hope that it would give her a more worthy reply. It remained awkwardly silent.
When neither of them offered her anything more, she allowed some of her anger to spill over, but physically forced the rest of it down behind her tightening rib cage.
“That’s it?” she whispered, her voice shaking with her emotion. Her fingers clenched into fists and relaxed repeatedly. Her confusion and sense of betrayal was too much to avoid the physical expression. “That’s it?” she yelled. “How would any of this have changed the fact that you are my mother?”
“Knowing about this place would mean knowing about things that cannot be changed but for which I am deeply ashamed,” her mother replied.
When Shauna did not back down, but continued to glare, her mother called, “Firnak, please excuse us. I need to show my daughter something. I hope I will be back before …” Her last words were spoken through a significant look that Firnak obviously understood. It nodded solemnly before leaving the hall through a side entrance.
Once they were alone, Shauna’s mother beckoned to her. Still incredibly angry but too curious to rebel, she followed as her mother led them through a door hidden behind a giant tapestry that framed the throne. Upon it was a depiction of a ring of naked women holding hands and dancing. On the other side of the hidden door was a cramped spiral staircase.
After the first dozen steps, Shauna felt the burning of lactic acid in her thighs and her body begged for her to breathe more heavily. She refused. She wanted to remain angry and intimidating to get to the truth, to have her pain justified. Somehow, succumbing to the extreme need for air seemed an embarrassment she could not bear at this moment. As she neared the top and could see the last several steps, her body betrayed her determination and she was forced to gasp and wheeze. Tears wet her lashes but she gritted her teeth, at least able to prevent them from showing on her cheeks. The humiliation was too much.
At the top, her mother waited silently for her to catch her breath. They were standing before a large door with carved vines and flowers covering it. Shauna dared to look into her mother’s face as she neared the end of her panting. Her mother looked the saddest of her life. Wrinkles that Shauna had never noticed before were etched prominently around her mouth. Her mother had never frowned much but she now looked like someone who had suffered from chronic, untreated depression for decades. The pallor of her skin was tinged grey, making her look more washed out than her surroundings.
When Shauna was fully recovered from the long climb, her mother opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. She did as she was requested and walked slowly into the surprisingly large room. There was a giant canopy bed ordained with far too many pink frills to have been her mother’s taste. Across from the door was a large opening to a balcony that overlooked the lake, the dead vegetation on the surrounding mountains was visible by the blurred browns and greys. Though the room looked neat and well kept, it smelled even more musty and stale than the outside. Shauna thought of an old basement with wood panelling, carpet, and far too few moisture abating measures.
The most striking thing in the mournfully silent room was an enormous painting of the castle and the mountains. The surrounding landscape was unrecognizable. It was overwhelmingly lush with the life of trees, grasses, and people. The people were not human. There was every kind of creature that Shauna had ever seen in a fairy tale book in her life. Fairies had landed delicately upon buttercups in the foreground. Elves danced playfully in the shade of a nearby tree. The silhouette of what might have been a dragon had been painted in the sky. Though it was only a painting, it seemed alive at that very moment, so much so that Shauna knew without asking that it depicted how this world had once been. It was no dramatization.
“This was such a beautiful place long ago,” her mother said, causing her to jump slightly. She had not noticed her move so close. Her mother was also regarding the picture but instead of the awe and sense of novelty that Shauna felt, her mother looked pained. Her eyes spoke of longing.
“What happened?” she asked kindly. The beauty, the happiness, and the vibrancy of the painting had caused her to calm unintentionally.
Her mother’s jaw tensed before she answered. When she spoke, her words were quiet and hoarse, showing the weight of her regret. “I did,” she said. “I killed this world and it is now taking me with it.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. Her mother dying had not been unexpected. In fact, Shauna had been convinced that was exactly what had been happening. However, having her mother, the ultimate negator, finally give the matter-of-fact admission had cemented the future in gut-wrenching stone. Shauna’s denial was strong and tried desperately to fight its way back to the surface, which she felt in the roiling of her stomach.
