A Fire Between Castle Walls (Part 1)

“Revolution is a fallacy, an ugly term sullied by revenge through the sickest of means of retribution capable in the human heart. There is much to be learned of its twisted mechanisms, the cycle by which we bring ourselves to erect monuments to our glory in the demonstration of hope and progress.

But is it sacred to prosper under the willful eye of Goddess nature? Does it not torment the fabric of this ravaged, earthly realm through a dance of neglectful neediness? All to facilitate order, things to which we attribute meaning? What of the ancient impulse to wander in perpetual mystery - the quest by which seek answers in the heart of life’s unprompted journeys?

I haven’t decided the cause, but I’m fixed on removing the consequence. This is how I follow destiny with revolution on the tip of my tongue - a fallacy so alluring that evils contained within cannot withstand the burden of it’s intended goodness. It is within these tomes I shall tell you of the fire between castle walls…and the girl who was utterly incapable of keeping the faith to herself…”

I’m sitting on a slab or marble suspended by two small pillars, writing the words of heretics as the groundskeepers call my name. It’s a comfortable spot in the grotto just outside the northern tower, where I often run to escape the duties of my servitude for the reigning family. There is something about bleeding terms through the extension of my wounded pen, rebellious and unknown, a feeling of innate contentment as I recline naked on the bench’s surface. Far away the guards are screaming as I forget that I’m bound to their will.

Everything I could ever want is pouring from the depth of my soul. I laugh at their petty diversions. Their devotion is to the falling kingdom. Mine is to a loving Goddess, the one that imbued my foresight, my gift that is marked for change.

I enjoy the marble’s coldness against the heat of my naked back. It reminds me that what I’m hiding isn’t capable of being controlled. It’s sinister and somehow saintly, paradoxical to the other workers. They ask me to tell of its secrets and I whisper that I must depart. Ignoring their pleas I travel to my garden sanctuary alone. It’s here that I strip my clothes and become one with who I am in the moment, a creature of flesh and spirit tethered to unending limits. Inside I feel the calling rising, an inferno that demands a touch.

I’m watching the gaze of their prince beckon for the warmth of my kiss. He’s peering through the tower windows, shy in his lack of knowledge but fixated on hearts and damsels. It occurs to me that he is a vessel, a vehicle for what I’m soon to begin. Deep within an ember shines brighter,  a vindication of my forwardness in the soul.

There is radiance to be found in his passions, his purity and desire for light. I abide by the grace of the Goddess. From my palm I kindle an ember. It dances like a hovering torch, the tongues raging upward above my torso. The prince gasps behind glass and mortar with wild, unblinking eyes. I’ve awoken an inevitable compulsion. My only hope is that he knows I’m sincere.

I’m met by the sounds of screams as they demand for me to return to the library.

“Adena - come now, quickly! Before the guards figure out you’ve been slacking!”

My friend, Rowden, comes sprinting through the grotto entrance trying to catch his breath.

“You’re….naked…”

He blushes at the sight of my bosom, the shimmering glow of my legs as their bareness reflects the sunlight. I hastily pull on my dress, the red rags they provide as a courtesy for females employed by the king. My back is still hot to the touch, exposed from my rear end upward. Each time I conjure the element there is always residual diffusion, as my body feeds off the magics. Nothing I’ve happened to come across seems to explain the phenomenon. Summoners are mainly female, and their bodies almost never react similarly. At least that’s what the scrolls told me. It’s been years since I read from their tattered sheets. I’m thankful Ro’ didn’t see me. But I’m afraid someone else might have.

“Are you working in the library again today, Aden’?”

Ro’ seems perplexed by my getaway. He knows that I’ve been assigned to organizing the compendiums within the East Wing. It was the only job they could give in which they didn’t suspect I was inept. I wonder if he knows why they’ve done this. He’s never asked about my past on our breaks, or the evenings where he sneaks into my bedroom and prays I’ll let him kiss my neck.

“They left me all alone so I decided it was time for a rest…something new, perhaps. You object to my need for idleness, master of all that is lazy?” I twirl my blonde locks at their edges and unfurl them between the clasp of my fingers.

“A rest for you entails writing those dangerous musings in that ridiculous journal of yours. How many times have the guards come close to finding those pages? You’d be hanged. Slaughtered. No one believes the magics anymore. It’s a dead religion, a relic of a time before the machines. We have explanations now, Aden. We don’t need to cling to fantasy.”

A portion of me seeks to ridicule the lack of faith Ro’ continually shows me. On the one hand it’s a charming naivete, a reason I’ve had trysts with him in the past. But today it’s just a hurdle to my plan, an obstacle that tells me he’s not to be trusted. At least for the time being. Until I can meet with the prince and disclose why I’d been called to his kingdom.

For as long as I can remember, there were inklings among the servants as to why the royals chose me. I always questioned the trust of their willingness to staff me in their residence, directly within the home of those responsible for so much personal hate. In my region we loathe the nobles for all they’ve done to the natives, the tribesmen of the woods beyond their precious industrial cradle. Their civilization constantly encroached upon the ethics of my spiritual ancestors, even when the two emergent cultures shared a common piousness in their origins.

Long before the end of the magics, there was a trend to see religions banished. They drowned us with science and politics after knocking down the farms and fields. They torched what was left of our breweries and turned the pubs into brothels. Our women, my mother included, were no longer matriarchs with wisdom. They were reduced to powerless pawns, employed for services and “productivity.”

I’ve kept all I can of that inside. I attempt to keep the Goddess alive. In the mind of an empowered thinker who was raised to see past this fallacy. It’s a shame Ro’ doesn’t understand. I hoped he’d be part of the resistance.

Revolution, ugh, that concept - the word by which I feel my demise.

How I fear it and long for clarity, the guidance of celestial forces that kindle the flames of my vocation. Figuratively, of course. Though I do command the element of fire.

I’m returning to my assigned position  when I hear a person scream from the central gallery. A commotion is starting in the corridor as Ro’ pushes me into a darkened alcove. He must know the cause of the startle. I’m fearing the worst as he leaves my side.

“Wait here and stay silent.”

He dashes to the gathering crowd of guards and older servants, keeping a close eye behind him to monitor my every move. A woman is frantically yelling, explaining her argument to security.

“The wench! The wench conjures flame! We saw it from the window, outside the northern garden!” The patrol is calming them down to no visible avail.

Ro’ points me to the nearest staircase. It leads up to the inner chambers, the bedrooms of the royal’s kin. In an instant I’m speeding in their direction, praying that the walls don’t have eyes. I can’t let my mission be compromised, the integrity of all that’s at stake…for my family, for the good of our world. I trip into a hanging portrait and it tumbles to the red floor below me, gripping the hem of my dress and dragging me to the bottom of the stairs. The force is so strong it startles me senseless, rattling the insides of my skull.

A blackness begins to wash over me. I’m fearing the worst is at hand.

Just as the blood leaves my head, I see the smile of the prince standing over me.

Darkness and dreams await me as my consciousness slips away, ushering me into the possibility that I’ve only just begun my war.