Messages

[Baron:]

Baron: Comparing your two versions, the new one feels far more personal and in the minds of the characters, while the old one was stronger on the mystery part. I like the setting and the details we get of the characters, making them far easier to distinguish than in the original. Unfortunately, there is so little focus on the mystery of the island now that finding the meteor feels like a completely random event that has nothing to do with the plt at all. It's just there. Overall, both versions have flaws but combined they'd make a great story - with the more character driven approach for the second version and the more mysterious atmosphere of the first.

Stupot: Your story follows an ages old tradition of pretending it wasn't written by its author - which leads to the interesting phenomenon that your authors note at the beginning must be read as part of the story (while the one at the end in spoiler tags clearly isn't). But this necessity to treat the comment in the beginning as part of the story leads to a bit of weirdness later on: "The user who posted "Faceplant", a frequenter of the forum by the name of Stupot, seems rather unremarkable, perhaps even boring. His posts lack much substance and he seems to be a generally liked, if not particularly influential member of the community. He appears to have presented the story as his own work, not citing any sources nor acknowledging any real-world basis. Of his honesty and integrity, I have no query. I am in no doubt that he believes Faceplant emerged from his own grey matter. And yet... here we are." Soooo, you, Stupot, received this paragraph in an e-mail? The e-mail-writer didn't adress you, but wrote a paragraph about you in the third person? Yeah, sure. I mean, in the end we all know that you wrote this yourself, but the literary illusion you were going for still falls completely flat here. Nobody would write like that about the receiver of the message.
Compared to your old version of the story, there's a whole lot more here, of course. I think its slightly unfortunate that the universe seems to hate James/Simon even more than in the original. Not only was he bullied, pushed into dung, eaten by plants - no, it was also later treated as a suicide, which is very much stigmatised. There weren't even consequences for Philip, he didn't even seem to have learned a lesson from this. Even though he went to appologize, he was still kicked out of school later, so we can only assume he was still a bully or otherwise troubelmaker.
In short, the second version of your story adds so much to it that it almost becomes a different story. The core is the same (to the letter, as you quoted it) but the original was a horror creepypasta, while the second is a morality piece (with morality very much lacking.)


And the results are in:

Best improvement:
Baron: 2 points
Stupot: 1 point

Best story:
Baron: 2 points
Stupot: 4 points

Overall:
Baron: 4 points
Stupot: 5 points

(And this breakdown would have made so much more sense with more votes...)
And that means we have a winner by one single point.

Congratulations, Stupot!

You're up next!

This is your friendly reminder that votes are love and comments feed starving artists.
You still have a bit of time, use it and vote!

[Baron]

And we have two entries. That makes this a competition, right?

The entries are:

- Baron: The Price of Freedom (based on The Survival Imperative for the topic Shipwrecked)
- Stupot: <No Title> (based on Faceplant for the topic 144-Word-Stories)

All in all, you have 3 points to give this time:
- 1 point for the best improvement of the previous story.
- 2 points for the best story this round (you cannot divide these 2 points; give them to one entry).

I prefer open votings, and I love comments, so put your votes and thoughts in this thread please.
Voting is open until  31. July.

Nothing yet?
You stll have a couple of hours left.
But we also have a weekend right in front of us. Take it, for some last minute writing. Deadline extended to the end of 23. July.

Welcome back, Mandle.

How's it going so far? Are you all busy writing or is it too hot to even move a finger where you all are as well?

Well, you could always post more than one entry. 

[You are not bound by the rules of the original competition.]

Re-Write

Sometimes, a story doesn't turn out as one hopes it does. Maybe you realize that you should have told it from a different point of view. Maybe the ending just didn't work. Maybe you were in a rush and couldn't give the story as many details as you wished. Maybe you realized too late that a scene was completely useless and the story would have been better without it. Maybe someone commented something about your story that made you go: "Wow, I should have done that!"

This FWC is about re-writing a story you already entered into the competition at some point in the past. A re-write is not the same as simply editing a story. A re-write is more. Basically, it requires you to tell a story again. Of course, you can look at your old work to do so, but just changing a sentence here or there, removing a paragraph or adding one is not enough. Your job is to re-tell the story, as if you were writing it for the first time (though keeping sentences or paragraphs you particularly like here and there is okay). You can change major elements, but it should still be recognizable.

I realize that the topic as stated above would not allow newcomers to enter, because it requires an old entry. Considering how few people enter, and those that do are regulars, I don't think it will be a problem, but I do offer an alternative: You can also re-write the story of someone else who entered the FWC at some point in the past, though only if you never entered here before. And if possible, ask for permission from the original author.

In short:
- Re-write one of your old entries.
- If you never entered before, re-write a story from another participant (but ask for permission).
- Post a link to the old story, so that we can compare them.
- Get everything done by 21. July.


Edit:
One point I forgot to mention: You are not bound by the rules of the original competition. If your entry was for a 500 words story, for example, and you want to turn the re-write into a 30 000 words monster, that's completely fine.

Settle down, class, settle down.
Today we continue our lesson on lesser known literature categories, and especially on sub-genres of dramas. Todays lesson is on the "Closet Drama". As your study guide (aka Wikipedia) tells you: "A closet drama (or closet play) is a play created primarily for reading, rather than production. Closet dramas are traditionally defined in narrower terms as belonging to a genre of dramatic writing unconcerned with stage technique.". For further study, especially concerning sociological and historic aspects, please consult your book on the relevant pages here
(I couldn't remember what this was actually called, but I remembered the concept. Took me a while to find this page, my search terms were... lacking)

Thanks for your votes, guys, I'll think of a new topic soon.

This is a strong point in the story, but a liability in terms of this contest in that Elvrin acts as more of a parent towards Rhem than as a teacher [...]. Not only that, but the teaching bit of his role is entirely glossed over (what kind of abilities or skills has Rhem developed as an apprentice necromancer, aside from a sturdy moral compass?).

I don't think it matters much for the story as a whole, but in the context of this contest, I'll point it out: Being a teacher was never about the things Rehm might or might not have learned in the past, but about the lesson Elvrin gives here, in this moment to Rehm. It's about the act of teaching, not the role of a teacher. I think you were looking a bit too much for the role (or, in other words, the profession) of a teacher and didn't notice that Elvrin is teaching. (And yes, of course he acts like a parent, because he is one. But parents are often teachers to their children as well.)

Alright, let's see.
Baron, parts of your story read like a conservatives fever dream to point at: "See, see, how the world will end when we allow all those snowflakes and trans and, and, and "teenagers" (these are scare quotes, in case it's not obvious) to run the world!" Anyway, it's satire, I assume, but that than leads to a very heavy tonal shift once Jalena starts investigating - it changes from smiles and head-chakes to (something resembling) horror. The satirical tone is also present in the beginning due to the constant reminder of school rules and the (slightly exagerated?) youth speech we start out with. Interestingly enough, that disappears to some degree once we are no longer limited to the classroom as the only location of the story.
Jalena herself is a bit of an annoying character, due to the way she speaks, and - holy hell - does she jump to conclusions. There is actually zero reason to assume the teatcher is the culprit here (though her assumption that something is going on is reasonable). I'm not sure how to feel about the reveal because of that. On the one hand, I'm glad that it was indirectly acknowledged that she jumped to conclusions here, on the other, it makes her look incredibly stupid. The fact that she doesn't even consider any other murderer, that she confronts him right then and there as soon as she thinks it. Yeah, she's stupid (especially because I immediately clocked the moussy girl as a suspect, mainly because she stood out in the descriptions due to being the only one outside of the chaos).
But at least Jalena isn't the only stupid person here. The world in general is too, by not picking up on the fact that something is going on - but that's again more pronounced in the beginning of the story and I would consider it part of the satircal aspects. Whose stupidity is annoying though, is the murderer's. It's something you see again and again in all kinds of murder mysteries (books, tv): As soon as a protagonists starts invastigating, the murderer throws caution to the wind. Up until the  football game, all murders were disguised, be it as suicide, accident, whatever. But then, the football game happens, Jalena investigates and she finds the victim clearly murdered. You can't even argue that Jalena surprised Tina. "Her clothes were ripped beyond recognition, and she had been stabbed multiple times." There is no mistaking this for anything but a murder. Tina didn't even try. And the only reason is not an internal one, not one prescribed by the story, but one needed by the author. Jalena had to find a murder victim for the story to continue, even though Tina would logically still have followed her usual modus operandi. It makes no sense and it makes Tina look incredibly stupid as well.
Minor thing: Colesen or Colsen? Both spellings are there.
Overall, I like the second part of the story better (despite Tina's stupidity), mainly because the first part is just a bit over the top for my liking. Still, an enjoyable, slightly chaotic read.

Obviously, my vote goes to Baron.

I'm off back home to Australia in a few days [...] the thread will just stay on lockdown after the deadline and I will start voting when I get back about halfway through next month.

And here I thought Australia was a modern country with internet access. 

Kidding, I'm kidding, of course.

Take your time. Have fun going home!


BTW, anyone else working on something?

[Concept:]

Concept: Creamy - I really like this concept of two dimensions. What is art, what is real? When is it, once the paintings are done and people come to look at them in a galery, or are we looking from behind the wall, are we part of the art the artist is creating, one portrait more among eight? A complicated concept, and in a way reminescent of Magritte's La trahison des Images (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Playability: RootBound - While I love the concept in Creamy's piece, I think it might be difficult to actually use in a game (unless it's of the mind-bending king), while RootBounds gives clear walkable areas, objects to interact with and a lot of potential inventory items.

Artistic Execution: RootBound - Difficult. RootBound's clearly doesn't look finish (although a game completely in pencil drawing is of course possible) while Creamy's works well with the black and white and colored parts. I still give this point to RootBound, because there are some details that work really well, in my opinion, like the hole in the wall to the left, that could just as well be a painting on the wall (being an artist's studio, who knows).

[And in the Darkness - Night]

Warning: Marital rape is mentioned, but not in detail, consequences of it are a focus of the story. Also, torture is mentioned.

As this is a play (albeit one that might be a bit difficult to put on a stage), you will find stage directions in the spoken text from time to time. I tried to put them all in italics, but it's so easy to miss some. Also, if one speaker's part ends with "-", it indicates that the next speaker interrupts. I just really didn't want to write "interrupts" over and over again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And in the Darkness - Night

Dramatis Personae:

Courtiers and Supplicants
Several Guards
A Clerk
A Herald
Anem, a King
Magol, a Widow
Elvrin, a Necromancer
A Raven
Liéne, a Ghost
Rehm, a Child (13 years old)



Scene 1

Late afternoon. A throne room, elaborately decorated with mirrors, tapestries, paintings, gold and silver. A carpet shows the direct path to the throne.
The room is filled to the brim. The king, Anem, sits on his throne on a raised dais, a herald and a clerk at his side. Guards stand at the door, noblemen to the side of the room, not on the carpet, other supplicants further in the back.
A woman, Magol kneels on the carpet in front of the throne.

Magol: I lost my husband. He died in an accident.

The door opens. Two of the king's guards lead Elvrin into the room. They are obviously escorting him, their weapons vaguely point in his direction, but they also eye him suspiciously and don't dare to come near to him. Elvrin his completely dressed in black. He wears black trousers, a black shirt, black falconer's gloves and a black cape that reaches to the ground. A hood obscures his face. He holds his left arm in front of his chest. A raven sits on it. Until otherwise specified, he never moves this arm.

Magol: I have children. Five, five children...

