Empress of Clouds - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

 

          Princess Tolian had few friends at the palace that Yule.  She felt that quite acutely.  She could understand people’s difficulty with her situation, but that didn’t ease her hurt and loneliness.  She was an awkward presence in the lives of those around her.  Many people resented her, and she knew it.  In general, the men were discomforted and displeased by her femininity, angered by her acceptance of it, and furious over her status as heir to the throne.  Tolian noticed these feelings —expressed most by members of the noblest houses of the court—diminished and blended with curiosity and lust amongst the army and peasant folk.  [KR]My rewrites are suggestions only, but I make them because you say that “all respected her power, her strength, and the fact that she saved them in the Battle of Lorm.”  I suspect that many of the men were jealous, too.

                              They all respected her power, her strength, and the fact that she saved them all in the Battle of Lorm last year, though some of the women tended toward some measure of jealously.  Tolian suspected their jealousy arose from the fact that she, once a he, had saved them all and as a woman, was more powerful than the other women.  But she wasn’t sure these were the only reasons.  Of all the women Tolian had heard express their dislike for her, it was mostly the noble women of the court who tended not to like her at all.  She also suspected that many of the men in the court held the same feelings, but dared not be so vocal.

          She had some friends at court, but her closest were away for the Yule.  Brythia, her beloved wife, was celebrating the Solstice with the Druids in their distant temple stronghold, Hyge Bryth, hidden in the Haunted Mountains.  She was upset when Tolian had refused to go with her.  It was difficult for them to be apart; the unbreakable spells that had brought them together tore at them painfully across the distance.  Tolian had been adamant.  To the Druids she was a goddess, and though she was now beginning to come to terms with her womanhood, and she relished her supernatural strength, she could not tolerate the adulation and worship which the nature priests and priestesses felt obliged to bestow upon her.  She did not like to be reminded of her differences so dramatically.  She did not feel worthy of adoration after the way she had almost let the world down last year in the toppled towers of Keythion—the passing memory of which sent a shiver down her spine.  She preferred the bites of loneliness, the ridicule, and quiet ostracizing of the Lormian nobles to the undeserved devotion and praises at the Druidic Solstice celebration.  Even as she thought this, she realized it wasn’t true; what she wanted was something in between loneliness and adoration.  What I want is my old life back.

          Brythia had begged her to come.  It was the first time since their marriage that they had been parted.  Eventually the druidess realized Tolian would not change her mind, and she relented.  Instead, she took along Myrthis, who was the mother of Tolian’s son as well as a druidess; and as escort (the King had insisted on one), Delorick, captain of the Royal Guard, thereby leaving Tolian virtually friendless at the palace.

           There was another reason that Tolian wished to stay in Lorm for Yule, but she had kept it to herself.  It had to do with the Yule Jarrels, and her father’s choice of the Jarrels’ Champion.

          Tonight Tolian was restless.  She found herself empty, yet agitated by the New Moon; filled with a [KR]It can’t be vague if it’s a nervous energy.      nervous energy to the point of being unable to sleep.  She tried to ignore her restlessness as much as possible, but she was the Goddess of the Moon—a truth she couldn’t ignore—and so the influence of the New Moon and the nervous energy it stirred in her could not to be discounted. 

          She paced in her chambers, her silky nightgown streaming behind her.  She occasionally cast glances as she passed the mirror and admired her womanly curves, her long brown curly hair, and lovely pouting face.  Tonight, though there was something else at work in her agitation, not simply her denial of her divinity but the crux of the matter, which had kept her there. 

           The Yule Jarrels began in just a few days and her father, the King, had not announced the Jarrels’ Champion yet.  That fact was really troubling Tolian.  She stopped in front of the mirror and sighed.  She knew that her reflection was the reason that the decision had been delayed.  It wasn’t fair.  She was undeniably the greatest warrior in Lorm, in the world.  There should be no decision to make.

          Before last year, when the Jarrels were cancelled because of the siege, Tolian had been the Jarrels’ Champion as a matter of course.  Tolian had been a man back then, before the druids and their prophecy, before they transformed him into the physical manifestation of the Moon Goddess to fight the Demon.  It seemed like eons ago.  She studied her delicate reflection, and tried to remember her old bearded face.  She could vaguely remember the young warrior-prince, once the pride of Lorm and undoubted commander of the fiercest army of the West.  Everyone in the palace loved him then.  Tolian did not mind that type of adoration.  It was earned through courage and hard fought battles, not bestowed by magickal transformations.  She stared hard at the woman’s face in the mirror.  This was her destiny, the druids claimed.  She remembered her extreme discomfort at first.  Thankfully, the dysphoria she felt at first had lessened.  Brythia’s unquestioning love helped promote acceptance of her new situation.  When they were together her gender was almost irrelevant, and they certainly did not allow it to interfere with their lovemaking.  She was becoming used to life as a woman as a result.  She had stopped fighting herself, for the most part, and attempted to embrace her new life.  Was it the deepening of the magick that had transformed her, that helped foster this acceptance?  She did not know.   Occasionally, she would feel a pang of guilt whenever she caught herself feeling too comfortable with her new form.  The guilt came less and less, now, though she was certainly not without regrets.  She certainly would have liked to be a husband to the woman she loved.   Though, in a few ways, she honestly preferred being female.   She had come to realize, however, that she did not prefer being treated like one.

