Walk of Duty

The what-ifs started as a game with my older brother. What if the sky turned purple? What if I lost my horse? What if I got a new tutor, one that decided I didn’t have to do lessons anymore? 

I especially liked that last one. 

One day, I asked, ‘What if we get to eat cake for breakfast?’

The next morning, Jericho woke me up and we snuck into the kitchen. He’d bribed one of the cooks into making a frosted delight for each of us. And so we hid in one of the little used hallways, snickering quietly at what we were getting away with. It was one of my favorite memories with Jericho.

The what-if game stayed like that - innocent - until a rainy day when I was barely thirteen. 

“Jericho?” I asked. “What if you die?”

His face went blank and then a silent struggle crossed his features. “I will one day, but not for a long time,” he assured me.

I shivered at the thought. He motioned for me to come sit next to him. I sunk into the plush couch next to him, and he picked up a book. “Let’s read for a little bit, Ellie."

Nodding in agreement, I let his calm narration of the land of dragons flow over me like a river. 

*****

Three months later, I began to hate the what-ifs. Because the scariest one came true. 

Prince Jericho, crown prince of Manarra, was dead. His horse had thrown him during a parade, and in the panic that had ensued, he had been crushed. 

Shocked was an understatement. 

There were no more little secrets. No more what-if games. No more rainy days in the library. 

My mother and father pulled themselves together and continued to lead the country. For a few moments, what-ifs surrounded the line of succession. My brother had been the Accepted, the one who the spirits would talk to. My father decided, spirits or not, I would be the next queen. 

The next few years were a blur. A blur of what-ifs and training. Because I was going to inherit the throne. The seat where my brother should have sat. I was going to give the speeches he should have given. I was going to have to throw the parties that he should have thrown. 

It was my duty to fill his shoes, to be everything for Manarra that he wanted to be, because he no longer could. 

I felt utterly unworthy.

All of the expectations that had burdened him now burdened me. He had carried them well, but I could barely drag them along behind me. There were multiple times when the only thing I wanted was to drop them and run away. But I didn’t. I was tied to the throne, trudging on and trying to be everything I needed to be.

One day, a few months before I was to be crowned, - at the young age of twenty - my father and I strolled through the gardens. A light breeze rustled through the blossoms of the closest tree, creating a soft rustle. The raucous call of a peacock on display carried across the meticulously groomed grounds. 

“Father,” I started, nervousness stretching my words tight. I began to play with my fingers, remembered that a princess wasn’t supposed to fidget, and stopped. 

“Yes, Ellaneh?”

“What if-” The words seemed to freeze up in my throat, and I swallowed a few times before I could get them out. Even then, they were quiet. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“Ellaneh,” his voice was firm, but the look in his eyes was gentle. “You must lead with confidence. It is your duty.”

Confidence. Not what-ifs.

*****

Boots thumped along, a rhythmic march against the cold stones. Deep in the earth lay a network of tunnels, like a squirming nest of snakes. This is where the dead and gone, the Manarran royalty of ages past, rested for all of eternity. The spirits, when they happened to be in the mood to talk to the King or Queen, appeared here. This is where royalty would go in great times of need. 

The only catch? 

If the wrong person showed up, it would only further doom the kingdom.

And so the question remained: what if I was not the right person?

The Liland moved silently behind the royal guard. There were two of them, the only two in the entire country. Some called them wizards and witches, others magi and sorcerers. Some called them monsters - and some called them saviors.

Whatever their reputation was, I needed them. 

Desperation had clung to me for these past few years. Two decades had passed, along with my parents. And the fanatics that supported my cousin became more and more vocal in their protests. My brother should have been King. And since he was gone, they claimed my cousin should be the one seated on the throne. According to them, I was not the Accepted, and never would be.

They had driven me to this. 

Water dripped down the sides of the tunnel, giving the stones a slimy, shifting look in the torchlight. 

Water. Down here, even when the land above was dry as stone. 

But what if Kindjeh did not give his Blessing?

Then my cousin's fanatics would be right. I would only further curse the kingdom.

Then there would only be one to blame, and that would be me.

But I could not allow the suffering to go on any longer. My brother would not have allowed it to go on as long as it had. 

It was my duty to be what Manarra needed me to be in his stead.

“Here,” I said, waving my hand. They followed me further into the maze, taking rights and lefts. There was a secret indicator, hidden in the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, and only a trained eye could find it in the wavering light. 

And then it all erupted into madness. 

Men, men who were not supposed to be frequenting the tunnels, came flying around the corner. The guards threw themselves in front of me, shouting for me and the Liland to get back and flee. One of the Liland turned on her heel, and began to sprint down the tunnel. The other, the man, stood there silently, facing me. 

Blocking my path.

The clash of swords rang out behind me, as the fanatics pushed forward. 

“Your Highness!” one of them shouted, and I turned my back on the Liland, towards the guard. “You must-!”

But I never got to hear what I so desperately needed to do, because a slash of silver came down in a glorious arc--

And cut the soldier down.

Moments later, the attacker met the same fate. 

The tumult continued on, and I faced the Liland yet again. Cries of pain rang out, mixed with shouted orders and encouragement. And suddenly it went dark. 

