Sword of Tilk Book One: Worlds Apart

By Pen

A family-oriented modern-day fairy tale to inspire imagination for any age

Barbara Neely isn't much more than a doormat. All she wants to do is provide a good life for her science-whiz daughter, Heather.

Until one day she awakens in the Realm of Tilk. She must take her place as Queen and wield the cursed golden Sword of Tilk to vanquish the kingdom's enemy, Balfourant.

When Balfourant captures Heather, Barbara must face her own demons and become the woman she is truly meant to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen
• Release date: Jul 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310689543

Pen

Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

Book preview

Prologue

The thunderous hooves of the muscular black steed echoed the thunder in the sky overhead.

Galindore sensed the urgency of the rider on his back: the way the fingers clutched his mane, legs taut around his ribs, the way the rider leaned close over his neck all conveyed the desperate need for speed.

The wind parted around both rider and horse as the water of the sea parts for a great ship, washing over them as they sped through the growing storm along the parched land. The long black braid of the rider whipped behind her as Galindore’s mane whipped behind him, testimony to their flight.

She leaned closer to Galindore’s neck, regretting the need to push him so, yet knowing time was of the essence.

A clap of thunder - louder, closer than before - forced her to lean even closer over Galindore’s sturdy neck. The following flash of lightning illuminated the rough, parched terrain surrounding them, silhouetting the mountains in the distance, their barren peaks gleaming like pearls in the luminescence.

She was breathing as heavily as Galindore. The tension in her muscles, the leather pants and leather vest covered with a vest of chain mail: she could not imagine the strain upon the horse beyond the strain upon the rider.

To add to the weight, the gold Sword of Tilk residing safely in the sheath at her side was a reminder of all that could be lost.

And all that could be gained.

As thunderheads roiled behind them - fat and heavy with the promise of rain - she found it ever more difficult to imagine that in the not-so-distant past her biggest worries had been data reports, paying the mortgage and keeping the lights on.

How foreign those notions now were.

As the dark clouds above them burst forth to release their deluge of torrential rain, she realized one irrefutable truth: she could not outrun this storm.

Chapter 1

Barbara Neely grabbed her purse and keys. If she hurried, she could make it to the Science Fair.

She almost escaped.

Barb? The voice of Anthony Di Silva made her blood run cold. Did you print that report?

She really hated it when he called her Barb. I can print it out Monday morning! she called out over her shoulder.

Barb! The sharpness of Tony’s voice bit into her.

She turned to face him but kept backing toward the door as she spoke. Tony, it takes an hour to compile all the data and another half hour to print it. I’m already running late. I’ll come in early -

But Tony was already shaking his shiny bald head. Doing it on Monday morning will not give an accurate report for today’s data. And it’ll screw up Monday’s data. He leveled her with a cold glare. You know how Simpson hates that.

Oh, she knew how Simpson hated that, all right. But she knew Di Silva hated it even more because it made him look bad.

Barb stopped backing away and glared at Tony.

He was a company man, Tony Di Silva. He had the over-the-belt paunch to prove he’d spent most of his life behind a desk. As far as anyone knew he’d never had hair. In addition to making his dark oblong face appear even longer, his pate shone like a new penny. The fluorescent lights above him were actually reflected in the top of his shiny head. His attempt to grow a scruff beard and mustache was comical.

Not really much of a visionary, Tony’s tunnel vision allowed room for only two things: the bottom line and keeping employees in line.

But Barbara had to try.

I have to make it to my daughter’s Science Fair. She could win a scholarship -

If you leave tonight, Tony’s voice overlapped hers, without printing that report, don’t bother coming in on Monday. He hesitated. Or any day after that, either.

For all of a moment, Barbara considered doing just that. She’d been intending to find another job for several months she just couldn’t seem to find the time to do it.

A quick computation of the mortgage, electric and phone bills, car payment, insurance and food for herself and her daughter left her with a deep sense of impotency. Contempt welled up within her as she glared at Tony; anguish bubbled up within her threatening to break the surface. Frustration at being unable to do anything about the situation lodged within her throat, forcing her eyes to well with tears.

But Barbara swallowed those tears, pushed the anger deep within herself and wordlessly returned to her office. Damned if she would let Di Silva make her cry. She marched into a cramped little office with hardly room for more than the desk, filing cabinet and chair occupying the room. Barbara was often grateful to have an office with a door. So many other people were resigned to using open-ended cubicles; the veritable ‘cubicle farm’ popular with corporations affording employees as little privacy as possible.

This was one of those times she was grateful for the office space as she jerked open a drawer of her desk, tossed her purse into it and slammed it shut again. She jerked her chair from the desk, sat in it and turned on her computer.

She was near tears again. The unfairness of it all kept grating on her, especially when she considered how easy it was for employers to fire employees with little or no justification at all.

Not for the first time she wished Aaron was still alive.

I thought you had a science fair to get to, Babsie? a voice said from the doorway.

Barbara looked up and, despite her misery, smiled. Not according to Tony Di Silva. In spite of her smile her tone was acerbic. But she couldn’t stop smiling.

It was Friday and Kelsie wore her standard camouflage pants and a green USMC t-shirt complimented by ankle-high brown leather lace-up high-heel boots. She was a sprite of a woman; skin the color of cocoa and dark eyes that reflected her infectious smile. People often mistook Kelsie for a pushover because of her diminutive stature. But it didn’t take anyone long to discover that Kelsie was a tough little woman, often referring to herself as a black woman with attitude.

And she had her attitude with her.

Oh, that man! she spat, her face laced with disgust. Did he catch you on your way out?

Yes, Barbara said miserably. I was almost out the door.

Kelsie glanced up and down the corridor outside Barbara’s office then took a step inside. She lowered her voice for good measure. You know, I could put sugar in the gas tank of that Porsche of his.

Kel, no, Barbara warned, though there was laughter in her voice.

Maybe slash his tires.

Kelsie. More laughter.

I could get his secretary to put salt in his coffee. You do realize that bald head of his comes up on satellite, right?

Barbara couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud.

Oh, yeah, Kelsie continued. The Iranians or the North Koreans or somebody got a nuke pointed straight at that black bald head of his.

Barbara’s face was red from suppressing laughter. Stop! You’re going to give me an aneurysm.

One of these days, Kelsie was obviously on a roll, I’m gonna replace his Pledge or whatever he uses to shine that bowling ball with some black shoe polish.

Then we wouldn’t be able to see him! Barbara’s voice shook with laughter.

That’s the point!

Barbara laughed out loud. Stop! Stop! Kelsie was like that. Not that she would ever actually do any of those things she’d said but she could make Barbara laugh even when she was at her lowest.

Kelsie sighed. I wish you were still out here with us.

She was referring to the cubicle farm itself. Barbara’s first job at Hamilton Mutual Life Insurance Company was processing life insurance applications. Almost from the moment Kelsie was placed in the cubicle next to Barbara, they had hit it off.

When Barbara was offered a small promotion she accepted it, hoping it would mean more money, only to realize afterward it was a twelve cents an hour raise – were they serious? – and an office not much bigger than a broom closet with no windows.

Still she and Kelsie maintained the connection forged when they met, not allowing corporate policy or protocol to dictate their actions.

If they would let you teach me how to do those reports you could be gone by now, Kelsie said.

Oh, no, Barbara said, her voice thick with sarcasm. That would be too much like right.

One day, Kelsie said, that man is gonna get what’s coming to him.

Yeah, well, in the meantime I have a mortgage due, Barbara lamented.

Yeah and a beautiful little girl who’s growing up. Kelsie picked up a framed photograph from Barbara’s desk and gazed at it. It was a photo of Barbara and Heather, their faces side by side.

Please, Barbara moaned. I feel bad enough already.

I’m sorry. Kelsie replaced the photograph. It’s not your fault. It’s the way this world works.

I know, Barbara sighed. Have you ever wished you could be somebody else, someplace else?

Once a day, every day, all day long, Kelsie sang the words to an old country song. Why do you think I listen to all those audiobooks while I work?

Barbara sighed again. I miss being able to do that.

You can’t do that in this fancy office of yours? Kelsie teased.

Barbara laughed and nodded at the phone on her desk: another small perk of the promotion. That thing rings almost non-stop.

Well, at least you’re allowed a phone, Kelsie said.

Barbara chuffed. Not like I can make any personal calls on it.

Kelsie shrugged. Maybe one of us will win the lottery this weekend.

Barbara laughed. What are the odds?

Hey, it’s nice to dream. Kelsie grinned. We’d be sitting on the back deck of your mansion overlooking the lake –

- sipping margaritas –

- watching the pool boy clean the pool. Kelsie hesitated. Of course, one of us has to buy a ticket first.

Barbara sighed, a weary sigh that weighed on her shoulders. I swear, Kelsie, one of these days I’m just not going to bother showing up here anymore.

***

Heather Neely waited in the wings, peering around the edge of the curtain from time to time. She was careful not to let her chubby little frame show lest some of her classmates in the school cafeteria make fun of her.

She wasn’t here yet.

But Heather knew she wouldn’t be.

It wasn’t the first promise her mother had broken. Chances were it wouldn’t be the last.

Heather released a heart-wrenching sigh. This time was different.

Heather had an opportunity to win a scholarship to Summer Science Camp. She’d only wanted to go ever since second grade. And though her mother longed to send Heather to camp because it was something Heather wanted to do, the answer was always the same: no money in the budget.

Oh, if only -

But one thing Heather’s mother insisted upon was not dwelling on the past.

But that didn’t stop Heather from wishing things could be different. It didn’t stop her from wishing her father were still alive.

Or even if they had more family. Neither of her parents had siblings and Heather was an only child. If she had an aunt or two, or uncles or cousins her support network would extend beyond just her mother and Jean.

But it was just the three of them: us against the world as Heather sometimes thought of it. And sometimes it just didn’t feel like enough. They needed a bigger army to combat the challenges and disappointments thrust upon them on a daily basis.

Okay, she needed a bigger army for those challenges.

Heather sighed. Her mother couldn’t quit her job. Or afford to get fired.

They wouldn’t survive without the income. Heather understood that. But she did wish her mother would stand up to her boss, just once. She also understood that anyone who did that these days was accused of insubordination, a firing offense. Still it would be nice if her mother had a little more of a backbone.

She quietly chastised herself for thinking such a thing about her mother. After all, the woman did what she had to do to make sure they had what they needed, food and shelter being the foremost of those necessities. She should be grateful for that.

But she’d be much more grateful if her mother could keep her word on occasion.

She peered around the edge of the curtain again. Jean was there. She smiled when she saw Heather. Heather allowed the curtain to fall back into place so Jean wouldn’t see the sad smile on her face.

Besides, they’d just announced the third place winner for the science fair: Holden Buckley for his waste recycling project – ugh! what a disgusting topic – and Heather didn’t want anyone to spot her peering through the curtain.

There was loud clapping and some cheering too: Holden had a number of brothers and sisters and his parents were there as well.

Heather held up her head and held her breath. Maybe she would get second place again this year. It wasn’t good enough to get to Summer Science Camp but it was fifty bucks in cash. Maybe her mother would let her get that Bunsen burner she wanted for her lab.

But second place went to Trevor McNamara, a computer whiz who’d built an extensively networked computer system, which operated an entire house, including starting the family car in the garage, all from the comfort of the family television set. The information could then be transferred from the chip in the TV to any handheld device.

That took second? Heather thought. Personally, she had considered it a brilliant concept and could see where something like that would be implemented in the near future. She’d felt certain Trevor would take first place.

The announcement discouraged any hope she had of taking first place.

After all, her project had merely been –

First place goes to Heather Neely for her display of converting solar power to energy! the announcement boomed over the auditorium.

Heather didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure she’d heard correctly.

Go on, Heather, Mrs. Branscombe said. She was the teacher in charge of keeping the kids backstage under control. Go get your blue ribbon.

Heather looked up at her and brightened. She really had taken first place! She tentatively stepped from behind the curtain. The announcer, Principal Wainscot, waved her to the center of the stage.

The applause was polite – no cheering section – but Jean was standing.

Heather couldn’t help but beam as Principal Wainscot handed her a blue ribbon and said, You’ll be going to Summer Science Camp this year!

The applause increased in volume with that announcement.

Heather was all lit up inside as she turned to face the audience. Jean stood, applauding for all she was worth, her face elated with pride as she beamed back at Heather from the fifth row of chairs.

Heather could see Jean standing there. And she was happy to see her.

But her heart saw only the empty chair beside Jean.

Chapter 2

She paced. Not that there was enough room to do a proper job of it. But she had to do something to work off this pent-up energy.

It also helped keep her warm if she kept moving. The thin blanket on the cot certainly wasn’t warm enough. Castle walls did little to keep the chill of the early autumn air at bay. Those walls offered even less protection in a cell with an uncovered window.

Her pantaloons whisked about her legs as she paced. The tunic beneath her long-sleeved cotton shirt did little to guard against the cold. The leather vest over which she also wore a vest of chain mail wasn’t much help either. Her coat had been taken at her capture.

Nervous, Your Majesty?

She spun to face the bars of her cell.

Balfourant stood just outside her cell. The fire from the torch in his hand illuminated his face. His wide armor-clad shoulders hid well the muscles beneath: she knew they were there because she’d felt their wrath on more than one occasion. A stocky sort of man, he was nonetheless handsome with his oval face, well-trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes would have been beautiful had it not been for the glint of malice within them. Evil lurked there like black rocks in pools of blue.

She crossed her arms over her mid-section and shrugged. What have I to be nervous about?

He chuckled at her bravado, the mirthless sound echoing off the stone walls of her prison. The end of the Realm of Tilk is at hand. I would imagine that would be enough to unnerve you.

She looked at him, raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Did you not hear what I said? he demanded. Did you not grasp its meaning?

Oh, she said and held her hands up mockingly. I understood every word.

Balfourant didn’t like this. She was too nonchalant, too cocky. Especially for a Queen. He had not been able to intimidate her, regardless of how he threatened her. She was more warrior than royalty.

Balfourant approached her prison bars. Tell me what I want to know.

And what is that? she asked smugly.

His voice became low and guttural. Do not toy with me, Tiernan.

But it’s so much fun, Tiernan said, managing to inflect her words with sarcasm and disdain.

I will break you, he hissed.

You haven’t yet.

She was still defiant. Despite everything he had thrown at her she was still defiant.

She was strong.

But he was stronger.

And he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Your allegiance is to a dying Realm, he said through the bars of her cell.

She walked to the bars, her dark eyes flashing, until she stood before him, her face inches from his. My allegiance is to my heritage, she hissed.

He looked at her, his eyes cold and without mercy. It is an allegiance you will die for.

She grabbed two of the cell bars and placed her face in the space between. Better to die for an allegiance than to live without a conscience.

In a flash, Balfourant’s hand lifted and the palm of his hand struck her mouth. It pushed her lips against her teeth and sent her reeling back against the floor. Her head struck stone and she lay dazed, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.

Balfourant opened the cell door, closing it behind him as he entered. He stood above her for a moment as she attempted to stop her head from spinning.

Then he reached down, grabbed the lapels of her vest and lifted her to her feet.

Though her eyes were still unfocused, she managed to look at him.

You will give me what I want, he growled, his face inches from hers.

Even though she knew it was not a good idea, she spat her blood into his face.

His fury was unmatched as he fisted his hand and struck her across the cheek, letting her go and allowing her to fall to the floor. Even as she fell, he lifted his boot and kicked her ribs.

She cried out and turned onto her side, wrapping her arms around her mid-section for protection. She lay gasping for breath as Balfourant stood over her.

For that, he hissed, you will pay.

***

She regained consciousness slowly, without opening her eyes. She was back in her cell, face down upon the cot.

Her clothing had been removed save for the cotton tunic she wore beneath the vest. It stuck to her back and she could feel where it was still moist in places from her blood.

She ached all over because Balfourant was nothing if not thorough.

