The Red Queen

’This is exciting, isn’t it...?’ said the blonde woman, ‘...I’m really looking forward to this...’. She was in her thirties, perhaps, of average height, slim, and pretty, wearing a light blue tunic dress with a handkerchief hem, black leggings and black open-toed sandals. A tassel denim bag was slung on her left shoulder, and a mass of multi-coloured bangles adorned her wrists. The girl beside her was almost as tall and pretty as she was. She had light-brown hair which ran most of the way down her back and wore a green t-shirt depicting some “Minecraft” monster, blue jeans and red/black trainers. She looked around thirteen. A red earphone wire dangled from her right ear, that looped back behind her neck and vanished into her hair. She scowled at the taller woman; obviously not sharing her enthusiasm. They were standing in line waiting to board the large white and blue coach that had pulled up mere moments before. There were three couples in front of them, and a girl at the front on her own. The tour guide, a woman in her late fifties with reddish blonde hair styled into a long bob emerged from the coach and stood smiling at the queue of travellers, before gesturing for them to enter the coach. The girl silently flashed her ticket to the tour guide before mounting the steps and vanishing inside. Her head was covered by a large cowl from her dark green hooded top, but a few wisps of flame-red curls could be seen around the edge as if they were trying to escape the darkness within. She was dressed ordinarily enough in ripped blue jeans and plain black trainers. Although her larger travel bag had been left by the coach awaiting storage, she had a black bag thrown onto her shoulder which at first glance resembled a make-shift guitar bag. The main body of the bag was ordinary enough, but sticking out the top, was a long thin bag, like the type you would store a pool cue or even an umbrella. Whatever it was, it seemed too important to store in the coach storage bay. The girl was sitting at the back of the coach in the right-hand window seat, as the blonde woman ushered her younger companion into the seat directly in front of the girl. The girl’s bag sat on the floor between her legs, and she gazed out of the window, in a world of her own.

Absently, the girl looked up and caught the blonde woman’s eye, as her foot made contact with the girl’s.

‘Sorry...’ started the blonde, ‘...didn’t mean to disturb you...’.

‘It’s ok...’ said the girl, ‘...no harm done...’.

‘We’re just going for the day...’ explained the blonde, ‘...Maddy’s never been up to Holy Island before and we hear it’s beautiful this time of year...’.

‘Yes...’ replied the girl, ‘...yes, it is’.

‘Oh, where are my manners...?’ the blonde suddenly exclaimed, thrusting out a hand, ‘...I’m Claire, and this is my daughter, Maddy...’ the teenager looked at her mum, and rolled her eyes.

‘I’m Bo...’ said the girl, taking Claire’s hand.

‘I see you’re travelling alone, Bo...’ said Claire, ‘...that’s very brave of you. Especially for one so young. Day trip or staying over...?’.

Bo smiled.

‘I’m getting off at Blydale and going home to White Bay...’ she said, ‘...I’ve... been away for too long...’.

‘Oh wow...’ said Claire, ‘...what a beautiful place to have grown up! If it was me, I’d never want to leave...!’.

Just then, the tour guide entered the coach.

‘Can everyone please take their seats, please...?’ she asked in a loud voice that carried to the back of the coach, ‘...and our driver, John, will run through some safety, and then we’ll be off to Northumberland...!’. A cheer arose from someone nearer the front which made several others laugh and Claire hurriedly sat down, leaving Bo alone with her thoughts. Bo’s attention was suddenly diverted to a pair of older ladies seated at the other end of the coach’s long back seat.

‘Have you seen the news, Beryl...?’ said one. The angle that Bo was sitting made it impossible to tell which one was talking, ‘...the funeral for that police detective looked amazing, you know, the one that stopped that head-hunter a few weeks ago over in Central City...’

‘Oh, yes. That was in the paper last week, Diane...’ replied Beryl, ‘...such a shame about that police detective. She deserved that funeral though...’

‘Yes, I know...’ confirmed Diane, '...she was so brave...facing that awful man on her own...’

‘Oh, I know, Diane...’ replied Beryl, ‘...and, I know it’s wrong, but he deserved what he got...’

‘Oh, I agree...’ agreed Diane, '...but to have his head crushed in that machine... well, that’s just awful...’

‘But he deserved it...’ said Beryl.

Bo smiled at the memory of Talos’s plan; Konrad was placed to look as if the press machine had crushed his head after Maria had shot him, after he had shot her. She died a hero, and Bo loved Talos for giving her that.

‘Good morning, day-trippers...’ John started, his voice booming over the tannoy, ‘...and welcome aboard MacLeod Coach Tours. My name is John, in case you’ve missed it, and a big thanks to Christine, your guide, for planning this little excursion to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, taking in Alnwick Castle, Chesters Fort, and, before all of that, stopping in Blydale for coffees...’ He went on to explain the safety precautions and procedures, but Bo wasn’t interested. She moved her red headphones onto her ears and was already diving into her phone to select the music.

Music selected, she tucked her phone away before leaning back against the headrest and waited. She smiled as “Horse With No Name” had started, and she fought the urge to sing along, as she felt the coach rumble into life and begin its journey. She could hear the voice of Christine talking over the tannoy, informing the passengers of the history of the area they were driving through, but Bo wasn’t listening.

She knew the history; she was part of it, and probably contributed to most of it.

As the landscape opened out into more and more countryside, the song “Bonnie Portmore” came streaming over her headphones and memories began stirring within Bo’s mind. They took her back to the multiple “ass-whooping's” she received from Talos as she tried to fight him and smiled at the memory of what she was wearing; if it had been her battle skirt, rather than her ankle-length tunic, Talos would have seen a lot more of her than just her legs. In her mind, she saw a montage of Talos’s training; most of it involving her being shoved, dropped or thrown into the mud, water or the occasional nearby thicket. As the song picked up speed, it cast her mind to France, Italy and Spain, and the opulent balls that she and Talos, often posing as her father, attended. She recalled how handsome he looked, and how they danced and twirled around each other. She remembered Talos sneaking off to “entertain” a lady or two, leaving her to fend off the attentions of the eager young men - one of which leading to her infamous duel. As she remembered all the fun, she had over the centuries, without the worry of everyday life getting her down, a realisation suddenly swept over her.

Talos.

He had always been there.

Almost every happy memory; whether it was dancing in a ball gown, or riding a bicycle downhill for the first time, or whenever she needed him, he was there.

Until Maria came into her life, it was always Talos.

“Dust In The Wind” by Kansas flooded through her headphones and Bo’s mind went straight to another montage; happier times with Maria, from their first meeting in 2012, when Maria won a wet T-shirt contest in Panama City Beach. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye as she remembered the day Maria moved into her home, and the many moments they shared, from making love on the beach, to making fools of themselves every chance they got, to making a mess in the kitchen trying to cook together.

Although the memories hurt, she welcomed the pain. It made her feel alive.

The rolling countryside made her memories bounce back and forth from training with Talos, to various walks and picnics with Maria. Probably on the same hills that swept up majestically before her as the coach speeded along its merry way, past the huge metal Angel seemingly guarding the way forward. After half an hour, the large coach pulled into a car park somewhere along the coastline.

‘Ok, ladies and gentlemen...’ came John’s voice over the tannoy, ‘...here we are in not-so-sunny Blydale. Feel free to explore the harbour and some of the local coffee shops, and we shall meet back here in... say, half an hour...?’.

As the other day-trippers disembarked and headed off into the town itself, chatting amongst themselves, Bo collected her travel bag and, after thanking John and Christine, set off in the direction of the sumptuous coastline.

By lunchtime it had brightened up and an autumnal glow descended on the North-Eastern coastline. When the sun emerged and the temperatures warmed up, it felt almost like spring again. Bo’s hoodie had now been relegated to her waist, revealing her snug-fitting burgundy cropped t-shirt, which showed off her toned abdomen. The walk took her across a small nature reserve on the mainland where she saw a rusty-coloured fox stalking its prey in the bushes whilst the ducks swam by, blissfully unaware of the predator near the ponds.

Bo thought it a great analogy of life; the ducks being the mortals, milling about, unaware of the danger, and the fox was the Immortals, lurking in the shadows.

She headed down to the coast, the blustery wind catching her hair and causing it to billow about, obscuring her view. Undeterred, she carried on her pilgrimage down the coast, sticking as close to the shoreline as possible.

She reached a standing stone proudly standing watch over the cliffs of Hartley and continued along the footpath cut into the hillside that she recognised as one she had taken with Talos all those years ago. The path ended at a flight of roughly hewn stone steps that descended down into Colwell Bay. She turned right at the bottom and stood to drink in the view. The magnificent white tower of the lighthouse which had been tacked onto the older chapel house, dominated the skyline. She smiled at the ancient monument; although to her, the lighthouse itself was a fairly recent addition. Adjusting the straps of her bags, she continued along the rocky shoreline. Eventually, she was forced back up the craggy hillside as the shore dropped away into the sea and she paused for a moment to smile at the stone jutting out from the summit of the hillock known as “Bride’s Lookout”.

Although the centuries had eroded the writing upon the stone, she knew that the stone reputedly marked the grave of a young bride that committed suicide by jumping to her death on the rocks below as she received news that her lover was dead, and she was buried here so she could watch the horizon and wait for him forever more.

She also knew that the tale was pure romantic mythology.

The stone actually records the death of Sangeeta, written and erected by Talos, before he buried her remains on his Island, where she would be at peace...forever.

The wind attacked her hair once again, billowing it into a pseudo-fireball around her head. She let the wind play with her hair, as she took a deep breath, and allowed the cold, salty air to fill her entirely. Before her lay the causeway that led to Talos’s rocky lump of land, slowly being revealed by the receding tide and looking glorious in the autumn light.

Looking at the Island in the distance, she swore she could see Talos standing at the heavy oaken door to the stone chapel house, as if he was expecting her.

He probably was; it was one of many eerie things she loved about him. He probably already had a lavish meal prepared for her, and possibly even ran a bath in anticipation of her arrival.

She could imagine him standing there, arms folded across his chest, scowling at her for taking so long.

But, of course, that couldn’t be, she was too far away to see or even be seen. She smiled and shook the image out of her head.

Maybe it was just a memory of him standing outside the chapel when she ran away from Hagen.

Maybe it was wishful thinking.

She couldn’t even sense him at this distance, but it didn’t matter; she knew he was there.

He would always be there.

She couldn’t imagine her life without him, and the fact was, she didn’t want to. He made her feel happy, safe and loved in the way that only a father could. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet salty air once more, smiling to herself with contentment.

She was home.

End...