The entry of Elvrin has caught the attention of almost everyone in the room. They turn towards the stranger and they murmur indistinctly amongst themselves. Magol also turns towards Elvrin and interrupts her speech and even the attention of Anem turns towards Elvrin. He stares at him for a while. Meanwhile, Elvrin withdraws in a dark corner of the room, his guards close, but still with a respectful distance to him.
After a moment:

Anem: Continue!

The room falls silent again.

Magol: Yes, your Majesty. I – I have five children, and without my husband... I don't know how to feed them. Or protect them. Clothe them. Tears start streaming down her face.

Anem holds up his hand to command her to be silent. He stands up and walks the couple of steps down from his throne. Then, he stoops down to Magol and helps her to her feet.

Anem: (silently) Your husband was a faithful servant. I remember him well. You shall not suffer or hunger. (To the room:) The widow Magol shall receive a stipend of 10 thalers a week for the remainder of her life. (To the clerk:) See to it.

Clerk: Yes, your Majesty. (To Magol:) Mistress Magol, if you would follow me?

While the clerk leads her from the room:

Magol: Thank you. Oh, thank you, my king, my lord, you are... (And so on while she leaves.)

Anem returns to his throne.

Anem: Next!

The herald steps forward, looks over a piece of parchment in his hands, then:

Herald: This was the last supplicant for today, your Majesty.

Anem nods.

Anem: Thank you.

The courtiers start to move towards the door, but stop once they realise that the king hasn't declared the audience over. An atmosphere of nervous waiting spreads among the noblemen and -women.
Anem looks towards Elvrin again and again, who doesn't react.

Anem: (quiet:) Elvrin, please.

Nothing happens for a while, but the king shows signs of nervousness. From time to time, he seems as if he wants to say something, or gesture to his guards to lead Elvrin in front of him, but ultimately, he doesn't. The courtiers look from the king to the stranger, clearly aware of a strange tension between them and in the room.

After a while, Elvrin steps forward. The guards start to follow, but a gesture from Anem stops them.

Elvrin walks slowly over the carpet, almost as if he is gliding. His coat hides his movements. At the end of the carpet, he doesn't stop or kneel, but sets one foot on the first step of the dais, so that he is eye to eye with the sitting king. He raises his head, so that the hood slides from his hair, revealing it to be sandy blond. A large scar runs from his left eyebrow, over his nose and ends on his right cheek. It is deep, but doesn't change the fact that Elvrin looks young and handsome.

Anem: Elvrin. Thank you for coming.

The raven craws, ruffles its feathers and looks from Anem to Elvrin. Elvrin snaps his fingers without moving his arms, a surprisingly loud sound considering his gloves. The raven settles down immediately and stares at the king.

When Elvrin speaks, there's usually a slight ironic tone in his voice. He talks silently and calmly.

Elvrin: You intended to give me a choice?

Anem: I-

Elvrin: We will not talk here.

Elvrin turns around and follows the carpet quickly back to the door. The guards raise their halberds but at a sign from the king they step aside. The doors open at a gesture from Elvrin.

Anem: Wait!

The king follows and murmurs from the courtiers follow him.



Scene 2

Evening. The gardens of a castle: flower beds, blossoms, fountains, pebble stone or sand paths between them.

Anem and Elvrin (raven still on his arm) enter, already talking.

Anem: You could have easily avoided the guards or-

Elvrin: I could have. That is hardly the point. The fact that I don't have to follow orders due to my abilities doesn't change the fact that you gave an order.

Anem: I have every right to give you an order.

Elvrin: You might. Why did you call on me?

Anem: Liéne is dead.

The raven crows and tries to fly from its masters hand towards the king. Elvrin holds onto him with the strings on its legs. He gently taps on the raven's head with his other hand and the raven calms down again.

Elvrin: I am aware. Why did you call on me?

Anem: You knew? You knew! And you didn't come?

Elvrin: Of course I knew. And of course I didn't come. Why would I? I knew her and I loved her. I knew she wouldn't want me here. Why would I come? - Anem, why am I here?

Anem: You are a necromancer.

Elvrin: I am acutely aware of this fact. (sighs) Why did you call me here?

Anem: (gets agitated) Do I really have to spell it out for you? She stole my son! She never told me where he is, never in life. You can-

Elvrin: Call on her ghost? Because a ghost has no choice but to answer? Because I could force her to tell you what all your threats, all your torture would not reveal?

Anem: My son, Elvrin. She stole my son!

Elvrin: And hers.

Anem: Yes, but-

Elvrin: I do not serve the living, Anem. Unless she is haunting the castle, there is no reason for me to call her.

Anem: You've woken others before! Others that weren't-

Elvrin: Weren't haunting anything? For other reasons? Yes, I have. And yes, I could. And I will again someday, I am sure. But no, I won't. Not now. Not in this case. Not for you.

Anem: (angry:) Why not?

Elvrin: (to himself:)Do you really have to ask? (to Anem:)I serve the dead, not the living. I do not serve you.

Anem: I could order you.

Elvrin: You could. It wouldn't change anything.

Anem: Be careful, necromancer. You will obey! I could have you drawn and quartered right now. The guards found you digging up bones, performing your black magic on a former battlefield. Not to speak of all you have done before, all-

Elvrin: On a battlefield haunted by thousands of ghosts, angry because nobody ever bothered to bring them home.

Anem: And you think people would care about your excuse?

Elvrin: (laughs) Of course not. Even though it is not an excuse, as you know perfectly well. But do you really think threats would change my mind? Fear? Anger? (with emphasis:) I. do. Not. Serve. The. Living.

Anem: This – This really is an excuse! As you know perfectly well! For anyone else, you would do it. But not for me. Not for me! Because – because you are jealous!

The raven craws angrily and this time Elvrin doesn't bother to calm him.

Elvrin: Jealous?

Anem: You're jealous. You always were.

Elvrin: (shrugs) I let her go.

Anem: You-

Elvrin: (also slightly angry now:) I let her go, you didn't. And don't tell me she wanted to stay. (calm again:) She fled. With her son.

Anem: My son!

Elvrin: Yes, it seems you happen to have fathered her child. So? - So you hunted her, you caught her. You imprisoned her. You interrogated her. You tortured her. All because you wanted your son. Her son!

Anem: (fast) I loved her!

Elvrin: (fast) You raped her!

Anem: (fast) She was my wife!

After a slight pause, while the raven fights angrily against its strings:

Elvrin: So? That doesn't change my words... or your actions.

Anem: I had every right-

Elvrin: (with emphasis:) Every. Right? (shakes his head) A law made by man. That does not a just law make.

Anem: Aren't you a sanctimonious bastard! You're a necromancer. You do whatever the fuck you want! You dig up corpses. You called an army of skeletons to my father's aid! You do not care one bit about laws or believes or the sensitivities of the people. You lengthen your own life with the energy you steal from the dead! You look younger today than the first time we met!

Elvrin: (angry) And you intend to hire me, hire a necromancer. Hire me to conjure Liéne, the woman you married, you raped, you imprisoned and tortured. The mother of an innocent child and the woman I loved. Why – Why do you think I would ever help you?

Elvrin starts to storm away, but stops in his tracks after a couple of steps. With his back to Anem, he continues.

Elvrin: (calm, sad) She tried to love you. For a while, you know. She tried, she really did. She was never in love with me. I could have told her a thousand times how I felt, I was not the right man for her. How could I? I am, as you so succinctly state, a necromancer, a black wizard, darkness itself. And in the darkness, I am the night.

He turns around and lets go of the raven's strings. The bird is fairly calm. It flies up, circles over the two men's heads once or twice, then sits itself on Elvrin's shoulder.

Elvrin: You? You were a prince, son of a good king, a just king. Handsome, nice. Light. She didn't love you, not right away, but the marriage was arranged and she thought she might fall in love with you one day. She liked you. She didn't love you, but she liked you. But you - you wanted too much – wanted too much and wanted it too fast. She needed time, you didn't give her any. After the r... (he chokes)– after that faithful night where she fell pregnant, she tried again, she tried to love you. For a year she tried, for a year she stayed, even then. And she pretended, but- (trails off)

Anem: How do you know this? How do you know any of this?

Elvrin: (shrugs) She wrote, often.

The raven turns its head towards Elvrin's and pecks him once on the ear. Elvrin pats its head gently.

Both men are silent for a while, not looking at each other. Elvrin pats his bird from time to time.

Anem: (conciliatory) My son is out there somewhere, Elvrin. My son! He's innocent, and alone. He's somewhere out there. Please, Elvrin, please. I don't know where he is. I don't know if he is safe, if he is alive. Elvrin, please, you could find him.

Elvrin: I do not serve the living, Anem.

Anem: I know, but-

Elvrin: I do not serve the living.

Anem: Elvrin, I beg you-

Elvrin: I do not serve the living.

Anem: Please, Elvrin, please. (After a moment:) At least stay for the night. Maybe you'll change your mind, maybe you'll-

Elvrin: I will not change my mind. (After a pause:) But I'll stay. For a night.

Both off.



Scene 3

Night. Darkness. A crypt on a graveyard is hardly more than shadows. Elvrin enters, the raven back on his arm, nearly invisible in his black clothes. He tries to open the door of the crypt, but it is locked. He touches the door, runs his fingers over the walls, studies the letters on the crypt and so on.

After a while, he takes out candles from under his coat and puts them in a half-circle in front of the door. He lightens them, then kneels down outside the half circle. The raven flies to the roof of the crypt and perches there.

Elvrin: I call upon you. I call upon you, Liéne, in the name of magic and death, in the name of love and life. In the name of Elvrin and in the name of Rehm. Liéne, I call upon you as the master of death and as the one who loved you once. Liéne, come, come forward, show yourself in this darkest of nights, show me your face one last time, to answer my questions and receive your peace. Come, Liéne, come forward. Now that I will forever serve you, serve the dead, as you are one. Come, in the name of my magic, in the name of my power, in the name of love, come!

Lights, sparkling, magic.

Elvrin: Come to me, for here you are safe. Come to me, for here I have power. Come to me, come Liéne, come!

More magic. Liéne appears in the circle. There are traces of blood and bruises all over her body. Her hair is irregularly clipped short. She screams.

The raven flies down from the roof, circles over their heads and finally lands on the ground next to Elvrin, outside the half-circle.

Elvrin: Liéne...

Liéne: (screaming) Who? Where? Why? Who calls me here? Have I not suffered enough?

Elvrin: Liéne...

Liéne: Have you not punished me enough? Did I not deserve peace? After 12 years. After 12 years!

Elvrin: Liéne. Listen to the words I am speaking, listen to the voice that is speaking...

Liéne: Why do you call me back? Why do you call me here? 12 years I resisted you! 12 years you ask me day after day...

Elvrin: Not I was the one asking you. Not I was the one punishing you. Not I am the one to force you to reveal your son's location. For I am the one who already knows.

Liéne falls to her knees and looks directly in Elvrin's eyes.

Liéne: (confused) Not you? (recognizes him) Not you. It wasn't you who kept me here. Not you. Not... Elvrin?

Elvrin: Liéne.

Liéne: (angry) You promised never to return! You promised to stay away! You promised-

Elvrin: Never in your life. But your life has left you, Liéne.

Liéne: (scoffs) I know that I am dead. No need to gloss over it. Have I haunted this place? Was there a reason to?

Elvrin: You do not haunt. You are not a ghost. You are safe.

