“It’s happening again.” King Aquarius slammed the Eastern Gazette onto the table. “What?” Queen Thessily was busy scrutinizing her reflection in the soupspoon. Faint creases formed around her mouth. She frowned. “They found another girl,” he said. “Shriveled and lifeless.” The queen made no reply. She continued to gaze at her reflection. She pulled out a gray hair. “This is a grave matter.” The king’s voice shook with thunder. “People are talking.” “What are they saying, dear?” “That someone in this kingdom is committing these gruesome killings.” Queen Thessily sighed. “It’s probably just crumb on crumb crime. They are poor. They are bored. They kill each other.” King Aquarius furrowed his peppered brow. “My dear Rena was the first to die that way.” A solitary tear trickled down the bridge of his nose as his thoughts drifted toward his late wife, Queen Rena. She was the mother of Prince Emmon and Princess Trulie and one night as the moon waned over the kingdom, she was in the garden, shriveled and lifeless. “My love,” King Aquarius muttered. Queen Thessily looked up from her spoon. Before she could speak, a scream split through the castle walls. “Aaaaaaaaaugh.” Prince Emmon was walking down the portrait-lined corridor when his sister’s shrill voice punctuated his quietude. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about,” he said turning on his heel. Princess Trulie pointed her finger in the woman’s face. “I want a lilac silk dress for my birthday ball. “Not a lavender dress that’s satin” The seamstress cowered before the pint-size terror. “Um, what’s the diff?” Prince Emmon said but soon wished he hadn’t. His sister whirled around with fire blazing in her eyes. “There…is…a…difference.” “Move child.” Queen Thessily rushed into the room. Prince Emmon shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away. He briefly exchanged glances with his father as they past each other in the corridor. “I’m going for a ride,” Prince Emmon said. ***
Elsewhere in the kingdom of Lindor in the village of Pleasant Hills, Xanith, rationed out chicken feed to several hens. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded a plump brown and white hen. The hen ruffled her feathers and continued pecking at the ground. Xanith sat on the rickety fence and wiped her brow with a dusty hand. She looked at the cozy farmhouse she shared with adoptive parents, Alma and Winston; they found her abandoned in the woods sixteen summers ago. A merry whistle diverted her attention from the hens. She smiled. Coming down the dirt pathway was Chartreuse, Xanith’s best friend. Chartreuse was as different from Xanith as the sea was from the sky. She was the daughter of a whitesmith (her father was the only one who polished metal weapons in all the villages in the east). This paid handsomely so Chartreuse often wore clothes that made her appear to be a member of the middle crust (a disappearing class). Today was no exception as she floated down the pathway in a pea green ankle length brocaded dress, complete with a cinched waistline. Loose raven curls framed her ebony cheeks and fell around her shoulders. She was no doubt one of the most resplendent maidens in the village. Xanith on the other side was mostly plain. Dirt often powdered her butterscotch face. She wore her hair plaited and pinned into a bun. She was dressed in an oversized brown tunic, cowhide belt and tan leggings. “Xan, they found another one.” Chartreuse thrust the Eastern Gazette at Xanith’s chest. Xanith read the bold face headline: servant girl found outside the palace grounds. “She was nothing but skin and bones and aged like a hundred times over.” Chartreuse’s eyes were wide as the sky. Xanith shuddered. “That’s terrible. That’s like the tenth one or so,” she said dusting off her leggings. “They need to catch that mad man.” “I’m terribly frightened.” Chartreuse ran her fingers through her hair. “Have no fear, Wilhelm the brave is here.” The girls spun around to see their friend, Wilhelm, the baker’s son bounding toward them. He was easy to spot in a crowd with sun bright skin and a tuft of sandy brown hair. A lopsided grin decorated his face. “I know what we’re going to do today,” he said merrily. Xanith traded sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “What do you have in mind?” they asked in unison. “We’re going on a quest,” he said, his grin growing wider. Chartreuse groaned. “Not again.” “We have mini-quest all over this village.” Xanith made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the expanse of the farm. “There’s nothing interesting around Pleasant Hills.” “That’s because we need to go on a maxi-quest. Somewhere beyond this village, he said. “Maxi-quest. Now you‘re just making up words.” Chartreuse pondered aloud. “Where?” Xanith tapped her fingers against her hips. “To find the onyx sword.” Xanith traded glances with Chartreuse again. “Never heard of it.” “Rumor has it that nobody has ever been able to hold onto the sword for very long.” he said his voice layered in a whisper. “Why?” Chartreuse inquired. “I don‘t know.” Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the right person hasn’t claimed it, like me. “You can buy a sword,” Xanith said. Wilhelm scoffed. “I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.” “Did you know they found another girl, aged and dead,” Chartreuse said in a quiet voice. “So, that’s an upper crust problem,” Wilhelm said. “The victims are usually servant girls,” Chartreuse retorted. Wilhelm softened a bit. “Well, when I get my sword, I’ll slay the killer,” he said feigning a sword fight. Xanith shook her head. “Just yesterday you wanted to get a glimpse of the mysterious Porcelain woman.” “I still do. We have to travel through the Hillshire forest on our way to finding the sword. We can hit two birds with one stone.” “I hear she shuns the sun,” Chartreuse added. “And she’s misanthropic too.” Wilhelm scrunched up his face. “Now you’re making up words.” “Misanthropic means she hates people,” Xanith explained.
Quest Seekers
“It’s happening again.” King Aquarius slammed the Eastern Gazette onto the table.
