The Iron Forest: Ancestor's Legacy

Servants and housekeepers, carrying bread and flowers for the upcoming feast, scurried through Gathal. It was a joyous occasion, with bull elk and wild turkey sizzling in the kitchens. That, and other appetizing aromas, sent savory waves through the air.

Men on stools hanging decorations of juniper and ivy trimmed the walls in long green garlands. A festival of love, the people called it, was a glorious occasion to commemorate the matrimony of the new king.

At the center of the preparations stood a nameless maiden, surrounded by ladies toiling to present the king as his future bride. They dressed her in a white gown of cotton under shear, adorned with a cloak of black feathers. She felt the thin fabric flowing across her curves like pouring water, and the fine knit cloth weighed less than the gold amulets hanging around her neck. Ladies toiled for hours to make her perfect—a woman fit for a king.

Everything moved about in a fast blur, yet she felt her world was locked in slow motion. The mass of courtiers and servants rushed in a chaotic fray to the castle exit leading to the temple. Her heart thumped amid weakened knees as she waited behind a pair of massive doors. Muffled drums, horns, and crowds cheered on the other side to entertainment depicting legends of past Chotukhan kings and homage to the god Gaia.

The wedding celebration did not give her the anxiety, nor did the fact she was to marry King Shunlin. The lack of understanding why she carried so much doubt, and her inability to remember the reason for her inhibitions, sent every emotion flaring. Premarital jitters and fears are all they are, a servant explained to her earlier. The comforting words felt hollow.

Several weeks rolled on since she first met the king. They spoke very few words to each other, but plenty words were exchanged between herself, Priestess Karmera, and an assembly of nobles. They instructed her on providing an heir, comforting the king, and maintaining the matters of the house. Nothing about love came up, but her hope rested on the way he stared into her eyes and the smile he wore. He was a handsome man with a sculpted build whose attention to appearance reminded her of someone from her past. Someone she failed to remember but kept close; like many things, she held deep within a murky memory.

A thunder of cheers from thousands rumbled the ground with blaring horns, announcing her arrival—it was time. The massive wooden doors parted with a crack of light that grew to reveal a roaring crowd lining the walkway to the temple steps. Flower petals fell from the sky with banners and flags waving in the autumn breeze.

It took a moment for the nameless maiden to adjust from the castle’s interior to the bright noon sun. Her eyes burned. Blue sky or the wide-open spaces outside the confines of Castle Gathal became lost to her memory. The vast open space left her knees weaker. Vertigo churned her stomach. She was missing something… someone.

“I got you, may lady!” the matron of servants called out, holding her hand and arm.

The nameless maiden righted herself. “I’m fine, thanks.”

She wasn’t fine. Somewhere deep inside was a smoldering flame, wanting to erupt and engulf the people and place around her. She tried to understand why, but her life and past seemed clouded behind a veil of pain.

The matron pointed to the balcony that opened to the temple steps. “Right here you are, nobody.” She shifted her finger toward the dais at the temple’s peak. “Up there, you are a queen. Time to go get your crown.”

Alone, the maiden walked down the carpeted path with a slow march, taking in the faces of men and women drunk with celebration. She’d been told that thirty winters passed since the last queen walked up the fifty temple steps. Stories say she was already sick and frail, needing help from her ladies-in-waiting.

Not her. She was strong and glided down the walkway and up the stone stairs with ease and grace.

Beneath the pavilion atop the temple stood King Shunlin and Lady Karmera, and a whole group of priests and nobles. At first glance, their faces turned to skulls of death, laughing and taunting her. Fear rushed through her as she blinked. All she saw were men and women, but for reasons she couldn’t understand, they were the personification of hate that welled inside her.

The priestess held out her hand. “You are more beautiful than Mother Gaia herself. I’m sure you will make a fine queen.” She led the maiden into position beside the King.

He held out his hand for her to hold. It was to show the Chotukhan people the joining of a man and a woman.

Lady Karmera wrapped their hands together with a gold chain to symbolize their unbreakable union.

This must be some kind of dream. None of this feels real—I don’t feel real. The nameless maiden held the King’s hand tighter, looking at the thousands of people that filled the streets of Gathal.

Lady Karmera stepped forward, holding her arms toward the sky. “The gods have blessed us today with the joining of a man and woman in both body and spirit.” The crowd silenced at the spoken words of the love and enduring friendship the king would share with his future bride. “People of the Chotukhan, I present you King Shunlin, son of Akutu, the first of his name, and Queen Ranina, the second of her name in holy matrimony.”

The crowd cheered like the thunder of a summer storm.

Her new name, chosen to pay homage to the King’s mother, was soon shouted by a thousand voices. But I’m not Queen Ranina. I have no name. Her mind wandered and her body stiffened.

Soldiers lined the path to the castle and bowed. The sheer spectacle overwhelmed her. A woman, born to a new name with no true existence walked across the stone street as the queen of the Chotukhan.

