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Veronica was outnumbered and afraid. She was running, tripping, ducking, climbing, vaulting over obstacles, and leaping across streams and rivers. They were gaining on her. Men. No, not just men. Soldiers. Everywhere.
Arrows whizzed past her head. Shouting and cursing came from behind her.
I have to get away! I have to escape!
She ran as hard and as fast as she could, but the soldiers were too fast and too numerous, and she was inevitably caught. Veronica was shoved from behind by someone with incredible strength into the dirt. She screamed and flailed as the man landed on her back. She was able to free herself and stood up, but where a ferocious battle to the death should have been, only silence remained. She was surrounded by silence. By some unknown power, the soldiers, the men who wished to harm her, had disappeared. She looked this way and that, her heart pounding so fast she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.
A twig cracked behind her.
Veronica whirled but didn’t find a man. It was only a bush.
What is going on? Where is everyone?
From among the shade of the branches, two red catlike eyes opened, staring at her. A growl that sounded like thunder. Red glowing claws extended. She looked down to find in horror that she was naked and unarmed. A giant red leopard, brilliant red with energy, exploded from the brush with teeth barred. The claws of the massive cat tore into her skin, and the teeth sunk into her neck. White-hot pain. Her body spasmed as the red cat clamped down on her neck. Ice-cold weakness started at her fingertips and spread up her arms, then deep into her chest. Her head was spinning, and then, everything went black.
The Queen screamed and sat straight up in bed.
#
It was only a nightmare. Veronica was sweating, head to toe, her heart was pounding, and she touched her skin where the claws had ripped into her. She was relieved to find herself whole. That was the worst dream that I have ever had in my life. It felt so real. It was so vivid. The teeth and claws felt so real. The pain was very, very real. She rubbed her eyes with shaky hands and waited for her body to calm. She felt like a fish yanked from its home and plunged into unfamiliar waters. She could do nothing but wait to acclimate to her surroundings.
Eventually, her body stopped shaking, and she decided to try and set a new tone for her day. She kneeled at her bedside and offered a prayer of thanks. She humbly asked Cybele for guidance and protection as she faced the dangers of homesteading alone, and then declared to her deity the desire to follow the Mother Goddess’s will. The joy of the goddess washed over her and made her heart burn with happiness and hope. She felt like Cybele was giving her a warm hug and telling her that today would be a fantastic day.
After getting a kettle of water heating, Veronica dawned her work dress and tied the bow neatly behind her. She carefully straightened the knot to make the bow as symmetrical as possible. To her, only the minute details that she could control were worth devoting energy to and becoming emotionally invested. Life at the cabin was riddled with disappointments and setbacks, but if she only became emotionally invested in simple tasks, like trying a bow as straight as possible, the rest she could allow herself to let go. Her energies were already spent elsewhere, on tasks that mattered to her and she was in complete control of.
If you can make a few things go correctly, the rest of the day can go as it may.
Veronica knew that the only thing she could count on in her day was that she couldn’t control what happened, so focusing on what she could influence was therapeutic. Acting proactively empowered her with successes and helped her remain calm amidst the varied and frustrating problems that arose each day. It shaped the unpredictability of her time homesteading from a soul-crushing enterprise into something exciting and meaningful.
A few minutes later, she was sitting, sipping, and enjoying her early morning ritual. The weather outside her window looked gloomy, with gray skies clothed in the look of rain. She did not have much in the way of umbrellas or rain clothing. She would simply work until the rain came, then return to her cabin until the storm passed. I need to get started on my chores if I don’t want to get wet. She finished her tea with one last unladylike gulp, quickly washed her cup, and then set it back in its proper place.
Veronica visited the small wooden box that was built in by her bed, which she used to store her food. It was disappointing to find that there were only a few loaves of berry fruitcake left and little left of the loaves of bread she had baked the week prior.
I will have to spend a day baking bread if I want to keep Amaryllis around. Berries or no berries.
Watching her food dwindle was like watching the clock count down the time until the brutal truth rang true, that she hadn’t been good as Queen, and the new home that she found so peaceful, well, she just wasn’t good at that either. She tried to clear the negativity from her mind, but it was there to stay, reminding her and motivating her to try a little harder foraging that day. Nonetheless, her confidence was waning, and the fear of being forced to return to the castle in disgrace, powerless against the whims of the High Council, was crushing. She grabbed her satchel, stuffed a foreboding loaf of bread into the bottom, unbarred her door, and headed outside. I need to ask Amaryllis if she would be willing to transform a spear into unicorn glass before I put energy and time into building one. It doesn’t make sense to build a shoddy spear if Amaryllis refuses to help me make it strong.
