Chapter XIII - A Drought's First Days

The Legend of Leanna Page: Vol. I

You’re reading The Legend of Leanna Page, the page-turning mythopoetic queer literary fantasy. *Click here for the Table of Contents and start of Volume I*

Previously: The Jewel of Nebulous has fallen into the hands of Prince Guiomar on the eve before Madrick and Lief’s wedding feast. What will he do with it? Dear reader, read on.

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Leif found Leanna asleep in the stables beside Dawn the next morning. Her face was flushed, and she was dripping with sweat. Leif attempted to dry their own liquid palms on the side of their trousers before taking Leanna’s arm.

“There you are,” they said, and she woke in a daze, allowing them to pull her to her feet. “Come inside at once, the heat is too terrible, and your mother is worried sick.” When Leif stumbled back into their chambers with Leanna, Madrick and Esta were inside in anxious discussion, fanning themselves with papers. All talk instantly halted upon Leanna’s entrance while the mother ran to the child and gratefully kissed the top of her head.

“Never go running off again; never,” Esta said, and kissed Leanna’s head once more before backing slightly away and resuming the use of her makeshift fan.

“I’m sorry to have frightened everyone,” Leanna said, although the guilt she felt was very little when compared to every other feeling that still swam so wildly within her.

The mother turned Leanna toward her and brushed a small curl away from the girl’s eye. “I explained to them what happened,” she said, “how we two merely had a small spat in our cottage, and the place, in thy mind, was too small to hold the both of us that night.” Leanna scowled at the lie. “We’re alright now though, are we not? It was just a little nothing.”

Leanna desperately wished to scream. Howl. Wail. If not these, then at least to acknowledge the truth of the horrid happenings of which they were all now living through the effects. If it was only the king there with her, then perhaps, in her rage, her familial loyalties would weaken, no longer preventing her from revealing their every terrible secret; yet, there was Esta’s anxious stare, her commanding eyes which never failed to remind Leanna of her promises. Now, as was so horridly predicted those years ago, the family was again dependent on the state of the nations above ground, and a war betwixt Masor and Pavoline, especially with the Jewel having been tossed into play, would wreak havoc on their chance at a life together, not to even consider its effects on the whole of their world. But what good was peace if it meant evil was permitted its domination? What did it matter if the family had a chance at life together if her father had turned too horrid to include in it? Did any childhood oaths maintain their relevance now that such a thing had happened? Perhaps hither, in front of Masor’s king, was an inopportune time to inquire. Leanna forced the corner of her mouth to flinch into a brief smile and said, “Yes, Mother.”

“I am glad that’s settled;” Madrick began, “however,” the king looked out the window, “We have a larger dilemma.”

“The heat,” Leanna agreed, with all the resentment her greater comprehension allowed.

“It’s absurd!” He exclaimed. “No such temperatures should be upon us this early in the season.”

Leif threw their hands up in exasperation. “The heat has only worsened every hour, with no indication of halting its growth. I have never seen anything like it, no matter the time of season. If it continues like this, the local crops won’t survive the day!”

“And we don’t yet know how much of the kingdom is affected,” Madrick added.

“So what do we do?” Leanna asked.

“There is nothing we can do.” Esta was stern.

“We must do something!” Leanna replied.

“We have to look out for the food and water,” said the king. “If the Sky means to challenge us, those necessities will be our best chance of surviving Its attack.”

Leanna nodded. “I will send the crown’s word into town to ensure people cover the wells and secure their stores and rations.” The page briskly left to her task without a word to her mother.

“I’ll see the horses have what they need.” Leif took Madrick’s hand then, after a worried smile, departed.

“Isolda will just now be waking; I’ll see she’s informed.”

Madrick nodded. “Yes, good. Then, I shall prepare to meet our guests from Pavoline.”

With that, the apartment was emptied, left on its own to sizzle in the drying heat.

*****

“Princess?” Esta let herself into the chambers without awaiting an answer to her knock.

“Yes, Esta, good morn.” Isolda sat at the edge of her bed, shaking the night’s disorder out of her hair and wiping the falling locks away from her neck. “There is actually something I meant to speak about with thee.”

“Certainly, your highness, but, if you will allow, there is an issue of urgency to address first.”

“I am sure it could wait but a moment.”

