SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The Two Ladies 1 of 8

The two Ladies

By S. Viglione.

December, 2004; December, 2007. 

I. 

Thick heaths and thorny bushes skirted the road. It was a black night, with no stars or moon to soften darkness. The servants tripped after her, groaning and protesting. She didn't considered them: they were just servants. She should reach the summit before midnight. And if they didn't get it... well. They would have to face the Shade. The worse for them. 

The slope became sheerer, and the road harder. Breathing was difficult. A blind darkness made her trip on each rock and bush in the path. Evidently the road had been forgotten. Unbelievable! Had people of the Valley completely forgotten about the Lady of the West? How would they dare? she thought in anger, still panting. Wasn’t at least a witch, don't let us request a skilled sorceress, to remember her? Of course not. The Lady of the East wouldn’t allow it. And they wouldn’t dare. They couldn’t... Blinded by the Light of the East Lady, they could never distinguish any shade...

Another branch crossed the road, hindering her way, and she shook her staff in bad mood. The branch flew off, rejected, and it loosed a couple of stones that rolled down the hill. Something like a neigh sounded in the night. 

‘Hush!’ she hissed. The servant who had laughed took a the hand to the mouth and murmured an excuse. She turned her attention to the dark bundle of the hill, and continued climbing, sttuborn.  

This road hadn’t been used in months, probably in years. But, who, in his own senses, would think of climbing the top? The view was stupendous, of course, but... The summit was a sacred place, sacred earth. Nobody would dare to perturb the spirits... or the demons, as they called them now. Nobody, but her. 

She removed another branch from her road and grunted to the servants: 

‘Come on, quickly now, or you’ll be powder in hands of the Shade.’ 

And she herself continued climbing ploddingly, followed by the servants, backs bending under the bales. 

Of course she dared.  She dared to climb up and stay there. The sanctuary of the Hill was hers by right. None of the sacred places of the Shade were forbbidden to her, Chief Priestess. She was the main sorcerer of the Red Desert, in the land of the West, the Kingdom of the Shade. She had been brought up to serve  Her, the Lady of the Silence, the Master of the Night... The marks, in red and black covered her chest and hips, and legs and arms; the sacred symbols of her Lady. The she-lion of the Shade roared on her chest, upon her heart, and the marks of its claws climbed up in circles on her legs and arms. Mjuck knew well that she belonged in heart and soul to the Lady. She was her source of power, and Mjuck  knew that she couldn’t live without it. The thought perturbed her a little, and she shook her staff with more energy than necessary. The branch she was pointing at burst in wild and dark flames like her thoughts, but unlike them, this ones illuminated the black night. 

The servants looked nervously around, and one of them hurried to turn off the fire. Nobody should see them. Nobody should spot them. And Mjuck continued climbing. 

Nobody stepped on the way of the Shade in her Kingdom. Neither inside, nor outside it. The western lands belonged her. A deserted and red land, dry and dusty. Mjuck ran her tongue by her lips, looking for the salty flavor of the thirst again, an old sensation almost forgotten in this Valley. She shook the head.

Her land was beautiful. There were not purer, bluer nights, neither starrier skies that those of her home. That dry scent in the air, the burst of the spring in the brief season of the rains, the clear noises breaking the eternal silence... the Western Kingdom was the most beautiful to her eyes. But she had been committed to this place, now, to fight against the cold, and the mist, and the moist. And everything because... Just because... Only because of the Light of the Lady of the East.

Nobody dared to challenge the Shade except the Light. The powers of the Light had always perturbed her, and eversince the intruder had settled in the Valley, seducing people and even the very same Lord, the young King Keryat, the Shade had been restless. No, Mjuck thought shaking the head again while she continued climbing without rest, concentrated in breathing. She had been restless at the beginning, when the Light settled in this place. Then she got angry. As the years passed, her fury became madness. And the madness yielded its fruit.

The Shade had put her to work. She had put them to work, all of them, in fact. It had been before her birth, but she, Mjuck, she had worked as hard as any other one. Until the day they ended up believing that they had achieved it... But when the girl was born, at the same time than she herself, Mjuck, Chief Sorceress... 

The pain in her hands made her hesitate. When pressing them, she had nailed the fingernails in the palms. She felt the hot blood running along the fingers. Well, they were closer now. One last corner and... 

The last branch fell to one side, and Mjuck walked to the edge of the cliff. Below, there was the Valley. The last lights scintillated a little in the windows, and they faded one by one. The cold breeze moved Mjuck’s long hair. 