#
She finished her other chores quickly and found herself approaching the stables. It was odd that Amaryllis was not there to greet her at the usual spot by the gate. The creature instead opted to stay towards the back of the stable; her head held high, proud and defensive. Without warning, the chicken she had rescued the night prior fluttered into the stables. Amaryllis was not in a sharing mood. The air was so full of tension that Veronica could have cut it with a knife. The unicorn, insulted that the little bird thought she could intrude on her private space, simply touched the loose chicken with the side of her horn. There was a zapping sound, and then the chicken went stiff, turned on her heels, and sauntered out of the stable, not with great haste but with intense purpose. Veronica got a glimpse of the hen’s eyes as she passed, which rippled with the same energy that passively pulsated across the unicorn.
This must be a natural defense of the unicorn, a magical stupor, or perhaps a magical misdirection.
“Oh, Amaryllis, I do apologize. The pitiful thing was lost in the forest and is new here.”
After a pause, Amaryllis dipped her head down twice, giving her approval. Veronica relaxed a little, and offered the unicorn her loaf of berry bread, which was accepted eagerly. While she ate, Veronica brushed her mane, and the usual ripples of light flowed with every brush stroke.
The Queen contemplated on the proper way to handle the issue of the weapon that she needed so desperately. Should I ask Amaryllis’ permission to leave it in her stable so it will turn into unicorn glass? Or will Amaryllis be offended by the request? From what Veronica had observed over the last few weeks, the unicorn seemed to be a peace-loving being. She may disapprove of using her passive magic to create a weapon. But leaving the spear near the unicorn without permission would most surely be offensive to her, so deception was not the correct course of action here. The only thing she could do was ask.
“Amaryllis?”
The unicorn stopped eating her meal and turned to look at her. The gaze of the beautiful creature made her feel small, insignificant, and incredibly nervous.
Veronica cleared her throat and forced herself to look the unicorn in the eye. “I am in need of a weapon to defend myself. If I build a spear, would you change it into unicorn glass for me?”
A heart-pounding moment passed, and the unicorn blew and then nodded. Veronica exhaled; it was quite a tense moment. How is this mythical creature—a beauty, a mystery, and a stranger, such a boon to my security? If Amaryllis ever left me, it would be much lonelier out here in the woods, so far from home.
The Queen froze, appalled at herself for calling that horrid castle her home. This little cabin is my home now. Why does my old life haunt me, even out here? I am glad to be here, free to do as I please. She finished brushing Amaryllis, curtsied in parting, and headed out to begin building her spear. Little did Veronica know that the construction of this spear would alter the course of her life forever.
But how to begin? She had never built a weapon before. She hadn’t needed to until now. If she ever had the inkling, back at the castle, she could have simply visited the barracks and claimed any weapon she fancied. Perhaps I should start with the obvious and find me a few potential branches or sticks that I could use for the pole. After rummaging through the foliage just inside the forest perimeter, she quickly gave up on this. When has there ever been a straight branch? A kinked and curved spear would be too difficult to carry. She finally settled on a young sapling about two inches round. There was a little guilt in harvesting such a young tree, but it was only a tree, after all. If she couldn’t use plants to sustain her, she might as well just let the beasts of the forest eat her now.
The next step, she imagined, would have to be finding a rock to be used as the spearhead. Since I’m going to be transforming this into unicorn glass, I’m sure it could be made of anything, as long as it is sharp.
She discovered some flint on the slope just before Chicken Coop Way and hauled a large portion of it back to her cabin. Using another stone, she pounded bits and pieces from the chunk of flint, trying to break off a thin but sharp portion of the stone.
The fragments breaking from the flint were all wrong. She didn’t want to spend hours trying to sharpen a spearhead that was too thick. Once it was transformed into unicorn glass, it would be indestructible. It only needed to be thick enough that when she attached it to her pole, it wouldn’t fragment. Finally, the perfect leaf-shaped chunk broke off. She held it up to examine it and determined it would suit her needs nicely. She used the smashing stone to gradually file down the edges into a blade, thin and sharp. She also tried to smooth out some imperfections and make the jagged flint as symmetrical as possible. She finished off the spearhead by carving a little crown into the center of the spearhead to match King Edward’s breastplate. It’s the details that matter.
With the spearhead sharpened, she started on the pole. The branches were stripped from the sapling, and the top and bottom of the pole were ground down on a large boulder nearby. A split was made down the middle of one end of the pole, and then she attached the spearhead with an old strip of leather, lashing the spearhead between the pole’s split end.
Something is missing. The spear looked pretty good, considering that she had never built one before, but she felt like it wasn’t quite finished. She found a thick branch and twisted it in a spiral up the length of the pole, giving it more detail. On the pole where she planned to hold the spear, she filed the bark down to the green wood beneath and made the entwined branch curve out away from the spear so her hands could be protected. A small wooden dowel was driven through the side of the pole, just above the top handhold, to stop any blades from coming down on her fingers.
Veronica felt proud of her creation and was excited to see what it looked like after it was transformed into that mysterious black substance. She respectfully leaned the spear against the unicorn glass wall of Amaryllis’ stable, then gave the unicorn a prolonged hug for being such a good friend to her.
