The Queen's Keeper

A blood curdling scream filled the silence of the night.

The gate keeper lifted his lantern a bit higher and watched on the dark horizon, listening for the sound of the horses trotting and the carriage wheels turning against gravel. It did come, eventually, though much later than he would have liked; and when it did he hastily opened the iron gate doors wide.

The carriage rolled on by him, without so much as an acknowledgement of his presence or his favor. He sighed out angrily and closed it back up.

Inside the carriage, six – or rather five – men and a young boy were seated; they were escorting the queen. She had three pair of shackles placed around her hands. It was only possible because her arms were so thin and bony. The skin sagged all over her body, like it didn’t belong. Her once lovely reflection was now a mass of wrinkled skin, scars, and frightening eyes. Her fingernails were at least three inches long and her teeth were like that of a wild beast. They were probably the only things not rotting about her.

Her dress hung limply around her frame, threatening to fall off; at one point, the men might have smiled slyly and encouraged it to fall the rest of the way off, but now they hoped and prayed it would not. One had tried holding it up for her, but he was bit in the process and had to be killed.

She snarled and let out inhuman noises every few seconds, glaring at each and every man. “I shall kill you all when I am free,” she announced, putting her chin up. Her voice was hoarse and raw sounding – not sweet and melodic like it had been.

“I’m afraid that will never happen,” one man, Harland said. “You are to be put to your death tonight.”

He was egging her on; she wasn’t really going to be put to death. She could not die.

Everyone, including her, knew this. He only said it in an effort to instill a fear of some spell or witch that could kill her.

She snarled in reply and tried lunging, though she was held back. The carriage stopped and the men held even tighter to her. The driver climbed down from his seat and opened the door. “We are here,” he informed them (as if they couldn’t come to that conclusion themselves).

Rufus - the father of the sixteen year old boy Henry – climbed out. He looked up at the castle; it was not visible at this time of night, but from the highest tower, he could see a tiny candlelight flickering. “She’s here,” the driver told him, with a quick nod. Rufus nodded and leaned back in. “Bring her out,” he ordered, beckoning them forward.

Two took hold of her legs and the other took hold of her arms, whilst she remained suspiciously still, staring straight at Rufus. They dragged her out slowly and cautiously, weary of her followers that could be surrounding the place. “Do not worry,” an old woman’s voice spoke, startling them all. “Her…children cannot step foot on these grounds.”

She was the witch that was to put the queen to sleep. She was not a good witch; and she did not pretend to be. But she would not turn against them and was trustworthy enough.

They could not make her out in the dark and it frightened them, a bit.

“Children?” Henry inquired, being the last to step out.

“Yes,” the witch replied. “Her followers; her creations.”

“Creations-”

“Madam, forgive me if I’m wrong, but is this not supposedly the land of eternal beauty and youth?” Rufus interrupted Henry.

“Ah, so it is,” the witch replied. “But in the legends it is simply known as Paradise.”

“But…will her presence ruin it? And if she was ever to awake…would she destroy it?”

The witch laughed. “You don’t know your history, do you?”

Rufus laughed awkwardly and silence ensued. “Come, we must hurry,” the witch urged them. They began walking up the long drive and the queen remained silent, looking at her surroundings.

They did not take notice, for it dark, but her body had already begun regenerating itself. Her hair had began turning darker, wrinkles slowly fading, her eyes becoming lively once more. “Hurry,” the witch exclaimed, running up the stairs. “We must get there before she has gained her power back.”

They rushed up the cobblestone steps, quickly shutting and locking the door behind them. The pitter patter of their feet was the only thing to be heard throughout the silent and empty castle. At the top of the tower, there was a small circular room with a bed on top of a table, waiting. The curtains were drawn and a fresh breeze blew in through them. Above the small fire, there was a pot of some type. The witch hung her lantern up by the ceiling as they placed the queen on the bed. “Do we strap her down?” the men asked.

“No!” the witch exclaimed, placing a decrepit looking hand on the queen’s face. The queen screeched loudly and then fell still. “Hand me a spoonful of that mixture out of that pot, right there.”