‘Prepare the camp,’ she ordered the servants. ‘It’ll be a long wait.’

She nailed her staff on the ground, just on the border, and the red jewel at the end, the one that she had kept hidden in her hand during the whole escalade, it began to shine in the deadly night. It was exactly midnight. 

II.  

Nadhal walked restlessly around the gardens of the palace. She was the Princess. No, no, no. The Queen. Lady and Regent of the people of the Valley. Daughter of the King and the Lady, she had been born among great signs and wonders, they said. They said! Of course they said it. How else would they say? That was always said when a Princess was born before the Prince. And the Prince had been born some few years after her. They were just siblings, because the Lady had died delivering. That they said. And however, there was some dark secret in it, that nobody wanted or could comment. Nadhal had tried once and again to wheedle the servants and the Consultants, but apparently nobody could give her the explanations she needed. When she was born, a shadow had fallen on the Palace of the Lords of the Valley, and nobody seemed to remember what had happened then. 

The Prince was about to come. Nadhal knew it, she felt it in the air. The messengers hadn’t arrive yet, but… She knew it, though she couldn’t explain it. The Regent looked up at the darkening sky, and smelled the scents the night carried to her. She shuddered, thinking how long it was he had gone. Six months? Eight? Time became longer when he was far away… But he would be back very soon, and she would feel a little less alone and pressed; and very much calmer. Last night she had had a strange sensation, a threaten arising from far away. And the restlessness had been increasing all day long. The Hill of West seemed to frown at her over the walls, and as the sun was setting, it seemed crowned with a red and angry fire. Even the fresh air of the afternoon had a bad taste. 

Nadhal sighed and she sat down in one of the benches in the inner yard. The soft noises coming to her from outside the Palace seemed strange, and the same time was stagnated. In her mind she saw loose images, mainly from her childhood. She didn't dare to focus her thoughts in the lowering hill that clipped against the now violet sky. Nor in her brother, camping, sleeping on the outside, maybe passing necessity or cold… Nadhal loved her brother deeply. Her thoughts ran to a different way.

She had learned to walk in this same place. Over there, behind the rosebushes. Was it with... with who? One of her nannies, surely. She had had many. Too many. None of them remained more than one or two years. As she was growing, she realized that the other ones avoided her. Even her nannies. She used to hide from them and play alone for hours and hours. Sometimes  she heard them speak while they were nearing. She could guess they had been speaking of her by the tone in their voices. How was it?... Yes. Low, cautious, and... afraid. 

‘Ah! The Princess... she’s strange...’ one was saying. 

‘And you tell it! She looks at you and it seems she stabs you with the look... The other day Laa had taken an apple for her little son... and they called her to assist the Princess. The apple was left below, in the kitchen, you know? And she did look at her. She looked at her the whole time she spent fixing the room... I told Laa that those were her ideas, but later I had to accompany them up.’ 

‘And?’

‘I saw it. She didn't take out her eyes from her. And the girl , she had a face!... The poor Laa couldn’t stand it any more and she returned that  damned apple... 

‘But, did she tell her something? Had somebody got aware?’ 

‘I don’t know. Laa didn't want to speak it over.’ 

Of course not. Nadhal had found the apple, she had wrapped carefully three more ones and she had left them among Laa’s things. Surely, she had not seen them until night, when arriving home. Every time Nadhal had looked at her that afternoon she felt a guilty feeling emanating from her as something dark and poisonous. But behind that sensation there was another thing. At the beginning she found difficult to perceive, but the images arrived finally: Laa’s son in bed. The doctor saying that he needed to eat more vegetable, more fruit... more meat, more... The fever that didn't give up... the mother's desperation hit her strong, although she didn't receive it as an image. The boy's face… He was the same age her brother was!... That was why, that afternoon, before the external servants retired, she went to the kitchen and separated the apples for Laa. Following an infantile impulse she kissed each apple and whispered to it secretly: 'Make the boy get well.' And she hid the package among the maid's things. 

One week later she heard a boy's voices in the kitchen. 

‘Yes, look how well he is. It is a miracle!’ Laa whispered. And even so, she avoided her look.

Some years later, she and her husband had pooled money enough as to leave far, to the North frontier. Nadhal didn't see them again. 

And Laa had not been the only one.