Her mother smiled weakly. “You have known this whole time and I think you will realize that you already understood how much I knew,” she said. “I made some naïve choices. This kingdom has passed through the women in our family for centuries. Each queen has one daughter. That daughter would find her prince in this world and the line would continue. The prince would come when the time was right, when the daughter would be ready to inherit. I was foolish and impatient. Your father was not a prince of this world and so the line has come to an end with me. If I could have waited, if I had not been so stupid, you would have grown up knowing all of this and knowing it would one day be yours. Because of me, only Firnak and I remain.
“The armour you must have seen coming in: those were knights I had known my whole life. The one at the gate was Keemar. He had been like a second father to me. He never married but he was the kindest and most caring man I have ever known. He spent every daylight hour taking care of those who lived here, seeing to everyone’s happiness. He gave me this scarf,” she said gesturing to her covered head. “He turned to ash three weeks ago. They all turn to ash.” Her mother stared at the floor as her gaze focused upon their memory and not anything physical before her. The distance of it was chilling.
As Shauna comprehended the guilt with which her mother had lived all these years, any of her remaining outrage or anger was replaced with pity and regret. Slowly and awkwardly, she reached out to wrap an arm around her mother’s shoulders. There were no adequate words but the arm seemed enough to break the rigid stone of composure her mother had been forcing. She sobbed openly, her hands clutched at Shauna’s. Shauna’s heart sank further as her mother dug in as hard as she could with all her emotion and Shauna realized how weak her bony fingers had truly become.
As her mother’s shoulders continued to shake and shudder, she wailed, “I am sorry. I am so sorry!”
Her horror had overcome her weak joints and muscles and she fell to her knees. Her outpouring was never interrupted even as she hit the stone floor.
Shauna embraced the defeated woman fully, whispering vague comforts. Her own throat had become tight and her mouth dry. Her eyes burned but this time she successfully buried her own sorrow. Her mother had far more to grieve and her mourning echoed eerily in the stone room, the frilled monstrosity being far from enough to dampen such regret.
For Shauna, worse than being left alone was knowing her mother would die with such memories after having lived silently with such pain.
“Mom,” Shauna said finally. “I forgive you.”
Though her mother seemed incapable of ceasing her sobbing - it had become too severe – she turned her head to look into her daughter’s eyes. Her sadness had not been abated but there was gratefulness that sparkled behind the tears. She threw her arms around Shauna and squeezed with all of her might.
“Thank you,” she tried to say between the uncontrollable gasps that her wailing had caused.
Shauna smiled as she tried to bat at the back of her mother’s scarf to move it out of her face without being noticed. Swallowing hard, she realized there was one question she was forced to ask, though she very much did not want the answer and hoped that she had heard in the hall could not be it.
“How much longe
r?” she asked.
Her mother had calmed slightly. The shuddering of her body had become less pronounced and when she answered she did not have to fight through sobs to get her words heard. “Tonight,” she said. “The reign is passed on the night of the daughter’s sixteenth birthday.”
“Then show me your real home,” she asked, hoping to make them both feel better.
Her mother nodded and attempted to get to her feet but her legs no longer worked as well as they should. Though strained, her face did not appear much older and yet her movements were of an old woman. Shauna hurried to help her mother stand.
“We must find Firnak,” her mother said. “He does not deserve to be left alone when he dies even if he always has been a cranky old jerk.”
Neither woman could stop the small chuckle her mock bitterness had evoked, but they were no longer near hysteria and the mild humour died quickly.
When they emerged from the hidden door at the bottom of the spiral stairs, they saw Firnak slumped against the steps to the throne. His bark looked greyer than it had when they had left him. At the sound of their steps, he turned to look at them. His brittle bark creaked and flaked with his movement.
“It is coming,” he said to her mother, who nodded in reply.
Shauna helped her sit next to him.
After letting out an audible, depressed sigh, her mother said, “Thank you for all your centuries of service.”
Shauna thought he grunted but his voice was so high that it sounded more like a squeak.
“Are you in pain?” her mother asked.
His branches creaked again as he tried to shake his semblance of a head and leaned back to stare at the vaulted ceiling. “I just feel so tired, so slow,” he explained, closing the tiny black slits.
Her mother laughed and Shauna was surprised and yet comforted to hear a slight return of genuine mirth. “You do realize you are a tree,” she said.
One eye opened to glare at her as he replied, “How silly of me to think you would give me caring and respect in my final moments.”
“That wouldn’t be us,” she said with a smile though Shauna saw it falter and her eyes were sad again.
