covered sun,'" Amedon read,
"'Her power waned, power grew.
Of weaving spells and potions,
Our Queen, white as snow, was skilled.'
Then it skips to the middle of the ballad:
'With her mighty power,
She defeated our foes.
With strength, her magic so great,
Our White-Snow'd Queen!'
Eh, then down to the last part of the ballad:
'Sealed away her Gifts,
Her magical Blessings.
Imprisoned in wood, her essence,
Our Queen!
Her fair beauty diminished, locked away.
The Fairest of them All she was,
Until day became night.
Never again shall she be free,
Until unleashed by maiden fairest,
Then again will she walk, Fairest of Them All,
When Night and Day join at last.'"
"It rhymes in the Northern Tongue," Lei apologized, "and it's a beautiful ballad, actually, though sad. Anyway, this is what we make of it--for some reason, she tired of being a queen, or maybe just tired of life, so she put away her powers into chests of wood. In forsaking her Faerie powers, she became mortal and died."
"So, what you're saying is that this box contains her power?" Evelwyn demanded incredulously.
"Well, that's our guess...and it can only be opened when 'moon covers sun' and by a really beautiful maiden, though I don't know if they mean physically beautiful or spiritually beaufiul," Lei finished. "I suppose these spells on the side are to protect the chest, or something of the sort."
"What do you think, Evel?" Amedon asked excitedly.
"Let's open it!" Evelwyn said enthusiastically. "Lei, you're always stargazing. When will this 'moon covers sun' thing happen?"
"I have no idea," Lei admitted. "I'll do more research."
Evelwyn groaned.
SOUTHERN SLIVITT PROVENCE
A swirl of white and blue pressed downward, sweeping across the plains and leaving behind snow and ice five feet deep. The roaring of wind and wings moved over the mountains, leaving the bare trees laden with gifts of white and crystal.
Faster and faster they moved south, the Children of the Snow. Their bodies were already weary, their frozen, brittle wings thinning from the constant beating of the air. From the front, their prince urged them onward, motivating them.
'Only a little farther!' he cried. 'Only a little while until we claim the South again as our own! My people, have courage! Strength!"
'They need rest!' Ciak gasped. 'They cannot go much further!'
'Ai, we only need go a little further! Only a little further until we cross the borders of the Slivitt Provence!' declared his prince.
And they continued south with a flurry of beating wings, as one body. They watched the land slope down, down, ever downward as they peeled further away from the mountains. The trees of the forests changed. They grew denser here; tighter and tighter they pulled together until the forest was a dark blanket beneath them that became a white blanket once they passed.
At last the trees began to thin again and the lands rose into slopes. Together, they dropped from the sky and plummetted into the shadows of the forest. Should any but the Faerie folk pass them, they would not be able to see the beings against the piles of freshly fallen snow.
The prince clutched his sides and felt his battered wings quivering as the magic in his faerie blood worked swiftly to repair the damage done during the flight. Soon he straightened again and stood tall and proud as he swept an expert eye over his people.
Already they had begun their work. Here the snow was several feet deep already; they could not stay long else they would freeze the ground and kill the life in it. Adults rested against huge heaps of hardened snow while tired children were already curled in sleep.
"Kinsaik! Slaenkii!" cried one female, Lachii. "Celska! Ai, Ichaaniskk! Celska, icelainii! Kkaich celska!"
He watched as she gestured furiously to her weary companions nearby. They were in no mood to whisper, much less sing. With an amused smile, he watched as she continued to urge people to maintain one of their people's oldest traditions: the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, the night of singing that followed a long flight. The prince agreed with them; he didn't feel like singing, either.
"Ai, Kiasc celska," suggested some one. Surprised, the prince turned to find his mother, feeble in her old age, sitting atop a mound of ice and smiling with a tired content she had not shown in years. To her left stood Ciak, on her right was Nekkail; they had carried her weakinging body during the entire trip.
'Mother,' he said softly, and bowed respectfully.
'I remember well,' she said, 'the days when I was young enough to fly south, the days when it was safe enough for us to fly south.'
