“In preparation for the Dark God’s arrival, there had to be people upon the land, for the Dark God takes sustenance from the evil in men’s hearts. Human greed and wickedness are my offerings to him.”
Her mother had not struck sooner, wielding her powers to lay her enemies low, so that she might have a greater population to offer up to her god when the time came. Sacrifices were always fed handsomely until they were brought to the altar.
“Destroy me, and you destroy them,” the queen’s voice said in a low growl by her ear. Yorda felt a cold finger stroke the back of her neck. “But, should you repent and help me imprison that cursed book once again, I will replace the enchantment, and all will be as it was before. What wrong have these people done? Think on it, Yorda. To the ignorant, it does not matter what form their Creator takes. They care not whether they serve a god of light or of darkness, as long as their prosperity is ensured. One god is easily exchanged for another.”
At some point she had appeared directly behind Yorda, and now she stepped in close, enveloping her in an embrace-no different than when Yorda had been a child, sitting on her mother’s knee.
“Why must we argue over such things? Are we not mother and daughter?” Her voice was soothing now, tickling at Yorda’s ear.
Yorda looked down at the graceful curves of her mother’s arm, wrapped in delicate, near transparent black lace that only accented the whiteness of her skin. In that embrace, Yorda felt powerless and immature, her bones slender and fragile, her chest flat like a child’s. And yet, Yorda’s body still glowed with light. The energy that had flowed to her from the book coursed through her veins, illuminating her skin from within.
Yorda gripped the book more tightly, lowering her head and shutting her eyes tight. My mother was chosen by the Dark God, and I was chosen by the God of Light. If I do not stand down, we will fight as the avatars of our chosen deities. The queen says it is a meaningless battle-but I am my father’s daughter. His blood flows in me. And what did she do to him?
She pictured her father’s skull burning with rage and chagrin, locked in the tower for an eternity, the book clenched between his teeth. “You would deceive me, Mother,” Yorda said, opening her eyes. “Did you not tell me, just a moment ago, that I should never have been born? Have you forgotten how you shamed my father? Forgotten the horrible treatment you showed him?”
After a brief moment, the queen replied in a gravelly voice, full of power. “You find my actions unforgivable? You would deny your own mother’s love?”
Though her cheek was still wet with tears, Yorda had to laugh. “I thought love between people is no better than dust.” She took a deep breath and wrenched herself away, turning to face the queen. “I’m tired of your lies!”
Yorda held the shining book up high and thrust it toward her mother’s face. A horrifying scream rent the air around them, echoing off the walls of the castle. The queen covered her face with both hands and flew up into the air like a grim, ungainly bird.
Writhing and screaming, the queen ascended halfway up the Tower of Winds, throwing her body against the stone wall. Her robes spread out wildly in the wind like a black flower blooming in the sky.
“What have you done?”
The queen’s soft, soothing voice was gone. Now she screamed, glaring down at Yorda from high above her.
“You were wrong, Mother!” Yorda shouted up to her. “You tried to deceive me!” She caught her breath, then continued. “Why? Of what worth is it, being the child of a god? Where is the meaning in ruling the world? You did not love your husband as you do not love me! Where’s the glory in butchery and lies? So many lies!”
The book held high over her head gave more power to Yorda. She watched as it grew brighter, filling her with strength, sweeping away the last wisps of doubt as she strode forward to stand beneath where the queen floated in the sky.
Yorda’s hands moved of their own accord, flipping through the pages of the Book of Light. There she found a new power, and it flowed forth in a blinding holy radiance directed squarely at the queen. The light caught the queen in midair, flinging her against the tower.
“Have you forgotten what I said?” the queen screamed. “Kill me and you kill everyone in the castle!”
Suddenly time returned to the castle around Yorda. Everyone who was frozen lurched back into motion. Within moments, screams of terror rose up from every hall and courtyard in the castle. The long enchantment over them was gone entirely now, and as one, every minister and handmaiden, guard and patrolman were returned to their senses, and the reality of what they saw drove them mad.
Yorda did not flinch. Her eyes fixed on the queen, she chose to believe in the power of the book and held it still higher over her head. The Book of Light knew its enemy well. It would not let the queen escape. Again and again, she was dashed against the tower, the white light burning her body, and she howled, unable to escape the reach of the light.
Yorda watched, weeping, as the queen lost her shape and began to unravel into threads of dark mist. Yorda wept more and louder, yet her hands remained firm, pressing the book toward the queen. She was quickly dissolving into the stuff of the black pools Yorda had seen in the tower.
She’s becoming like one of the shadows she created.
Perhaps this was, in fact, her mother’s true shape. Perhaps she was nothing but an apparition, a gathering of motes of black mist. This gave birth to me? My father took this as his loving wife?
The mist dissipated into the sky, winding into the wind, almost entirely gone now. Yorda stood with her legs firmly planted, forcing her weary arms higher. The mist was very thin now, hardly more than the last wisp of smoke from a cold fireplace. The wind picked up, blowing it away.
But a single thread remained, twisting with rage, and from it the queen’s voice sounded in Yorda’s ears, saying, “I will not be destroyed! Look well, for you have failed!”
A powerful unseen force slammed into Yorda, sending her sprawling across the stones of the bridge. The shock of the impact was enough to knock the Book of Light from her hands.
Yorda scratched with her fingers on the bridge, trying to stand. Finally on her feet, she picked up the book and clasped it to her chest. The sounds of disquiet from the castle were growing louder. She heard the clashing of metal on metal, women screaming, men shouting.
The noise washed out over the bridge like a rumbling earthquake. Yorda stood as still as stone, not believing what she saw. On the far side of the bridge, a great throng of people were pushing their way out of the castle, running toward her in a wave. She saw guards, patrolmen, handmaidens, and scholars. The soldiers wielded swords and spears, while the handmaidens bared teeth and nails. She spotted the Minister of Court, his fists clenched above his head as he charged out onto the bridge-at Yorda.
Though they could not have been a more varied crowd, they all had one thing in common-their eyes were clouded with a dark mist. With a deepening sense of despair, Yorda realized what had happened. Her mother, the queen, had turned to mist and possessed them all, driving them mad. She was wielding them like puppets, sending them to kill.
Kill, kill, kill! Kill the one with the book! Kill Yorda!
Yorda had few options. She still held the Book of Light in her arms, yet she lacked the will to lift it again.
This is my mother’s strength. In the end, I could not defeat her. I merely forced her hand and brought ruin to us all.
The shouts grew louder, and the rumble of feet swept closer. Yorda closed her eyes.
“Lady Yorda!” A powerful voice shouted over the noise. “Lady Yorda!”
She lifted her face and saw that the crowd had stopped just a few paces away from her. They were turning, looking back toward the castle. Then their ranks began to dissolve, as new screams of rage and fear rose from the mob.