Once she had come closer to an old flunky whose arthritis used to give him very bad days, and she had touched him gently the hand, saying him: 'I hope you get better... ' The man had looked at her with indulgence; she was still very young. But the next day, when passing in front of the door he kept, he dedicated her a wide and agile reverence, with a delicate movement of the hand. She greeted him with a smile and a head inclination. After that, she had to stand her father's severe reprimand. 

‘Don’t smile to the servants,’ the King had told her then. ‘That isn’t proper for a Princess. You embarrass me.’ 

And she had felt embarrassed. The servants were the only company she had. Her father left her alone the whole day, because evidently, the King had other obligations. And Kahle... well, in that time he was just a baby. Then he was a boy. Male. The heir. The Prince. As long as they were children, they could play together; but when growing, the Prince received a different education than the Princess. Being the eldest, she would be the Queen, the Regent. The Prince Kahle was bound to the militia and to become the General of the Queen's Armies. So that they had seen each other a little time during several years. 

And however they had not been so few times...  

The night was falling. The noises in the training yard had ceased a long while ago, and however a whisper persisted. It was her brother, training in the evening. He liked to train alone at nightfall. Nadhal listened the knocking of the weapons for hours, until somebody came to look for him and take him to his rooms.

Sometimes, always without the knowledge of her nanny, that believed she was sleeping, she climbed to the wall that separated the recess yards of those of training. She used to cast him a couple of stones, and even peach hearts, until he decided to climb up to talk to her. 

‘What are you doing, you fool?’ he used to say to her. ‘Don’t you see you can’t defeat me? I’m stronger than you.’ 

And the conversation used to end up with one of them falling in the bushes on the other side. 

Once, perhaps one of the best adventures they had had, she had convinced him to take her with him, hidden among his belongings. When leaving the barracks, Kahle’s commandant, and his personal trainer noticed something strange in his exaggerated baggage. They had stopped him, and they had taken him apart. Far from the others, they had ordered him to show what he was carrying. Kahle resisted. He even threatened them to go and tell it to his father. It must be said that the men considered it seriously: the King Keryat had a difficult temper. However, they knew well their obligations. Kahle’s baggage was registered, and Nadhal was returned to the rooms of the ladies. Both had supported a good reprimand and the corresponding punishment, later. The same King Keryat was in charge of it. 

‘Never let your sister to leave this Valley. She is the future Queen. Don't you understand it? Your first duty is and it will always be to protect her.’

Now, when remembering it in retrospective, Nadhal thought there was something exaggerated in her father's concern about her security. But in that time, she obeyed him, and she had not left the Valley, not even the Palace until his death. 

‘Milady...’ 

The servant, his personal servant, had come closer quietly. 

‘Milady, your brother's message has arrived. He’ll arrive tomorrow when blunting the dawn.’ 

Nadhal repressed her annoyance. That meant they were camping to the other side of the grassland. They would cross it at dawn to enter with the light of the sun. How theatrical! However, she could not allow to escape those comments before the herald. 

‘Thank you, Taro. Begin the preparations to receive him.’ 

The answer came out in low and measured voice. It didn't accuse her impatience. The servant left as silent and invisible as he had arrived. 

The camp extended, orderly, to the foot of a hill, on the other side of the forest. Toward the north, the woods climbed the hill almost until the summit. It was said that there was a Sanctuary up there, but nobody had climbed up to check it since the shadow that observed the camp could remember. Orderly. Trimmed. Tidy camp. To the east, the people of the Valley. To the west, Vinger’s men, the king of the Northern Mountains. Some strange, apparently new tents, almost all of them with sheep furs for cover appeared a little toward the bottom, crowding together in distrustfulness. She wondered who they would be, but she supposed that she would know it in due time. Wool was characteristic for the southern people, in the Delta and the Valley held commercial relationships with them. 

The shadow observed the camp in attention. The Valley was a strip of beautiful and green land that extended, narrow and lazy, between two big deserts. The Red Desert toward the West: the lands of the Lady of the Night, the one they used to call the Shade; and the White Desert to the East: the land of Alkhama; where the Princes of the Light came from. They called so the men of the East; wise men, wizards and sorcerers, with a deep knowledge of the things that had been and the things to come. Only a few times they had interfered in the Valley’s business, or the Mountain’s, or  the Delta’s, and indeed, since Ambassador Seni’s times, they had not got in touch with them. Men consecrated to the Spirit, dedicated their days to the care of the Sanctuary of the Sun, a few days way in the White Desert. And beyond the Sanctuary, the immaculate sands and the brilliant sun hid the daily life of these men just as much as the shades made it with the mysterious western people. 

