The Future of Terra

The Queen thought about the dream. It was most unpleasant as she remembered attacking the boy. A child for the Light's sake! What had come over her? It had felt so real! She wondered if it was just a dream that most women would blush at and keep to themselves. When she had flung herself at the boy only one thing was on her mind.

She was going to make the boy do things to her no man had ever done to her. Just the thought of those delicious ideas made her cheeks burn. Of course, Queens didn't blush about anything. She did feel off-center as she pulled back the curtain and looked outside. A soft gentle snow had begun and she was reminded of why she hated coming to this bloody Isle. She rarely invited their townsfolk to be taken at The Summoning to the Capital. And those who did come rarely ever worked out in the long run.

Not that the people themselves were to blame. She believed it was the vast miles of the Sharna Channel that separated these folk from the Mainland. They were just so backwards! Yet, they were harmless. They always paid their taxes and were able to manage themselves without much interference from the Queen.

That would change soon, as High Lord Argeir was getting on in years and there had been rumblings in the Court that he was going senile. She would have to find a successor, and soon. She sat up slowly and straightened her skirts. They would be in the Castle Proper shortly and she would have a hot bath. She was sure that Zarine and Selindra would also enjoy one. She wondered if the folk of Snow still had single person bathtubs. It was an odd and outdated custom, but to each his own. Sure, the Queen and Princess each had their own bathing pools back home in Terra, but every other citizen used the bathhouses.

She glanced back at Zarine as she slept. Since her 18th naming day Zarine had been so excited to go on the Summoning. It was all she had talked about. The Isle of Snow was always first on the list of Holds to be Summoned beccause of how far it was away from the Mainland. Zarine had had had no idea how taxing the journey would be, though.

Selindra had been on the last three Summonings and knew what to expect. Zarine was having fun, though. The relative peacefulness of the Island overshadowed the continuous snow the island was named for. It was by far the coldest Hold in the land.

She glanced out of the window as she felt the carriage slowing and Master Gooda yanking back on the reins. The Queen could hear the whinny of the horses behind her carriage. The line of seven Carriages would all stop and begin setting themselves up in a half circle near the fields of the Castle Proper. Zarine sniffled and sat up with Selindra right behind.

"Good morning, Daughter. We have arrived." Zarine's beautiful smile was breathtaking even though her face still held the sleep lines from the lace pillows.

Marek awoke with a start and instantly leaned over the edge of the bed, throwing up whatever he had eaten the previous night. A minute later he was wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, grimacing. He avoided the pile of vomit as he set his feet on the floorboards.

He stood and went in search of his mop. He cleaned up his mess while shaking his head. He had never entered someone else's dreams before. He hadn't known he could. He knew for certain that he now could, but was terrified to even try again. He rubbed his eyes wearily as soon as the room looked respectable again.

That woman had attacked him. Not with a weapon or even harsh words. She had attacked him with searching hands and searching lips. The fact that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen did not matter. He could still feel the woman's lips and tongue closing over his and he blushed. The things he felt when their tongues met inside of his mouth were the things the sailors talked about down by the docks. He was too terrified at finding himself trapped in that room to even enjoy the touch of the woman. There had been someone else, as well. Another woman who was as equally beautiful as his attacker, if in a different youthful way. And what were those sparks about?

He shook his head to clear it and began dressing into his Naming Day outfit. Thick black trousers and a black shirt with long sleeves. A black headband and a pair of fine deer hide boots that had also been dyed black. It was the outfit any who had had their 18th naming day since the last visit of the Queen, had to wear.

Today he was to be in the Summoning. He was not allowed inside the Kitchens today, at least not to help. The Queen had undoubtedly already arrived in the Castle. He would know immediately when he left his rooms. All he had to do was watch the servants chatter and speed with uncommon haste throughout the castle. Today was the most important day of the year for Servants. Today, they hoped to impress the Queen and her entourage in hopes of being Summoned to the mainland.

He glanced at his quarterstaff that sat nestled between his bed and his wardrobe. It was, perhaps, his best friend. People knew him for that staff. He had salvaged it along with some other junk that time when he had found the old, abandoned hunter's respite out in the Bleak Forest. It was made of the finest Yew Blackwood. Stout enough to stop the strongest attacks of swords or maces. He had begun to rely on it's strength anytime he went out. He had even used it as a bridge a few times when exploring the frozen marshes of the Bleak Forest. Some people thought the fact that it was so black, as if in shadow permanently, that it must be property of the Dark One. Marek smiled at that. He knew it was not.

He put his ear to the door and listened for footsteps. He heard none, but still waited a few more seconds before turning to his wooden friend. He held out his right hand and opened his palm toward the black staff. Slowly, he used his Talent to lift the staff easily and controlled it to float through the air toward his outstretched hand. As soon as it was near, he snatched it out of the air and began twirling it in the one hand. It twirled and spun leaving arcs of darkness behind each impressive move. Yes, he was getting better with it. However, he wondered if it was too late to best any of the other boys in the tournament. He had only been practicing for a few weeks now.

As soon as he thought about the matches that were going to take place, he wondered how long he would last. He hadn't watched the tournaments for the past several years. He knew that boys got severely hurt from the swordplay. The fact that the Queen had two Sisters in her Hall and could heal any injury short of death, meant nothing to him. He was afraid of the Sisters. Maybe not of them personally, but he was afraid they would find out what he was.

Smiling ruefully, he took the staff with him and exited the Orphanage. Stepping outside, he instantly smelled the...the...wrongness. It seemed the proper word for it. Looking about, he still could not sense from wherever it originated, but it smelled stronger than it had the precious day. He glanced at the sky and gave a silent prayer to the Creator. Straightening himself up, he began to head toward the Arena.

Armsmaster Logan watched him approach. He had a toothy smile plastered on his lean, sharp face. To Marek, it looked like he was permanently drunk. Although, Marek had never seen him take a sip of spirits.

"Good Morn, Marek!" Logan bellowed in his deep voice. Marek could not help smiling even though he could still feel the wrongness in the air. He shook the large man's gigantic hand.

"How long until the tournament begins?" Marek asked looking around at the other boys as they practiced. He noticed that Tomaz was using a two-handed battle axe and looked to be very astute at using it. Others were watching Tomaz, as well, but only because they knew he was going to win the whole tournament.

"Oh, not long now, not long now. The Queen is already here, so as soon as she is ready, they will send Hatima with the writ of advancement." the big man replied sounding excited. "How do you think you will fair today?"

Marek snickered to himself. "I have no idea. I think it depends on who I fight first."

"Well, I have no say in that. You know it's randomly selected. Have you chosen a weapon yet?"

Marek held up his staff. "She's been good to me so far."

Logan laughed and shook his head. Marek knew that most of the men that Logan commanded laughed at the thought of his staff as a weapon. If it didn't have a blade on it, it wasn't a real weapon. Marek didn't really care what they thought about it. Logan slapped him on the back and told him that he had better get some food in his belly, so he would have enough energy to compete. Marek nodded and headed for the Kitchens. Mistress Aluha was certain to have prepared something special for him. She had promised him she would, even against his protests.