Tuesday 20 October 2009

Chapter 8: And She Walked Away





“Who the hell is this, Sam?” he shouted across the room. It was cosy; there was a fire, bookcases - lots of books - and lots of clutter. 
“My name is Jen, thank you very much,” Jen replied for herself. Sam pressed his lips against each other to keep silent.
“And what are you wearing?”
“A crown.”
“Sam?” the angry man addressed, firmly and fatherly.
“I can explain.”
“It had better be good. You left here promising to save this girl, and if it’s the Crown we believe it to be-”
“It is,” Sam interjected.
“Then you have failed.”
“At least she is safe from ReNay!”
“You will go to your study whilst I clear up your mess, Sam!” Morab snapped. Sam wanted to pipe up and argue back, but he decided it was best not to. He nodded, bowed to Jen and the other two Keepers of the Crowns, and disappeared from the room.
Jen watched Sam vanish away with pity. He was so young really. He was older than her, middle-aged, but Jen could see how he had been kept a child by the dominant figure, who was aging badly with a messy grey beard, and straggly, thinning hair.  He motioned to Jen to sit down in one of the comfy red armchairs. Jen smiled and sat down.
“And where do I sit?” Sharon piped up in Jen’s ear. 
“You’re not a physical presence though, are you? You don’t need a chair.”
“Still, it would have been nice if you had asked.”
Jen ignored her.
“Who were you talking to just then?”
“Sharon. She’s the spirit of the Crown, so Sam said.”
“Yes. He was probably right.”
“No, he was right.”
The man looked affronted, and his so-far-silent companion seemed scared. But the man continued had Jen remained silent. “My name is Morab. This is Tergen. Alongside Sam, we make up the Keepers of the Crowns.”
__________
I’m humiliated. Embarrassed. Morab just showed me up in front of Jen. I hadn’t even done anything wrong. Well, not really. I did say that I would save Jen, and I failed. But heroism is more difficult than it looks! And, you know, I never claimed to be a hero. Check my previous letters - you’ll see!
The worst part about it that I understand Morab’s disappointment in me. He’s been like a father to me, or, rather, I’ve been a son to him. He’s taught me and shaped me, and now I have let him down. 
Ugh. (I hate writing those kind of expressions but the situation really does call for it). Enough moping. Well, enough moping going into this letter. I know you want to be a Keeper of the Crowns, and it would be great if you could join with us. But things can get pretty tense at times. Bear that in mind.
So, another story. I have exhausted my material about the Crown of Immortality, so I will share with you my suspicions of what we believe another Crown holds the powers to. 
There was once a drought in the Kingdom of Arrashek. The fields were scorched and the rivers were bare. Livestock were dying and the people were starving. Queen Onte was sad for her country and she knew that something must be done. So she issued a challenge for all who heard it - to guards, to commoners and to mercenaries. And the challenge was this: to find some way to solve the drought problem in Arrashek. Whoever could complete this task would win ten acres of land each. The challenge inspired many, and the kingdom and its neighbouring lands were scoured for ways to bring prosperity back to the Arrashek. 
New agricultural techniques, the art of river diversion and a new crop, khit, that requires little water, were ideas proposed to Queen Onte and she was glad of them all. Arrashek slowly built itself back up from the dust and dirt. And the successful were rewarded with their ten acres. Arrashek was back on its feet. 
But then, one day, a young girl made an appeal to speak with Queen Onte. The girl was fourteen and went by the name Heres. She approached the queen with bare feet and ragged clothing. Her face was dirty and her hair was messy. And yet on top of all this filth and dirt, Heres wore a crown. It was a crown that sparkled in the sun that shone through the glass dome in the ceiling. She curtsied to Queen Onte. “Your gloriousness,” Heres said, “I have come in response to your challenge. I can stop the drought.”
“How?” Queen Onte enquired, interested by the girl’s remark.
“With the click of my fingers, I can summon the rain. With a blink of my eyes I can bring water to the surface. With the stamp of my foot, I can flood the nation,” Heres explained with mysticism.
“You mean to say you can control the water elemental?” Queen Onte asked skeptically.
“Yes.”
“Then make it rain, girl,” the queen ordered, with more than a hint of mockery.