The maid was baffled. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Isolda stood, pacing toward her vanity. “I heard a whisper that many years ago thou in fact gave birth to a child. Is this correct?”

Esta blinked. “May I ask where you heard this?”

“That matters not. Only know it is a source thou shouldst not contradict lightly. Is it true?”

The maid had far too much on her mind. Simply having the child had been no crime, and how much good was the secret now? “I’m afraid so, your majesty,” she admitted.

“My goodness.” Isolda tied her hair back with a ribbon, staring at Esta through the mirror’s reflection. She took a dry kerchief to her brow. “Rumor also says that the child serves hither in our castle, and has for many a year. Being that the options are not vast, I must inquire: Madrick’s page, is she thine?”

Esta sighed, patience growing thin. “I’m afraid so, your majesty.”

The princess turned darkly to the maid. “Whyever didst thou keep it secret?”

Esta had reached her limit with gentility. She shrugged. “I was young, and unpartnered, and had succumbed to one evening’s desperation for another’s touch. The father was no one to take pride in, some starving poet who lived just outside town, and I could not bring myself to speak of it to one as accomplished as yourself.”

Isolda relaxed her intrigue, masking her disappointment, accepting the story which, Esta was pleased to discover, was an entirely reasonable fabrication.

“Very well then. Thou art permitted thy secrets. I only wish I had possessed more of thy trust.”

“If anything of the like occurs again, your highness, I can swear to confide in you every detail.”

Isolda grimaced. “Well, perhaps not.” She returned her gaze to the vanity.

“Your majesty, might I now acquaint you then with the other, arguably more important, matter?”

“Oh, yes, do; but first, open that window. It is dreadfully hot.”

Esta fought back her vexation as she began to explain.

*****

“Guiomar, by all that is good, how can you don such length of sleeve in these temperatures? And gloves! I do say, a formal occasion is no justification to torture oneself.”

The prince smirked, fastening his shirt cuffs, as he and his father stepped into Masor’s courtyard. The lines of flowers that had been hung from the surrounding walls and archways were already beginning to dry and their color turn dull, spotted with brown. Madrick came to greet them, attempting his most grand countenance of welcome, and Petrenair halted in awe before the castle steps.

“Ah!” He sighed. “If I were not more aware of time and tragedy, I would think you were the first of your name.”

Madrick tousled his hair and pressured himself into a grin. “Thank you, your majesty. I do regret how long it has been since we made acquaintance.”

Guiomar smiled jovially and proactively offered Madrick his left hand, the one absent a jewel. “My most heartfelt congratulations to you and your stablehand.”

Madrick reciprocated the gesture and shook his hand with all politeness. “Gramercy,” the young king said.

“I too offer all my most happy regards,” Petrenair agreed, overjoyed at his son’s new enthusiasm toward pleasantness. “Although, I am becoming afraid my old heart will not allow me to remain in your fine city if this heat remains as it is. I never recall a Masorian summer like the present one. I remember the tall stone structures and the kind friends, but never these temperatures. I would hate to depart so soon and risk offense, but in truth, I fear much longer in this would make my chance of ever returning home quite slim.”

Madrick offered an apologetic smile. “I assure you there would be no offense, your highness. If we had any indication such a wave like this was near, we would have sent word so you might have avoided the city altogether. As it is, we are just this very hour deciphering the intricacies of what has come upon us and hoping to make some sense of it ourselves, for indeed it is like nothing we have known in the past. So long as you would like to stay, I will see to it your comfort is attended to; yet, I hope you’ll understand, my first interest will have to be in seeing to the needs of my people.”

“Of course,” Guiomar sneered, and Petrenair thanked him graciously for his reasonableness.

“Sire,” Leanna stepped out of the palace doors, holding one open to remain partly inside.

“Yes? Wait! —" Madrick excitedly moved up a few steps and turned back to his guests. “Allow me to introduce Leanna Page; my greatest friend and advisor.”

“A page?” Guiomar asked with repugnant disbelief. Petrenair pinched the back of his son’s arm, and Madrick smiled.

“Verily,” he said.

Leanna would have glowed at the praise but the sight of Guiomar brought up such hatefulness within her she hardly took notice of the compliment.

“What is it, Leanna?” Madrick asked, returning her to her purpose. She kept her gaze to him, endeavoring to forget the Ranzentines.

