The Warlord

Chapter 28: Calliope

Sadness, somber and dressed in black, placed its shroud over my heart the day my warlord left the palace. All our time together, all our years spent waging war side by side against Heaven on two planes, everything crumbled when my servants told me she was not in her quarters. The possibility that she might rebel had not eluded me, but it seems that I made the grievous error of fueling that sentiment by forbidding her to go after the witch. It made her think that I was blind, that I was a puppet. It made her think she was doing something good. My foolish, foolish warlord. And the worst part was shouldering through it. Everything was in a bitter, harsh light that day, but I let the shroud fall in place subtly, and I forced myself to move forward.

I thought she was strong enough to stand by me. I thought she was the worthy one. I thought wrong. So I cast her out of my mind, out into the deep clutches of my dark thoughts, where she will stay and wither and be forgotten. I have a kingdom to govern, and a war to fight. If my warlord decides to fail me I will carry the burden alone, like all the queens before me. My plan will continue, even if I have to enter the upper realm myself.

Today, in the gray, cloud-tinted light from the sun, I study the ancient riddle. My best advisors have implored me to let them help, but I cannot trust them. If they knew where I got the information, that I took the advice of the queen of Heaven, they will see me as weak. The queendom of Serestine is a brutal, beautiful thing. My mother, my older sister, they proved their worth on the battlefield. I will have to show my strength with my wits and my silver tongue, like my grandmother. Words are just as sharp as any sword, and the mind is the greatest tool.

So I pour over the ancient Serestinian, letting it consume my days and my nights. "Forsook the sky" can only mean she turned away from Heaven, and that she now dwells in this realm or Hell, for she was "cast down by the wind". I find a record of the Twelve Stars in the archives, describing the phenomenon that no one has seen in ages. Twelve glowing beams that sail through the sky in a reddish light. Unfortunately the account does not describe where the stars happened specifically in Serestine, and I am left to piece together the last two verses. "The caverns of man's heart" can mean many things. It could mean exactly what it says: a monster born from the curse of a man's heart or even a cave literally named Man's Heart. But symbolism is the most likely. Perhaps something that embodies the darkness of a human's heart, but that could mean many things.

I give a sigh and leave the scroll for a moment, standing up and walking towards the huge, tall window in my quarters. The skies are always gray in Serestine, gray and tumultuous and uncertain. Perhaps it is fitting, for the clouds are exactly like my kingdom's future. I am not foolish enough as to believe that Morella gave everything away in one conversation, but by finding this forgotten prisoner, more leads and information are inevitable.

My mind begins to wander, as it always does when I stare out my window. Serestine's situation and stance in the war bounces through my thoughts, but so do other things as well. I think about my sister and my mother, the two queens before me, warlike and ferocious in every sense. Their funerals were beautiful and grand, their deaths causing the tortured cries of miles and miles of Serestinian soldiers. I think about the power that I have been gripping and wrestling with since I assumed the title of queen, and how it has left marks and burns on my hands. I dream of a faraway universe where I can be an actual queen, a quiet and strong one, that is not confined to the doors of her palace. Where I can slip into the towns below and walk through gardens of roses, free of the shackles of war. But most of all, I think about my warlord.

She was a starving orphan when we first met, her skin caked in a layer of dirt and dust, and her eyes glinted with a hungry light. My mother was holding me by the hand and my sister by the other, her hold firm and assuring. We were crossing through the worst part of the town near the palace to meet with my mother's head general. The mud beneath my feet was tossed up and thick, like oil peaking up on a painter's canvas. At that point we had already passed by hundreds of dying, broken people, and something in my heart twisted each time we strode past them. Us, in our deep blue gowns of silk and our capes and scarves of wool and fur. Then I saw my warlord, hunched over, her back against a dirtied stone building. She was shivering, clutching the blanket around her, the contrast of the torn and ragged blanket against her white fingernails was striking. 

I watched her as we walked past, feeling the same pity I had felt time and time again on this trip. But then she raised her head, just the tiniest bit, and I saw her eyes peeking out from the overgrown strands of hair running down her face. They were dark and fierce, and howled with something untamed, something that had been broken and broken again but had refused to bend, like a cracked surface of a mirror; devastatingly beautiful and abstract. I had been taught on how to seek out the people that would surround me, the people that could surround me. From one glance, I knew she was one of them. I wrenched myself from my mother's grasp and strode over to the trembling girl. I reached out my hand.

"There's a spark in your eyes, girl. I will not let it be wasted out here on muddy streets. I am giving you the chance to enter Sapphina Academy. Train, fight, duel, and if you make it to the top, you will become my warlord. Power, riches, skills beyond compare, more than most could dream of or achieve in a lifetime. Take my hand, and you have a shot." The guards that were guarding my mother rushed to my side, but I waved them away and they backed off. They had to obey the order of a princess as much as the order of a queen. 

I saw doubt flit across her eyes, weak, pathetic doubt, but it died and shriveled, hardening into something stronger. Something formed of fiery ambitions and cunning determination. She took my hand, her grimy palm cold against my own delicate skin. "Take her back to the palace. Clean her up. Do what you have to do to follow what I said." I turned away as the guards lifted her up. My mother had a mix of disgust and pride on her face, and my sister had one of worry. But they said nothing as I rejoined them, and we continued on our merry way.

The shroud over my heart shrinks a bit, and invisible, pleading tears leak out from inside. But then I think of what happened later that day. The general my mother spoke to told of the possibility of harnessing Hell's powers against Heaven, but she later ruled the method as too dangerous. Hell... Yes, the general talked of the Seven Sins, the main groupings of the demons. Sins... They are the darkest part of man, the most evil manifestations and aspects of humans. The connection draws itself, and I know without a doubt: the forgotten prisoner is being kept in Hell.