“What?” Queen Thessily was busy scrutinizing her reflection in the soupspoon. Faint creases formed around her mouth. She frowned.
“They found another girl,” he said. “Shriveled and lifeless.”
The queen made no reply. She continued to gaze at her reflection. She pulled out a gray hair.
“This is a grave matter.” The king’s voice shook with thunder. “People are talking.”
“What are they saying, dear?”
“That someone in this kingdom is committing these gruesome killings.”
Queen Thessily sighed. “It’s probably just crumb on crumb crime. They are poor. They are bored. They kill each other.”
King Aquarius furrowed his peppered brow. “My dear Rena was the first to die that way.” A solitary tear trickled down the bridge of his nose as his thoughts drifted toward his late wife, Queen Rena. She was the mother of Prince Emmon and Princess Trulie and one night as the moon waned over the kingdom, she was in the garden, shriveled and lifeless. “My love,” King Aquarius muttered.
Queen Thessily looked up from her spoon. Before she could speak, a scream split through the castle walls. “Aaaaaaaaaugh.”
Prince Emmon was walking down the portrait-lined corridor when his sister’s shrill voice punctuated his quietude. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about,” he said turning on his heel.
Princess Trulie pointed her finger in the woman’s face. “I want a lilac silk dress for my birthday ball. “Not a lavender dress that’s satin” The seamstress cowered before the pint-size terror.
“Um, what’s the diff?” Prince Emmon said but soon wished he hadn’t. His sister whirled around with fire blazing in her eyes.
“There…is…a…difference.”
“Move child.” Queen Thessily rushed into the room.
Prince Emmon shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away. He briefly exchanged glances with his father as they past each other in the corridor. “I’m going for a ride,” Prince Emmon said.
***
Elsewhere in the kingdom of Lindor in the village of Pleasant Hills, Xanith, rationed out chicken feed to several hens. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded a plump brown and white hen. The hen ruffled her feathers and continued pecking at the ground. Xanith sat on the rickety fence and wiped her brow with a dusty hand. She looked at the cozy farmhouse she shared with adoptive parents, Alma and Winston; they found her abandoned in the woods sixteen summers ago. A merry whistle diverted her attention from the hens. She smiled. Coming down the dirt pathway was Chartreuse, Xanith’s best friend.
Chartreuse was as different from Xanith as the sea was from the sky. She was the daughter of a whitesmith (her father was the only one who polished metal weapons in all the villages in the east). This paid handsomely so Chartreuse often wore clothes that made her appear to be a member of the middle crust (a disappearing class). Today was no exception as she floated down the pathway in a pea green ankle length brocaded dress, complete with a cinched waistline. Loose raven curls framed her ebony cheeks and fell around her shoulders. She was no doubt one of the most resplendent maidens in the village. Xanith on the other side was mostly plain. Dirt often powdered her butterscotch face. She wore her hair plaited and pinned into a bun. She was dressed in an oversized brown tunic, cowhide belt and tan leggings.
“Xan, they found another one.” Chartreuse thrust the Eastern Gazette at Xanith’s chest.
Xanith read the bold face headline: servant girl found outside the palace grounds.
“She was nothing but skin and bones and aged like a hundred times over.” Chartreuse’s eyes were wide as the sky.
Xanith shuddered. “That’s terrible. That’s like the tenth one or so,” she said dusting off her leggings. “They need to catch that mad man.”
“I’m terribly frightened.” Chartreuse ran her fingers through her hair.
“Have no fear, Wilhelm the brave is here.”
The girls spun around to see their friend, Wilhelm, the baker’s son bounding toward them. He was easy to spot in a crowd with sun bright skin and a tuft of sandy brown hair. A lopsided grin decorated his face. “I know what we’re going to do today,” he said merrily.
Xanith traded sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “What do you have in mind?” they asked in unison.
“We’re going on a quest,” he said, his grin growing wider. Chartreuse groaned. “Not again.”
“We have mini-quest all over this village.” Xanith made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the expanse of the farm. “There’s nothing interesting around Pleasant Hills.”
“That’s because we need to go on a maxi-quest. Somewhere beyond this village, he said.
“Maxi-quest. Now you‘re just making up words.” Chartreuse pondered aloud.
“Where?” Xanith tapped her fingers against her hips.
“To find the onyx sword.”
Xanith traded glances with Chartreuse again. “Never heard of it.”
“Rumor has it that nobody has ever been able to hold onto the sword for very long.” he said his voice layered in a whisper.
“Why?” Chartreuse inquired.
“I don‘t know.” Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the right person hasn’t claimed it, like me.
“You can buy a sword,” Xanith said.
Wilhelm scoffed. “I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.”
“Did you know they found another girl, aged and dead,” Chartreuse said in a quiet voice.
“So, that’s an upper crust problem,” Wilhelm said.
“The victims are usually servant girls,” Chartreuse retorted.
Wilhelm softened a bit. “Well, when I get my sword, I’ll slay the killer,” he said feigning a sword fight.
Xanith shook her head. “Just yesterday you wanted to get a glimpse of the mysterious Porcelain woman.”
“I still do. We have to travel through the Hillshire forest on our way to finding the sword. We can hit two birds with one stone.”
“I hear she shuns the sun,” Chartreuse added. “And she’s misanthropic too.”
Wilhelm scrunched up his face. “Now you’re making up words.”
“Misanthropic means she hates people,” Xanith explained.