'Yes,' he murmured.
'And the only good thing about those long, tiring flights was the singing afterward,' she said, giving him a stern look. Her skin and hair were now the purest white, the sacred color that came only with wisdom and age. Being so old, her ice-wings were thin as gossamer and completely useless for flying. Her eyes remained ever the same, however, pale blue of sky and still sharp.
'During the Celska Kailech Slaenkii, we can find heart again, and comfort. You young ones brush it aside, but you have never witnessed the power of it,' she told him. 'Lachii, what shall we sing?'
'What of... what of Celska Kaisec Skilscekan?' Lachii asked cautiously. The old queen frowned.
'No, that is not proper. We do not sing of dishonor or battle in the Celska kailech Slaenkii. We sing of great deeds and great people who deserve to be remembered, if they reached good ends or not.'
'How will Celski Kkaich Icelainii do?' Lachii suggested. Again the queen shook her head.
'Let us sing something sad. I feel too weary as of now to be merry. Let us sing of Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané.' She turned to her son. 'Let our leader lead us in the first song of the Celska Kailech Slaenkii.'
'Celska Kiasc Icèlæni Bïané?' he said doubtfully. 'I'm not sure I remember all of it, but I will try nonetheless. I have not sung anything in a long time,' he added, 'so do forgive my bad voice.'
'The Faerie People can sing nothing wrong, my son' she said, her humor evident. 'It is one of our Blessings.'
'Yes, mother.' He swallowed nervously.
"K-iich cesik iichi," he began, his voice forming the words of his people like a sharp and biting cold wind, yet strangely soft like flakes of snow at the same time.
'When moon covered sun, she was born, in unending night, cold evermore. Winter child, daughter of Cold, a queen emerged. White Snow of Snow Children, pride of the People, she was. Beautiful, Fairest of Them All, she grew to be. Lovely child, darling Daughter of Snow. Pure of blood, pure of heart, pure of soul, Snow White!'
'So long ago, raised by Lai-Kiaiin, her mother's sister, jealous, envious. Hated White Snow, the mother's sister, who could not see it. Hated her, hurt her, our poor Snow White! Lost, lost she was in Kiaiin's spells.'
'Yet: Strong and wise, kind became she. The Lai she watched, from her she learned. O, clever White Snow! When moon covered sun, her power waned, power grew. Of weaving spells and potions, our Queen, white as snow, was skilled. The Lai she fought; victorious she was! So came our White Snow'd queen, O' Snow White!'
'Happy times, we rejoiced, celebrated! Here was a queen, a Child of Snow like never before! We loved her, worshipped her, White Snow. Ai, the great Queen, ruling wise, reigning just...'
His voice was with the strength of youth. Others had joined in now, singing along to the well-known ballad. Their voices rose into the sky. The old queen had spoke true, for in this song they found again strength and felt as if they had rested well for days. She added her own voice, filled with power, to theirs. Even the young ones, who did not know the words, offered wordless cries to mingle with the sad melody.
From afar, their voices sounded like a giant storm, the wrath of the gods unleashed on earth. They sang long into the night. When at last the song was finished, they rose again, and flew in the embrace of the Moon.
Chapter Twenty-three~
Cel could hardly believe her good luck. Here she was, sitting in the back of a jewel-filled cart beside Sen as Gaelan spoke comforting words to Vortnethismi to hurry them along to Salpas. The day before, after an hour of arguing, Bazek had finally let her go, as compensation for the flying-carpet-incident.
"Old Man Kookos--"
"Old Man KOOKOS??"
Sen smiled. "He's been called that for ages. He's the fisherman. No one else can catch Royal Salmon like Old Man Kookos. We go to him first and buy three barrel-fulls. Next is the Crazy Cove for cloth. The innkeeper's wife makes the best. We'll need to buy extra this year, for you."
"That's not necessary," Cel said quickly. Sen glanced down at her patched trousers.
"You can hardly continue wearing my clothes," he pointed out politely. "Then we need to buy new shoes. Hamel makes good boots, sturdy ones, but Jongo makes the comfortable shoes."