#
Rain clouds were beginning to release their life-sustaining nectar onto the small farm, and it was all well and good with the Queen. She was pretty tired and could use some downtime.
Inside the cabin, she put a few more logs onto the stove and blew on the coals to get the fire going again. She darted back out briefly to gather a few more pieces of wood for the night before it all got too wet to use. The eggs she had collected and placed near the stove were still safe and warm. It shouldn’t be too much longer before they hatch. I hope the other hens treat them nicely!
As for dinner, Veronica feasted upon fresh milk and buttered toast, with some nuts on the side, while the sky continued to darken, which made the cabin darker still. The light from the stove was insufficient to light the cabin to a comfortable level. The rain intensified, and an undiscovered leak in the ceiling began letting rainwater drip onto her table. Veronica used an old wooden bucket to catch the drip before it ran off the table onto the floor.
Veronica bundled up in her bed, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the sound and smells of the rain. A memory resurfaced as she rested—one of her mother, right after she got diagnosed with the disease called the blight. The dreaded and feared disease rapidly stripped her of her vitality and killed her, a decline that Veronica had witnessed as a young child and had traumatized her.
#
Her mother had been lying, bedridden, experiencing pain so powerful it was impossible to articulate. She had wanted Veronica there, laying across her chest, holding her close, as if any time apart from her daughter was a complete waste of the minutes left in her mortal experience.
She had been a religious woman, kind and strong. Charitable to a fault. Most of the money she was able to wrestle from the clutches of her workaholic husband went to either the poor or to support the priests at the local altars. She had been well versed in The Scrolls of the Gods, reading them as if her very soul depended on undiscovered clues between the text’s lines. She had hope in the future and an eye single to the glory of the gods.
But after her diagnosis, she was reduced to misery. No matter how fervent, her prayers failed to summon the miracle needed to restore her health. It was in those final moments that Veronica had lain across her mother’s chest. Her dying mother was stroking her hair, whispering the poetic love of a mother to her only daughter. It had been a high calling to comfort her mother in those final hours, and Veronica, young as she was, asked more questions than murmured words of comfort.
But I had been there for her, and I believe that was what she actually needed. Not words of wisdom from a young girl.
There was a particular moment during the broken conversation that Veronica remembered very well. In her dying moments, her mother, her voice no louder than a whisper, asked her a straightforward but complex question. “Veri, dear... Oh, my sweet Veri. Will you remember me?”
“Why?”
“Well, sometimes little ones don’t remember things when they grow up.”
“But you said you would be there with me.”
“Yes, well, I will be with you, but you won’t be able to see me.”
Veronica remembered how confused she had been. I wish I could have been there for her. But even in her dying moments, she only worried about me. She wanted to know if she did a good enough job as a mother for me to remember her after she was gone. “Why won’t I see you, Mommy?”
She had gasped for air then, trembling from the pain. “I’m dying, Veri.”
“Like the fish did when daddy caught him?”
“Yes, like the fish did when daddy caught him.”
“Is the fish here with me now, and I can’t see him?”
She had laughed at that. It was the last thing her mother had laughed at. “No, sweetie. Animals won’t be with you forever, only people.”
Veronica cried, her little body full of fear. “I don’t want you to die.”
Her mother couldn’t answer. She strained for air, a ghastly sound, gulping it down noisily like she had been drinking a large glass of water, all the while stroking her hair, running her shaking fingers through it, comforting them both.
“Mommy? It isn’t fair that you’re going to die.”
Her mother shook violently, then laid still.
“Mommy?”
Her mother came back to her then, if only for a moment. “You’ll know what to do, Veri. The Mother Goddess Cybele wishes us to trust in The Balance. All will be made right. Follow The Mother’s light, and not even the gods will stop you. I’m so proud of you.”
A coughing fit. A death song. And then she had left her body.
Veronica wiped the tears from her eyes. What an odd and haunting thing to remember right now, alone in her cabin, lying in her bed. She instinctively reached for where Edward should have been lying next to her but found only a straw-filled mattress. She shuddered to think that there was no one in this grand world to comfort her. That she had been alone before Edward and was entirely alone after. The balance her mother spoke of hadn’t helped her save her mother or save her husband. As far as Veronica knew, The Balance was simply a contract between the god children of Cybele and mankind, that no god should hinder the progress of man, and that they were supposed to assist man in our stewardship of the mortal realm.
The rhythmic rainfall suddenly felt less like peace and more like confinement. The walls closed in around her, and she tried to keep calm long enough to fall asleep. The storm was a raucous noise that rose and fell, entirely at random. The rain would grow deafening loud, and the wind would howl, cutting through every crevice in her little cabin, sprinkling her with rainwater. Then it would settle and grow quiet long enough for her to relax, and just before sleep would claim her, it would abruptly howl and shower her with cold water. Rest did not grace her consciousness for many hours after the storm finally died, and it was an emotionally crushing night.