“Majesty,” he whispered as his body began to shake.
There was more he had wanted to say, something pleading by his tone, but he had run out of time before he could find the words. All his gnarled branches and rough bark collapsed into a pile of ash.
There was no sound but the gentle air currents blowing through the hall. They did nothing to dissipate the musty air.
With a shaking hand, Shauna’s mother leaned forward to touch the ash. Her hand stopped above the pile without making contact. There, it shook and the vibration continued up her arm until she was shaking and crying again. There were no wails or audible sobs this time but Shauna knew she was crying as her mother’s body continued to jolt with the sobs that wanted to break forth. She would not let them out.
Shauna felt hollow, numb and awkward. Her insides did not seem to know which way was up. Wrapping her arms around her mother from behind, she hoped the hug would help but as before, no words seemed adequate. She could not begin to understand her mother’s current agony. Any attempt to appear otherwise would be disingenuous and rude so she remained still, embracing the woman who had cared for her when she most needed it. She allowed herself simply to be present, giving a reassuring squeeze, and to hope it was enough.
They stayed like this for what seemed hours. Time had stopped when Firnak died and it was refusing to restart. Shauna did not know exactly how long it was before her mother calmed enough to sit up and speak.
“We do not have much time,” she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. “We should not be wasting it.”
The women stood and Shauna followed as her mother led her through the castle. She told her stories of her childhood and those that had been passed through the generations by her ancestors. There had been so many memories, so much happiness. Her mother had had an endearing reputation as a “troublemaker by curiosity” that had resulted in the tradesmen of the palace wanting to hide their stalls and their tools when they saw her coming. There had been some sorrows too, though nothing compared to the death that now faced them.
Her mother led them out of the castle and they walked the dead fields and to where there had once been the lush tree of the painting. It was now only a withered old trunk with a few ragged twigs still protruding from its top.
“The elves used to have picnics here during summer festivals,” her mother explained before leading them back down towards the lake.
Here they stood silently for several minutes, her mother looking out over the water. Shauna suspected she was remembering events she did not wish to share. Though her former teenaged self would have demanded to know, the massive revelations of the evening had made her think better of it, allowing her mother some last remnants of privacy she truly seemed to need.
Suddenly, her mother collapsed. Shauna fell to her knees and tried to help her mother stretch out more comfortably.
“Is this it?” she asked quietly but frantically. Every organ and muscle tightened to brace for the answer she ultimately did not want to hear.
Her mother nodded without looking at her. Squeezing her mother’s hand, Shauna leaned down to put her cheek next to hers. They exchanged whispers of love and their cheeks became wet with their shared spilled emotions.
Her mother shuddered. Shauna’s breath caught. Her ears began to ring with their strain to pick up any sound. There was nothing, not even the slightest breath. There was no movement, no rise or fall of her chest. Involuntarily, Shauna squeezed her mother’s hand as she ridiculously hoped for some response. The skeletal fingers were limp and unresponsive.
Shauna buried her head further into her mother’s neck, allowing herself a turn at grief, wishing as she cried that her mother would reach over and hug her reassuringly. No such comfort came and it made the reality hit her even harder. Burying her head even deeper into the folds of the scarf and the refuge of her mother’s dissipating warmth, she clung desperately and unsuccessfully to denial.
As depressed acceptance washed over her, she finally pulled back to looked down at her mother’s emotionless face. They were back in her mother’s darkened room on top of her bed. The sparkling gown was gone, leaving only a drab and gray nightgown that blended with the surrounding blankets in the darkness.
Shauna remained kneeling next to her mother for hours in the dark. Sometimes her head swirled with the events of the night and sometimes, out of pure exhaustion, it was entirely blank. As the room began to lighten with dawn, she climbed down from the bed, her knees protesting greatly, causing her movements to be awkward, stilted, and unsteady.
She hobbled her way to the dresser where she could see the outline of the necklace still draped over the edge of the birch bark box. Grasping the chain, she let the pendant hang freely as she walked out of the room and down to the kitchen. She collapsed into one of the chairs. Staring back at her was a happily frosted cake.
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About the Author
Tara Kristen Young is a computing archaeologist who studies ancient hunter-gatherers from Siberia to Hokkaido. When not studying the past, she writes fantasy stories involving archaeological and historical elements.
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