As for the North, the King Vinger’s people, from immemorial times had been allies in the war and friends in the peace. One could not request better alliance. They had build their town behind the tall wall of the monuntains, protected by an unique way the snow closed in the winter. In the spring, the caravans travel south to commerce, and they also came out the companies of soldiers, to patrol the kingdom.

It was a town of soldiders. The Valley didn’t’t ask any questions, but far to the north, trough the monuntains to elude the deserts, Vinger’s troops travel in their endless campaigns. The Valley didn’t aske any questions, but the pact, signed up so long ago, needed to be signed again every few years. So the shadow that observed the tidy camp felt no surprise to see the distribution of the neighbour’s hosts all surrounding a big tent. Who had they sent this time? An Ambassador or any of his noblemen. Someone important, no doubt; the tent had the symbols of a royal tent. The pact would be renewed again, the shadow observing the camp thought. Surely Vinger had had the same troubles they had had in the Valley…

Toward the South, there was the Delta: jungle land and swamps, farmers' and shepherds’ land, earth of rich crops and peace. Ruled by King Rhazz, the people of the south were no warriors. The shadow observing the camp laid her regard on the new tents, the ones with the sheep fur. Men from the south? Maybe but… It was not ususal that men from the south came out their land. It wasn’t usual that men from the south joined armed parties. Of course, Rhazz had his guards, like any king… But to the sahdow observing the camp, they seemed more like porters or waiters than real soldiers. No, the southern land held no warriors. Valley’s deals with them had been only commercial deals, and they had had no other trouble than fixing the wool’s price, or adjust the cheese cost…

The shadow ignored the dark bundle of the hill, even avoiding its shade, and it slipped among the tents of the camp. It knew exactly which one it was looking for. No, not the big one, ostentatious, the one that seemed to belong to the King. Kahle would never sleep in a thing so full with ribbons and tapestry. That should belong to the Ambassador and those of the North. She looked around a little more, and found a tent a little apart from the other ones, among the ones from the Valley, of course. The green dusty cover was very old and worn-out, but there was still the remains of an embroidered monogram. An N perhaps? Yes. She had embroidered it being still a girl, and had used that blanket for years. When Kahle left for the first time along with the army, she had given it to him. 

‘For you, so that you don't pass cold, brother...’ she had told him, almost without daring to look at him. 

He had laughed at her and had pulled from her tresses. 

‘Nothing is going to happen to me, you silly. Don't you see I’m already a man? 

A man to his age! Nadhal had not replied; she was very concerned about him; and he continued making fun kindly of her. But the blanket, though old, continued being the cover on Kahle’s tent. 

Now, Nadhal came closer and touched gently the cloth. A hand leaned out of the opening and dragged her inside. She fell among Kahle’s bundles suffocating a scream. 

‘I knew you wouldn't stay still at home, silly.’ 

‘I’m your Queen, don't call me that!’ 

‘Very well, my Lady...’ And Kahle tried to straighten out to make a reverence, and feigned to fall upon Nadhal. She laughed, shaking him from above. 

‘You, fool!’ she protested. 

‘You are,’ he laughed, pulling from her locks as if she was still a girl. ‘Admit that you missed me.’ 

She laughed again, and he helped her to incorporate. 

‘I couldn’t wait until tomorrow,’ she said looking at him. She watched him leaning to turn on the light and she stopped him. 

‘No. don't light it. You are right, I shouldn’t be here...’ 

‘... and they better don’t see you,’ he finished. 

She let out a giggle for third time. Her brother made her feel so well. The truth was that she had missed him. He had left the Palace several years ago, patrolling the frontiers unceasingly, returning occasionally home and leaving every few days again. And she felt terribly alone when he was out. He was the only one that seemed not to fear her. But, of course: they were children of the same man: King Keryat, from the house of Anavi. 

‘So well, my scatterbrained Queen... Why are you here?’ he said.

‘Well, my absurd General. I’m not able to understand why you don't enter once for all to the city and you sleep in a decent bed and... puaj! You give yourself a good bath... 

‘Dirt frightens the bugs. If you had to crawl from time to time for a swamp you would understand how good thing the mud is for your cutis...’ 

‘Agrrr!’ she did. 

‘Why you ask, then?’ he mocked. 

‘Tell me what is happening.’ 

Kahle became serious suddenly. 

‘Tomorrow. It’s better to talk about it in the Palace...’ he said. 

‘No,’ Nadhal said. Now she was serious too. ‘You know how they bother me with military euphemisms and diplomatic courtesy. I want my brother to speak to me with frankness.’ 

‘Your brother, or your General?’ 

‘They are the same one. Them and the only man that deserves my trust. What is going on, Kahle? What is happening? 

Kahle that had been squatting in front of her, dropped himself on the bed with a sigh. 

‘It’s exhausting, you know?... We traveled the frontiers once and again, and we didn't see anything abnormal. Nothing stopped us. Nobody faced us, no enemy to fight against. But you perceive that there is something very wrong there. You feel it in your bones, you knnow?…’ he whispered. ‘We send scouts to the Red Frontier, and they returned saying there was nothing. We send them again, and they didn't return.’ 

‘Dead?’ 

‘No. We didn’t find cadavers. We didn't find anything. Just...’ 

Nadhal looked at him waiting. The light that entered from outside let her see only his profile. He was frowning. 

‘What?’ she hurried him. 

‘Just the Shade...’ he said finally. 

She looked at it fixedly, trying to break in his thoughts. Would he have seen the Lady of the Night? No... No, no human could presented before her without being called, or at least that the stories said. No. The Shade... Her brother referred to a shade in his thoughts, the weight of the Lady of the Night in his mind and spirit. A sensation of growing anxiety, a dimness of the mind that stole them strengths until making them stop and surrender. They had arrived up to the frontier of the Red Desert; the Red Frontier, they called it. Nadhal saw the image in Kahle’s mind: the enormous plain from which the wind pulled up whirls of red powder, an endless, empty and seemingly dead plain. Without a word they had turned round and they had come back.

They hadn’t been aware that they carried the Shade inside them. 

III. 

The sun hardly touched the roofs of the palace when the music of hundreds of horns announced the army. The heralds responded with their trumpets from the towers, and a rain of flowers that fell from the walls it followed the companies while they made the accustomed circuit around the city. When they were again in front of the doors it was almost half morning, and the sun painted in gold the piles of the bridge. The doors opened up. 

As the troop went to the barracks, followed by a riotous multitude of women (mothers, sisters, wives, daughters) that laughed and cried at the same time, the company of the generals went ceremonious toward the real pavilions, followed by a retinue of ladies, discreetly accompanied by their servants. 

At the entrance, as tradition prescribed, the Regent waited. With a simple expression and without a word, she sent the officials to the right, to the pavilions, and the ladies toward the left, to the winter gardens. The ladies dispersed among the beds of flowers while the officials disappeared behind the gates. In a few minutes they would meet in the lower yard by the lake, where the lunch was waiting for them. Nadhal had always thought that it would be more pleasant a private encounter with their families, but tradition was law. She, on the other hand, escorted Kahle toward the palace, and in spite of the habit, she accompanied him until his rooms. She didn't tell him anything, for tradition demanded her not to speak until those recently arrived had eaten. However, she had already taken the necessary dispositions to have a meeting with them later. She had sent a personal invitation to each General and Captain, of his own hand, having his presence in the Council that evening. She had decided allow them a rest. She had already heard what she needed from her brother's lips, and read in his mind his worryings. 

The sun shone serene on the pond when she finally climbed down. The officials and their wives sat down in small groups under the trees. The Ambassador saw her moving discretely among the groups, greeting with a simple inclination and retiring to a corner by the lake. Her brother was already there, and the courtiers didn't come closer. 

‘So well, cousin? What do you think?’ 

‘Ehm? Who are you talking about, Nu?’ 

‘The Lady, of course.’ A smile crossed the Lady's face.  

‘The Lady? Ah, the Regent... Very young for the position, don't you think?’ 

Lady Nuria lifted a brow, curious. 

‘Young ? The Lady is older than me.’ 

The Ambassador's face expressed his incredulity. The Lady let out an amusing laugh. 

‘Didn't you know it? Don't worry...’ and Nuria lowered voice when adding:  ‘Neither her, neither the other ones have conscience of it.’ 

The Ambassador frowned. The lady let out a funny laughter.

‘Didn’t ou know? Don’t worry…’ And Nuria lowered her voice when added: ‘Nor her, nor the other are aware of that.’

The Ambassador frowned.

‘Explain it to me.’ 

The Lady leaned in her seat and she let her eyes wander on the blue of the lake. 

