Legend
“I can’t believe we’re going to see Queen Elya, dad!”
“Don’t let go of my hand, Anya. And if for any reason you get lost…”
“I know, dad. I won’t panic and I’ll search for one of the guards. I cannot miss them with that uniform they have!”
“Good, good.”
“Is it much longer now, dad?”
“Not much. Do you want to hear the story of how the Queen gained her gilded throne, Anya?”
“Yes! It’s my favourite!”
“Well, Queen Elya (she wasn’t still queen, you know) was in a search for wisdom, as befitted a woman of her station…”
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Elya grabbed the edge and pulled herself up. Had she had two full legs the climb would have been easier, but she had never allowed her discapacity to hinder her before, and she wasn’t going to start now. Moreover, that was her: that was Elya, wooden leg and foot, and in her eyes her world was just like that. It was in the eyes of others that she was different.
She lied on the ground, panting, for a few minutes, then picked her rope and carefully rolled it and fastened it around her shoulder. Only then Elya allowed herself the luxury of looking around.
She sighed. No sign of the temple. Elya was starting to doubt the directions she’d been given. It was perfectly possible the temple wasn’t even there, but her experience told her she was on the right track: she had gained her information from three different sources. Others started absurd treasure hunts with much less.
Elya examined the forest and, recalling her directions, decided on one route. She took off her machete: her training told her that a path had once started there, but it was long gone. As she started hacking the undergrowth, she recalled Master Aeneas the Scout, to whom she’d been given as a slave when her father had died. She had been lucky the man’s inclinations had been different, but still he had made her sweat for every morsel of meat and every drop of water she had ever consumed, always complaining for having a crippled servant.
Elya had observed and learnt. She had always been capable of that: if she saw someone do something once, she could learn it and repeat it perfectly. Master Aeneas was such a fool he had never realized she had that kind of power.
Elya hadn’t waited for him to discover it, either. She had planned and executed her escape on her eleventh birthday (a date the Master had missed), boarding a ship towards freedom. The Albatross, it was.
And now, five years and many adventures later, Elya cut through one final shrub to find herself before a depression where a terraced temple had been built. It was imposing, even now that the jungle had grown back upon its stone pillars. Elya realized suddenly that she was thirsty, and drank some water from her canteen before searching for an entrance.
Two hours and five deactivated traps later, Elya stood before the orb on its pedestal. She knew what she had to do: grab it and run. The orb could be sold for a fortune. Instead, she stared at the golden ball, and it seemed to hum and thrum at her. Slowly, she approached the pedestal and realized the indentations under the orb looked as if they had been carved to place one’s fingers there.
A voice in her head had told her to do it.
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“I love that story, dad, with the riddles and the horses! And the Queen’s golden foot?”
“Ah, that’s another story, Anya.”
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This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: June 5–11, 2017 at the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.
This week I just had this idea, sat down and wrote it. I really should polish the story, as you can see a few rough edges here and there, but for once I decided to leave it as it is.
