Shulokhana J. Khan
The writer is a Dean List Scholar, a student of Intensive Writing and Literature at the New School for Liberal Arts in NY. She has a vast knowledge on contempory and modern literature, especially modern American Literature. She also works on Modern Drama
The Queen lay awake on her bed and watched the sun rise. It was a week before her wedding and she felt nothing. It bothered her, this lack of emotion. She remembered a time when she was so full of happiness and freedom that she could have happily drowned in it. As she heard the songbirds twitter their familiar songs through her window she willed herself to feel. Her stepmother was long dead, she could now eat apples without fear, she was the beloved ruler of her kingdom and she was upholding her mother’s (her real mother’s) legacy.
She should be happy, she was expected to be happy. Was this not what she had wanted as a girl? A prince, a kingdom, a home? Love? She clenched her hands into fists.
Soon, she would have to get up, get dressed, and spend long hours preparing for the wedding, and ruling over her kingdom. She watched the opulent red curtains blaze with light and wished she was back with the dwarves – feel the wet grass on her white skin, the wind through her dark hair and the taste of freedom between her red lips.
No matter. This was the life she was meant to have and the Gods know it wasn’t easy to come by. She sat up, squared her shoulders and slipped off her bed. She had a kingdom to run and an Advisor to meet with.
‘….they send their apologies for not being able to attend the royal wedding. The king and queen have been in mourning for months and not a single knight or prince has returned. We presume them to be dead. I have already written a condolence letter that Her Highness simply needs to sign before we send it off.’
The Advisor looked at the Queen expectantly. The Queen adjusted her collar and frowned at her reflection on the window. ‘A creature bold enough to steal away a Princess from the next kingdom must be taken care of immediately. It has been months, you say? With not a single knight or prince returned?’
The Advisor nodded solemnly. ‘The king and queen are quite understandably distraught at having their daughter stolen again so soon after she was finally returned. Will you sign the letter now, Your Highness?’
The Queen chewed on her lower lip, frowning hard enough to create deep wrinkles on her smooth forehead. She said, ‘Their kingdom is right next to ours, with only the Forest separating us. It will be easy enough for a dragon to fly over and target our people if it wished to. Something must be done right away.’
The Advisor squinted at her, ‘Does her Highness wish to send her own knights on a Quest?’
There was a long pause. ‘No,’ said the Queen, a flush on her pale cheeks, ‘Fetch me my sword and a good, strong horse. I must go myself.’
And there she was, an hour later, atop a majestic black horse. She ran her fingers through her Prince’s hair, told him gently not to look so worried and rode off, not once looking back. The wind whipped her braids every which way, and she rode off into the sun, the taste of freedom between her lips.
It was high summer and the air was thick with the sweet scent of flowers. The Queen made camp in a small clearing as the sun began to set, casting long shadows on the grass. She tethered her horse to a tree near a small pond and began to lay her bedroll down, when she caught a flash of red from the corner of her eye. She calmly finished setting up her bed and ambled over to her horse, one hand casually resting on the hilt of her sword, her mind whirring through the skeletons of a plan. The Queen was the picture of serenity as she sat cross legged by the pond, her long sword in her hand, a stone in her strong fingers, gracefully rasping over the gleaming, sharp edge of the blade. She only had to wait a few hours, before the moon rose and the howling began.
When the large, gray wolf finally showed itself, its red eyes gleaming intelligently, the Queen made no move to intercept it. She ignored the nervous whinnying of her horse and began to polish her sword with a rag. ‘May I help you, Wolf?’ She asked politely, looking right into its eyes, her hands never faltering. The wolf growled and bowed as well as it could on four legs. It said, ‘Beg pardon, but we don’t often get visitors in these parts. There is only a small hamlet nearby and everyone knows to stay well away from this part of the Forest, where the Wolf is known to roam.’
The Queen smiled and said, ‘I have the gift of knowing the true intentions of all creatures, and you, Wolf, are a Guardian of the hamlet, unlike the beliefs of the villagers. I would have your strength and speed in my Quest to rescue the Princess, and as a reward I promise to protect you and your kind, until my descendants die out.’
The Wolf touched its head to the ground in gratitude and to show its trust, morphed to its true self. The wolf-girl kissed the Queen’s hand, her hands trembling with the weight of what has been offered to her and said, ‘If that is true, my Queen, then my kind will always protect your line, until we die out.’ The wolf-girl shook out her red hair, wrapped her red cloak even tighter around herself and took first watch.
And so the Queen had found her first Companion.
The next day, the two companions continued on their way at the first signs of dawn. The gray wolf with the red eyes ran several paces in front of the Queen on her horse, since the deep Forest held many dangers and it had sworn to protect her. Every few miles, the wolf would stop and wipe its bloody muzzle on leaves.