Liéne: I was free, Elvrin, I was safe. And now you come here. You! You come here and help Anem?

Elvrin: I would never help Anem. He doesn't know I called you.

Liéne: Then why? Why did you drag me from my grave?

Elvrin: I needed to see you again. (at the same time:) Liéne: Why would you endanger my son?

Elvrin: I needed to... I could have saved you. I could have rescued you. All these years ago.

Liéne: Then Anem would have hunted you down. Us. I didn't want you to, you know that. Then my son would not have been safe. To this day. He is safe, to this day. He is safe?

Elvrin: Yes, he is. He is safe to this day and for all days to come. I promised you then and I promise you now. Forever and always, Rehm is safe.

The raven scurries closer to Elvrin and puts its head against his leg. Elvrin ignores it.

Liéne: Then why? Why are you here?

Elvrin: You suffered for 12 years, Liéne. I could have saved you and I could avenge you.

Liéne: No!

Elvrin: I am your son's guardian, his teacher, his father, in all but blood.

Liéne reaches towards Elvrin, but can't move further than the circle of candles. Elvrin's hand joins hers. Without touching, they touch.

Liéne: You kept him safe. I asked for all and you gave more.

Elvrin: And as long as you lived, your son was yours and no-one's else. But he is the son of a king.

Liéne: No!

Elvrin: He is the son of a king who has no other sons. No daughters either.

Liéne: No!

Elvrin: A king who is good, in all but your treatment. Just, honest, just not with you.

Liéne: No! You promised to keep him safe! You promised to keep him away from here!

Elvrin: And that is still your wish?

Liéne: It is. It is still my wish, forever and always, it is my wish!

Elvrin: Not even in revenge? Your son, my student on the throne. I do not need fire and blood, no torture and pain to punish your husband.

Liéne: (after a pause, shaking her head:) Not as revenge, not as punishment. Never. Keep him secret, keep him safe. (silent) That is my vengeance.

Elvrin kisses her hand with the necessary distance.

After a moment:

Elvrin: I cannot hold onto you for much longer. You do not haunt this castle, you were never meant to be here. Tell me, tell me, is there anything left you wish to say? To your son, to Rehm? To your husband, to Anem? To... (chokes)

Liéne: To you?

Elvrin nods.

Liéne: Keep him secret, keep him safe. I wish I would have loved you, Elvrin, I wish I would've. Keep him secret, keep him safe. Keep him secret, keep him safe...

The words echo and trail away as Liéne disappears again. The raven craws angrily and tries to catch her fading figure, but he pecks nothing. When his beak closes, the candles go out. Darkness again.



Scene 4:

A bedroom in the castle. Late at night. Elvrin enters, the raven on his shoulder, candles in his hands. He puts them on a desk, then sits down on the bed, head in his hands. After a moment, the raven starts to peck Elvrin's ear, flap its wings and so on, trying to get Elvrin's attention.

Elvrin: What? What do you want?

The raven craws.

Elvrin: Not here, not now. It is too dangerous.

The raven flies to a table and stares at Elvrin. It craws again.

Elvrin: If someone enters. It is too dangerous.

The raven pushes the candles to the floor, so that they roll towards Elvrin.

Elvrin: I brought you here to learn, to listen. I gave you this form so you would be safe.

The raven takes one candle after the other in its beak and puts them in a circle, while Elvrin watches him and continues speaking.

Elvrin: You needed to hear her say it. In order to believe it. You needed to know what had happened then, you needed to hear her wishes. There was always doubt in your mind that she wanted me to keep you away from your father, from your birthright. There was always the fear that I stole you.

Once the candles are positioned, the raven sits in their middle and looks expectantly at Elvrin. It craws and flaps its wings.

Elvrin: Now you know. Now you know. I wish I could have shown you to her. She would have been proud, boy, so proud. But I'm not supposed to hurt ghosts. Knowing that you are safe calmed her, seeing you would have pained her.

The raven gets more and more angry and agitated.

Elvrin: It is dangerous, Rehm. It is dangerous to change you, even though we are alone. And I know what you would say, it was dangerous to call your mother as well. But you needed to hear her. And once, just once, you needed to see her. I only wish you could have seen her when she was happy. And I wish I could have shown you more of Anem. He is a good king. Most of the time. To all but your mother. He cares. He cares about people, about justice, but when it comes to your mother, he is blind. No, not blind, he sees her... saw her perfectly well, understood her, even. But he didn't want to, he didn't want to...

The raven flies at Elvrin's face, clawing at it. Elvrin catches its leg strings and drags it onto his arm.

Elvrin: Fine. Stop. I'll change you. Stop. (once the raven has calmed done some.) Get in the circle.

The raven flies back into the circle.

Elvrin: I call you back, Rehm. I call on your body and I call on your mind. Remember your form, remember your being. You are Rehm , son of Liéne and Anem, Rehm, student of Elvrin. And in their name and mine I call you back, call back your body, and call back your mind. I call them together, here, and now.

The raven slowly transforms into a child, Rehm. Elvrin throws his coat over his shoulder to clothe him. Rehm kneels on the ground at first and shakes his head, confused. After a moment, he stands up.

Rehm: A good king? People say as much, they say it in every street, at every manor. I've heard it all my life. I've heard how awful it is that his son was stolen. And I heard you talk about my mother, about the day she came to you after three years, with me in her arms, telling you that she didn't know where to go, didn't know where I would be safe. Is it true? Was it true?

Elvrin: Was it true that she came to me with a one-year old and that this child was you? Yes, of course. Is it true that you would not have been safe with your father? No, probably not. You would have been safe here. Anem would have loved you. But he also loved Liéne, and you saw what he did to her.

Rehm: Because she stole me.

Elvrin: Yes. Because she stole you. And because he hurt her before.

Rehm: Because he raped her.

Elvrin: Yes.

Rehm: Is that true? Did he rape her?

Elvrin: He didn't deny it, not really. But I'm sure he does, to himself. Because he can't admit the truth, not even to himself.

Rehm: He said he had the right...

Elvrin: Laws. Laws are men-made. Laws are changeable. The law is no absolute right that is true by its mere existence. A sense of morality means that you notice at some point that a law is wrong. Anem does have this sense of morality, so I'm sure he noticed at some point.

Rehm: And still he kept her imprisoned.

Elvrin: Yes.

Rehm: And people still say he is a good king.

Elvrin: Yes, they do. Because he is. He's fair, generous, merciful. He also raped your mother and imprisoned her for twelve years.

Rehm: That... that doesn't make sense.

Elvrin: And don't think he is a good king because of remorse. He's not penitent. He doesn't regret what he did. - He is still a good king.

Rehm: It doesn't make sense.

Elvrin: It doesn't? Someone can't show one person mercy and another hatred, protect one while hurting the other? See good and act evil, see evil and act good?

Rehm: No.

Elvrin: Rehm, you may not know your father, but you know me. Do you think I am good? Or do you think I am evil, or selfish, or arrogant? I send ghosts to the world beyond and I keep the remnants of their living being for myself, to strengthen my magic and to prolong my life. I talked with your mother one last time, because I wanted to, not because she was a haunted ghost. Am I good or evil? A servant or a demon?

Rehm: You are...

Elvrin: Neither, Rehm. I am neither. And neither is Anem. And neither are you. And neither was your mother. Did she steal you to protect you? Or was it revenge? Was it selfish or selfless? Neither, both. No-one is ever just one or the other. You have so much to learn still, child.

Rehm: I am not a child any-more!

Elvrin: You are all children to me, Rehm.

Rehm sits down next to Elvrin on the bed and leans against him.

Rehm: You said to my mother... You suggested... that I... that you want me to stay here... as revenge... against my father?

Elvrin: As revenge or because of your birthright. Because you want it or because you might one day be needed. It doesn't matter, really.

Rehm: But you want me to stay?

Elvrin doesn't answer for a while, but embraces Rehm and presses him close to his chest.

Elvrin: The kingdom is without an heir. There will be chaos and death when Anem dies.

Rehm: I thought you do not serve the living! I thought you do not care-

Elvrin: I lied. - And I told the truth. I do not serve the living. I do not serve the dead. Your mother was alive when I gave her my promise, and then I intended to keep it. She is dead now and I think about breaking it. I'm a hypocrite. I tend to do the right things for the wrong reasons. I didn't take you in because I cared about you, I took you in because I loved Liéne. I help ghosts move to the world beyond, not because they suffer but because the energy they leave behind strengthens me and lengthens my life. I was an ally of Anem's father because he paid well and because he allowed me to do my work in his kingdom, albeit not officially. I still know that it is just to help ghosts, it is just to protect an innocent child, it is just to help a kingdom endangered by an invader. I know what is right. I know what is wrong. And I have my own reasons for all I do.

Rehm: So you... Do you... do you really want me to stay here?

Elvrin: No. But it might be the better choice. (to himself:) I could also just kill him...

Rehm: Elvrin, I...

Elvrin: Your choice. It is your choice, Rehm. Yours, not mine. I'm just here to...

Rehm: To...?

Elvrin: ...teach you. Teach you all you need to know.

Rehm: But if you... if I... What would happen with you? When Anem, when my father finds out that you...

Elvrin: Hid you? Kept you from him? What will he do? What part of his character will be stronger? His anger, his hatred? His love, his compassion? I do not know.

Rehm: But...

Elvrin: I do not know.

Rehm: But if he-

Elvrin: Then I'll flee. (laughs)It wouldn't be the first time that I run from an angry mob.

Rehm looks up at Elvrin for a while, then he sinks into the embrace and puts his head on Elvrin's lap. He falls asleep while Elvrin pats his hair.



Scene 5

Throne room. Morning. Courtiers, guards, clerk and herald are all on their places again and talk among themselves. Elvrin stands in the back of the room, the raven back on his arm.

Elvrin: (silent, to the raven) You are sure? You can always change your mind. And no matter your choice, I'll be there for you, no matter how far away I might be.

The raven nestles up against Elvrin's sleeve.

Elvrin: Always remember that your choice does not need to be final. You can always change your mind, I can al-

The king enters through a door behind the throne.

Herald: His majesty, king Anem!

The courtiers turn their attention to the front and bow, but Elvrin doesn't. He steps forward as soon as Anem sits down. He gestures to the herald to announce him.

Herald: Your majesty. (reads:) Elvrin, the... (he hesitates) the necromancer.

Murmurs and general agitation from the courtiers.

Elvrin steps forward and kicks the carpet out of the way. The guards intend to stop him, but Anem holds up his hand to stop them.

Anem: So, you have decided to help-

Elvrin: Help? I do not help you. I do not serve you.

Elvrin starts to put candles in a circle where he removed the carpet.

Anem: Not here, Elvrin!

Elvrin: Do you not want them to see? Did you not ask me to-

Anem: Elvrin!

Elvrin: Do not worry. I shall not call the ghost of your wife.

Anem: What then...?

The raven flies into the circle and turns towards Anem, staring at him.

Elvrin: Your son, Anem, I am here to show you your son.

Anem: How? How would you...

Elvrin: I call you back, Rehm. I call on your body and I call on your mind. Remember your form, remember your being. You are Rehm, son of Liéne and Anem, Rehm, student of Elvrin. And in their name and mine I call you back, call back your body, and call back your mind. I call them together, here, and now.

Anem: Student of... Elvrin...

The raven changes to Rehm again and Elvrin throws his coat over him. The courtiers startle, alarmed. More pronounced mumbles amongst themselves. Elvrin turns to Anem.