"Which one do we buy from?"
"Both. Yumon makes paper; we'll need leafs for Bazek. His twin Yukinn creates nice, leather journal-books. Those are for Gaelan--he's our bookkeeper when he has time."
"How long will we be staying in Salpas? Is it nice there?"
"We stay a week, usually. Sometimes two. It's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you. Anyway, after Yumon and Yukinn, we see Khalei for soaps."
"But not to you?"
"I beg your parden?" Sen blinked.
"You said that 'it's a nice sort of village, I suppose, to you.'"
"It's a very Human village, Cel. Stone homes,"--Sen looked uncomfortable for a moment--"dirt roads, livestock everywhere, open fields, children running around, overgrown gardens and long grasses... Now, after Khalei, we visit Sibet for a new set of brooms, and then--"
"What's wrong with that?" Cel asked in surprise. "It sounds like a lovely place to live. Very homey."
"I knew you'd think so," Sen said with a sigh.
"What sort of home do you prefer?" she asked curiously. Sen frowned for a moment and glanced to Gaelan, who was suddenly fascinated with the trees flanking the road to Salpas.
"Caves, of course," Sen said quickly, "glistening with minerals, ready to be plucked. The home of any Minen."
"Mm-hmm," Cel remarked skeptically, obviously unconvinced.
"Anyway, bartering and arguing over prices takes time," Sen continued. "So we usually stay a week, at the abandoned cottage near the edge of the wood. Nobody minds that we take up residence for a week in that place--after the witch left it, travellers passing through Salpas have been free to shelter themselves there."
"A witch used to live there??"
"Village gossip," Gaelan muttered. "Superstitious folk, in Salpas. They're a bit shy o' the likes of us. Rather not have anythin' to do wit us, but they need the money and we need the trade. As for ye, lass, I suggest ye stay nice and safe in that cottage while we do our bit o' work."
"But then I might as well not have come!" Cel cried.
"I thought ye wanted to go places, and ye are."
"That's not what I meant!" Cel protested.
"Look, princess--we've taken ye in," Gaelan said patiently, "and so now we've got to care for ye. So I can't have ye gettin' hurt or anythin', hear? So yer to stay in the cottage while we trade or I'll turn this cart right 'round and take us back to Vortneth!"
"Fine," Cel agreed sulkily. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"The cottage could use repair," Sen suggested. Cel sighed.
"This is just great. I finally get out to travel and end up doing MORE chores!!"
Gaelan and Sen grinned.
The cottage was as lovely as they promisd her. Though its rosy bricks were crumbling, and the black shingles on its roof were falling down, it still managed to be a charming building. If she squinted, Cel could see it as it probably used to appear.
After Sen and Cel had jumped out the cart, Gaelan loosed the wagon from Vortnethismi, letting the horse loose into the overgrown garden behind the cottage. The wagon they pushed into the falling, leaning unstably aginst the side of the building.
Eagerly, Cel ran inside, hoping the inside would be better than the cottage's exterior. When she looked around, she was barely able to swallow her disappointment. There was one large room only, the floor earthen. A couch against the east wall was riddled with holes. A large dining table with chairs was in the center of the room, covered in rotting leftovers and unwashed dishes. Cel thought she spied rats, but couldn't be sure.
The kitchen was nestled against the wall to her left. The sink, too, was filled with dirty dishes. The pots had been left out, crusty food still in them. The entire place reeked.
"Oh!" was all Cel could manage.
"Seems like not one's pass'd by lately," Gaelan muttered.
"It looks nice when it's been fixed up," Sen told her apolegitcally.
"An' ye've got a whole week to do it," Gaelan remarked with a grin.
Grumbling, she noticed the stairway in the corner was missing several steps, but nonetheless she raced up them to the attic. The attic, too, was an absolute mess. Beds, pallets, and cots of different sizes were scattered around the dusty room. A section of the roof had fallen in, the shingles and wood on the floor.
Now she openly gaped in exasperation.
"I was going to warn you not to come up," Sen said as he stepped up the stairs. "Oh--it looks as if the rain season was none to kind to our roof."