Many hours later, they came to another clearing. There was a towering birch tree with scarlet leaves and a girl with dark skin and darker hair sobbing with her head in her arms. She looked up as the Queen and the Wolf approached, her eyes red rimmed.
The Queen dismounted and gently asked the girl why she was crying. The girl said, ‘I went to a ball thrown by a noble man searching for suitable brides for his son. I made a dress and shoes with my magic so that I could have one night of freedom but now the noble man’s son has one of my magic shoes and although I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to remain a servant.’ The wolf-girl raised an eyebrow and asked why she didn’t just magic her shoe away. The witch-girl said that her magic was only Creation, Healing and Tracking, not Summoning and not Destruction.
The Queen’s heart clenched at the sight of this – much too familiar – helplessness and she said, ‘If you join me on my quest to find the Princess then I swear to bring you to my city, where you can do whatever you desire and will not have to be anyone’s bride or servant.’ The witch-girl pressed her trembling lips to the Queen’s hand repeatedly, shaking with the idea of freedom, and said, ‘If that is true, my Queen, then I swear to serve you for as long as I live.’ The Queen helped the witch-girl up on the horse and the three continued on their way.
And so the Queen had found her second Companion.
The three women rode on for two nights and three days, until at last they came to the place with the tower that touched the sky, a wall of deadly thorns around it. The Queen dismounted and looked at the wall of thorns, her mind already going through hundreds of possibilities and plans. She looked back at the witch who nodded sharply in answer to her unspoken question. This was the place, there was no doubt about it.
The Queen spoke to her friends (for they were friends now. The bonds that held them together ran deep – three women with the world against them finding acceptance in each other). She said, ‘This path, I must walk alone. If I do not return in an hour, take the horse and ride as fast as you can to my city. I have written a letter in my bag to my Advisor; he will know what to do.’
She turned back sharply, unsheathed her sword, and began cutting a path to the tower. She did not see the determined look in the eyes of her companions. The witch and the wolf laced their fingers together. They had no intention of leaving their Queen.
The stairs spiraled tightly and went on for what seemed like hours. There was a charged electricity in the air and the sense that something dark was lying in wait on top of the tower. The Queen carefully stepped over the charred remains of the failed rescuers, pity clouding her eyes. They were undeserving of such a fate, but she was intimate with the feeling of wanting to keep what you have so painstakingly stolen.
The last step led directly to a room. It was quite large, with a huge bed far away from the only window, and shelves and chests full of dusty knick-knacks. Sunlight streamed into the room in golden waves, and there in the center of the floor sat the twice-lost Princess, her sun-kissed golden hair looping around the entire room.
The Queen stared, fascinated, at this young girl with long golden hair, warm, brown skin and eyes like ice. The Queen asked, ‘Was your freedom worth all these lives?’
The Princess curled her lip, her eyes flashing, ‘I was locked in this tower for sixteen years and when I was finally found I was simply shackled to more chains. Do not look down on me for doing what you wish you had the strength to do, because I know who you are, Queen, I know ‘what you truly desire. I see it in your eyes. You are just like me.’
The tension in the room was deep enough to cut through with a knife. The Queen leaned against a wall, facing the Princess. Her body was deceptively slack, her hand casually resting on her sword. In her heart she knew what the Princess felt although it disgusted her. She asked, ‘Will you not come back then?’
The Princess looked her straight in the eye, blue meeting blue. ‘My dragon has protected me faithfully all these years. I was happy here, in a sense, because of her. I have tasted freedom; I will not let it go so easily. My dragon, my friend, is at my command.’ The threat in her words was hardly subtle.
And so they had reached an impasse, Queen and Princess. Both knew they that yearned for the same thing, although only one actively pursued it. The two women looked at each other for several long, silent minutes, assessing. And all at once the Queen understood.
The Princess nodded, secretly pleased that the blood of yet another innocent would not have to stain her hands. She stood up, coiling her hair around her wrists. And although no words were spoken, the two women had formed a deeper understanding than anyone could possibly realize.
They walked out of the tower together and behind the thicket of thorns, the Princess turned to the Queen. She said, not unkindly, ‘Our positions as women of power leave no leeway to live our own lives. The Prince may have freed me from the tower but I owe him nothing. You are your own person and the choice of how to live your life is up to you. I have chosen.’ With those parting words the Princess morphed into her other self, a large red dragon and letting out a roar, flew upwards, her powerful wings beating against the wind.
The Queen slowly made her way to her companions, her friends, not missing how they held each other, their faces white and sagging with relief. She stood by them, her hand on her horse’s bridle and looked up. The sky stretched on and on and it was slowly beginning to pinken. She felt the wind on her face and an ache in her heart.
Her choice was made.
She smiled. She could taste freedom between her lips.