‘It was long ago, cousin, about a hundred years before I came. Perhaps more. Nobody speaks of that, it is as if they didn't realize, or as if they could not remember, as if something erased the days, the months and the years from this people's memory. The Prince Keryat, the last heir of the house of Anavi was a passionate, daring, strong youth... unbroken according to some, just mischievous according to others. I believe he was a lowbred boy, you know? Spoiled and quite selfish. Everybody believed that he would turn to the Shade, when his time came. 

‘The time?’ 

‘Mm. Here they used to have a certain ritual... The Prince Keryat was the last one that carried it out, because the Regent is a woman, and the prince Kahle won't be a King. When a prince arrived to the maturity, they sent him on a trip, completely alone. They went in search of their lot, they used to say. Everybody believed that Keryat would turn to the West, to the Lady of West, the Shade... in fact he headed there. The princes could choose among visiting the Lady of East in the Sanctuary of the Sun; or the Lady of West in the Sanctuary of the Hill. There, in one or another temple, they would remain in meditation until they found a sign. No, cousin: don't ask me what sign. In the Palace there are hundred of briefs; objects that the kings in their moment had taken as the 'sign'... Each King chose one of the two Ladies. And everybody thought that the egocentric Keryat would choose the Shade. 

‘The Lady of West.’

‘Exact.’ 

‘And it was not right?’ 

‘No. He headed toward West. A really long travel, because he didn't stop in the Hill. He tried to follow his trip to the Red Mountain in the Kingdom of the West, and prostrate before the selfsame Sahmar, a thing that nobody has done up to now. He arrived to the frontier of the Red Desert. He tried to enter. He penetrated in the desert for several days, he walked and walked... He lost or consumed the food, he drank all his water... and he could not find the doors. And he continued walking, stunned by the thirst until the powdery road became a sidewalk skirted by trees. I believe that he fainted by the source. Some shepherd gave him water and refreshed him, I suppose. And Keryat followed the path... 

Nuria had lowered the voice and half closed her eyes. The ambassador looked at her: she seemed in trance, as if she was seeing the old king in his days of youth. Suddenly she blinked and looked at him. 

‘When he returned there had passed several weeks more than foreseen. The groups of scouts and spies were already prepared to leave looking for him. But he returned on his own foot, as arrogant as usual, and he didn't return alone. A maiden accompanied him. Nobody knew who she was or where he had brought her from; and of course nobody dared to ask. He made her his Queen. They lived together for many years, more than those that correspond a mortal man, and they didn't have children. 

‘But...  The Regent?’ 

‘Calm down. I’m already arriving to that point. For many years they didn't have children. I never knew about a laugh of the Lady in this Palace. And however she remained among us. And one day something strange happened. The sky became black, they told me. The lightning ripped the clouds once and again, always on the tower... that of there.’  

‘What is there?’ 

‘I don’t know. I could never enter; it’s closed. I believe that not even Lady Nadhal has entered there. And that night the wind whipped the Valley, and nobody understood how all that could be, because it was not the season of the rains. The storm lasted the whole night, and they say that was the darkest night ever seen in this part of the world. But the storm passed, and some months later the Lady gave birth to our Regent. But she... she disappeared. Well, in fact, the whole family did it. They left from here because the Lady was not well... and she didn't return. About twenty or thirty years later, Keryat that went and came periodically, nobody knows where, he returned bringing a girl with him. She seemed about five or six years, not more, but everybody knew that she was the daughter of the Lady. Do you realize? A five year-old girl that in fact had twenty or more. But same Keryat didn't seem older than the twenty that he had when he brought the Lady. I saw them the day I arrived to this city. In one week from their return the King aged, and when I was presented to him, one month later, he seemed almost an old man... He had over hundred years, and a daughter of my age that looked like my own daughter... 

Nuria made a pause, reviewing its memories. 

‘The King married one of the princesses of Rhazz, and she gave him a son, the prince Kahle. The princess died, and the King didn't survive her more than a few years. But the Lady has the same effect on her brother and her people that the one her mother had on her father. Prince Kahle has neither aged. Neither people of the Valley. But the price is the lost of the memory. 

The Ambassador looked at her query. 

‘Nobody knows what I have told you. Nobody remembers. Nobody perceives.’ 

‘But  you’  

‘Cousin... have you already forgotten where we come from? We were born in the mountains of the North, and I had already spent a time in the Sanctuary of East before arriving here with my husband. You know whom you owe loyalty, and as for me, I belong to the Lady of the Light.’ 

The Ambassador looked calculatingly his cousin. 

‘You’re a witch.’ 

Lady Nuria let out a laughter. 

‘A white witch? No, cousin. As my husband, I’m just a Priestess.’