Her muscles throbbed with each beat of her pulse. Her jaws ached where she had clamped them shut, refusing to give Balfourant the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

None of her physical pain matched the agony she endured over the most beastly aspect of the torture.

Betrayal.

Not betrayal inflicted upon her but by her.

Balfourant’s mind-sweep had paralyzed her, leaving her incapable of so much as fluttering an eyelash. Despite what others had told her about the experience, she was unprepared for its invasiveness.

Balfourant’s probing created a physical pressure upon the brain: a sensation akin to goose bumps skittering across flesh, though she knew this was not possible.

He left no door unopened, investigating any and all of her thoughts and memories he could possibly access.

Except for the trap doors he could not find. Trap doors that hid the secrets of the items he longed to possess. Trap doors within her mind installed by other protectors of these secrets whose interest in protecting them was as strong as her own.

Ah, but there had been other secrets to which he had been privileged; secrets no one had deemed important enough to hide for these secrets had been buried for so long and so deeply she had been confident they no longer even existed.

Regrettably, she had been wrong.

Once Balfourant had completed his sweep of her mind, had accessed all save for the information he sought, he had released her. Exhaustion had forced her body to go limp and a sleep as deep as death had entered her body.

Now awake, she didn’t need to open her eyes to sense that he was near, standing over her beside the cot. She did not need her eyes open to know there was a smug look of satisfaction upon his face. For though he could not access the information in her mind that would tell him where the Sword of Tilk was hidden - along with other things - he had gleaned other important information that he could use against her.

She sensed Balfourant bend down close to her ear. She braced herself to give no reaction to whatever he chose to say.

But the words he uttered were two words she had most hoped to not hear: two words that sealed her betrayal with the finality of a slamming cell door:

Twin ssssssssister, Balfourant hissed.

Her involuntary quick intake of breath was proof of the pain those two words inflicted. It felt like a dagger would feel were it to pierce her heart.

She was utterly defenseless; unable to move even a finger in any lame, valiant though it may be, attempt to do Balfourant any harm.

He laughed maliciously in her ear even as he stood over her again.

Yes, he said his voice icy and sharp. Your twin sister. I had almost forgotten about her. Where did she go? What happened to her? He wasn’t expecting an answer from her and in that respect he wasn’t disappointed. It was enough that he now had something else with which to torment her. I may no longer have use for you Tiernan.

Tiernan held her breath a moment. Would his dagger bring her suffering to an end?

She breathed again when she heard him open and close the cell door.

Or, he said slowly, perhaps I will.

She listened as his footsteps receded down the corridor away from her cell door. Only then did she allow tears to slide from beneath her closed eyelids.

Forgive me, Kiernan, she whispered. Please forgive me.

Chapter 3

Barbara stepped into the foyer, hanging her keys on the peg inside the door. She allowed her purse to slide from her shoulder and drop onto the small foyer table.

Her heart was heavy with guilt. She dreaded facing her daughter to explain and apologize for missing yet another important event in her life.

Seeing the disappointment in her daughter’s eyes was like a knife in her heart.

Barbara walked into the living room. Jean? she said quietly.

An elderly woman on the sofa turned and looked at Barbara in surprise.

Oh! Barbara! I didn’t hear you come in! Jean quickly switched off the television and stood.

Jean Derryman was the epitome of everyone’s grandmother. Short and round, silver hair framing a cherubic face with the requisite double chin, blue eyes sparkling with merriment behind thick glasses, she was the picture of jocularity. With her green sweatpants and sweatshirt covered with an apron she lacked only a platter of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to complete the image.

Where is she? Barbara asked.

She’s already gone to bed, Barbara.

Barbara felt both relief and disappointment. Heather rarely went to bed without at least their saying good night to one another. But, for tonight, she would not have to see the look of disappointment in her daughter’s eyes.

Jean walked around the sofa and placed a gentle hand upon Barbara’s arm. She won the scholarship, Barbara.

Barbara’s face first registered elation, then torment. She moaned. God, I so wanted to be there.

I know you did, Jean said softly. She gently squeezed Barbara’s arm. She understands, Barbara. Better than you know.

