The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 52: Rebecca Wullmont

The manor had become home to Rebecca. It was certainly better than being locked in the Estate. She had freedom there, in the woods. Most of the time she was alone, besides the nights in which Martin found his way North. The two would sometimes meet and have dinner, or drink wine into the night. They spoke of the Catredal, Thomas Siln, or the King and High Council. Rebecca often questioned Martin about the men of The Chosen, and their morale. The group was strong, Martin ensured, and prepared to enact their plan when the time was right.

It had been several days since Rebecca had last seen Martin, though he did visit frequently. She had not seen him since her visit to the Catredal, the day that Melvin McKellon had died. Though it was short lived, thanks to Preceptor Cecil. The Grand Preceptor was now dead and it was just a matter of time before the faith would bury him in the crypts, along with the rest of the preceptors.

The Queen sat at the darkwood dining room table. Each night she sat there, in the dim light, and read Ansyl's journals. She still couldn't read the foreign text but the drawings revealed enough. Ansyl was truly up to something strange.

Rebecca placed the journal back upon the book shelf, and returned to the table. The room was filled with a dark, amber glow. The candle light fought to spread its way across the room's entirety, but the weight of the darkness proved too much for it to bare. Instead, the light created an orange haze, which faded into a cold black. The walls absorbed the light, and hummed with a warm glow. But the floor, and the ceiling, pulled back in a dark shadow, which the light simply could not reach. And it was there that Rebecca sat, in between the layers of light and dark. Her feet, settled in against the cold chill of the shadowed wood floors, her eyes hidden in the darkness which floated towards the ceiling, and her heart kept warm by the candle's flicker.

The Queen had escaped a cage, only to find a new one. The imprisonment of solitude had begun to weigh upon her mind. Time would not pass. She sat, day in and day out, waiting. She began to forget what it was that she was waiting for to begin with. How long had she been inside the manor and who had put her there? Why couldn't she leave?

The house had grown darker with each new day. Rebecca had no choice but to sit, and wait in the timeless black box of Greytyl Manor.

There was knocking at the door. Her body jolted, and she awakened. Rebecca found herself mesmerized in the abyss of darkness where she sat, focused on something she already forgotten. It was only the sound of an unexpected knock which had freed her mind from the paralyzed state, at least for the moment. She opened the black iron door to find Minor Preceptor Webb standing in the pale light of the moon.

"Martin, please come in," Rebecca said, desperately.

"Are you doing okay, Rebecca? You look rather exhausted. Have you slept? When was the last time you left the manor, moved about in the light a bit?"

Rebecca thought about it hard, but nothing came to mind. There was only darkness, and the fading glow of the candle. There was only the thought of sitting at the dining room table, immersed in a hypnotic state, searching through Ansyl's journals.

"I don't know for certain, Martin. I was at the Westbottoms not long ago, and I visited the Catredal. But that seems like ages ago." Rebecca's speech was slow and her words were labored.

"It seems to me that maybe the next time I visit the children, I should stop here first. We ought to take a walk together, get outside a bit perhaps?" Martin said.

"Yes, I should like that. The children, Martin. Do they ask of my whereabouts? Does anyone?" Rebecca wondered.

"Well of course, you are the Queen, after all. The maidens tell the children that you went off to visit a friend in the South. But I've heard them talk amongst each other, they believe you to have either run away, or taken your own life," Martin said.

"And the King?" Rebecca asked.

"He shows little concern for your disappearance. He has not ordered a search party, or gone looking himself. He seems content with having you gone," Martin answered.

Even though Rebecca knew all along that would be the King's response, for some reason it still hurt her, in a way she could not describe or understand.

"But there's another reason I have come to you tonight, my Queen. You were right, about Thomas. He has returned. I have met with him every day, since you first ordered me to do so. In those weeks I have become a trusted friend of Lord Siln, or so I feel. He tells me that he refuses to leave Ferenor, and that he plans to discover who it was who attacked him, who it is that wishes him dead," Martin said.

"And does he believe it to be the work of the King, of the High Council?" Asked Rebecca.

"He does. He found with him the sigil. And I believe he plans to kill the King himself. I left with him your letter, just as you had asked the last time we met. May I ask Rebecca, what did you write to him?" Martin questioned.

"I gave him what all men seek, but few men find. Purpose," The Queen answered.

Martin seemed confused. But he did not question any further. "It will not be long until the Grand Preceptor's funeral is held. The Chosen are ready."

"Good. Thomas knows when to strike, I made sure of that. If our reform is to be successful, we not only need the Gods, we will need time. Timing is everything, Martin," Rebecca continued.

"Indeed, it is, my Queen," Martin said.

'And when the time is right, you and I will rule together. You from the Catredal and I from the throne," Insisted the Queen.

"But why can we not be together now, Rebecca? Dam them all, the King, the preceptors," Martin asked as he took the Queen by her hand.

"You know as well as I, that if our love was to reveal itself, they would have your head. The King, the High Council, the church, they would all have reason to kill you. Our time is soon amongst us, Martin."

The two departed, and the Queen was again alone at the Northern manor. She knew that her words were not only for Martin, they were for herself as well. She too was furiously impatient. Though Martin was not who she so desperately desired. In fact, it was no one at all. It was her throne that Rebecca so greatly desired.