Hall of Mirrors

Prologue

The cold winter air whipped around River's face and stung her bare legs. She pushed harder up the hill, trying to maintain the weight of her leather satchel and not fall. Sweat poured down her face, but she knew she shouldn't complain. In the darkness, she looked at her father, who was breathing heavily and trudging up the tall slope next to her.

"Father," River whispered, breaking the dull silence. No reply. "Where are we going?" The shadow of her father opened his mouth to speak- but just then River tripped on a stone and fell to the gravelly earth. She let out a scream as she saw blood rising on her knees. Her dress was ripped down the front. Her father, silent and large, dropped his logs and cotton knapsack and scooped up the small child in his arms.

River buried her head in his warm jacket and the two refugees kept on through the night, their important belongings forgotten behind them.

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Queen Freia paced the halls of her chamber, her gold-white nightgown slithering softly over the stone floor. It was dark and damp. Looking up from her concentrated study of the mosaic floor, she held out a hand and muttered, "luxus." A ball of fire burst into being in front of her and she continued down the hallway, following the bright light. She traipsed down a curling cellar stair into the castle basement, and with the ball of fire lighting her way, she made her way past several barred iron cells filled with dumpy, dirty prisoners. Finally she stopped at a guarded cell at the end of the dark corridor. She extinguished the ball of fire and seized the guard by his collar.

"Swear not to tell anyone of what you saw," she muttered. The guard nodded, retching. She let him go, breathing fast and hard.

"My Queen, I advise you not to go into this cell," the guard warned timidly, massaging his neck.

"I know perfectly well of the consequences, Magoriam," Queen Freia said, nodding curtly. "If I do not come out, which is unlikely, you are to resume your post and take no action. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness," nodded the soldier, growing pale. He unlocked the door with fumbling fingers and Freia swept inside boldly. She continued down the long side corridor for a long time, until she finally reached an oval-shaped room. The room was completely quiet, which unnerved Freia more than anything. Suddenly something lunged at her, and she gasped, tripping backward on her train and turning to run, her courage draining out of her like a spilled cup. The person (or thing) grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Suddenly she heard a voice in her ear, muttering nothings at her.

"Grandfather," Freia whispered, turning. The thin, ragged man she laid eyes upon would make children scream, yet Freia stayed calm, knowing the face well. "You must flee," rasped the man, harsh skin and ugly features contorting into an insanely wide grin. "The one who comes tonight is your downfall."

"What do you mean?" Freia knew of her grandfather's oracle talent for Prophecy.

"At midnight tonight, a child will come to you. You will take care of her and love her as your own, but eventually she will be your downfall. Your little Aleste is not the true Princess of Bellumsilva."

"How dare you!" Gasped Freia, offended at the very thought of her throne being taken. Reaching out a hand with a glance of vindictive fury, she rasped, "You will forever be made to serve me as my Mirror, my Prophet," she said, angered and ready to kill. "Heist und reflecto infino prophetico," she muttered at the man. With a petrified yell, the man convulsed and writhed as his form became silvery and shiny. His thin arms shaped into clawed legs, his face into a mere shadow of what it was, marred by the mirror he was becoming. Suddenly the bright light exuded from his limbs and he wobbled to a stop with the ghost of a scream still upon his shadowed face imprinted in the mirror.

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A man in a simple villager's blue cloak swept up to the steps of Bellumsilva's great Black Castle. This was his greatest sacrifice- the one he loved was going into the enemy's hands. River, his only child, stirred frailly against his chest, bundled up in a thin tunic and an old ripped cloak that had once belonged to her mother.

"I'm so sorry, Lulla," he said, pressing his toddler's face up against his, tears blinding his eyes. Taking his cloak off and bracing himself against the bitter cold that the country of Bellumsilva initiated, he wrapped the sleeping toddler in it and tucked her in neatly. Laying her next to the bolted brass doors of the castle, he gave her a final kiss and pressed into her hand an amulet of his own invention. The small cherry-shaped scrap of wood was crude on it's finely cut silver chain, but he hoped she would keep and remember it. "Goodbye, Lulla," he said, stroking her raven-black hair to the side.

"I'll come back for you someday. Please save us." The man stood, his threadbare shirt rippling in the wind. He pounded on the door twice and left the clearing into Black Castle.

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When he got far enough away from the looming place, he sank to the ground in grief and gave a wild scream of remorse and agony. Beating the ground with his fists, a cloud of black dust settled over where his tears had fallen and made a small lump. Several ravens flew out of the trees, the symbol of the powerful, magical, now broken Endrathian Prince.