Elements of Glory: The Princess of Nothing

’There are many stories in the library, Emily, and many are just that, stories and tales written by people who like to see little children’s eyes go round. You must judge wisely between truth and fiction… and please, don’t speak to me of the statue in the fountain any longer… it is a coincidence, nothing more…’

-Wilth, to Emily, three cycles ago

OTHER-REALM

The castle was silent. The kind of silent that seemed loud. Emily took comfort in the pattering of the rain on the window, for many reasons. She didn’t know what time it was, and didn’t really care, either. She’d had an early breakfast and wasn’t really hungry. Still, she knew she shouldn’t sit in the window all day and watch the pouring rain.

She’d come back. She always came back…

But she needed something else to occupy her time, and as Wilth was gone, now was the time she could do some of the things she didn’t normally get to do. Smiling, she reached out and touched the window, feeling the cool glass, wishing her fingers could touch the rain, but allowing herself to be satisfied with just this.

Still smiling, Emily leapt down from the window, and started out into her dim castle. Very few lanterns were lit, and Emily could agree with Wilth in the reasoning that – as there was only the two of them – they didn’t need that many. Still, whether it was Gemgic power put on Emily by Wilth, or just her castle responding to her as its Princess, wherever Emily chose to go, if she wanted a bit of light, a bit of light she would have. Somewhere on a wall a lantern would spark and flicker, and leap to life.

Emily knew exactly where she was going today, and she raced through hallways swiftly. Her feet made little sound. She charged down wide, dim, corridors, smirking to herself when a lantern on the wall would leap to life, giving her a little light. On and on Emily ran, into parts of the castle that Wilth didn’t like her going, but by no means had forbid.

Finally, she reached the end of a long hallway. There were windows to her right that let in grey light from the world outside. She looked out at the driving rain and smiled. Then she looked ahead, toward a tall, red, doorway, with a solid golden door-knob. Two statures of brave-looking soldiers flanked the door, and they each had an arm risen up, holding a chain. Between the two chains was a golden plaque, and in old, old writing, that Wilth had taught her, Emily read aloud; ‘Library.’

Grinning to herself, Emily rushed the door, turned the doorknob – it made a loud clicking sound – and pushed into the room beyond. It was a magnificently large chamber, with ten levels, built into an enormous tower. There were large windows on the different levels and the calming grey light of the rain storm flowed into the gigantic chamber.

The shelves and upper levels were all done in rich dark wood, with curvy smooth railings, and banisters on the staircases. On each level above, there were sections that jutted out from the narrower walkway parts, and most of these veranda areas were positioned by one of the enormous windows. Emily knew of the comfortable chairs, and the beautiful study tables up on those verandas, as well as the grand statues of ancient, learned, people. Some of the verandas were even grander, and the windows on those ones had glass doors that lead out to wide, marble, balconies.

On the floor level, there were shelves and shelves in rows – added to the shelves and shelves built into the walls of the tower room. In the centre of the room several comfortable study chairs were set around a beautiful stone fountain. Standing in the fountain was a statue of a woman – who Emily had always thought, looked quite like her. The statue had her left arm bent, hand turned up. Out of the palm, a yellow flame flickered. The statue’s other arm was straight down, her palm open, above the water in the pool. Out of the centre of that palm, cool water flowed, splashing into the pool below, creating ripples that lazily lapped against the sides.

Across from the statue, set into the wall, was a huge fireplace of black tile and gold finishing. Above the fireplace was a tall archway, standing there alone, just an arch, with nothing in it. It was brown, with smooth curves, and looked like it had been built of some kind of ivory, the way it gleamed.

Emily walked toward the statue and looked up into the smooth, stone, face of the queenly woman, who shared her’s pretty features. It had been odd, as Emily had grown up, seeing that face, and looking more and more like it. Now, Emily was sure, if anyone else saw the statue, they’d agree on the likeness.