Elvrin: May I present: Rehm, son of Liéne, ward of Elvrin, fathered by Anem.

Shocked silence. After a moment:

Anem: This cannot be. You knew. All this time, you knew where he was. You knew when I begged you to call on Liéne, you knew when I...

Elvrin: When you tortured her. When you interrogated her. When you murdered her. I knew.

Anem: How? How did you-

Elvrin: She entrusted him to me. She trusted me.

Rehm: (trying to start a speech:)And I have come now as heir, to take my rightful place-

Anem: (dangerously calm:) You will pay for this! (calls out:)Guards!

The guards draw their weapons and advance on Elvrin.

Elvrin: He is your son, Anem, always remember it. Liéne entrusted him to me. Now I entrust him to you.

Elvrin backs off towards a window.

Rehm: Don't leave! I want you to stay!

Elvrin: I cannot stay. But should you wish me to take you with me, say so and it shall be done.

Rehm: No. I have to be here.

Elvrin: (with a smile) I know. And you don't need me, not any longer. I've guided you here, and you have chosen. Do not fear the path you've taken, Rehm, wherever it might lead, for it is your path, and yours alone.

Rehm: Elvrin, I...

Elvrin fights off the guards for a moment.

Elvrin: I'll be close. And if you ever are in danger, if you ever need me, as a friend, as a teacher, as a guardian, I'll be there.

Anem: I will hunt you down, Elvrin, you will pay for this, for your deceit, for your lies, for your black magic-

Elvrin: (soothing)Rehm, I'll be the shadow in the night, the whisper in the dark, the cloud on a stormy day, the blood on your knife. All for you, Rehm. I will never be far. (threatening) And Anem, for you I shall be the shadow in the night, the whisper in the dark, the cloud on a stormy day, and – if I have to be – the blood on the knife. I will be close. For in the darkness, I am the night.

Elvrin jumps out of the window. The guards run towards the window and look after him, then out of the door to follow. The whispers of the courtiers get louder and louder. Anem and Rehm stare at each other.

Curtain.


-----------------------------------------------------------------

It feels good to be done early, once in a while.

Spoiler

If you feel like this story is incomplete, your supposed to.

[close]

Okay, it's forever since I did anything in AGS and especially with translations, so ignore me if I'm on a completely wrong track here, but:

Doesn't // usually mean that that part of the script is commeted out and the editor therefore won't run this line? Try removing // in front of your code.

Congrats, a deserved win!

Even the best RNG generator needs someone to activate it, i.e. a human, i.e. a neutral person.
There are also other reasons why the winner of the last round should not enter the next, to avoid one person dominating the competition completely (that's obviously more theoratical than an actual concern, but still)

Besides, why do you want to change a working system? It does work, mainly. We always know exactly who organizes the next round, sets the theme, takes care of the voting process (no matter how exactly voting is done in any given round), and so on...
The only reason we have this discussion is a very rare exception this time, and there are easy solutions that don't change the whole system: either you two admin together or one does it alone. That's really not complicated.

Nice work, both of you.

Matti: A very simple wooden drawer - and very reminicent of the ladder so many adventure game protagonists manage to stuff in their pants. From an artistic point, this is obviously a very easy, very non-fancy, straightforward object. Nice idea.

Pinback: Considering that nobody knows what kind of thing this is, I really like how clear of a form and structure it has. It's definitely not a random assortment of pixles, but an object where you might define one part of it as the bowl holding the other, maybe even with handles (right side) or a knob (left side) to activate a mechanism, or even air ducts (left middle), (though it's easy to see these elements of something else as well). Great idea, great artistic execution.

To be honest, with so few regulars, I think it's kind of silly not letting the topic setter join in the writing. I suppose there is the potential for some kind of unfair advantage, but I don't think that's really a problem here. In fact with MAGS, we don't bar the theme-setter from making a game, even though they might have had two weeks head start to think about it. I propose we get rid of that rule, if only to increase the number of stories by one. What does everyone think?

I see your point, but a head-start or unfair advantage was never the problem with the theme-setter joining the competition.
The problem lies with the need of a neutral arbitrator. For example in case of a tie. MAGS never needs to ask this question, becasue MAGGS always has a neutral person - you - as the administrator. For MAGS, the role of theme-setter and competition administrator are seperate, so that it doesn't matter if the theme-setter enters.
Therefore, personally, I wouldn't mind if you two chose the theme together, but one of you takes over hosting duties, and only the one hosting doesn't enter.

Anyway, congratulations to Mandle and Stupot. Nice little cooperation.

First of all, kudos for managing to write a story that works in large parts, despite not working together but rather one after the other on it and without any prior consultation. But...

And unfortunately, it's a lot of but.

It is immedediately clear that this story was written by two people. There are two rather distinct voices at work here, one more flowery and purple, the other short and succinct. I could tell where the author changed, because the tone changed. It is very obvious, at least in the beginning. Later, probably from reading each others parts, the voices converge somewhat. But the reader is left with a fairly inconsistant story (concerning the style, not the plot.) Working together on one story in this manner works better when each person writes the point of view of one character (take my story, for example. Had you two written that one, one could have written Jamela's parts and one Tamis' - and a different voice wouldn't distract from the story, but enhance it.)

As for the plot, I like the beginning, I like the end. The middle needs work. Basically all from Lucy arriving on the boat to the crew trying to escape the other dimension feels very, very rushed and illogical at times. The main part that I considered illogical was later offset and improved by the last three "chapters" though: the fact that the uncle killed himself, despite apparently prefering the world he slipped into. What feels rushed is the whole recognizing Lucy as a family member of their lost friend, then Lucy just immediately getting the supposed meaning of the messages, then them trying to escape.

I laughed a bit at the this part: "Ask me the next one. I think I know what it'sa gonna be."
Dave's baby-blue eyes sparkled in his baby-fresh thirty-something face as she started to stammer out the question but then he asked it for her in his smooth-as-silk voice, "Why haven't we just gone back out through the tunnel, right?"
This should really not be her next question. Why? Because she already has an answer: She tried to go back and couldn't. It is just logical to assume that they also tried and couldn't.
This is a question driven by the plot, a question the author needs answered in that moment, not one the characters should discuss right then and there. It might come up, yes, but not like that.

Questions like that, the sudden jump to recognizing Lucy somewhat and other things make the discussion on the boat feel a bit disconnected. Also, the rather too much detail given to the fish stew added to this feeling.

The story could have ended at different points:
"Without looking behind her, she pushed against the end of the tunnel and plunged backwards into the darkness below." That's actually a good ending, and I assume how Stupot's original text ended? I'm fairly sure I see a jump to Mandle's style right after that. So obviouosly, you wanted to continue here, and that would be very, very open ended.
Or here: And then there was silence again. So, with Lucy's escape. It didn't need the part about not being able to live in the real world again, even though it explains her uncles behaviour to some degree. It also changes the tone of the story. Before, with her escape, there was hope, now, well... Honestly, I would have liked it better without the end, especially because there are no explanations given for anything. We have to assume that Lucy did live through all this and it wasn't a drug induced fantasy, as Indrid thinks. So that means we never learn if the things Lucy sees now are real or not. We don't know what this other dimension is, why it exists, what the water demons want. There is nothing. The last three parts feel like an epilogue, not like part of the story, they feel disconnected.

There's also some very minor detail in the last part: Indrid? Did you mean Ingrid? Indrid seems to exict as a name for a character in the Mothman Prophecies, but not really anywhere else. And it's a male name there. Ingrid, on the other hand, is a common enough, maybe slightly old-fashioned female, germanic name. Intentional, or a mistake?

Overall, I think the story ended up as a very interesting mixture of Narnia and They Live! - which is, frankly, a weird combination. But it does work. It feels rushed in parts, disconnected in others, but it does offers a nice creepy feeling in the beginning and epilogue, while the middle could make for an interesting adventure.
I suggest a re-write. Working out the main plot points and themes, changing the middle so it doesn't feel so rushed and disconnected and offers some explanations (not all, a bit of mystery should stay in a horror story, but the ship crew does know more than they tell (or they should know more)), a clearer charactisation of the uncle and a bit more of a personality for Lucy, and most off all, a more uniform tone and voice throughout.

...

...

...

I think that's enough to earn my one point? 

[The Nameless Kingdom]

Warning: sexual language, slightly brutal (but consensual), also other violence and death


With my deepest apologies, I did not have time to proofread, so expect typos and minor inconsistencies.

The Nameless Kingdom

The dreams started at midnight. And they started while she was awake.

She had left her horse and most of the rations at the edge of the forest. The undergrowth was too thick, there was no getting through for the animal. The trees stood close to each other, so close that it seemed impossible for them to grow like that. Air roots, invisible under moss and fallen leaves, caught her legs and let her stumble. Some trees had fallen in the years and centuries since the forest had grown to its current size. They lay, half hanging, in the narrow spaces between the other trunks. Thick, dark leaves obscured the sun, leaving only shadows down on the ground.

Jamela fought through the thicket, which was bruising her delicate flesh and ripping her pale skin. Birds chirped in the branches high above her head and every now and then something rustled in the brushwood, but she was never able to discern where the noises were coming from. Not least because she felt like a cow stampeding through a royal ball. There was no way for her to be silent, no way for her to even tell her exact direction, no way to know if she was on the right path.

As if there was a path. Long ago, there must have been one. Long ago, somewhere deep in this forest, a castle kept watch over a city and several trade routes. Long ago, this was a kingdom, a kingdom between the principality of Narea, her home, and the empire of Garen to the south.

Her parents kept her awake. For days, every night, they argued, always the same arguments, always the same conclusion. No conclusion. It went in circles, and there was no hope.

An invisible force pulled her forward. At least, she told herself so. In truth, she was running, running away from home and running away from Garen, even though her path lead her towards it. She trusted her dreams, because she wanted to trust them, because the alternative was too unthinkable, too frightening. And if it was a false hope, as so many were, as so many people had learned with this one, it was still better than nothing and it was still something she could do. Waiting for the inevitable to happen did not change anything, did not save anyone.

Jamela brushed angry and desperate tears from her eyes. She must have fought against the thicket for hours by now, and still it felt like the edge of the forest was just a stone's throw away. Somewhere through the noise of the rustling leaves and her own strained groaning, she could even still hear the whinnying of her trusted mare. And the forest stretched for miles and miles. From the hills north of the river Kaj, the official border to the former Kingdom that nearly nobody dared to cross nowadays, she had seen it stretch on and on and on, over hills and to a mountain. And all was covered in trees. The terrain rose until the tops of the trees touched the clouds, Most of the time, they hung deep in the valley, but when they rose high above it and the air became so clear that you could count every individual tree in the distance, people said there would soon be rain, soon a storm would form over the Kingdom, the wind would rip through the forest, thunder would deafen the world and lighting would set the forest ablaze. But while all other forests would burn for days or for weeks, this forest was only ever left with a little dent in its structure. No forest aisles formed, just spots, black and burned, circular, perfectly formed. And soon, the forest took them back, covered them again with green leaves and overreaching branches.

They also said, that when a storm was brewing in the Kingdom, then a disaster was brewing for Narea, that doom was close and that hope was futile.

The sky was clear when Jamela arrived at the river. And like all her people would when they came close to the Kingdom, she started to count the trees in the distance. As she rode down towards the only bridge still standing, the one only used by adventurers in the vain hope to reclaim the Kingdom for human settlers, she had long lost the numbers, too high they were and too numerous the trees.