"We can't stay here," Cel said suddenly.
"Were do you propose we stay?"
"I don't know, at an inn or something," Cel snapped, glaring at the pile of shingles. What was supposed to be a grand escape had turned into a horrible week of work and she was frustrated and angry.
"We can't," Sen said.
"What do you mean, we can't?" Cel demanded, running furiously down the steps.
"Ai, the natives won't let us stay in the village," Sen explained, following her. "They're wary of us, remember?"
"An' after all these decades o' doin' work wit 'em," Gaelan said, shaking his head. "Are ye hungry, lass?"
"Not really," Cel said, eyeing the dining table. Gaelan chuckled.
"Ah, ye needn't cook tonight. We'll go into town for lunch."
"Really?" Cel brightened considerably.
"Aye. They've an inn a bit ways off from the main parts o' town--what do they call it, Sen?"
"The Crazy Cove, I think," Sen said, smiling. "Charming people there, and the food is quite filling, though a bit lacking."
"Aye," sighed Gaelan. "Food just isn't right wit no Gamelin."
"That's what you think," Cel teased. "Me, I like food without Gamelin just fine. I hope they have some nice ice-malts, and rabbit stew, and--"
"Our rabbit stew is just fine!" Sen cried in alarm.
"Well, I've never tried your rabbit stew," Cel admitted, "but I suppose that might be because you don't like trapping very much."
"We had those hares once," Sen said, "but you didn't try them."
"An' trappin's for them that can't hunt," Gaelan told her. "Now we'd best hurry on, as we're goin' to walk there."
"Are we just going to leave Vortnethismi here with all the jewels ungaurded?"
"Ai, Cel, Vortnethismi can defend our goods by himself, don't ye worry," Gaelan told her. "Kistur's seen t' that."
"What're we going to pay for our meals with?" Cel cried.
Sen pulled a pouchful of gem scrapings from his tunic. "These, of course."
Chapter Twenty-four~
Queen Minerva was ecstatic as she beheld her creation. Of course, to others it appeared nothing but a simple apple, but that was the ingeniousness of it.
Long had she slaved away on the potions and at last, here it was. One half of the apple was a rose red, melting away to a pear-white color.
This one mere fruit would grant her both beauty and the death of her hated stepdaughter in one brilliant stroke. After years of strengthening her powers, she was strong enough for this.
Then Evelwyn's Gift would be hers.
"I find it strange," Perita said in a bored tone, "that people search so hard to find what is most likely a myth or an old wives' tale."
"It's true; I know it!" snapped Queen Minerva, momentarily pulled out of her good mood. "My mother searched her whole life for it."
"And she was a fool," drawled Perita, "like so many others before her. Do you have any idea how many people have wasted their lives in the obsession that is finding Evelwyn's Gift?"
"Yes, yes, I know," muttered Queen Minerva. "But I will be the one to find it."
"Foolish, everyone," Perita smiled, shaking her head. "Even if they do find Evelwyn's Gift, they don't know what they'll find. They don't know what it is."
"It is power like no other," Queen Minerva said angrily.
"What if it is the power to turn into a chair?" Perita retorted. "I'd certainly call THAT a 'power like no other.'"
"In it lies a great power," answered Queen Minerva through gritted teeth.
"Well, 'great' can be defined in many ways," replied Perita. "Personally, I don't think it's worth it. All the Great Mages of our world have been obsessed with finding it once they heard about it, and look where it led them. Merwyn the Sighted grew mad, Grinning Helda was lost in the He, L--"
"I KNOW!" Queen Minerva snapped. "But none of them were the Fairest, where they?"
Ranita whistled cheerfully as she scrubbed down the tables. Working at the Crazy Cove was hard, especially compared to the lighter work in the Elven Circle, but it was some how more fulfilling at a day's end than an evening of food-gathering could ever be.
The Crazy Cove was usually more prosperous, Willem told her, but to Ranita it seemed prosperous enough. Simply the village men arriving without fail every noon for lunch and every night to get drunk was enough money to keep the inn alive.
