The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 11

The garden is vacant. The animals are silent. Even the fish hide from me. I remove my bloodstained armor and kneel naked beside the brook. The surface is still, frozen yet not cold. My hands reach down into the water, submerging for a moment to collect water in my cupped fingers and then resurfacing. The clear liquid turns red as my hand rises. Thick and smelling of old coins, the blood drips from my skin and taints the water below. The crimson creeps up my arms, tendrils snaking up my skin and staining it scarlet. It spreads to my shoulders, my chest, my stomach. Every new place it grows becomes warm, almost to a sickly degree. My heart pounds as I get to my feet, and a panic sets in. Soon the red covers me whole, head to toe garnets and cherries.

"Your Mother is displeased," a voice echoes through the static trees. Neither masculine nor feminine, young nor old, upset nor calm. The sky grows dark, a storm in the evening.

"I know," I respond, looking around for the source. "They took the girl."

"Foolish boy," the voice teases. "Are you the only one allowed to deliver her home?"

"The Queen tasked me to do so," I rebut. Endless trees stare at me from behind, but I cannot see anyone hiding within them. "It was my duty."

"A queen, yes, but not the girl's queen. Does she have no say in who returns her daughter? Do you wield more authority than her men?"

I go quiet for a long moment. My eyes stop searching for the one who speaks to me. Instead, they find the grass. Green, despite my wet bitter cardinal. Shame takes hold of me; what I had done was far from righteous, disgustingly barbaric. I knew it in the moment, but I was too focused on fury to question my own actions.

"I was given specific orders," I offer, small and meek. "I was to bring her to a vicar. They were no clergymen."

"Ah," the voice chuckles. "You know all, do you?"

"No, I do not proclaim such," I say, covering my manhood from the leering ashes, elms, and willows.

"Do you regret these actions?" the voice asks after a long silence.

"I do not regret wishing to protect the child," I answer, "but I do regret my rage. I regret my hasty violence. I'm sorry."

The sky lightens, turning back to that perfect blue. Birds chirp in the trees. A fuzzy bee buzzes past my ear on its way to the next flower. The brook babbles once more. When I turn to face its sound, she is there. Gazing into the waters, resting on her knees, her uncovered skin soaking in the sweet sun, the All-Mother returns. She takes the form of the dwarf, her auburn hair braided down her back. I kneel beside her, eyes keeping away from her beauty. She produces a pitcher from underneath the pure and pristine water. Overflowing, the excess trickles down the side of the round porcelain thing. She brings it close to her, admiring it for a moment, and then raising it over my head.

"You are forgiven, my child," she coos in my head. As she pours the water over me, washing away the blood, relief and gratitude bring me to tears. She comforts me once I am clean, divine warmth radiating from the arms she wraps around me. A calm overcomes me as the last of the red vanishes. She places a soft kiss on my stubbly cheek, and bids me to awaken. I obey.