A storm was brewing over the Kingdom, and doom was stirring its pot for Narea.

"It's a good offer. It's better than war!" her father said.

"She would be a prisoner. And we would hand them not only our daughter, we would hand them the whole realm." her mother said.

For three weeks since the letter arrived, these same arguments circled through the house. It wasn't just her parents saying similar things, the servants did as well, from her governess to the footman, from the ministers to the cooks.

For now, their ships still fought off the fleet of the empire, even though some of the islands were lost. But the warships kept coming.

Narea was a peninsula. Once, it was part of the Kingdom, so it was told, once, her family reigned over vast lands, but now there was only Narea left and nature had taken back the Kingdom without a name. Once, long ago, it didn't need a name, once, long ago, it was all there was. Now, it was just the border between a tiny principality and an empire that wanted to have it all, an empire that wanted to become the new Kingdom, the real Kingdom.

The princes and princesses of Narea were the descendants of the Kingdom. Their claim was strong, but their forces weak, their numbers limited. A marriage proposal made sense, accepting it made sense. That didn't mean that anyone was really in favour of it. But time was running short.

Jamela slept in the nook between the trunks of two fallen trees. For the first time in weeks, she slept well. No matter how bruised she was, no matter how exhausted from crawling over brushwood and under tree trunks, no matter how many times she told herself that this was insane. She wasn't stupid, she had read the accounts of adventurers that had tried to find the seat of power before. Some had ended up in her home's library and so she knew that she wasn't the first to dream of the hidden valley deep in the forest, of the land still cultivated by descendants of the Kingdom, of the throne waiting in the great hall. Others had failed. She could not.

That night, under the sprawling branches of the trees, she dreamed of the hall again.

Jamela wore one of the dresses of old. The skirt's train brushed the hands of her subjects kneeling at the feet. They dared not look up, for she was the queen. Adorned with jewels that sparkled far less than the magic swirling around her, she drenched the whole hall in specks of light.

Her shoes clicked on the stone floor, until she reached the pedestal and the throne. There, the sound was cushioned by the thick carpet, and he knew to look up again. The queen did not spare a single look for him, so unworthy was he of her attention. He didn't mind, no, he almost embraced her coldness, her distance. She didn't care for him and he didn't have any responsibilities.

The bang of an explosion snapped him awake. Cursing, he stumbled sideways out of his cot and rolled once over the fur laying there to keep away the cold from the frozen grass underneath. Tamis scrambled onto his feet, then knelt down again and planted a kiss on the cheek of his still blissfully sleeping lover. He didn't even stir.

"Do you have to start this before dawn?", Tamis mumbled as the opened the flap of his tent, the two soldiers at the side immediately snapping to attention.

He looked in the direction of the mountains, though in the darkness of the early morning there was nothing to see there. The smoke obscuring the stars mixed with the clouds hanging deep over the valley. Somewhere, in the distance, the sun started the peak over the horizon, but it would soon sink into the surrounding darkness. The mountain range stretched from the north far to the east and so the sun only looked through the cleft between two peaks now and then. Even in summer, the valley often seemed dark and glooming.

Once, it was part of the Kingdom, but now it was a barren wasteland. The mountains were also a natural border to the greatest threat against the empire, Narea.

"When you need to get legitimacy, marry into the line of princes of Narea." a minister had suggested and his farther had agreed with a shrug. That didn't stop him from creating a different plan as well, though. Narea's people could claim a direct line to the Kingdom, Narea's people were descendants of the rulers of ling ago. Conquering them might not increase their legitimacy, but it would remove a threat.

On the ocean, Narea fought them off, but through the old and forgotten Kingdom there must be another path. Once, roads lead through it, but now?

Tamis stretched and took the cup of tea offered to him by one of the servants. He slowly walked in the direction of the mountain range, not knowing if he should hope they managed to break through the rocks or not.

"How's it going?" he asked the first soldiers he came across at the rock face.

Almost smooth here, it reached high into the sky here, solid as a metal shield. Many people had tried to scale the rocks, many had fallen to their deaths. Nevertheless, their first plan was to climb the mountain, their first plan was to drag soldiers after soldiers up the cliff and onto the high plateau that stretched for about three miles there before it slowly flattened into a wide valley. At least, that was what some old texts said about the terrain of the Kingdom. But these texts also said that there was a path through the mountain wall, wide enough for three carts to drive next to each other and to still leave enough room for people on foot.

Tamis shook his head. This was insane. It was insane that there was once a path here, it was insane that there was once a kingdom in these mountains, it was insane that this Kingdom ruled the world. It was also insane to try to march through here to reach Narea, it was insane to start this stupid plan just now, when there were miles and miles of rock to get through. It was insane to even try to conquer Narea and so unnecessary. The principality wasn't even in a position to attack or to challenge Garen's rule. And they didn't care to, either.

"We're getting there." the soldier answered, even though Tamis hadn't bothered to wait for a response.

The camp near the cliff only had a couple of tents storing the explosives while the soldiers slept in the same camp as Tamis. A few covered lamps illuminated a flattened bit of ground around a mouth in the rocks. After three detonations, it was hardly the entrance to an artificial cave yet. It was a dent under an overhang, making it seem like more work was done then it truly was.

Soldiers carted large and tiny stones away while the mining blaster inspected the damage done to the structure of the mountain. He only nodded once when he noticed the prince staring at him from a distance.

Tamis was not needed here. Not at all. Not for the work to be done and not to command the troops once there was any progress. He was here so that this undertaking seemed more important to the men.

In the last few days since he had arrived here, Tamis had started to wander along the cliff. Up and down, up and down he went past the rocks, sliding his fingertips over the black stone. Sometimes, he felt like a wild animal in a cage. He always felt like that a bit, but never in a physical sense. Here, he did. Here, the cliff seemed like an impenetrable wall that kept him away from his destiny. Behind these stones, he could feel the hints of magic that supposedly once pulsed through the whole world. Here, in the Kingdom behind the wall, magic was created, and here it died when the Kingdom fell. There were no accounts why it had fallen, only that the descendants of the rulers of the Kingdom had fled to Narea and that Narea's princes still to this day claimed the right to the Kingdom.

Somewhere behind this wall, there was still a queen on the golden throne. And if she could rule the world again, his father could stop caring about his stupid politics and his stupid fears and Tamis would not need to marry a girl he had never seen or spoken to, or one day rule himself. His lover, Nojen, was probably still sleeping in Tamis' tent and if Tamis wasn't destined to rule the empire and therefore need heirs, he could just while away his days, study music, dance every night into the morning, deep in Nojen's embrace...

As it was so often the case, his fantasies turned into dreams.

Nojen was playing the lute, singing in his crystal clear voice. The hall was decorated with drapes and flags in all colours of the rainbow, the symbols on them strange and unknown. They were golden or silver.

It was the first dance of the evening, the one reserved for the queen. She wore her dark brown hair mostly open that night, only a few strands were braided and adorned with silver chains and glittering stones. As she had not chosen a companion yet, she was alone in the middle of the room. Turning around, around and around, her arms high in the air, she seemed almost in ecstasy.

People watched her, and they also had their eyes respectfully downcast. She was the queen, the only the only, there was no doubt, not in their manners, not in her heart. She was the queen, she was the Kingdom, she was the world.

How much time had passed? How many days had she fought against the thicket? How many miles had she walked?

Jamela could not tell. Hardly any light reached the forest floor and the days seemed long even if she only walked for a few hours, so exhausting was the travel. Still, the terrain changed slowly. There was less under-wood now, less moss and less fallen trees. Instead, hard, sharp stones peaked through the plants from time to time. Jamela had stopped counting how many times she had fallen, how many bruises and cuts covered her body by now, how often her hair had gotten caught in the branches. After a while, she had cut it off, she had taken her knife, her only weapon because everything else was too unwieldy, and just sliced off her ponytail. Her mother would have chided her. But her mother wasn't here. Nobody was, she was alone.

And suddenly her path, as flimsy as it was, was blocked. Out of the forest rose a giant wall, sharp stones protruded from a cliff that threw its dark shadows onto the branches and leaves. Black rock formed a natural barrier right in the middle of the forest.

From afar, it had looked like the forest gently ascended until it grew on a mountain, but here, close to the centre of the woods, it was sudden and insurmountable.

Through the trunks, Jamela could see one of these strange clearings that was created by these freak fires she had heard about. On her way here, she had passed through a couple of them, rested her tired legs more than once on one, slept more than once under the bit of sun that managed to peak through this holes in the thick roof of the forest. Now, the one she spotted was not just a new respite for her exhausting journey, but also an opportunity to see her next obstacle a bit clearer.

Trailing her fingertips along the stones, she walked, or stumbled, or fought towards the clearing and for a moment it felt like other fingertips touched hers.

The other clearings had blackened ground from the fire and lightning, but here it was covered in moss. A green carpet welcomed her to the place under the autumn sun. Shadows danced on it as the branches gently swayed in the light breeze of this afternoon.

Even straining her neck, Jamela could not make out the top of the cliff. Nor could she see an end to it to the left or the right, even through the trees had stood back a bit from the stones. Some grew on the cliff itself, nestled in nooks and crannies, and the same moss she had come so accustomed to by now covered other parts of it. For someone standing close to the cliff, it looked like a giant mass of black rock, but from afar it mixed with the green of the surrounding area.

No conscious decision made her walk to the left, back the short distance she had come from her first encounter with the cliff, when she tried to look for a path through the mountain. She couldn't even be sure that there would be one. But her dreams had called her here and her dreams called her ever forward.

Compared to her journey so far, she managed to move quickly now. The trunks didn't try to hinder her any longer, no fallen trees blocked her path. There were still a few, laying rotten close to the cliff, but they weren't as thick and strong as those she had encountered before.

She reached a second clearing as the sun set for the night and her dreams took her to another walk through the palace. She was the queen, she was powerful, strong, she had to answer to no-one, did not have to marry, did not need to worry about her home.

And as she awake that morning, it was as if the sun had answered her dreams. It could not have reached far over the horizon, but a few rays already shone through the branches. They crept over the ground and reflected on the black stones of the cliff.

At first, she didn't notice it, at first she didn't notice how the light was broken there. There were many clefts in the stones, many protrusions and dents, but this one, this one was different. The darkness didn't end, the black stones didn't reflect the light at some point. Further and further into the mountain reached the darkness.

Jamela let her hand slide over the sharp edges of the stones. The cleft was narrow, but it reached into the mountain, further than she could see, further than she could feel from the outside.

Jamela had lost weight over the last couple of weeks. It had started when the talk of marriage began, when she felt sick to her stomach just thinking about marrying the son of this conqueror, but now that she fought against nature every day and ate little or nothing at all, she had become almost scrawny.

Four weeks ago, she would not have fit in the gap, hadn't even though of attempting it, had feared for her life and for her skin. But her skin was bruised either way and she hadn't come here to give up.

The gap was narrow, and it did cut into her skin. She had to turn sideways, her breasts and her arms and legs scraped against the stones. Stupidly, she had turned her head to the entrance, to the light when she entered the passage. It made sense, for the fraction of a second before she was ear to ear between the rocks and it was impossible to even think about turning her head. For a moment, she tried to go back, for a moment she wanted to abandon this try, but the stones pressed against her body, the edges cut her skin and she knew that if she turned around now, she would never get back in here again. Before every step, she pressed the air from her lungs, she flattened her chest and her stomach and like a cat, she managed to slip through, she got past the narrowest part at the entrance. After a couple of scuffled steps, the passage widened to about half her shoulder's width. It was still too narrow to walk through it properly, still too narrow to turn her head, it still ripped open her clothes and skin, but she moved forward.