Heres smiled and bowed her head. Queen Onte rose from her throne and moved to beneath the glass dome. Dark clouds were rumbling across the skies. The scorching sun was hidden and a cool, refreshing shadow fell upon the kingdom.
Across the land, the people of Arrashek looked to the skies and cheered. It had been so long since they had seen a cloud, let alone a cloud that filled the sky. 
And then it rained. The dry earth soaked up the water, and the rivers and lakes began to fill up again. Both children and adults alike danced and sang in the rain, joyful for the precipitation. 
In the palace, Queen Onte was staring in amazement as the raindrops splattered against the glass dome. She turned to Heres. “Thank you, girl. Thank you. You have saved our land. How can you do this? Be you a witch or a spirit?”
“I can do this because I wear this Crown.”
“The crown grants you power over the water elemental?”
“It does. Please, your majesty, if you would grant me the ten acres you promised. My family are in dire need of a home.”
“Give me the crown.”
“I cannot.”
“Give it to me and I shall grant you the ten acres.”
“It is a family heirloom, your majesty. I must not be parted. My grandmother would be angry if she discovered I stole it and then allowed it to be taken.”
Queen Onte advanced. Heres ran. The guards stopped her. “If you will not give the Crown to me, then I will take it by force. You cannot come between me and what I desire, girl.” Heres bowed her head.
There was a great noise from Queen Onte’s private rooms from behind the back wall. Queen Onte turned around to look and was faced with her swimming bath water gushing through the door in the shape of a herd of stampeding wildebeest. Then, there was a great shatter as the glass dome above her head broke into a million pieces and a great torrent of water entered the throne room. The water wildebeest surged forward towards the queen and her guards. Queen Onte shrieked as the water engulfed her and knocked her and her guards off their feet.
Across the kingdom, the torrential rain was ceaseless and merciless. Rivers that had been stone dry ten minutes previous were now breaking their banks and flooding the land. The rain came down and floods went up. The khit, that had been growing so well, was ruined as the monsoon over-watered them and flooded their xylems and leaves. The people climbed onto their houses and up the hills to try and save their lives. 
And through all this, Heres protected herself in a bubble, the Crown securely on her head. After an hour of watery chaos, Heres stopped the rain and sent it away. The water receded back into the rivers and lakes and the land was returned. 
Queen Onte’s drowned corpse lay at Heres’ feet. “I am sorry,” Heres said. “But my grandmother would be so very angry if I lost this Crown.” And she walked away.
This story was recorded by the grand-daughter of an old woman who went by the name of Sereh, who I believe to actually be Heres. It is too much of a coincidence that it is her name reversed. Maybe she changed her name to protect herself. After the death of Queen Onte, there was a great hunt instigated by her son, Prince Agica, to find and punish the murderer of the late queen. 
Heres’ ancestral claim to the Crown intrigues me and I have desperately searched the records to try and verify the claim. But I have not been able to. Not that I doubt Heres. It’s just a right pain that I can’t trace her genealogy back to Hunn or one of her children. And there is no mention of Heres having a twin, although it is possible that the hag blood had thinned by her generation.
The thing is, I can’t think of any other way that Heres could get her hands on a Crown. She was a nobody. Her disheveled appearance and humble background pays tribute to this notion. And as families progress through the ages, many lose out of fortune and become nobodies. Heres could be a perfect candidate for being an ancestor of Hunn, bar the vague black holes. 
As for the Crown, it obviously appears to be a Crown that permits the wearer to control all water forces. And, unlike the Crown of Immortality, the Crown can be removed without endangering the wearer’s life. The Crown’s current location is unknown to me. I can only presume that the Crown is still being passed down from generation to generation. Whether the family ever use the Crown is unknown, but it is obviously a very quiet affair, else we’d have heard about it.
I desperately want to journey to Arrashek and do more research, search for more clues, but Morab won’t grant me permission. He says it is too far away and that it is not a necessary trip, so therefore I will not be going to Arrashek any time soon. I don’t know where I’m going to be heading off to next, or what I’m going to be studying. But I will keep you updated, friend.