           King Tolris had been surprisingly understanding about the whole business at first.  In his happiness at discovering that his “son” was still alive, he had proclaimed her to be his heir.  She was proud and happy to be so honored.  There had never before been a female ruler in Lorm.  They were a proud and chauvinistic people.  She thought it was about time a woman held the reins of power.  She knew that it was because she had been a man that she was still the heir, in spite of her femininity.  Now, apparently her father’s faith in his own decision was ebbing.  There were incredible political factors at work, she knew, but it did not matter to her.  She so wanted his trust again, his confidence in her.  

            She felt as though she would jump out of her skin.  She paced about a little longer, shivering slightly as a particularly icy draft founds its way through the stone walls and thick tapestries adorning her and Brythia’s chamber.  She had to get out of there.  She would go completely berserk if she stayed in that room one more minute.  She slipped into a warm robe and went out into the palace corridors. 

           It was late at night.  Most nobles had retired into their chambers for the evening, but the passages were busy with servants at their Yule-tide preparations.  Some cleaned and scrubbed the stone floors and walls, while others hung seasonal tapestries and garlands of pine and holly.  The torches, hung on the walls to illuminate the way, were made with cinnamon and lent a sweet, festive scent to the hallway.  She had always loved this time of year.  She sighed as the servants whispered behind her as she passed.

           There was one person in the palace who had some sort of understanding of her situation.  They were not as close as they could be.  Tolian knew it was her own fault.  It wasn’t easy sometimes to look at him; often it brought back the most frightful memories.  But one of her best friends was part of him now.  And he did save the world after all.  He had also earned the status of favored advisor to the King.  She headed straight for his rooms. 

          She stood outside his door, which was made of heavy oak like all the doors in the palace.  She reached up to knock, but stopped herself.  She hated to bother him at this hour, but she would explode if she didn’t talk to someone.  She tapped lightly on the oaken panel.  She waited and strained to hear sounds from inside the apartment.  She was not disappointed.  She heard footsteps approaching the door and the creak of hinges as the door swung open.

          A tall man in his late thirties stood in the doorway.  He had dark hair, a strong jaw, and an honest face.  The eyes were Kilfrie’s, though.  Dark and mysterious like the druidess had been.

          “Tolian,” he said surprised.  “Your Highness, I mean.”

          “Kiliordes, I’m so sorry to trouble you at this hour,” she apologized.  “I just have to talk to you.”

          She tried not to sound desperate.  “It’s important.  Well, to me.”

          A concerned look filled Kiliordes’s eyes.

          “Is everything all right?”

          “Oh, yes.  I’m sorry.  Everything’s okay.  Really.  It’s just...”

          The friendly smile added itself to the concerned face in a most receptive fashion.  Tolian studied his face.  There was no vestige of the evil there.  No trace of cruelty or malice. 

          “Would you like to come in and talk about it?”  He stepped back to allow her to enter.

          “Thank you.”

          Kiliordes was dressed in a blue wool robe, which dragged the ground slightly as he walked.  He led Tolian back into his den.  He bid her sit on a comfortable chair next to the fireplace.  Before she knew it she was seated and accepted a warm glass of wine from him.  Kiliordes settled into the chair next to hers.  He raised his glass.

          “To your health, Your Highness.”

          “To yours.”

          They drank.

          “And, please, you mustn’t call me ‘Your Highness’ when it’s just the two of us.  We’re friends, remember?”

          “Well, yes, of course”, he said.  “Tolian, then.  What can I do for you?  I am at your service.”

          “I really do appreciate that, and I shall speak plainly,” she said.  “My father takes counsel from few men, but he listens to you, Kiliordes.”

          She waited a moment to see if she got any sort of reaction from this.  A modest flush, perhaps.

          “I would never ask you to betray a confidence of the King’s, but I must know.  Has he decided on who is to be the Jarrels’ Champion, yet?” she asked him.  Her directness surprised her.

          His brows knit a little.

          “He has,” he answered.  “Though as a non-Lormian, I must admit to being baffled by the weight which you people afford such a relatively unimportant matter.”

          “Am I to be the Jarrels’ Champion as I have been for the last five years?”

          “That's not for me to say; yes, or no, Tolian.  I'm sorry,” he answered evenly.  “I’m not even sure exactly what the Yule Jarrels are.  I don’t really like to ask anyone else.  It reminds people that I’m different.”

          She could understand that.  It was clear she wasn’t going to get her answer from him.  The least she could do for his patience and hospitality was to answer his question.

          “The Yule Jarrels are an ancient Lormian tradition,” the princess explained.  “Every year, just before the winter solstice the King holds the Jarrels.  It is his duty to appoint a Champion for the holiday.  Warriors who wish a boon from the King must fight his champion.  Those who win are granted their request. Those who lose go home bruised, bloodied, and empty handed; though they are welcome guests to the continual feasting that takes place before and after their Jarrels, or battles.”

          Kiliordes nodded, smiling.  “I thought it was something like that, but I wasn’t altogether sure.  It sounds quite the extraordinary event.”

          “Yes,” Tolian agreed.  “It really, is.”

          “He’s going to announce the Jarrels’ Champion tomorrow,” Kiliordes said suddenly.  “I did recommend you, you know.  It is a politically difficult decision, though.  I’m not sure what he’s going to do.  But, I do know he’s proud of you and he loves you.” He looked at her squarely, kindly.

          “What’s he proud of me for?” Tolian asked coldly.  “You’re the one who saved the world.  I would have sold it out.” She got up, turned away and walked out without looking back.

          “Tolian,” Kiliordes called sadly behind her.  “You’re going to have to forgive yourself for that one of these days.”



Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt