The Long Way Home

Chapter Eight

"Queen Liza."

That name coming from me seems to leave a stain on the breeze, as if the words froze in place before they could drift away. As if that name froze just before our ears in their own way. It's in the wide eyes of the army of women standing rank behind their queen. It's in the narrowed eyes of Queen Liza, her mouth set in a firm line. It's in stillness I feel in my legs and the heaviness I feel in my chest. The queen's name lingers like a secret unfolding after long years succumbed.

"Who gave you my name?" the queen says. Her dark eyes pierce into mine, her jaw clenched with leashed rage.

She said Who gave you my name? She didn't say, Who told you my name? Again, the wording of her question makes it seems as though a name is a physical possession. And now I know, to her, it is. I wonder how many names she posses.

In response to her, I say nothing.

Then there is a change in her dark eyes, the greed of them long gone. Pure rage becomes a living thing in her eyes.

Swiftly, the forest begins to fill with whispers like soft murmurs kissing its way up trees; whispers coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The whispers are of words in foreign tongues. Or perhaps they mean nothing at all. Whatever they mean, the whispers swirl up high around us, bouncing from tree to tree, lingering from ear to ear. I look at the army of women and their queen and, save for the queen, whose eyes never waver from me, they're all looking up at the forest, their faces marked with confusion.

And as if the whispers carry a breeze of their own, the trees begin to sway to the rhythm of the whispers, shifting and moving almost violently.

While looking up at the forest moving with a life of its own, something catches my eye among the women. At first I think it is their confused expressions which are almost morphed by fear. It doesn't hit me that I should probably be scared, because whatever frightens this army of obviously unwavering women should definitely scare the hell out of me. But here I am feeling a bit relieved at the sudden change of events. The sudden shift of power.

I guess what Queen Liza said stands true. There is definitely power in a name.

But my relief is short lived when I look closer at the women; when I look directly at Queen Liza. It's her long white gown that sends my blood running cold. The white of the queen's gown is fading, slowly blending in with the night. From her shoulders, crawling its way down her gown, a kind of black that resembles a dark void takes over the vibrant white of her gown. It is when the white from her gown fades completely that the whispers begin to roar, turning into screams and the earth beneath my feet begins to quake violently.

Leaves and twigs begin to whip and rain down on us from everywhere. Keeping upright takes all my will. For a while I feel trapped in a raging storm. A storm seemingly long formed by all the fury and all the anger of the earth. And I feel it. I feel its anger.

A hand takes a strong hold on my arm. Hades.

Before I can react, he pulls me and we both take off at a run, the quaking earth making it difficult for me to get far. I feel the twigs and leaves whipping against my face and arms from the angry wind, slicing against my skin. Only when I want Hades' cloak the most, it happens to be long gone.

I stumble repeatedly and a few times I fall, my hands and knees hitting the rough forest floor hard. It's impossible for me to walk steadily, but Hades, on the other hand, seems to be immune. He runs with grace, not stumbling even once, pulling me along with him, half carrying me.

It's not long until we begin to hear the sound of hundreds of feet hitting the forest floor, running after us. Even the roaring of the trees follow those steps getting closer and closer to us. Along with it comes a wind kissing the back of my neck as if the queen and her women are within arm's reach. Fear begins to gnaw its way up my spine.