Chapter 7: We Used To Have Fun


7.1 EXT. KINGDOM FAITHFUL COUNTRYSIDE - DAY


JEN (19, independent country girl, brazen and brash) is marching along a dirt track. SAM (32, quirky druid, small fish in large pond - the water of which is getting hotter) and SHARON (appears 30, child-like, vindictive) follow her.


[Sharon is only visible to Jen. Sam cannot see or hear Sharon.]


JEN
Stop following me!


SAM
I won’t, Jen.


SHARON
He won’t, Jen.


JEN
You can shut up and all.


SAM
Who are you talking to?


JEN
I don’t know anymore.


SAM
Explain to me.


JEN
No.


SAM
Why not?

SHARON
Yeah, why not?


Jen stops, holding her head with angst.


JEN
Stop it!


SAM
Stop what?


JEN
Not you.


SAM
Then who?


JEN
Her.


SAM
And who is she?


JEN
I don’t know. But she keeps following me and talking to me and no one else can see her. Unless everyone’s playing a massive prank. And if it is, then it is not funny.


SHARON
He can’t see or hear me.


SAM
There have been mentions of an entity that accompanies the Crown, viewable only to the wearer. Whether this is a spirit or a hallucinogenic fiction, I don’t know. But it is for you and your eyes only.


SHARON
How dare he! As if I exist for you. It is you who exist for me!


JEN
She didn’t like that.


SAM
She can hear me?


JEN
Yup. And she says that I exist for her.


SHARON
That’s right. He does not know what he’s talking about.

SAM
Does she have a name?

SHARON
It’s Sharon.


JEN
Sharon.


SAM
Sharon?


SHARON
Yes, Sharon! Got a problem with that?


JEN
No, he doesn’t.


SAM
I don’t what?


JEN
Have a problem.


SAM
With what?


SHARON
My name!


JEN
Her name.


SAM
Of course not.


SHARON
Good.


JEN
(exasperated)
Why is this so difficult?


SAM
I am sorry, Jen, but you’ll have to report what Sharon says. Alright?


JEN
Fine.


SAM
Sharon, what is life like for you when someone is not wearing the Crown?


SHARON
All darkness and despair. Loneliness and emptiness. 

JEN
Darkness. Despair. Loneliness. Emptiness.


SAM
Anything else?

SHARON
I see their faces. All of their faces. Lunging, lurching at me. Screaming at me. Torturing me. They hate me. They blame me.


JEN
She sees faces. Lunging and screaming at her. They hate her. They blame her.


SAM
Whose faces are they?

SHARON
Of my friends. Of the ones that played with me. The ones who wore the Crown. We used to have fun together. Not anymore. They abandoned me.


JEN
They’re the faces of the people who have worn the Crown. She says that they abandoned her.


SAM
How did they abandon you, Sharon?


SHARON
They didn’t want to play anymore. So I took them. I left their bodies and took their souls so that we could play forever.


JEN
She took their souls when they took the Crown off. She says that it is because they didn’t want to play any more.


SAM
What about those who wanted to play, but were forced not to?


SHARON
They are with me too. Because they want to play.


JEN
She sees them too. They want to play. Can you see Rosa?


SHARON
Yes.

JEN
Can you speak to her?


SHARON
Only in the darkness.


JEN
Can they speak to each other?


SHARON
I don’t know. They just scream at me. 


SAM
How many are there, Sharon?


SHARON
Hundreds.


JEN
Hundreds. And one day I will join them.


SAM
Are they dreams? Are they nightmares? Or is that their afterlife, Sharon? 


JEN
What will happen to me?


SHARON
I don’t know! I don’t know! Stop asking me these questions!


JEN
She wants us to stop.


SAM
Fair enough. We shall continue walking. I am taking you the Druid’s Grove, Jen. You will be safe there. 


JEN
Safe from who?


SAM
I wish I was sure.


CUT TO:

Chapter 6: The Walking Dead


I enter the gaol, tentatively. “I’m here to see Jen,” I say, with the intonation of a question. The gaoler nods, picks up a band of keys and leads me down a corridor. It is dark, lamp-lit, and has a very heavy presence to it. There are scores of metal doors, numbered, solid. The key goes into the keyhole with a metallic clatter, grating on my ears. And the door swings open, screeching. I look in, and sitting in the sad, small cell is Jen. 
Her cheeks are tear-stained, reddened. Her eyes full of remorse and loss. Her usually groomed bob haircut is dishevelled. “Maj!” she sobs, running at me and throwing her arms around me. “Oh Maj!” The gaoler leaves us. We can’t get out without passing him and escape was never on the cards anyway. We sit down on Jen’s bed. “What are they saying out there?”
“They’re calling you a witch.”
Jen’s head falls into her hands. “But I didn’t know that the crown was enchanted!”
“I did warn you not to wear it.”
“I know! And I wasn’t going to anyway because it’s a ghastly looking thing! So I put it away, and I didn’t think that Rosa would -” Jen breaks off into a whimper. “Poor Rosa.” I decide not to say anything. “What will they do to me? I mean, not much worse can happen! Sister dead, shunned from society, my own family disowns me, thrown into gaol, accused of witchcraft. This is getting beyond ridiculous, Maj.”
I take a deep intake of breath and speak. “You’re to be hanged. This afternoon. Publicly for all to see.” 
“Well, what do you know; I was wrong,” she eventually says with heavy sarcasm. I can hardly blame her though. “Is there nothing we can do?”
I dislike my inclusion in her statement, but let it lie. “No.”
“You won’t help to bust me out of here?”
“Why are you dragging me into this?”
“Because you gave me the stupid thing!”
“You took it from me. I was given no choice!”
“You should have stood up for yourself! Grow some balls, Maj!”
“You should have taken better care. You knew that Rosa went through your stuff! You should have put it out of harm’s way!”
“I didn’t know that it was harmful!”
“I warned you!”
“You were mental!” she yells at me. We hold each other’s eye contact for quite a while. “The whole town thought that finding Angus’ body had driven you insane.”  I look away. “I know you’re not now though,” she says, as if it redeems her. It doesn’t. I want to reply. I want to shout at her until she understands. Instead, I get up and leave. I walk out of the cell and down the corridor, past the gaoler and outside. 
And now that I have a chance to think, now that my rage has subsided, I see that my walking out probably made her feel worse than all the words I could have shouted put together.
I walk to the blacksmith’s. Work will distract. I hope it will. Nigel is there, hammering away at the anvil. And so is Maud, sharpening her axe. Her steel-grey hair has been pulled back tightly into a bun. Her wrinkled face constantly frowning. She nods at me. My blood grows cold, but I nod back respectfully. Sparks fly as she sharpens it and my heart wrenches. Not because I love Jen, because I don’t. She’s too cruel to be loved by me. My heart wrenched because we grew up together and I feel I owe her some form of friendship, even though I have not received much in return. I owe her nothing. The presence of Maud chills me. I leave and stand in the street, hearing the metallic grinding of the axe being sharpened. The stage is before me, the final constructs being erected. Jen’s death is ever-creeping forward.
I decide that I can’t let Jen die. She is innocent. It is not in the name of friendship that I want her life to be spared. It is in the name of justice. If she dies, then all that I believe in will be false and disproved. Jen deserves life for her innocence in the matter at hand, not for her social skills. I am prepared. And I am going to rescue her. The damned damsel in distress. 
__________
The gaoler walks down the corridor. I can hear his footsteps approaching. He stands in the doorway and looks at me. “You are granted a final request,” he announces emotionlessly.
I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. “I would like to visit my sister’s grave please,” I say, in little more than a whisper. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“I shall see if it is possible.”
I wear a black cloak to hide my identity to everyone. I am guided out of the gaol and down the backstreets towards the graveyard. We arrive and the miniature wooden gate is held open for me. I enter the cemetery and walk solemnly through the arrangements of gravestones and tombs. Statues of angels and innocent children haunt my steps, the names on the headstones leaping out at me. And I am all too aware that soon I will join them. A tear creeps out from my eye, but I remove it quickly. I must remain strong. For the sake of my dignity, I must.
And suddenly before me is the new grave. It is covered in flowers: daffodils and snowdrops, pansies and daisies. It’s beautiful, delicate. The headstone is small and quaint and like the flowers, clean and fresh. The name reads: Rosa Pole, Aged 6. May You Be Crowned Eternally In The Afterlife. The epitaph stings my heart. As if they hadn’t made me feel bad enough as it is. I kneel beside the grave and stroke the top of the headstone. “Oh Rosa,” I say fondly. “You little bitch.” I stand again. “I will join you soon, it seems. I bet you can’t wait to see me so you can get your own back.” I put the grave behind me and walk back confidently to my escort, muttering “The little cow” under my breath.
