Tic...tic... toc, toc, toc-toc-toc-toc.
The pebbles slipped once again beneath her worn shoes, tumbling down the slope while the monks trailing behind her merely sidestepped them, not uttering a word of complaint. The funeral procession had long ceased to sing holy hymns and offer prayers to the mountain gods. The only sounds disturbing the night's quiet were the panting breaths of the men and the crunch of stones beneath their feet.
The memories of the Matriarch had become lost in the mists of time; she was so old, yet she was certain that the last time she had travelled this path, the road had been kinder and the ascent less steep.
«Great Mother», she sighed, gathering the folds of her robe in her wrinkled hands, threatening to trip her at any given moment.
«You chose the worst time to die, Alcina!» she grumbled to herself, cursing the deceased. She, of course, did not respond.
«Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon. Our time on this earth is nearing its end, and you, you have left us. You left us precisely when your children needed you most! » She immediately regretted her harsh words, if only because they had robbed her of the little breath she had left in her lungs.
In that moment, the stony path began to soften. The old woman noticed this even before the relief reached her ancient legs, from the expressions of awe from the vanguard. The sight that unfolded before them was a spectacle of nature.
The jagged peaks of the mountain towered in the darkness, lit by the moon, while hundreds of stars reflected their light onto the mirror of a lake. Thus, this surface of dark water, glossy as obsidian, seemed to open a tear of sky in the naked rock.
The lake of the Sibyl, the place where the earthly world and the realm of the dead touched, the final stop in the journey of the Queen Mage. Every story began and ended there.
The woman gestured the procession to resume singing an ancient melody, barely remembered words, the kind that faithful elders usually repeated, distorting the meaning. As they sang, the monks positioned themselves along the shores of the mountain lake. Alcina's body was carefully laid on the ground. It was wrapped in a plain white linen sheet, as simple as the people of the Blue Mountains whom she had ruled for centuries. A timeless woman, now returning to those timeless places.
«Great Mother,» the prayer broke the magic of the silence. "We return to you your daughter, Alcina. Keep her safe in your embrace."
A monk gently picked up the queen's body and laid it on the bed of a small boat made of woven reeds. The acolytes who had worshipped her in life now prepared to bid her their final farewell. With a barely perceptible movement, they pushed the boat together towards the centre of the lake, into the darkness where thousands of tiny stars shone.
The Matriarch watched as the boat moved towards its destination, seemingly drawn by an invisible hand. Suddenly, the water began to seep through the intertwined branches and weigh down its load, which began to sink slowly into the abyss until Alcina vanished from their sight.
Thus, it was done. There was no going back now; the story had to continue.
«Lady, » she said again, invoking the Mother Goddess of all humanity, «you who reside in these mountains, symbol of our life and prosperity, we beseech you.» The woman hesitated. It was the first time in her role she was presiding over this ceremony, and a chill of fear gripped her. What if it didn't work? What if the Mother did not respond to their invocations?
«Alcina is dead, she cried out, her voice choked with emotion, "but the story must not end and right here in this sacred place, it will have a new beginning. For this reason, I invoke you, Lady, tell us, what will be the name of the new Sibyl? »
The voice of the Matriarch echoed off the rocks surrounding the lake, distorting and repeating her words in a distinct echo: «Sibyl, Sibyl, yl, yl. »
The woman grimaced. She had surely phrased the question poorly. She should not have asked it in that order.
«Please, Lady, » she tried again, «the Sibyl is dead, tell us who should take her place as the guide of our people. May your words illuminate our path. »
The mountain answered once more: «Sibyl, Sibyl. »
The Matriarch stood frozen as the chanting and prayers around her suddenly ceased.
«She said Sibyl, » ventured one of the monks, apprehensive.
«That can't be true, » the murmur of voices became more assertive.
The elderly woman ran a hand through her white hair, tempted to formulate another question. Surely nothing too terrible could happen. Certainly nothing worse than what loomed on the horizon. There was only one novice named Sibyl among the girls waiting in prayer in the Schola, eager to be the Mother's Chosen One, and she was the worst choice.
«Merciful Mother, » she said after a moment of reflection, «what is the name of the Queen Mage who will succeed Alcina? » There was an Alcina among the novices, and she was one of her favorites. An ambitious and studious girl, as much as was needed. Perhaps it was just an echo after all!
This time the mountain did not respond but a sudden wind rose up from the valley and began to whistle between the rocks and stir the grass blades. The monks huddled in their cloaks for protection, afraid, as the wind seemed to hiss familiarly: «Sibyyyyl»
The Matriarch lowered her head, defeated. "We have a new Queen Mage," she said, «the Mother has spoken. »
The wind calmed and disappeared as suddenly as it had come, leaving the small group astonished by the divine manifestation they had just witnessed.
«We must inform Sister Sabina... and get down from this cursed mountain, » she muttered to herself, turning her back on the lake. She wouldn't stay there another moment; the place gave her the chills. She scribbled the chosen one's name on a piece of parchment and passed it to the nearest monk. «You see to it brother, » she said, clearly annoyed. Then she lifted the hem of her dress and started back along the stony path they had come.
Ahead of her the sun had begun its ascent in the sky and turned the snowy peaks of the Blue Mountains golden, indifferent witnesses to human miseries.
YOU ARE READING
Sibilla and the legends of the Mark
FantasyAlcina Biancofiore, the Magic Queen of the Blue Mountains, protector of the lands of the Mark, has just passed away and, as her final wish she had a silver bracelet of exquisite make delivered to her great niece Sibyl. It is said that the bracelet w...