Emily wondered who she could be... if it was her… Wilth had always told her that she was special. She wondered if it was her Mother. Wilth had never let Emily see pictures of her parents. She didn’t even know what they looked like… well, except her Father. Once or twice Wilth had shown him to her. He’d been tall, broad shouldered, with a shiny bald head and a trimmed, brown, beard.

Emily had always thought he’d had the kindest eyes.

She turned from the fountain and hurried toward a curving stairway that led up. She rushed up the soft, red, velvet stairs, and when she reached the level above, hurried to the next set of stairs and ran up them too, and the next, and the next. Each staircase ended on one of the verandas, and when Emily got to the seventh, she stopped. Before her were wide, dark brown, wooden tables, polished to a gleam. There were tall stiff chairs at the tables, but beyond them, closer to the enormous widow that filled the opposite wall, were big, comfortable-looking – and they really were divinely comfortable – chairs.

There were bookshelves nearby, filled with big books, small books, blue, yellow, red, and brown books. There were some green plants in stone planters near the window. there Statues beside the planters depicted a noble-looking man, and a pretty woman with long hair, like bunches of silky wool. Between the two statues were a pair of glass doors, with black iron latches.

Outside the window, the peaks and towers of the castle could be seen clearly. Beyond them were the green lands that surrounded the castle. Far, far below was the wild and rolling surface of the lake. The glass of the window was wet, running with gleaming pearls of water. The balcony beyond shone like a small pool in its own right.

It almost made Emily sad to see such a wonderful scene, and not be able to run out into it.

She told herself that it was a comfort just being there.

Emily walked to the chair she’d been in the day before, and found the book she’d been reading was still there. She picked it up, curled up in the big seat, and pulled a duvet around her shoulders. She looked at the blue cover of the leather bound book she had, and ran her narrow fingers over the curling golden words embossed there.

‘Legends of the Blue Mystic,’ she read to herself, and then, with a grin, she eagerly cracked the book, pulling aside her book mark, and reading from the exact spot she’d left off.

‘The Legend of Constangale,’ Emily read. ’In a time long ago, when there was a true Alliance with the Tyrim and the Humans – long before there was the Seven Kingdoms of the North – there came a young child to the steps of the tower of the Blue Mystic. He said, in those days, he’d just returned from some place far beyond reckoning, and was weary from a battle, but, with the child on his doorstep, drenched from head to toe in rain, the wise Blue Mystic knew there was little he could do but help, despite how tired he was.

’The Blue Mystic looked down on the boy, dressed in rags, with bruises on his face, and a mess of sandy blonde hair. The child’s eyes were brightest green, and filled with sorrow. Asked the Blue Mystic of the boy, “Who are you child, and what purpose do you have on my doorstep at this hadroh?” (For it was late, and a summer storm of rain and crashing thunder was well on.)

’The boy answered in a quivering tone, “They say the Mistress of the Wood has gone mad, with burning and wind, and rain, and quaking of earth. I myself have seen it some, and when last I saw, there was much screaming and cursing, and all bother beyond my ability to explain… They say she has lost her Husband to the treachery of the Faceless King, and is left to raise the daughter alone – and one of the daughters has died also, it was the oldest I hear. It has sent her into a madness, and the Faceless King has cursed her besides.”

’As you can imagine, the child was rambling somewhat, but he’d been walking for days, on little but berries of the woods, and rain water for sustenance. The Blue Mystic heard the boy’s words and understood them better than he knew, and so bade him enter the home and warm by the fire.

’He said to the boy, “You’ve come to fetch me… so that I might stop her from her madness?”

’Said the boy, “It is why they sent me.”

’Then the Mystic asked; “What is your name, child?”

’Answered he; “Constangale, my good lord.”

Emily’s eyes were wide. She was smirking happily, as she looked over the top of her book. She loved this story. She’d loved it ever since first she read it, and now, with the rain outside, and the comfort, and the quiet castle all around, the words seemed to seep into her all the more and fill her with dreams and wonders, and a deep, true, hope that these weren’t just silly tales as Wilth called them, but that some time, long ago… the Blue Mystic had been real.

Emily turned her eyes back to her story, snuggled down into her chair a little more, and read on.