Kthaahthikha
One man, a word-processor, and too much free time.
21 July, 2005
The Queen and the Tower
The towers that rise from the ocean off of Tazrig are golden, many-spined and beautiful. They catch the light in curious ways, every spire refracting, every node reflecting, and those who stand upon the shore can only marvel at the display.No one inhabits these towers, for they were old before sapient life, and the creatures that crawl and writhe about the lower roots are warped beyond what nature might attempt. Corals, grey and blue and pink, climb up the towers in stages of changing breadth, and by them the astute observer might chart the rise and fall of oceans across forty million years.
It is in this state that the towers rest, when the ice-queen comes from the palace in the south of the world. Her caravans of dragons and mammoths progress across the plains, and it is with great hardship and many deaths that the jagged peaks are crossed, the ranges left behind as the frigid ocean appears to fore.
The ice-queen takes it upon herself to find the passage forward. With her wand she strikes five times the snow, and an ice-island shatters free. Whales swim from the cool blue depths and giants fix the vast creatures in harness. Northward, the ice-island is drawn, and all about there travels a cloak of winter, to guard against the warmth.
In many weeks the towers rise from the horizon. They stand like gilded sentries at the gates to the tropic world. Ships ply their ways through the straits about them, and cities crouch upon the islands, extending forth their telescopes and universities and catwalks. Dirigibles waft amongst the shining forest, and scholars draw measurements with sextants and astrolabes.
When the first mists drift by, activity ceases. The observers and the nauticals, all ship their oars and watch with curious intent. A cloud bank is swelling upon the south horizon, and at its heart their swells a berg of monumental size. It blossoms into enormity and rests afore the towers, and layers of mist and fog peel back to show the queen upon her silver throne.
She rises, the giantess, and walks forth into the sea. Her calves swim amidst the depths, but still the towers loom above her. It is with slow trepidation that she approaches the foremost.
There comes a shiver. It runs the tower’s height. The scholars gasp but the queen progresses, and with her wand she strikes thrice-fold upon the tower’s wall. It stands in silence, but a second shiver runs through it.
She continues onwards, deeper amidst the towers, she stands at their heart and brings her wand to bear upon a spire. It trembles, but remains.
With fury the ice-queen summons forth a blustering, shredding tempest. It falls upon the towers, and reaches for the heart of one. It rends apart with screams of metal, and the clouds fail to show the forest draped in gleaming snow.
The rent tower gapes wide like open ribs, and from it pours a cold blue light. Slowly drifts a fragment of water, a shimmering, amorphous orb, and it is this that peels apart like a brilliant azure flower.
The ice-queen reaches up, strokes the matter within, and all falls down into burst of pure white light.
When the observers awake, the towers are broken and fallen, and the ice-island has begun to melt. The dragons, swimming through the waves, have found a pearl that sings wordless melodies.
The best part of anonymity is being free of expectations.
Tom Meade, 4:40 pm
