The War of Queens

Chapter 14

I'm dedicating this chapter to everyone who helped me through my breakdown yesterday - Reretzu, rskovach, AlysArden, morgan_lavinia, Willamina and garyjarvis1976. You are all so amazing!

Ishmael

 His head was floating and his thoughts were drowning. The earth was swaying and the trees were jumping. The world seemed to be rotating, duplicating, moving and all at once. His heavy feet dragged along the frozen ground, searching desperately for footing with every step. More than a few times, he tripped, and the earth seemed to come jumping up towards him, until he took another step, adjusted himself, and the dark trees were again in his line of vision.

 The woods were dark, but full of little bowls of light. He passed them, gazing into the small circles. The ashmen sat around the hearth, their faces illuminated in a golden-red light as they passed along drinking skins and smoking rolls of leaves.

 “Ishmael,” a man called out. The name echoed within Ishmael’s head, over and over, until the voice cut through the haze once more. “Over here!”

 His feet moved of their own accord, somehow flying a few inches over the surface, yet tripping from time to time. He found himself by one of the fires. A hand grapped him and he fell and fell, until he landed on the ground, furs surrounding him. The fire flickered and voices melted together around him.

 A head appeared in front of him, leaving a trail behind it that reminded Ishmael of his childhood, of running around with little sticks that burst sparks like tiny stars in the night of the new year, watching the trail of light flying behind them.

 Are you alright?

 It took him a moment to realize that the words had been real, spoken aloud, from the face that hovered before him.

 He opened his mouth and he thought words might have come out. The face disappeared and roaring laughter filled his ears. The flames once more attracted his gaze, shutting out the sounds of talking and laughing. Behind them, a familiar face was to be seen, hooded a little in the shadows that hid behind the flame.

 Thyrdís, he reminded himself, remembering how the name has sounded from her lips. Her hair was shining in the night, pushed over one of her shoulders. The other side of her head was almost clear of hair in that moment, and he could see a beautiful earring hang down. Her eyes were gleaming with mirth and she offered him a kind smile as she brought a drinking skin to her lips.

 …

 The sound of voices seemed far away, but he could tell that someone out there was singing. When he tried to take a step, he realized he was lying down, looking up at the stars. He slowly sat up. Something within his head tumbled as he did so and his stomach twisted and turned until he was at the brim of throwing up.

 “Priest,” a light voice said. The roll on the ‘r’ and the way her tongue clucked on the ‘t’ made her voice seem like something from another world.

 Thyrdís stood beside one of the trees closest to him, her full lips rounded in a smile that revealed her teeth; the front teeth were rather large and he found his heart warming to that one detail, that imperfection.

 Her feet were light, yet the earth seemed to tremble with every step towards him she took. Once she was close to him, she held out her hand.

 “I can’t stand,” he told her. The world was relatively still, but his stomach had only just settled and he was sure his legs would not be able to hold him.

 Her smile grew. “Yes,” she said in her soft voice. “Close your eyes.” He did as he was told. “Breathe,” she whispered, “and now, open them.”