After a few steps, the little bit of light from the entrance ended with a sharp line. No shadows danced on the walls, no leaves rustled in the distance. Jamela had only her sense of touch, in her fingertips and her feet, to sense the width of the cave, its corners and curves.

At some points, the stones had grown closer together, at others further apart from each other, but they never opened up so wide that she could turn her body or even her head. Still, every time she felt for the next turn, she found enough space to move forward. By now, it wouldn't even have helped her if her head pointed in the right direction. There was nothing but darkness around her, nothing but the cold stone pressing against her chest and taking her breath away.

At midday, light returned. It didn't come from the entrance that was long gone from her eyesight, nor from an exit she might hope to find at one point and that would have been impossible to see, but from up ahead. As narrow as the passage was, it was open all the way to the sky and when the sun finally reached its zenith, some rays managed to shine all the way to the bottom of the cleft.

Jamela was tired, exhausted. She had not drank any water, had not sat down, had not rested all day. How would she have been able to?

At some points in the passage and the seemingly impassable walls, wet spots penetrated the cold surface. The sunbeams made them glitter like diamonds. Jamela licked over the stones, slobbering up some of the moisture and she hung in the stones holding her body upright for a while. It was her only respite, before she had to move again. She knew she was lost of she got stuck, she knew she was lost if she got too exhausted to continue, she knew the path back was not better than the path forward. And she kept going, because at the end of the passage lay her only hope, and if there was none there she was lost either way. How it was possible that she had not got stuck so far, she could not tell.

It was late afternoon when the passage suddenly widened to a footpath. Jamela felt for the next sharp edge and then her fingers touched nothing, her shoulders touched nothing. Suddenly no longer supported by the surrounding stones, she fell to her knees and her head snapped around. It hurt, her neck hurt and for a moment, she lost all sense of direction, all feeling in her limbs and felt light-headed. Kneeling on the wet stone ground, she took several deep breaths and moist, humid, cold air and the smell of wet grass filled her nose. Everything seemed to have opened up with the passage, not just the stones around her, but her heart as well and her ears. She heard insects again whirring around her scraped ears and further ahead the rain pattering on a wet field. It was not the sound of rain falling on thick leaves and then slipping from them and dripping down to the ground, it was the constant prattle of full raindrops on the verge of hail.

The ground was slightly uneven, low where she was, higher towards both ends of the path. A little stream slithered over the ground, no wider than a hand's width and started to fill the little low point where she was kneeling, as if no god and no demon was willing to grant her a break.

Come, come, you are so close, her dreams seemed to whisper and there was no mistaking the call.

*

Forget the world, forget your father, dream, hope, dance! his dreams screamed at him.

A dent had turned into a cave mouth and a cave mouth into a tunnel in the last couple of weeks. The camp for the soldiers had moved ever closer to the entrance, replacing the tents for the supplies with those for people.

The explosions still shook the ground at all hours of the day and night. They were working in shifts.

News from the front was slim and it was always the same. The ships attacked but still Narea was holding out. Some minor islands fell into the hands of the empire, but some others were recaptured.

"I don't know what I would prefer," Nojen said and snuggled up to Tamis bare chest, "For us to break through here, for the fleet to win, or for you to marry and get this whole mess over with."

"No option sounds particularly enticing," Tamis said with a sigh and folded his father's letter in half.

"Maybe the princess is a beauty. Maybe she wouldn't mind to share you, occasionally. We could even all three -"

"Don't. I know you don't mind a beautiful woman in your bed from time to time, but I..."

"I know."

"Besides, I doubt she would want to marry to save her country. This is all so utterly stupid."

"It's politics, Tam."

"Fucking politics!"

"Well," Nojen cooed and stroked Tamis' thigh, "If you prefer a different kind of fucking..."

Tamis stood up suddenly, pushing the other man's hand away. "I should go inspect the progress. Ostensibly, I have work to do here!"

Nojen sighed. "You do that. You're in a dreadful mood this morning anyway."

Tamis' mood had gotten worse and worse over the last couple of weeks. The day before, the master ranger responsible for checking the structure of the rocks had told him that there were indications that they got closer to the end of the rocks, that the valley behind it must be close. He had no idea what kind of indications he was talking about or what that meant for the explosives they had to use. In short, he noticed once again how useless he actually was here. Ans that didn't even take into account how useless this whole idea was.

Torches illuminated the narrow tunnel through the mountain. Every couple of meters, a wooden beam supported the roof. The further Tamis went into the cave, the thicker the air became. Smoke from the last explosion still hung in the passage, coating the ground and walls in a thin layer of fresh dust. Other particles still danced in the flickering light.

Tamis dragged a handkerchief over his nose. The cloth had become just as dusty as all his clothes since he regularly visited the tunnel. For a few days, he had tried to brush the dust away, but by now he was used to it, on his boots, in his hair, under his fingernails. There was no escaping it.

Men passed him in the tunnel, dragging debris to the entrance, all of them just as dusty as him, most of them even more. They nodded at him, but mostly ignored him, too focussed on their work or not really caring about the emperor's son.

"Clear the halls!" a called echoed through the tunnel, almost immediately followed by the next explosion in a serious of too many.

The ground shook, the stones creaked and groaned, pebbles dribbled down on Tamis' head. For the fraction of a second, all air was sucked towards the end of the tunnel where the next part of the stones was crumbling, then it rushed past him in the opposite direction of the entrance. The torches flickered violently, then were pressed into a flamelet, then died or rose again into their normal height. Thunder boomed through the tunnel, pushing against every supporting beam and every part of the walls. It droned in his ears with immeasurable pressure, then it was gone again and all was silent, more silent then ever before.

So far, Tamis had avoided the explosions. This was the first time he was in the tunnel when one happened. The cave, already filled with dust, no felt almost impenetrable. It hung thick in the air, like a wall of the tiniest stones slowly sailing to the ground.

Not even the cloth in front of his mouth could keep the powdered stones away. They slid into his mouth and nose, they dried his gums and nasal mucosa. Tamis leaned one hand against the wall, doubling over for the lack of breath and coughed several times. His eyes were dry and watered at the same time, leaving him almost incapable of seeing. He wiped them with his sleeve, but that only made the pain worse.

"Fucking politics. Fucking stupid plans. Fucking soldiers." he cursed under his breath, only to cough again.

"Fucking explosions."

After a while, the dust began to settle again, creating another layer of grey on the black stones.

Tamis finally managed to blink his eyes free again. "Hopefully, this is all over soon," he mumbled as he stumbled further into the cave.

Surprisingly, the air became clearer the further he walked, lighter and less stifling. It almost seemed like a soft breeze swept through the tunnel, it almost seemed like the explosion's thunder had called rain down under the ground. Even the dust seemed heavier now, as if humidity had weighted them down.

Tamis vision was still slightly blurred, but the light of the torches seemed less intense here, even though they burned just as high and bright as all the others. But here, other light, natural light, took some of their power away.

The last explosion had opened the passage. Still it was blocked by larger rocks that needed to be moved, but there was a clear opening at the end of the tunnel.

The soldiers greeted him with a grin, hardly recognisable on their debris-covered faces, but Tamis didn't reciprocate. He didn't feel like smiling at all. Instead of stopping and celebrating with the soldiers, which they surely wanted to do, Tamis walked further towards the hole in the mountain. Many large rocks still blocked his path. They had broken off from the ceiling and walls and crumpled in on themselves. But there was a hole, just large enough to put his shoulders through, but certainly not for an army yet.

He didn't know what he expected to see. A city? A forest? More black stone?

What he did see was an almost empty pasture. The land was mostly flat, only interrupted by some hills that obscured the view to a large portion of the valley. A couple of domesticated animals – sheep or cows or maybe even horses, he could not tell – had run away from the explosion, leaving some disturbed grass behind. They were still visible on the peak of one of the hills, huddled together in fear from an invisible enemy.

Behind the hills, the hints of smoke rose into the air and mixed with the clouds hanging deep over the valley, speaking of some inhabitants of the former powerful Kingdom.

A part of Tamis had doubted that there even was a Kingdom, that they would reach anything but a dead end or directly the large forest in the south of Narea. But this valley was wide and cultivated, the grass cut short, no doubt, by the mouths of hungry sheep.

Some trees stood randomly here and there on the pasture, offering shadow in the summer heat and apples and pears in autumn.

Tamis sighed. He didn't want his men to march through this valley, he didn't ever want to reach Narea. It wasn't his choice.

With a sudden, almost violent movement he turned around. "Clear the rocks!" he ordered curtly and  returned into the depths under the mountain.

*

The air was chilly, but it still felt like she walked towards the warmth, even as raindrops started to drizzle through the cleft, even as the sun hid behind clouds. But she could see the sky, she could turn her head and see where she was going, look towards the end of the cave high, high up above. Even as the sun slowly crept towards the horizon, as the clouds embraced it further and further, there was still a bit of light that brightened her path.

And when Jamela stepped out of the passageway to the Kingdom, the hail had stopped and a last ray of sunshine illuminated a vast valley that stretched almost flat all the way to the horizon.

Fields of wheat shone golden in the last remnants of the evening sun. Jamela could not spot any people working the fields, but there was no doubt that they were cultivated. A fence separated one field from the next and a pebble path lead further into the valley alongside their border. It wasn't far from the cave mouth to the path.

The wheat had bowed due to the hail a while ago and now seemed to welcome the princess and descendant of the kings and queens of the Kingdom respectfully on their knees.

She felt like a queen. She felt like coming home. No matter how tired she was, no matter how bruised and wounded, she walked tall and with large steps following the path. In her dreams she had walked here before. In her dreams, the pebble path was a street worthy of a queen and the passage through the mountains was a wide road for waggons and armies. When she looked back now, the passage had disappeared in the uneven structure of the rocks. Knowing where it was, she could still make it out between the black stone and green moss where the tiniest stream flowed into the mountain.

In her dreams, it wasn't just the wheat welcoming her, it were the people, all of them, dressed up in their finest garments, celebrating the return of the rightful queen.

But the people weren't there and she looked nothing like in her dreams. She wasn't wearing a wide elegant skirt, her hair wasn't long and adorned with precious stones, her skin wasn't smooth and pale. Her skin was bruised, cut, bloody. Her clothes were ripped and dirty trousers and a muddy blouse. Her hair was short, full of twigs and insects, and most of all, knotted. She didn't look like a queen, she shouldn't feel like a queen. She looked like a peon, less than a servant's servant. She looked like an imposter.

When the sun had set and the moon had risen high in the sky, Jamela reached a crossroad. It was a full moon and the air was clear after the afternoon's hail and so she could see fairly well in both directions. To her right, a little village, bright lights in the windows and no wall surrounding the settlement, stood on top of a hill. To her left, the path first twisted downwards in wide serpentines, only to then lead straight towards and up another hill. On top of this hill, a giant single stone, higher than the hill itself, higher even than twice a ship's mast stood lonely and brooding overlooking the whole valley. It was not as wide as it was high and towards its bottom it was narrower still, while at the top it formed something resembling a pointed hat, all in all giving it the look of a giant cone.