You can understand something, Jean, Barbara said. But that doesn’t make it any less painful.

I know, Jean said quietly. Things will be better someday. Different. Maybe sooner than you think, Jean thought.

Barbara shook her head. Not unless I can find a better job.

Don’t you worry. You’ll see. Jean patted Barbara’s shoulder. Did that Tony give you a hard time again?

Oh, yeah, Barbara said, as she turned to go into the kitchen. Same old song and dance. She mimicked her boss’s voice and said, If you don’t stay and do this don’t bother coming back. Barbara shook her head. I swear someday I’m gonna take him up on it.

Barbara stopped at the kitchen table. Upon it sat Heather’s science project, a blue ribbon affixed to one of the panels. Harnessing Solar Power was stenciled across all three panels depicting the process by which solar power was converted into electricity. The display included a contraption that could be used to convert an entire home to solar power inexpensively with some components that could already be found in most homes.

Barbara reached out and touched the blue ribbon, a sad smile on her face. What truly amazed her was how her daughter actually understood how things worked, not just the process of converting solar power into electricity but processes of all kinds. Barbara herself only understood that you turned things on and either they worked or they didn’t.

She’ll be able to go to Summer Science Camp this year, Jean said.

She must have been so excited, Barbara said.

Oh, you should have seen the look on her face when they called her name, Jean said, regretting the words even as she spoke them.

Barbara burst into tears. I’m missing out on so much! So much of her life, Jean! she cried as she covered her face with her hands.

Oh, honey, Jean cooed as she surrounded the slender woman with her ample arms. She allowed Barbara to vent her tears for a few moments before saying, You’re doing the best you can. Heather knows how much you love her. I know she’s disappointed because you can’t spend more time with her. But she understands you’re providing for the two of you.

I know, Barbara said between sobs and gulps of air. But why do I have to sacrifice so much to do that?

Oh, honey, Jean said again. It’s the way this world works, I’m afraid.

***

Heather lay on her side with her back to the door and forced herself to breathe deeply.

The door to her room squeaked. It was barely audible but after so many years in that same room, Heather could hear that squeak in a thunderstorm.

Though part of her wanted to leap from the bed and grab her mother in a fierce hug, another part of her - the bigger part - wallowed in disappointment.

On a deep level, Heather understood. After all, she was almost ten years old and a science prodigy. It was time for her to grow up and begin taking part in the adult world and part of that meant to understand adult problems.

But she was still only ten years old – well, nine and a half - still a child by most adults’ definition and she felt hurt when her mother broke a promise.

Even if her mother had no choice in the matter.

Honey? Are you asleep? Barbara asked softly.

Heather concentrated on keeping her breathing normal.

She sensed her mother walk to the bed and stand next to it. She didn’t say anything, just stood there gazing down at her sleeping daughter.

I am so lucky, Barbara finally whispered. I have one of the smartest, most beautiful daughters in the world.

Heather felt a lump form in her throat but she managed to keep her breathing regular.

I am so sorry, Barbara whispered. I’d give anything if I could spend all the time in the world with you. I just hope you know how much I love you.

That always did her in. She wanted so much to wrap her arms around her mother’s neck and cry through her tears, I love you, too, Mom! But there was no breaking this charade at this point. So she kept her breathing regular, even as Barbara bent over and lightly kissed Heather’s cheek.

As Barbara quietly closed the door to her daughter’s room, Heather whispered, I love you, too, Mom.

***

Jean could see with eyes closed.

As she lay in her bed, nestled beneath a soft blanket, completely relaxed, eyes closed, the very essence of her was tearing away. Not in the sense that it was a violent tearing, but more of a peaceful surrender of her spirit. Had anyone been there to bear witness, she or he would have seen a very wispy cloud of what might have been construed as smoke. More substantial than smoke, though, was this cloud. This cloud bore Jean’s spirit and it bore her spirit far away from the bedroom where she lay sleeping just down the hallway from Barbara and Heather.

As her spirit coasted far above the earth, Jean could see patches of the ground and watched, fascinated as always, as city lights and urban homes gave way to thick, lush forests, thatched huts and the glowing beacons of lantern-light.

