A Message Through Time

A Message Through Time

By Cortlin Presley

May 5, 800 A.D.

Darkness veiled the world’s light beyond the slapping shutters. “Up, up! Time to greet the morning.”

A groan emitted from the sheets.

“Up, up!”

The brown-haired, freckle-faced girl rose from her slumber. “Morning? What do you mean "morning"? It’s the middle of the night!”

“Actually, Your Majesty, it’s the middle of the day.”

Her voice shook with concern, “Lydia, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Your Majesty, during last night’s battle, your kingdom was brutally burned. Until this rebellion ends, the sun will hide beneath a blanket of smoke.”

“What!? How is that possible?”

“The people are angry, Your Majesty. They will destroy the kingdom to apprehend the people they feel are responsible.”

Shocked. “Wh..What should we do?”

“I don’t know Your Majesty, but the people can’t carry on this way: plagued and starved.”

Joan looked out at the fields beyond the palace walls. What she saw turned her stomach. Fighting to the death for scraps, friends quickly became enemies. Her voice turned to a whisper, “They’ve lost all hope.”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

Joan went silent. A palace full of people, but she never felt more alone. Sorrowfully, she sat at her desk and wrote a message of hope on the parchment in front of her. She threw the message into the fire and watched it disintegrate into nothing as she contemplated her country's future. Her eyes, hollow.

May 6, 1485 A.D

The night’s air nipped at Adelaide's skin as she watched the hearth's flames dance before her. Green in their eternal mystery, as shadows appeared within them. Every minute, she fought to stay awake, the colored flames cast walking shadows across the walls.

Her eyes obscured the night around her while shadows shared stories of the past. Exhaustion swept over her as she fell into a restless sleep. Unable to escape the exacerbated tales.

The morning sun shimmered through the drawn blinds, dancing on the bedchamber floor. Her eyes fluttered open, and her dreams appeared before her. Battles raged while people turned to scavengers, hunting for morsels of food. Death waited at every corner.

Panicked, she rose from bed, threw a robe over her nightgown, and ran to warn her father. Before she reached the bedchamber door, her mind’s haze cleared as she remembered... they were only dreams.

Overwhelmed with fatigue, she passed the hearth to return to bed. At its base, a small piece of parchment was stuck to the brick. She reached for the crinkled paper and shivered at its touch. Her heart raced while she read the message.

“I wish for the end of this ceaseless battle and for the health of my people.”

~Joan Ash May 5, 800 A.D.

Adelaide couldn’t believe her eyes. Joan Ash died in this very room 600 years ago. How was this possible? She began pacing her quarters.

Faster and faster with each step as the day faded into night. Shadows engulfed her as uncertainty loomed, but time was of the essence. She ran towards the hearth and listened while the flames hissed with delight at their latest meal.

May 7, 800 A.D.

Scattered fabric encompassed her while she sat on the bedchamber floor, tugging at the wool tapestry to soothe her anxiety-filled fingertips. The battle raged outside. It had been two days since she burned her wish.

In two days, she explored all her options. In two days, she hadn’t slept, knowing what her decision meant. There was no other choice, but Joan paused in a moment of weakness. A moment of hesitation and uncertainty.

She began pacing. Back and forth until the wool tapestry faded into the bleak brick floor.

Mid-step, something caught her attention. Near the frigid hearth lay a folded piece of parchment. Her hands trembled as she read the note.

“Dearest Joan,

I write to you from 1485 England. My name is Adelaide Ash. I received your message from the very hearth you stand near. Without revealing much, I can only say that to save your people, you must do what you deem most difficult.”

~Adelaide Ash May 6, 1485 A.D.

Joan’s heart caught in her throat as she crumpled the message in her hand. She wrote one final note and watched it disintegrate in the fire.

May 7, 1485 A.D.

After a restless night, Adelaide’s breakfast sat cold by her side. Every fiber of her being knew something was going to happen. She didn’t know what; she didn’t know when, but it lingered in the air.

Another parchment lay near the fire, and the hearth came alive. Its roaring tongues spoke to her in the flickering shadows. Telling her stories of the past before its green flames engulfed the message.

Enraged, she screamed. There was no other way to communicate with Joan, and no possibility of helping her. Hopeless, she sobbed into her pillow. While she dried her tears, she reached for the empty space beside her, only to find that the message had appeared to her once more.

“Dearest Adelaide,

Thank you for your counsel. I know what I must do.”

~ Joan Ash May 7, 800 A.D.

As a future leader, Adelaide knew her country’s history and the sacrifice Joan made for her people. Yet, it remained one of her greatest fears. Panic took over. Her vision obscured. Her chest tightened. She gasped for air.

The world went black as emptiness surrounded her.

May 8, 800 A.D

Joan awoke from a dreamless sleep. After months of nightmares and midnight strolls, she never felt more rested. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and slowly slid her feet into the nook of her slippers.

The day barely began when she heard militant commands echo within the palace walls. Accompanied by rambunctious cheers and hurried footsteps in the corridor.

From the time she was a young girl, she knew there would be a moment that would define her as a leader. A time when she would decide the course of history. That time had come.

Screams travelled to her door. Followed by three deafening bangs. Then three more. She stood her ground. Steadfast and proud.

Ravenous for revenge, the diseased and hungry flooded her bedchamber. The people she loved, the people she was born to protect, swarmed her. Surrounded, the queen was immersed in darkness.