This was the palace, Jamela knew. She had seen herself look down from one of the balconies that were cut in this natural stone that stood so lonely and nearly precariously on top of the hill. From her vantage point and distance and in the approaching dark, she could not see that this side of the rock was left to its natural appearance and that only the other side, the front, was adorned with columns and stone garlands cut from this extraordinary structure. Four floors could be found in the inside and on the top floor was the source of magic that had once given the rulers of the world their power.

This was where she had to go.

Jamela expected some kind of light illuminating the palace or some kind of city, maybe in ruins, at the foot of the giant rock. But there had never been a city there and the palace stood in complete darkness. No torches illuminated its outside, no lights burned in the windows. Even in the darkness and under the shadow of the boulder, the windows stared down at her cold and empty.

But the front of the building looked just like she had dreamed it, even if it was difficult to make out in the night. It seemed like one single, enormous portal, three columns adorning each side of the few steps leading up to the actual entrance, the last one one cut about a fourth out of the stone. A portico hung over an old and heavy wooden door, twice as tall as her. The door wasn't decorated, not with frescos and not with golden fittings. Even though it was old, it seemed newer than the building and frame it sat in. No one stood guard.

No one stopped her when she pushed lightly against the door and it swung open easily. The hinges didn't screech and they didn't resist her entry. But they swung closed as soon as she had entered the palace.

For a moment, complete darkness engulfed Jamela. She could still feel the size of the room she had entered, two stories high and as wide as the whole rock, and had she spoken into the darkness, her voice would have echoed from the walls, she was sure.

She stood there while cold air rushed over the body, over spin and her arms, tickled her skin and invaded her body through the many lesions her body had suffered over the last couple of weeks. It seemed to taste her blood, then the whole building seemed to sigh with relief.

Suddenly, she was wrapped in light instead of darkness. For the first second, it shot out from her skin, from her blood, then it swirled around her body, only to finally set on the walls in ancient lamps that still were positioned there as if no time had passed since the Kingdom was ruled by her family.

The palace had recognized her.

Jamela had to blink a couple of times to rid herself of the spots dancing in front of her eyes. The light was bright and powerful, unflinching, not like the sun where clouds often hindered its constant stream or like a lamp that flickered and burned brighter or darker as the oil slowly dissipated. This light was constant, unwavering, strong.

It illuminated a great hall, two stories high, decorated with garlands, flowers and ribbons, all cut from the same stone Jamela now stood in. Two spiral staircases began right next to the entrance, each going in the opposite direction, meeting only once at the height of one story on the other end of the room, and then again over her head in a wide balcony that was continued on the outside of the castle. Every couple of steps, alongside the whole length of the staircase, colourful portraits in golden frames, showing kings and queens of long ago, hung one after the other. Their frames shone golden, but here and there specks of the golden paint had come off over the years, making the sturdy wood underneath visible.

The hall had no doors on this floor. It was all an empty room. Once, petitioners had waited here and guards had protected the staircases, but nothing of this was left. Once benches stood to the side of the round hall, once weapons clanged when the royal bodyguards trained here. No, nothing of the erstwhile life was left, but the fading portraits of Jamela's family.

But she knew that this was not the place for her to be. Slowly, almost as if she strode like the queen she was, she followed the steps to her right. The balustrade was made of the same stone as everything else here, no, not made of it, carved whole from it like everything else. No seams were visible, no mortar necessary to hold fragile pieces together. This was all one, all one palace, all one world, all one with her.

And so the steps sang gently under her bloody feet and the balustrade played gentle music at her touch.

From the balcony at the end of the stairs, she could look over her Kingdom, and it almost seemed to her like she could see it. It was still dark outside, it was still the middle of the night and only some weak light came from the village in the next valley over. But she didn't only see the village, and she didn't only see it as it was now. She saw the armies that once stood under this balcony, unnecessary as every part of the world belonged to her, and she saw Narea, nothing but a summer home for her family, nothing but a place to spend a week or two to hunt and to dance and to feast, to swim in the ocean and eta from the citrus trees.

She also saw Garen, then nothing more than a free city, a place of learning and debauchery, a student's city. There, magic was studied, there they tried to decipher the secrets of her family's power, of her family's magic. Why the Kingdom could rule the world so easily. Of course, they brought all their insights right to the Kingdom, right into the heart of the Kingdom.

Jamela shook her head, shaking off the visions and dreams of what once was. She looked passed the past, not into the future either, but into the here and now, into the fleet still fighting off Garen's advances, into the halls of Garen's castle, where ministers discussed a doomed marriage and over the Kingdom itself where...

*

They didn't expect an army to come one by one from a hole in the mountain. Soldier after soldier slipped through and then took his position in the marching order. A moment ago the pasture was peaceful and empty, now it was filled with man after man in arms.

They had dragged the cannons through the tunnel as best they could, gasping and sighing with every step. The supporting beams were in the way, the tunnel was low and narrow, too tight for the horses to fit through. But two of the cannons did make it and now they stood in front of the army.

When the army was assembled, their swords at their sides and the provisions on their backs, Tamis walk in front of their files and inspected them. He didn't know what he expected after seeing them work day and night for the last few weeks. They had shown enthusiasm, but there was no doubt that better men were serving on the warships in the ocean, fighting, invading Narea. The men here were old, not veterans, just old, not combat hardened, just leathery. The only men with real experience were the men responsible for the explosives, but those were miners mostly, not soldiers.

It didn't matter. Their strength was in the surprise, in the fact that they could strike against Narea from the back, though Tamis could only hope, and didn't that the former Kingdom was easy to pass through and that there was not a second tunnel they needed to blast open.

Tamis nodded once at the commander, and the man ordered: "Forward, march!"

Soon, the order echoed through the whole army, repeated over and over again by the sergeants and the march towards Narea began.

It was late morning and the sun had just blinked over the hills, dipping the green grass of the pastures in a bloody red.

The sheep Tamis had spotted the day before had not returned to the mouth of the tunnel, leaving the scene before the army nearly undisturbed and the churned up earth under the soldier's heavy boots all the more apparent.

To the rhythm of the drums, the men set one foot in front of the other, and only Tamis didn't bother with the usual order of a well-oiled war-machine. He scuffled at points next to the soldiers or officers, at others behind them like a petulant child.

After a while, Nojen came to him and slipped his hand under his elbow.

"Look at it this way, if we do indeed conquer Narea, there won't be a need for you to marry the girl."

Tamis shook his head. "If we conquer Narea, it doesn't change a thing. People still expect me to sire an heir, people still look at Narea as the one and true ruler, people would still want me to confirm my father's rule by marrying the prince's daughter. All that changes is that they don't have a choice."

"But -"

"Of course, officially, everybody would say that it was the girl's or her father's choice – I don't even know her name!"

"... Jamela..."

"And the ministers and propagandists would probably come up with a story that we freed Narea, Narea's princes, the Kingdom's princess from – I don't know – an inner revolt? Maybe father will tell the people that we brought the family back to the throne of the Kingdom, now that we reached this fucking place. And nobody even wants this! Narea doesn't care about Garen, Garen doesn't care about Narea, and the people over there -" He gestured towards a group of houses in the distance where several people had gathered in the village square and were staring towards the army passing by without even acknowledging them – "these people certainly don't want us here. They want to live their lives in peace!"

"Tamis -"

"And what about our soldiers here?" Tamis had talked himself into a subdued rage. He spoke silently, so that only Nojen could here him, but his voice was filled with frustrated venom, "Do you honestly think they want to die for some stupid, unnecessary war? Don't you think they would rather be with their families? Don't you think the sailors wouldn't rather fish or trade or what the fuck-ever sailors usually do? And you,"

Nojen flinched at the sudden anger and stopped in his tracks.

"You would rather lie on the ground and have your asshole fucked bloody by me right now, don't you?

After a moment's hesitation, Nojen sprinted back towards Tamis and fell into step with him again. "You know me too well..."

"Yeah, I know everything about everybody," Tamis spit out, full of sarcasm, "All I don't know is how to stop my father from continuing with this foolishness. Why the fuck am I even here?"

"Because you're the prince and the men look up to you. Because they think this enterprise is less foolish with you around, because the fear the magic of the Kingdom less when they know that the emperor's only heir is with them?"

"You're too bloody reasonable, you know that?"

Armies move slowly, but the secret valley of the old Kingdom wasn't very wide. Nobody challenged their march. There were a few settlements here and there, but the army didn't pass through them directly and the people didn't dare come close to them. There were hints of messengers rushing away from them, deeper into the valley. But it was obvious that no standing army was ready to stop them, Maybe there wasn't even one.

No cities lay in their path. Fields and pastures, orchards and meadows were the constant observers of the mostly silent march.

In the evening, they pitched their tents in the smaller valleys between the hills and ate from the fresh fruits they found on the trees.

When they came close to a village, so close that they could look the people in the eyes, those stood with pitchforks in their hands and barking dogs at their sides.

Tamis' dreams had changed, his sleep mostly gone. He slept little, no matter how exhausted he was from the day's march, and when he slept he was plagued by nightmares, he was chased by monsters and skinned alive by invisible horrors. A wind carried him high into the sky, then dropped him in an unstoppable fall.

*

She was the nightmare. She was the monster in his dreams. With every one of her heartbeats, the lights darkened for a fraction of a second. She was close, she was close now. She had ran up the next flight of stairs, had not stopped for the throne room or the living quarters on the next floor. Her destination was the room on the very top, the small room that was forever reserved for nobody but her family, the one where a single silver crystal had been worked out of the black stone around it, that lay on a black pedestal that was once part of its hull.

They were here! She gasped and wiped fearful tears from her stinging eyes. They were already here, were here as well, were here, were here, were here...

She had to stop them. Now. There was an army in the valley, there was no time left. She was the queen, this was her Kingdom, and they invaded it, violated it with their boots and weapons, their cannons and blood.

If she couldn't stop them, if she couldn't control the magic here, all was lost.

Jamela breathed heavy from running up the stairs, even heavy from the fear in her heart. By the time she reached the landing, she was coughing.

A double door, as black as the palace's stone, made from the palace's stone, blocked her path. Golden fitting, a golden handle adorned the door, golden inlays told the story of the stone coming to this valley. But she saw nothing of that.

Jamela pushed against the doors, and like the entrance, they swung open easily.

Like everywhere in the palace, light filled the room with her entry. The chamber was small, no larger than a ship captain's cabin and with just as low a ceiling. There was no decoration here, not even the pedestal holding the ancient silver crystal had any carvings. It was plain, empty, and the crystal itself was a perfect sphere.

Jamela leaned with her hands against the double doors for a moment, catching her breath. But it was taken from her again when the crystal suddenly glistened with all the power of the world. She stumbled forward, almost fell on the crystal, her hands enfolding it completely. It had the perfect size for her fingers, it even had handprints from thousands of her ancestors touching it just like that in its otherwise smooth surface. It was cold, as cold as the ice it resembled, but with Jamela's touch it seemed to fill with life and with warmth.

Finally, it seemed to whisper in her head, finally, you return. Finally, you answer my dreams.

"Show me!" Jamela gasped, "Show me again!" and the world in front of her eyes changed.

The enemy's fleet lay calm on the agitated water. It lay in waiting. There, behind the horizon was the capital, there they would strike in the morning.

"No!"

Jamela wiped the air in front of her face and the wind carried through the double door and over the landing. It whiffed out of the window and blew over the mountain. It rushed over the forest and the peninsula, it stormed towards the ships.