She never felt so afraid.

The celebration continued in the great hall of the palace from the moment they entered, till long after dusk. The day filled with drinking, dancing, and feasting. Rough men slurped mulberry wine, laughing and shouting jests at other courtiers. The women dressed in the finest silks cackled at each other, while some danced to the constant musical drumming and twittering horns. King Shunlin joined in the laughter and drink. Even Lady Karmera laughed and jested in a way never seen in the public eye.

Only one sat calm and void of cheer: Queen Ranina did what the Priestess taught her. She watched the festivities happen around her, sipping her wine and being there, but not.

Throughout the day, they gorged themselves on honey baked venison with endless bread and wine. The feast only paused when nobles presented gifts which gathered in piles at the foot of the long table where the king and queen sat. Queen Ranina smiled at the gesture and nodded at their kind words. Slaves and servants brought her food of steaming meat and wild strawberry pies with pastries of honey glazed pine-nuts. But she waved them away as her stomach churned. She didn’t want her sickness to add to the night’s entertainment.

Moonlight beamed through the windows of the great hall, contending with the surrounding torches. The festivities slowed a bit, but the drinking continued. With a slam of the entry door, all music and chatter stopped. No crowd could hide the mighty general and his sword glimmering with fire light.

“I have come to bring you a gift on the day of your wedding, my king,” he said. His polished armor looked flat beneath a layer of soil and blood. He waved to a group of soldiers still waiting outside the hall. They brought in ropes that held men and women, bound and gagged.

“Did you find it?” King Shunlin asked, almost jumping from his seat.

General Balon shook his head. “No, my king. We searched every part of Maholin but found nothing.”

Her husband’s face turned red with rage. “I want that key!” he barked. His fist hit the table with a clink of dishes. “Do what you have to. Kill them all if you must, but bring me that key.”

The general bowed. “Yes, my king.”

Queen Ranina adverted her eyes. not wanting to see the prisoners’ fear. She rubbed the throbbing in her temples, trying to force back the memories and feelings of her past. The more she held back, the more fear and pain surfaced. She flinched when her husband laid his hand on her shoulder.

“What do you think we should do with them, my queen? What should we do with these Shankur traitors and whores?”

She jerked at the name. Her eyes lifted: each prisoner revealed faces full of fear and anguish.

And she remembered them.

One was a baker, who brought her bread and honey cakes every day. Another, a woman with long graying hair, that tended to her and recalled stories about heroic ancestors fighting against the Reapers during ancient times. Her gaze halted at one man in particular.

Ikesh!

Her new husband strolled around the great table, grabbing a knife from a plate full of sliced meat. He rolled the tip of the blade against his fingertip as he walked through the prisoners. It was no surprise he stopped at the strongest of the group.

Queen Ranina sat petrified, unable to speak. The memory of pain kept its firm grip. She fought against her new self like a warrior on the battlefield — a warrior begging to surface.

“What are you? A farmer, hunter?” the king asked, studying Ikesh’s muscles and build.

“I’m a warrior,” Ikesh said with a puffed chest full of pride.

King Shunlin nodded. “Before you die, why don’t you tell me where the cypher key is. If you do, I’ll be merciful, and all these people will go free unharmed.”

Ikesh scoffed. “I know nothing of any key. And if I did, I would die before telling you.” His eyes met Queen Ranina’s and her heart stopped.

Her attempts to hold back the past failed. Images of a lifetime with Ikesh surfaced with the two loving and laughing together among the forest. She remembered his touch and the feel of his lips as they kissed.

King Shunlin smiled. “Pity.” The blade flashed in the hall’s torchlight, splitting open Ikesh’s throat. Blood gushed and sprayed in a thin, pulsating stream.

“No!” Queen Ranina shouted, standing. Hate fought her fear, battling for her soul. She tasted bile.

King Shunlin belted a laugh, almost as loud as Lady Karmera’s, that echoed the halls as onlookers shouted and cheered.

The remaining Shankur screamed.

“I want every man, woman and child to see what will happen to those who harbor false beliefs. After the sun rises in the marrow, we will prove our loyalty to Abaddon by purifying these Shankur heretics.”

The hall quieted except for two slaves sliding Ikesh’s body across the floor—the music and dancing resumed.

Piece by piece, Queen Ranina unraveled the bonds of pain and heartbreak. She felt her strength rising through her, that catalyzed into hate.

King Shunlin clapped his hands together and the drinking and feasting came to another sudden halt. He stood, pulling her to her feet. “The hour has come for our first night as king and queen.”

The people roared with the announcement. Drinks lifted high in salute to the newly wed.

“No.”

He glanced at her in shock. “No?”

“You will not have me.”

The king pulled her close. “I am your husband, and I will have whatever I want, when I want.” He flinched when she spit in his face.

People began to notice the royal drama beyond the great table.

