The Heart of a Queen

I refuse. I always follow le enchanteur's instructions the best I can--but this time I simply refuse. I will not sacrifice one more thing to Bog Queens or to anyone else for that matter. No need to list the litany of things that have been taken from me in the last two years, no need at all. Blackmail, that's all it is pure and simple blackmail, and for what? Creativity? My creativity? It's alive and quite well, thank you!

Breathe, I think, just breathe and stay calm. The whole atmosphere of the pirate ship has me on edge. And bog people. Preserved dead bodies. All well and good in a museum or on a computer screen, but in person, no thanks. I can smell the dankness of the bogs from here. The air is still and the ship becalmed. The longboat's getting ready to leave and I will be on it along with the others, but not for the same reason. Not for tribute and not for blackmail! Not even for a clue to the cave of ancestors.

Guard you bag of precious gifts, we were warned. On the last trip I never even used my "special" gift. Well, truth be told, I was a bit put out when I saw it: a thin tube of le Enchanteur's vanishing cream. Smooth in a dab at the outer edge of each eye, read the instructions. Hinting at crow's feet, I suppose. Or raven's?

Sensing myself no more than a shadow in the night, I board the boat stepping lightly, but frightened eyes stare wildly in my direction as my companions notice the shift of added weight. I want to speak, to tell them I'm not here to harm, but I'm not sure if I can, perhaps silence also comes with invisibility.

The ride is short, the only sounds, the oars slicing through the inky black water and the breathing of those around me. Reaching the wooden dock, we scramble off in a knot, everyone huddling close, no one wishing to meet the bog queen alone. But I know le Enchanteur's ways and it comes as no surprise when I find myself isolated from the others and face to face with the queen.

Immensely tall, she glares at my impudence, then her gaze softens and amusement takes its place. "If you were not trying to deceive me, why come cloaked?" she asks.

"Forgive me, Majesty, I am here simply for the adventure, I have not come to ask for favors. It is an honor just to meet you."

"No favor: that's refreshing. When you have power people always want something and it gets tedious, but le Enchanteur is an old friend." She hesitates and the third eye scrutenizes me. "I can dig more deeply," she says and the threat is implied, "or you could tell me the whole truth."

"Majesty. I only wished to avoid embarrassment. I do not want to lessen the experience of those around me by not participating or by setting a poor example. I have nothing that I can sacrifice, therefore, I ask no favors. I have lost much in the last few months, three who were dear to me, and I cannot offer more." The anger I felt minutes earlier is gone and I stand humbly before the queen.

"A broken heart is sacrifice enough. I am not unaquainted with grief. Go. Return to your ship and your life. Creativity grows with suffering, you know," she says softly, then turns and fades away into the mist of the lonely bog.