Henry grabbed the wooden spoon sitting up on the mantle and dipped it into the thick, gooey like substance. He took it over to the witch cautiously. “Hurry, boy, I can only hold her for so long.”

She clenched the queen’s jaw tightly, in a vice-like grip and brought the spoon to her mouth. She forced it open and hisses escaped the queen’s mouth. “Hold her head,” she ordered.

Henry grabbed hold of it as the contents of the spoon were poured into her mouth as quickly as possible.

They all watched in silence with held breathes as the queen stared blankly up the ceiling, her body starting to writhe terribly and twist in unnatural ways. “Do not touch her,” the witch said. “You must not touch her.”

“You four,” she said, pointing to the ones closest to the door. “Go back to the carriage and keep watch.”

“Watch for what? I thought you said-”

“Go! And do not ask me any more questions. Henry and Rufus…you two stay here.”

In the heat of the moment, they were too preoccupied to wonder how she knew their names; but it would have been senseless to ask her, anyways (she was a witch, after all).

Loud gurgled screams erupted from the queen as her body rose into midair. The four men obediently left after seeing that and slammed the door from behind them, their muffled cries no longer audible.

“Henry,” the witch spoke. “You inquired about her followers. Look outside and you shall see beyond the fence.”

“You liar!” Rufus cried out. “You said they could not step foot on these grounds.”

“They cannot. The fence bars them out. But perhaps you should wait until dawn to go home, unless you wish to become a meal.”

The look on the witch's face made tingles run down his spine. It was one of absolute sincerity and that was what frightened him the most. Because he only half believed her.

Rufus remained silent after that and followed his son to the window. Beyond the stained glass, and the fence, there were massive beasts, growling, with foam coming out of their mouths. They paced around evenly, on all fours, looking for some weakness. There was one, who seemed to be even larger than the others; it backed up and tried lunging over the spokes, only to be thrown back. It let out a vicious growl that surpassed the queen’s furious cries and looked up at the window, its eyes seemingly staring into young Henry’s. They both let out a startled gasp.

“They…follow her?” Henry asked, still not looking away.

“Yes. Poor things. I suppose I would have rather lost the war than to be her slave.”

“There was a war?”

“Yes,” the witch said. She sighed out in relief when the queen fell gently back on to the bed, falling silent. “It is done,” she told them.

“It is? That’s all?”

The witch laughed disbelievingly. “Yes, that is all.”

“Tell us about the war.”

“There was a war, between two peoples, many years ago – over this very land.” She paused and looked at the queen distastefully.

“The ones that are the beasts now were losing, quite horribly. By the end, only twenty of them remained out of the original fifty thousand. They fought furiously and ferociously, killing left and right, sometimes killing their own without realizing it. That was their weakness. The other side was able to use it against them. The leader, Marcus had heard about the queen. He travelled five days and nights, to reach her."

The witch paused once more and poked a stick around in the fire, her long fingers glowing onimously in the orange glow.

She resumed the story with her back turned, "And they struck a deal: She would help them win, if they gave her the land. You would think such a smart man like Marcus would realize the foolishness of it, but he did not. And so on the last day of battle, in the middle of it all, the remaining twenty transformed into these massive beasts; neither wolf nor bear, but somewhere in between. The ultimate killing machines; they had claws ten inches long, with fur five inches thick and stood over six foot tall on their hind legs."

The witch shuddered at the thought, as if she had actually been there. Rufus stood rigid, barely breathing and his son clutched to his coat, eyes wide with fear.

"Their teeth were three inches long and could slice through skin without even biting down. Bear wolves, they were called, by the enemies. They were children to the queen. They feel…as if they owe it to her…because she won their war and got revenge for all their lost brothers. But you see this is why this land is the only place that can contain her. And it’s the reason why her presence will not destroy it.”

“Ah, amazing,” Rufus said. “But it is all folklore.”

“Hardly,” the witch replied. “But there is one downside…because it is not simply folklore, and everything else has turned out to be true, it also means something else: even though she sleeps, she will grow younger and stronger as time goes on…”