The fighting paused for only a moment. An iron grip latched around my upper arm, and I screamed. A large hand covered my mouth seconds later. I tried to squirm away from my attacker, but the husky voice of the Liland met my ears. 

“Do not struggle, Your Highness.”

The din became quieter as the Liland forced me away from the fight. I struggled, but this only caused him to tighten his grip. 

We branched off the main tunnel, and his hand dropped from my mouth. Glass shattered against the stones, and a purple-ish light flared up around us. 

The Liland threw me against the wall and I slid to the floor, my shoulder and hip aching. I struggled to stand, but froze when I looked up. The Liland towered over me, his features bathed in the mystical glow from whatever had shattered on the floor. A dagger, darker than the darkest night, rested in his hand.

“Queen Ellaneh,” he spat. “You hardly deserve the title. You are not the Accepted one.”

What if I die?

The Liland surely had the means to do it.

The dagger bore down upon me, meant to be driven straight into my heart. At the last moment, the moment when everything seemed to slow, I shied away. 

Fabric ripped, and pain erupted in my side. 

I heard a moan, and slowly I realized that I had made the noise. My hands went to my side, where I found the dagger buried in my flesh and still in the Liland’s grip. 

A thundering noise rumbled like a giant’s footsteps around us. The Liland stood, and through blurry eyes, I saw a wicked smile dart across his face. His pupils were black slits, placed in the center of unfeeling irises. 

He was a backstabbing snake. 

The light was no longer docile. Now it was flames, purple flames that danced, rising higher and higher and higher, meant to consume everything in their path… 

There were no more what-ifs. 

I was going to die. 

*****

My eyes fluttered, and I heard words; gentle, panicked words. 

"Your Highness," a man said, over and over and over.

I tried to move my lips, tried to speak. Instead, I pulled in a breathy gasp, and let out a weak cough. My side- my side was on fire. 

"Don't try to move," he warned.

I did so anyway, pressing my hand to my side in my effort to sit up. 

I examined my fingertips, the blood on them dark and sticky. My head became very light, and I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. 

"Help me up," I ordered. 

The guard sheathed his sword. "Your Highness, with all due respect, you cannot think to-"

"I can. I will. I must. Now help me up."

He extended his hand, pulling me up. I did everything I could to not cry out. 

"Thank you. What is your name?" 

The soldier bowed his head, "Nolend Beteruan, Highness."

"And where are your compatriots?"

"Dead or lost, Highness."

"And our attackers?"

"They have suffered the same fate."

"We must continue on."

His head flew up, "You are very injured, Highness, even a good soldier would not continue to fight in your state-"

"You have served me faithfully, Nolend Beteruan," I interrupted. "But I am not a soldier. I have a duty to this kingdom."

He opened his mouth, as if to argue, then shut it. Holding his arm out for me to balance on, we backtracked to the main tunnel. 

Scattered bodies lay on the ground, including the Liland who had attacked me. 

"I heard you screaming," Nolend began, as we passed the fallen Liland, his yellow robes stained deep red. "And came running. The dirty traitor."

Nolend spat at the Liland's unmoving feet. 

"Thank you for your service. You will be rewarded when we return." 

He bowed his head. "I was only doing my duty, Highness."

His duty.

The further we went, the louder it became. 

"What do you think is making that noise?" I asked, and Nolend looked over at me in fear.

"Noise, Highness?"

My next words were hushed. "The terrible buzzing." 

He paused. "Your Highness, I… do not hear anything."

I strained, taking a feeble step forward. "It's getting louder, are you sure you cannot hear it?"

He looked at me peculiarly. "Cover your ears for a moment, and listen."

The buzzing did not fade, instead it came to a symphonic roar, and I shook my head. 

"I still hear it."

"I thought you might. Your Highness, we should turn around. You must see a healer."

I could not turn around. No. I had to meet with Kindjeh, and plead with him. 

"I must continue." Even I could hear the desperation edging my tone. 

Nolend held his arm out again, and we marched on. 

The path seemed to stretch on forever, and after a bit, I called for a break. My head felt heavy, and I had begun to lose feeling in my toes and fingertips. Blood ran down my side, streams of life trickled out of me.

I shut my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, Nolend was gazing at me with deep concern. 

"I was afraid you were not going to wake up," he whispered. 

"Nonsense."

But it took an enormous amount of effort to say it. 

"Help me up," I commanded.

He stood, and reached out his hand. My hands felt heavy as lead, and it took an enormous effort to do so. 

I could not muster enough energy to stand, and Nolend could not support my weight for too long. We only made it ten more steps before we had to stop again. 

The buzzing faded, and a voice replaced it. 

"Ellie?"

It came from a source far, far away. Deep in the tunnels. Down in the belly of the snake. The terrible snakes. 

"Ellie?" The voice called again. 

I knew that voice.

Only one person called me Ellie. 

"Jericho?" I called out.

Nolend looked over at me in fear. His face was bathed in living shadows from the torch. 

"Your Highness, your brother is dead. He is not here."

"I hear him," I assured… what was his name? He was a soldier. The soldier.

"Ellie!" The voice yelled. It was louder now. 

It wasn't real.

The look on the soldier's face told me that.

And I knew, that as Jericho's voice echoed against the flagstones, that I would never reach the end. And I would never return home. There were no more what-ifs, only the solid certainty of death.