“Isolda obtained word from the lagifs,” she reported. “The condition is the same all throughout Masor. Only north of the great River do cool breezes blow today.”

Petrenair frowned. “How could you know of the whole kingdom in but an hour?”

“The mirrors.” Madrick hastily explained, then at a sudden recalled that hitherto the Oxbiens had always averted mention of the magical gifts around their friends from Pavoline, and he attempted to create another answer that would not offend them, but he found he had not the time. “Forgive me, your majesties. I must confer with my sister.”

“One moment, young Madrick.” Petrenair held up a finger to hold the other king to his place on the steps. “If it is true that all of Masor experiences the same heat as the city, and I and my party will continue to suffer it a full week after we begin our leave, I am inclined to make our departure far sooner than could be hoped; perhaps no later than after a brief rest.”

Guiomar feigned regret as he nodded in agreement.

“I completely understand,” Madrick pronounced, his interest having long moved away from the men before him. “Leanna, wouldst thou show them to a lower apartment where they can rest – it is slightly cooler below” he explained to them, “– and ensure they are brought good refreshment?”

“Yes, your highness.” Leanna bowed her head dutifully as Madrick thanked her in a small smile and rushed past her to attempt to address the onslaught of disaster. Guiomar and his father met Leanna at the top of the steps and stood strangely before her, unsure how to interact with this servant, friend of the king. She kept her hands behind her and her countenance cold.

She looked Guiomar in the eye. “Might I take your gloves sire? I could have them laundered; they must be drenched in perspiration.”

The prince glared at her feeling as though she might, yet knowing she could not possibly, know anything about the Jewel. “Just show us the way,” he said. She turned on a heel and walked forth, forsaking the nicety to look back and ensure they had followed.

“Byrdon,” Guiomar called toward the carriages, and Leanna skipped a step, containing a cry upon hearing the name behind her. She only kept forward as the prince ordered, “Prepare our departure for Pavoline. We shan’t be staying long.” Only then did Byrdon emerge from behind the cart, giving an unseen gesture of acknowledgment to his prince’s command, unable to speak for shame.

Mere moments after the page had left the royal guests to their temporary chambers, Esta caught Leanna in the hall.

“Fetch the Ranzentines,” she said. “Local lagifs are present as well; Madrick and Isolda wish to hold a conference.”

“Certainly,” Leanna said, following a sigh, then she stopped, realizing this was the first moment all day that she had been alone with Esta. “Mother? Father is here.”

“I know, dearest,” was the reply.

“Will you speak to him?”

“I don’t know that we’ll have the opportunity,” she said frankly and tried to return from whence she came.

“Mother,” Leanna stopped her. “What are we going to do?”

There was a moment, the briefest halting of time, where all the world seemed to start collapsing inward upon itself. Esta shook herself from it and returned the commanding power of her stare.

“Get the Ranzentines,” the mother said.

The great hall of the throne had been hastily furnished with as much of the grand meeting table as could be currently acquired. In usual times, it was a symmetrical piece, comprised of four long sections that came together in perfect practicality for the discussion of a noble group. The castle possessed many such sectional table parts; however, all but three of them were now stuck in the ballroom on the ground floor below which was set for the night’s intended pre-wedding feast and the celebration that was to take place on the morrow. So, today, the table, missing a corner, could sit two people on the end nearest the throne while only one on the end further, and on one long side it could only sit half as many as the other.

As the invited filed inside the room, each took seats nearest to the throne as would they dare. The lagifs in attendance, the five wealthiest in the city, arrived together, and prior to anyone else. Lagif Oscar Bisqueth took hold of the opportunity and sat directly beside the right hand of the table’s full end. Lagif Lilac Huebert and Lagif Sorjal Fitzcoalint hesitated, standing in the space of the missing far-right corner, while Lagif Tyrene Aquincia and Lagif Rengenisis Volatia III sat opposite Bisqueth, although with a touch more deference to the yet unknown who would be joining them, leaving a seat between themselves and the table’s head. Leif was next to arrive, and with them Galen, the city’s leading grain and vegetable farmer. Unfastidious regarding placement, Leif sat themself at the strange half-head of the table, farthest from the throne, and Galen took the outer chair beside them. Kn. Grilliot then appeared, followed by the old physician, Albain, and they occupied the two remaining seats between Galen and Lagif Aquincia. None in the party felt particularly inclined to speak to those near them, either in space or station, while the rest of the room was present, and those who truly wished to speak at all were occupied with mental rehearsal of what they would say to the crown, so silence conquered the air while inner thoughts ran apace with worries.