Lady Karmera took notice as well and shifted in front of the couple. “May we bless the new couple’s consummation!” she shouted with her glass held high.

The distraction worked as the crowd cheered and shouted and drank to resumed music.

Queen Ranina struggled against the king as he dragged her through the hall’s side entry. She screamed and cursed against his tightening grip. Her dress tore, forcing her to stumble. The arched wooden door to the king’s chamber slammed open as he tossed her through. She backed away, feeling the warrior inside her grow into an angry beast.

“You will not run away from me!” he shouted. “I am your king!” Leaning over her, with a fistful of dress, he flung her toward the bed—she missed, hitting the hard granite floor.

Again, he pulled at her dress. The fabric tore into thin shreds, leaving nothing but her underclothes—mere rags to hide her nakedness. She laid on her back, kicking and cursing against the king who mounted her on the cold stone. A sweep of her leg sent him sliding sideways against a column. She jumped up with fists clenched tight and feet apart.

A lifetime of training resurfaced. Words and guidance from her mother poured into her mind as she felt her strength and courage erupt from a dark pit. She was not a slave or a queen. She was a warrior to the fullest—poised and ready to fight.

“You are not my king and will never be. Nor will I be your queen.” She thought of her father, her brother, her mother, of Ikesh, and her village. The trees and mountains returned with the resonance of her true name. “I am Sana, princess of the Shankur and warrior for my people.”

The king chuckled. “Your people are dead. You are princess of nobody.”

At her cry, he lunged, but his fist met only air. She ducked and shifted from his swing. King Shunlin was stronger, but Sana used quickness and agility as her weapon. Each of his attacks met with an occasional kick and punch of her own. He growled in annoyance.

“Your people are cowards who hide in forests among the mountains. Continue to defy me and I will butcher every man, woman, and child while you watch them bleed. The walls of Gathal will be decorated with their heads,” he spat, grabbing a silver dagger from a platter of cheese and bread. “And while you hear their screams of pain, I will ravage you—every day and night until you provide me an heir. After that, if you don’t stand at my side as queen, your head will also decorate my gates.”

Sana backed a step to avoid the steel blade. “Not if the Shankur unite. We will fight and it will be your head on the city’s walls.”

The threat sparked rage in the king’s eyes. He thrust the blade with a swing, burying its edge through the meaty part of Sana’s arm. She felt the sting with no notice—it was just another lesson.

He lunged, and she moved, snatching the knife with a spin. The blade slide through the king’s ribs. He gasped, looking at the dagger protruding from his white robes—a red stain growing. The wound phased him, but was not enough to stop. He approached, fearless and fast.

Sana’s attention shifted to the heat from a clay lamp. Without hesitation, she tossed the clay pot toward the king. Oil and shards burst in all directions. The flame, small at first, ignited and engulfed the man. He flailed and screamed.

Sana wanted to run and be free of the Chotukhan, but she couldn’t. Some desire for satisfaction kept her there to watch the king cry in agony. Her hate and need for revenge were satiated by the smell of his burning flesh.

Lady Karmera’s voice came through the banging on the door. Cries of alarm reverberated through the palace.

And now Sana had nowhere to run. The balcony was high and overhanging, with a long distance to the hard stone courtyard below. Jumping would ensure death, fighting had better promise. She hid behind a curtain, hoping to catch the priestess off guard.

The wooden entry slammed open to reveal the woman with guards pouring in. The priestess ran to the king, small remnants of oil still fed wisps of flame. Sana scoffed at her ruined chance for vengeance to the evil woman that killed her cousin and brought about so much pain. There will be another chance. Right now, I need to get out of here. She wished she had a spear.

“My king!” the priestess cried, patting down what was left of the fire.

Seizing the distraction, Sana bolted through the open door.

“Stop!” Lady Karmera shouted. “Guards seize that woman.”

Three of the priestess’ escorts charged after her. They followed through halls and palace stairwells. More shouts and commands echoed through the castle.

Sana ran, dodging and jerking from occasional arms, trying to snatch her. Down was her goal. She knew the palace and its many corridors, but her frantic pace made recognition difficult. She needed to escape. Anything else would be the death of her.

The shouts and calls from confused soldiers became quieter, but they still searched. Ahead, through a long hallway, a low-level balcony led to the outside. She sprinted until a pair of soldiers blocked her path. One carried a spear while the other, a sword. They brandished their weapons, ready to fight.

Sana breathed in deep, dropping into a fighting stance. Her focused gaze invited the two men—begged them to attack. They did, but the fight ended before it began. She diverted the spear, which blocked the sword. The soldiers held the weapons, but they belonged to her. She spun and danced, putting the swordsman to the ground. The spear thrust at nothing against her quicker movement. She gave another swing, parting the weapon from the man. Another backward jab sent the spear through the soldier’s chest.

Dozens of footsteps drew closer. One last sprint and she leaped from the balcony, taking flight.