She wielded the power of the wind. She wielded the power of the sea. Waves rose higher than the clouds, shooting up into the sky like massive geysers. They created a barrier between ship and ship, between island and fleet. The wind caught in the ships' sails, it filled them, it blew into them with unimaginable force, it ripped them apart and from their hawsers.

The sailors had hardly the time to wake from their sleep. The freak wind grabbed the boats, it flung them high into the sky, it let them fall down on the stone-like waves again. Giant boulders had been raised from the ocean's floor and the ships' hulls crashed down on them. The wooden planks splintered, the sailors who were lucky were thrown overboard. Others were shattered on the decks like broken mirrors, bones broken and skin and flesh ripped apart.

The sun came up over the horizon and shone through the window over the landing into the crystal's chamber. It warmed Jamela's hands and Jamela followed its beams to the sea, she followed it as fire from the skies, burning, all-encompassing. Were moments before columns of water rose from the sea, now columns of fire descended from the sky. It burned the remnants of the shattered boats, burning even the parts drenched in salty water.

And then, all was gone, all was silent again, all was calm again. The fleet was gone.

Jamela doubled over, holding onto the crystal with the last bits of her strength.

She had done it. She had claimed her heritage, she had destroyed the invaders. She laughed in one short, exhausted breath.

Jamela held onto the pedestal and hung over it like an empty doll and didn't notice the old woman standing in the double doors at first.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the old woman asked. When Jamela didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge her, she continued, "The tower is out of bounds, you should now this. The magic here is dangerous."

Jamela still didn't answer, but she heard the words. She looked up at the woman standing there. She was small, deep lines in her leathery face spoke of a long life. Jamela did not know what to think of her.

"We agreed to let the army pass in the council, didn't we? To close the passage again when they are gone? The wars of the outside are no concerns of ours."

Jamela shook her head. She didn't understand.

"Yes, it was a mistake to even let them enter. And maybe I was neglectful and didn't stop the magic from reaching to the outside again, but that -"

"I am not from here." Jamela finally panted. "I am Jamela, Princess of Narea, Queen of the Kingdom."

"You are not-"

"The army!" Jamela suddenly exclaimed when the words registered with her slightly delayed. There was still the army in the valley! And there was still the emperor on his throne.

*

After the hail of the last afternoon, where they were forced to pitch their tents early to protect both their black powder and their heads, the army began their day long before the first light of the day.

They marched mostly in silence as the sun slowly rose behind the horizon.

Soon, Tamis and Nojen, for now at the front of the army, reached the top of a small hill overlooking a small river. On the next hill over, a giant black boulder looked back at them like an enormous shadow in the early morning light.

The soldier's boots beat the green grass underneath with the rhythm of the drums. It sounded like thunder jerking through the ground.

Suddenly, the thunder was accompanied by a freak flash of lightning coming from the black rock. It  lead in a zig-zagging line line towards the sun and stayed there longer than a flash would usually enlighten the sky.

One breath, two breathes passed, as the clouds, dark and brooding, collected overhead in a whirl of shadowy strands. The world turned dark and the wind mounted in swirls.

Flashes of lightning twitched in the swirling clouds, illuminating the pasture for a moment stronger than the morning sun before. They were manifold, twitching and jerking in all directions but still far above them in the sky, as if they were getting ready, as if they were collecting their strength. Then one of them shot through the sky, not towards to ground, but to the south, over the army marching in the valley, further towards the mountain they had blown open, towards Garen.

The column of wind slowly lowered itself to the ground, stretching itself, becoming thinner and thinner, but not loosing any of its power. Lightning danced around its edges, eager to strike. And then the clouds emptied themselves onto the army. Blocks of ice, as big as a fist, as big as a head, bolted down on them.

One landed of the head of a soldier, knocking a giant dent in his helmet and felled him. Blooded dripped forth from his visor.

"Run!" Tamis called, though he was not sure where to.

And he ran himself, Nojen right beside him, towards the only structure in their path that might offer a tiny amount of shelter.

And at the same time the clear origin of this freak storm.

It wasn't far. But with impossible hail pattering down on them, as if it was chasing them, as if it was aiming, it nearly was too far.

Behind them, they heard the screams of their soldiers, the clanking of the ice on raised shields, on helmets, on the two cannons. It was metallic, the sound and the fearful taste in their mouths. It smelled of burning flesh when the lightning joined the hail.

Tamis couldn't tell how many men were still behind him, couldn't see it either when he turned around at the entrance of the boulder. The world had turned dark, the clouds had reached the ground, hung now in the valley between the hills like a black, churning sea. The froth were the flashes, the waves the hail. It was all nothing but a pit of death.

"Get in!" Nojen screamed as he reached his lover and another flash seared the grass at his feet, "Go!"

Sudden quiet surrounded them as they entered the palace, deafening silence. No screams reached them here as the doors closed behind them, no rumbling of the storm, no clanking of metal.

Tamis looked back at Nojen and saw the same fear reflected in his eyes he felt in his pounding heart.

"What... what was that?" Nojen stammered, but Tamis shook his head.

He just took na second to catch his breath, then he started to run up the stairs. The lightning had come from here.

A part of his brain noted that he had seen these halls before, that he had waited here in his dreams and that the queen resided above. Maybe it was her, who attacked his army. But it didn't matter to him, not in this moment.

Higher and higher he ran, over worn-out stairs and past the portraits of former kings and queens. On the top floor, he stopped in his tracks.

There she was, the queen of his dreams, though she looked nothing like her dream-self. She didn't look regal, she looked exhausted, hanging over a pedestal in the middle of a tiny room, holding onto it with the last remnants of her strength, holding onto a silver ball for sheer life.

The sphere in her hands pulsed with power, pulsed with the same flashes and with the same tornado he had just experienced.

"Is she..." Nojen gasped next to him, "Is she doing this?"

Neither had entered the chamber and neither had noticed the old woman standing on the landing as well.

"Yes." the woman answered with a calm tone.

Nojen didn't hesitate a moment longer. He drew a knife and threw it right at the heart of the younger woman.

It rotated once, twice, and then it hesitated in front of her, stood still as if it were frozen in ice.

"She is the Queen," the old woman said, as if offering an explanation, "Queen Jamela, Princess of Narea, Queen of the Kingdom. As long as she is connected to the stone, nothing can touch her body, only her mind."

And almost in answer, the knife clattered to the ground.

*

She felt them there, had felt them invading her realm, her palace, her space, had felt their fear and their hurry, had felt their attack. But all was meaningless.

She had followed her single lightning to Garen, had send it through a window and into the heart of her enemy. The emperor had grabbed his chest, then he had fallen to the ground.

Vaguely, she heard people speak in her realm, heard them over the screams of her vision, over the hissing in her ears from her exhaustion.

*

"Jamela of Narea?" Tamis asked.

"She came here in the night." The old woman prattled, "The barrier is too weak, I let it slip, let her slip past, let you slip in. She's not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be here. The Kingdom shall never exist again. It is too much power, too much power in the hands of one person, of one family. This power is not meant for rulers, in the hands of a king, this power is tyranny. Everybody can wield the magic to some degree, I can, but only the kings and queens of once can use it to its fullest power. They are connected, we are not, I am not. I cannot stop her, I cannot enter, I was supposed to keep a barrier, keep us away from the world of kings and queens, of wars and politics. But I failed, I failed. The magic wanted her back, called her back. I couldn't stop it. The world has returned, the queen has returned. My Lady, My Queen, forgive me, forgive me my failings, forgive our ancestors the blasphemy, forgive us our rebellion, forgive us, forgive us, spare us, please, my Queen, please, I beg you, please spare us."

"No!" Tamis shouted and silenced her with a hand over her mouth. "No, shut up. This isn't right, none of this is."

He took a deep breath and steeled himself for his next words.

"Jamela?" he almost whispered, too silent for even his own ears to pick up the words. "Jamela?" slightly louder, "Jamela, listen to me.

*

Her head jerked up at her name, though she didn't see the speaker right away through her vision. Men fell, armours broke, but there, there in front of her stood one of her courtiers. This was a different vision, an older vision, a future one.

"Listen," the young coxcomb said, "Jamela, listen."

How dare he address her be her name?

"This isn't right. None of this is. All of this is wrong. You are wrong here. I am wrong here."

Tamis, his name was Tamis. Once, he was supposed to become her husband.

"You are of Narea, not of the Kingdom. They don't want you here, you're not supposed to be here."

She turned down his marriage with fire and blood. She was the queen.

"This war, it is fought for nothing, for nobody. Nobody, nobody wants this war. I don't, my men don't, Narea doesn't. The Kingdom doesn't Garen doesn't."

Narea was safe. The fleet was destroyed, her home saved.

Her home. Narea.

"The people here, they just want to live their lives in peace. Everyone does. Why is this so difficult? Why is it so difficult for everyone to leave everyone else alone. Here, this Kingdom, this Kingdom that once was, the people are perfectly happy here. Narea and Garen are perfectly happy with their own laws, their own rulers. To each their own. With separated rulers, with separate politics, with their own people."

They were happy, all of them. And then the war came. She wouldn't be here if not for the war, if not for a marriage proposal she didn't want.

But these words, they rang true. She had heard him say them before, so for him they were true.

*

"Garen – attacked – Narea." she ground out through gritted teeth, all the strength left in her body forming the words.

Tamis looked first at Nojen, then at the old woman, but he found no help there.

"Yes," he finally said, "Yes, we did. And I'm sorry, I really a..." He stopped himself, "No, I am sorry your home was attacked, I am not sorry for being of Garen and I'm not sorry for being my father's son. Take your revenge on me if you must, but spare my people and spare yourself the knowledge that you killed even more innocent people. These are soldiers outside, just soldiers. They are not the ones ordering the destruction of your islands, they are not the ones deciding. My father is, and I will do everything I can to stop this foolishness."

"Your father is dead." Jamela said flatly.

Tamis balled his hands to fists and bit on his lower lip for a moment, his face distorted in unexpected anger. Then, the muscles loosened up again and he said, "Then so be it. He had it coming."

"Tamis..." Nojen whispered with pain in his voice, but the prince ignored him.

"He started this war." he said instead, "He started it all, but I will end it and not with more blood. Here it will end, not with a marriage, not with one country conquering the other, not with hatred. It is over." He looked at Jamela pleadingly, "Please, please let it end. We return to our homes, we call back our armies, we leave this valley alone. They close the borders again, if they wish to do so and we, our people, everyone lives the life they want to."

Jamela hesitated a moment longer, her eyes sparkling silver in the magic of the crystal.

"No more war?" she asked, and she didn't sound like a queen, she didn't sound angry, she sounded deflated, like the girl, barely woman, she was.

"No more war."

*

Her hands burned silver as she took them from the crystal, but as soon as the connection was lost, the lightning and storm rushed back towards the boulder in the middle of the Kingdom. They swirled once, twice more through the crystal sphere, then they were gone.

Jamela's look was empty as she stared at her hands.

So many dead, she thought. "So many dead," she whispered. "This isn't what I wanted. I just wanted to protect my home."

Home. Narea was her home. "I want to go home."

She looked up and her eyes focused on the little group outside the chamber. "So many dead. I'm sorry. I just wanted to protect my home."

"I know," Tamis said, and he did. "I know. - We should," he hesitated a moment. The words felt strange in his mouth, empty, "return home. Each to their home."

"Yes," Jamela nodded, "home."

Tamis turned to the old woman. "You'll make sure that we can leave, that the magic will let us leave?" he asked as if it was the most natural question in the world.

The old woman nodded.