The final entrance, that of the royals, took place with a crash as Madrick pounded upon the grand doors, forcing the tall, dense wood to move apart as swiftly as he meant to enter. Leanna rushed in beside him, Ranzentines in tow, with Isolda coming in last and closing the doors behind them. Petrenair sat beside Bisqueth, and Guiomar sat beside that in the final chair before the table dropped off into nothing. At this, Lagif Huebert and Lagif Fitzcoalint merely decided to remain standing for the duration of the conference. Madrick took his place at the throne-ward head, sharing a corner with Bisqueth, and Leanna sat herself directly next to the king, readying herself to make notated record of the discussion; that is, until she felt the vice-crown’s irate breath cross her neck and, looking up, saw Isolda’s hand gripping the back of her chair. She rose and reseated herself around the corner in the open place beside Volatia. Isolda sat beside Madrick at the head.

“Many thanks to you all for attending us on such short notice,” Isolda began.

The chaos followed in an instant. Lagif Bisqueth started with rushed speech on numerous unsurprising concerns, all of which had been already considered by the present company, but that he spoke of with utmost import and novelty. This sparked a diatribe by Lagif Huebert regarding ‘what mattered in actuality,’ and a point then from Galen concerning the unlikely practicality of some of Huebert’s ‘indisputable solutions.’ Madrick and Leif exchanged private volumes of thought while Fitzcoalint and Aquincia bemoaned how the heat would serve to worsen the lethargy of the serving population, and Albain firmly reminded them that a pronounced extent of rest would be required in such conditions to bypass the dangers of overexertion. Lagif Volatia inquired, if the condition was to continue, on the possibility of obtaining fresh resources from Pavoline in the event that Masor’s crops did not survive, as surely, at this rate, they would not. Prince Guiomar explained that Pavoline could reasonably expect to see an influx of villagers seeking refuge and could not promise to have any excess available to provide. Petrenair made no disagreement. Isolda asked Kn. Grilliot to report on the condition of the city’s emergency ration supply, and upon hearing that the tower just outside the castle gardens contained enough to sufficiently feed the kingdom for approximately two months, the table generally calmed. Lagif Huebert remarked that it would not last quite as long with all the peasants who were likely to steal from it, but Kn. Grilliot explained the meticulous ordering of knights who would guard against the same, and she quieted.

Leanna looked up from her notes as the table fell into silence, all seeming to have said their intended piece. The lagifs looked to Isolda; Galen, Albain, and Leif looked to Madrick; and Kn. Grilliot looked between the two. Leanna, however, could not peel her gaze from Guiomar’s glove, and the prince perceived the direction of her stare.

Guiomar turned to Madrick. “Are we through?”

“No.”

Leanna kept her voice calm while she seethed within. Every gaze stuck to her after her declaration. She took note of no one but Guiomar.

“What is it, page?” Isolda condescended.

Leanna tore her attention from Guiomar to address the vice-crown. “Since early morn, all have spoken of how the Sky is acting entirely out of Its own character, the likes of which none in our world has seen. Has it occurred to no one, then, that this circumstance may in fact have an unnatural cause?”

“Like what?” Madrick queried.

Leanna chose her words with great care. “Something, perhaps, having to do with the magical.”

“Ha!” Petrenair laughed. “What fairy hath the power to cause this?”

“Fairies are not the only ones with the ability to harness magic, your highness,” Leanna told him.

Leif spoke at last. “Do you suggest a human could be responsible?”

“Isn’t it possible?” Leanna encouraged them all to wonder. On the whole, they refused.

“Dost thou possess any proof of such an idea?” Lagif Volatia asked.

Leanna’s gaze turned instinctively to Guiomar’s hand, and he brought both his fists to his waist beneath the table. She met his eyes. A singular brow cocked above his eye, uncertain what more the curious page might dare to say. Rage flared within her, and she thought of precisely how she might let loose the damning words, condemning the wicked prince to the consequences of his guilt, but she remembered her mother’s fruitless attempt to warn Isolda of the Ranzentine, her father’s hardships in the aftermath of accusing Petrenair’s son, and Vice-Crown Isolda’s ever-present glare beside her. She remembered her father’s words.