________
Bridgeside is a very lovely town. And everyone is very friendly, accommodating. Although the presence of tragedy is still resonant. The townsfolk hold back, just a little bit, but noticeably. But what I have learned is that the older sister, whose name is Jennifer, is to be hanged this afternoon. What a mistake! I feel that it is my duty to save her, but I don’t know how. You read stories, don’t you, of all these people doing heroic things and you dream that if that day should come you would step up and be that heroic person. But I am clueless! This Jennifer girl needs saving, and it seems that I am the one that it falls upon to do so. Great.
I’ve already seen some Crowners of the Light around the town. We have exchanged nods of respect and acknowledgement. I don’t know how they intend to get the Crown. I don’t even know how I am going to get the Crown! But these things generally unfold by themselves, don’t they. It’s just a matter of recognising and taking the opportunity as and when it comes. I do hope that I don’t miss it when the time comes.
The town square was all a-buzz, you know. I found it rather morbid! All these people gathering to celebrate death. If the issue wasn’t so important to me, I would lock myself in my house and shut the curtains. And I would keep my children indoors too! My goodness, the number of children running around! It was an absolute farce. I think I have been away from society for too long. 
There was a shout. “Oy!”. I, with everyone else, turned around. There was a large, tall man, clad in white overalls. I think he must have been a butcher, but that is beside the point really. He was pointing, his whole arm outstretched. Almost in sync, the crowd followed his finger. Down one of the streets off the town square was a teenage boy and girl sneaking across the road. I assumed that she was the accused and he was a boy who had taken the matter of injustice into his own hands because all of a sudden there was such a furore that I thought I heard the wooden platform creak from the vibrations of the angry shouts. The girl was seized and dragged up onto the wooden stage of death (I think that phrase is a little melodramatic but I shall leave it as it is - I rather like it!). The boy was held in an armlock by the butcher, and could not escape despite his feeble efforts. The three men who were holding the girl shouted out to everyone: “The witch has cast a spell on the boy and tried to escape. She must be killed now!” The crowd cheered, and the girl, Jennifer, was thrown to her knees. It was only now that I noticed how brave her face was, but I could see her holding back the tears. 
Somebody from the crowd threw a woodcutter’s axe up to one of the men, who kicked Jennifer’s head down and raised the axe above his head. My heart felt like it had stopped. I froze. My desire to save the girl had been immobilized by the speed of the turning events. 
And then an arrow struck the man with the axe and he fell down dead, dropping the axe behind him. Everyone turned to see who had shot the arrow. There was silence, deathly silence. There were five men, dressed in brown, hooded habits - their faces were obscured by shadow. They were all armed with highly visible scimitars. The crowd parted for them as they slowly stepped forward and onto the stage in a V formation. Like geese. But not funny like geese. The other two men climbed down and rejoined the crowd, afraid and intimidated by the hooded men’s control. The man at the front of the V took his hood down - I recognised him from the Crowners of the Light and I tried to blend subtly into the crowd. “My name is ReNay. I am a Man of Justice.” (The way he spoke seemed to suggest capitalization). “This Girl has Violated your Laws. She must be Punished!” The crowd were silent. “My Brothers and I believe in sentences that reflect the Crime. She murdered her Sister with the Crown, now she must Suffer the Crown also.” The townsfolk were still quiet. I don’t think they totally understood what was going on. “Make the Witch wear the Crown. That is a Death Sentence in itself. Bring forth the Crown!” he called with punctuation. 
“No! Please, no!” Jen cried out.
The crowd enjoyed Jen’s torment. I watched her scared face look up to ReNay in disbelief and fear. Who was this man to take control over her life, well, her death? ReNay never looked at her. Maybe he couldn’t stand to. Maybe he’s done this thing so many times he knows how best to save his conscience. But he was cold. One of the Crowners - he was at the back of the V-formation -  brought the Crown forward. I don’t know how they got hold of it, or where it came from. But he stepped up and handed the Crown to ReNay.
“Stop! Please! I beg of you! I implore you! Don’t do this!” Jen was screaming.
“Silence!” ReNay screamed, with a stroke of mania. Jen stopped, but her sobbing, her whimpering continued in short, stifled bursts. “I Punish you to Walk the Land Alone Forever. You shall Wear this Crown. This is your Death Sentence.” Jen choked on her breath.
ReNay stood behind Jen and started to lower the Crown. I could see him muttering something to her, but I couldn’t hear. “What is going on here?” a voice suddenly demanded. Nobody had noticed, but the Mayor and a grey-haired woman with an axe had just ascended onto the stage. He was a portly chap, I imagined him quite jolly when his authority was not under siege by total strangers. Both ReNay and Jen looked over. Jen’s face showed a sense of hope, of safety. But then ReNay crowned her, and her face fell. Jen started to scream and cry! She pulled away from ReNay screaming, the Crown securely on her head. “No-o-o!” she bawled, tottering about the wooden stage. My heart doubled its speed, and dropped to the pit of my stomach. I had failed Jen. I had not picked up the courage to save her. Her life was over. She was the walking dead.