Before long, she found herself where she wanted to be.

She could see her, lying on the cot, her tunic more red than white from the blood she had lost. She was as pale as watered-down milk and probably as weak.

Even though she thought she had prepared herself for the sight, Jean still gasped at the vision of Tiernan before her eyes.

Her body had deteriorated so rapidly. So many cuts and bruises scored her arms, chest, face and other places Jean could not see. Her left eye was swollen shut, surrounded by a black and purple bruise. A thin line of dried blood trickled from her nose as did another line from the corner of her mouth. And she was thin. So thin.

And she was mind-weary. Balfourant’s almost constant attempts to find and unlock those secrets she kept hidden were taking their toll. She hardly knew where she was or recognized the time of day, even as the rising sun slanted through the bars of the window set high into the stone wall.

Your Majesty? Jean whispered.

Tiernan’s eyes opened. My old friend, she breathed her own words barely above a whisper. I’m so glad you’ve come. Tiernan coughed, blood splattering from her mouth onto her tunic.

It pained Jean to see her this way, but there was nothing she could do.

They were worlds apart, separated by a distance too great to be traversed by conventional means. Jean’s spirit had no physical impact in this place. Even if she were to place a hand on Tiernan’s forehead the contact would have no substance: neither woman would feel the touch.

The secrets? Jean asked tentatively.

Are still secrets, Tiernan said. She issued a small laugh. It’s funny. Don’t you think it’s funny?

What?

The reason the secrets are still secret is because they are secrets even from me.

Oh, Your Majesty, Jean said, her voice filled with sorrow. You sound delirious. What can I do?

There is nothing you can do, my friend. Tiernan coughed again, more blood splattered. I am delirious in body only. My spirit is still clear.

Jean looked fondly at the form on the cot. How small she looked. How thin she had become. How willing she was to protect the homeland she loved so much.

Is it time, Your Majesty?

No, Tiernan answered. I want her to be safe for as long as possible.

Jean swallowed hard. Is there nothing that can be done to save you?

There was silence for a moment. Then, quietly, Tiernan said, No. But there was never anything that could save me. This has always been my fate.

Jean’s spirit could not speak for several moments. Will she ever know what you sacrificed for her?

Yes, Tiernan said sadly. I am afraid that she will.

Your Majesty -

"No, dear one. The events that brought us to where we are were put into motion long ago and cannot be changed, regardless of how much we may desire to change them.

Do not fear for me. Every blow struck to my physical body only strengthens my spirit. And my spirit will need to be strong for those I leave behind.

Oh, Your Majesty, Jean whispered.

Rest, Jean, Tiernan whispered. Rest so that you may be there when you are needed most. Tiernan’s voice trailed off and she slept.

Jean’s spirit flew back over the landscape, returning to her form in her bed. She opened her eyes, her cheeks wet with tears as was the pillow beneath her head. Her heart ached for the one who lay suffering so far away as well as for the one who lay sleeping just a few doors down.

Chapter 4

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was so small. A little over two feet tall, her short curly hair as black as night, eyes almost as dark, wide and alert. When she placed her hand upon her cheek, the reflection in the mirror did the same. When she sucked in her cheeks and formed her mouth into what she called fish lips - sucking in her cheeks and pouting out her lips - the reflection did the same.

She giggled.

So did the reflection.

There was nothing odd about her reflection in the mirror.

The oddity lay in the rest of the reflection.

She looked at her room behind her. Her canopy bed with its pink comforter and canopy, piled with stuffed animals atop the pillows. A little vanity was on the other side of the bed where she played dress-up with Jean sometimes. Beside the vanity stood bookshelves, overflowing with the works of Dr. Seuss, fairy tales such as Snow White, Rumplestiltskin, Pinocchio and the like, and other suitable books. A dollhouse in the corner lent hours of make-believe.

When she gazed back at the mirror, none of that was there.

Behind the reflection in the mirror she saw a room with only the fire from the fireplace to light it. She could see the floor and walls were made of stone and this was all she could see of that room on the other side of the mirror.

Her floor