A king is a king.

A page is a page, she added.

“Forgive me,” she shook her head. “I am sometimes no more than a foolish peasant, seeking answers where there are none to be found.”

“Indeed,” King Petrenair declared. “Thou wouldst do well to think less on magics, girl.” She offered him a polite nod. “We immensely regret Masor’s misfortune; yet, as Pavoline cannot do any good for it, I think we should make our departure.”

All rose from their places and shifted about, saying their final notes and farewells. As the hall emptied of its guests, King Madrick spoke to Leanna.

“I know it is unreasonable to ask for perfect calm in a time such as this,” he said, “but do maintain thy reason, Leanna. I rely on it so.” He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder then moved on to converse with Leif.

Leanna looked over her page of notes that lay on the table and fought down the urge to tear it to pieces.

The Pavol traveling party was on their way north only a three-quarter hour later. As the final carriage passed the portcullis, the castle breathed a sigh, grateful to be relieved of its extraneous inhabitants who had only served to crowd the ever-thickening air. Several moments later there was a flash of lightning in the cloudless Sky, and a crash of thunder rang out from behind the castle. Shortly thereafter came the sound of many servants hollering to anyone who would hear: “Fire! Fire! The wheat tower is aflame! The rations are burning! Fire! Fire!”

It took the remainder of the afternoon and half the water in the wells to douse it. The sun was behind the Infinites before they were done, but if anyone had been in the courtyard they still would not have seen the way the shadows drew beauties on the walls for a heavy veil of smoke from the flames had draped over the whole of Masor city and, in the absence of wind, it lingered. Only half the grain had been salvageable, but only half of that remained in the tower by the time evening fell. The remainder had gone missing in the chaos.

Madrick and Leif, Isolda, Esta, and Leanna were alone in the ballroom by the time of the feast. No one else any longer being expected, this place of intended joy had become the only solace for quiet solemnity the group could find, hither protected both from extraneous bother and the stench of smoke. They sat scattered between the spoils of seats at the tables, Madrick and Leif beside each other at the front of the room where they would have been intended.

“We are not to have a wedding tomorrow, are we?” Madrick asked sadly.

“No,” Leif said.

The young king dropped his head into his hands and released an ironic chortle. “Perhaps a toast tonight then,” he said. He reached for a bottle of wine, but Leif stopped him with a gentle hand.

“Please, my love. No.”

Madrick took Leif’s hand in place of the bottle and nodded, willing himself not to cry. Seeing this touched Isolda more deeply than she could ever expect. For this one moment, she thought it possible that the stablehand might be an appropriate match for her brother, even one to be glad of.

“We could marry you now,” she offered, and the company looked to her in surprise. “I know this is not quite the inner circle you had in mind, but perhaps we three could suffice in its stead?”

Isolda, Esta, and Leanna looked to the couple, the last two indicating their perfect pleasure to comply. Leif turned to Madrick.

“Why wait?” They whispered, and, despite himself, the king smiled with deep joy. The full company rose and pushed all the furniture to the sides of the room. After the rearrangement, Leif remained at one end of the hall and Madrick the other, while the last three formed a large circle in the center. Leanna, Esta, and Isolda combined their voices in a light rendition of the beloved Masorian wedding melody and the king and the stablehand walked toward the center, smiling to each other all the while. The couple stepped inside the inner circle and took each other’s hands. Changing speaker line by line, the members of the circle all spoke through Masor’s traditional wedding ceremony, and, where appropriate, Leanna added lines of her own, forcing the room to work to contain its laughter. When they had finished, Madrick and Leif each spoke their vows, swearing to remain committed to the constant endeavor of supporting the other in everything, and making the other know they are loved. Upon the vow’s completion, those of the circle threw up their hands and sang out, “You are wed!”

Madrick and Leif forgot the heat, pulling one another close and diving into the most perfect kiss of love. For one moment, in that one place, everything was right in all the world.

But, my dear Reader, such moments can never last, not in stories like these.

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Chapter XIV - Byrdon, The Father