The busy lunchtime was already over and Ranita could relax soon. She'd finished scrubbing the last table when two men entered. Ranita stifled a groan and instead adopted a bright smile.
"Good day, sirs--"
She stopped short when she saw them, as it was obvious that they weren't locals. The two gave her a shy smile and sat down at the table she had just cleaned.
"We'd like rabbit stew," the black-haired one told her with a laugh. "Three bowls, please. No ale, just--"
"Ice-malts," the older-seeming one finished, laughing as well.
"But there are only two of you," Ranita said with a frown.
"Cel will be here in a bit," the one with onyx eyes told her.
Still frowning, she nodded and hurried to the kitchens in the back.
"Rabbit stew, three bowls," she told Revinn.
"More?" he demanded incredulously.
"Some men just walked in here--they're not locals," she said.
"Are they tall or short?" Revinn asked as he began to start the fire again. "The traders from Burtain come 'round at this time of the year, when they feel like it."
"I dunno," Ranita said as she began to knead dough for rolls. "About normal height, I'd say, but they seems strange, that's what."
"Whaddya mean, strange?" Revinn asked curiously.
"Well..." Ranita hesitated. "It's more a feelin' than anything else," she admited at last.
"What do they look like?"
"Ah--one of them is black-haired and -eyed. The other one is shorter has a white beard though he is bald. I haven't seen the third, yet."
Revinn nearly dropped his pot. "Are they dressed strangely?"
"Aye," Ranita said, recalling their clothing. "Not like any fashion I've seen 'fore."
"Those must be the Minen, then," Revinn grunted. "Thought they wouldn't come this year. They're far too late."
"Minen?"
"Dwarves. Children of the Mines. Call 'em what you will, they bring nothin' good. One can feel it. We only deal with 'em 'cause we need the jewels."
"Jewels?" Ranita asked politely.
"Remember what Willem told ya? They trade us jewels for our goods. It's always those two that come. They've never brought a third 'fore. Wonder what this one looks like."
"Well, the other one called him 'Cel.'"
"Don't care much for those names," grunted Revinn.
"Enough talk," Willem scolded, poking his head into the room. "We can't keep our customers waiting!"
"Yessir," Ranita responded cheekily. Revinn and Ranita worked in efficient silence after that. In no time at all the leftover rabbit stew had been reheated, the rolls were golden-brown, and the ice-malts were ready. All done in typical Crazy Cove fashion.
With now-experienced grace, Ranita balanced a hot bowl in each hand and pushed open the swinging door with her shoulder. The third person had arrived, though Ranita couldn't get a good look at him, as his back was to her. However, his hair, too, was ebony-black, though it was waist-length.
"Here is your stew," Ranita said with her usual cheer, placing the bowls down before them. "I'll get yours, sir--"
She froze upon seeing the third member of their party.
"Ranita?" gasped Cel.
"Snowy?"
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Grr.... things I plan to do in the revised vision:
*Don't take away Cel's speech
*Give more base info about Minen in the beginning
*Develop Silvea's character more
*Develop Laich's character more
*While I'm at it... develop CEL'S character more!!!! Grr... she has no personality!!! God, this version is SO lacking!
*Revise the whole Maximilian thing... that was kinda pointless... I had originally a quite different plot, but... :shrug:
*Possibly bring Evelwyn into the story much earlier
*Definitely bring up the subject of Evelwyn's Gift much earlier
*Edit Perita's personality a bit, and make her appear much earlier in the story
*Make Cel run away much later
*Edit the whole Elven Circle bit (can you believe that the Elven Circle was inspired by The Lost World and Robin Hood? Yeah... what do THEY have to do with Elves???)
*Revise circumstances surrounding Ranita's leaving the Elven Circle
*More scenes regarding Silvea
Object to any of my planned revisions??
One more question... (for another story I'm working on...)
Other than Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, can you think of any other fairy tales that involve 3 sisters???? I'm desperate!!
P.S. Why IS it that inns always have to have animals and alliterations in their names? i.e., The Prancing Pony, the Dancing Dove