Chapter 24: The Empress of All Vanda

Farmund placed his gear on the ground and went quickly up to Edda who was doing the same. He winced, seeing her once porcelain skin covered in bites and bruises, feeling for the pain that she was going through but so unaccustomed.

“I won’t be gone long,” he said to her hurriedly, knowing Alarik was soon to be ready to move out himself. The old man had been moving faster lately, somehow gaining energy in spite of losing it everyday. It hardly made any sense to him. “Please - don’t go too far, and stick close to Inaya in my absence.”

“Where do you think I’d really go?” she asked, stopping him in his tracks as he went to catch up with Alarik who was already losing his patience.

Farmund wasn’t sure how to take it. It sounded like a joke, but her expression said otherwise. Unsure of what to do, he opened his mouth to speak but found that for a few moments nothing came out. Eventually, he got out two brief words. “I’m sorry,” he said, mouth still open like he wished he could provide further explanation.

“What exactly are you sorry for?” she asked, frowning now. Her arms weren’t crossed. She wasn’t scolding him.

“For… for…” He almost said ‘for not being here to protect you,’ and quickly thought better of it. “I’m sorry, Edda, I am not sure what you want me to say. I just want to urge caution. You know how dangerous this rainforest is. We’ve lost so many already, and it is my sole duty to protect you on this crusade.”

She put a hand on his arm, his corded muscles covered by plate, even if he was just searching for materials for fishing. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see it her way. He had been trained his entire life to see nobles as precious, fragile things that had to be protected by the less valuable. The disposables, the throw-aways, the soldiers and the infantry. It was how he viewed himself. It was without doubt that if he had the opportunity to sacrifice his life for hers, he wouldn’t even so much as see it as a question, but just a standard part of the duties of his role. “Thank you, Farmund,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You’ve done admirably.”

Farmund looked at her, concerned. He didn’t understand in the slightest what this conversation was about. But before he could inquire further, raindrops began to wash away her tears and mix it with the sky’s own. “Farmund!” Alarik yelled at his back. “This very rain is why I demanded we leave now, before we get so bogged down in mud we won’t be able to forage for days! Now let’s get a move on, shall we? You know how these rains can get!”

“Yes, captain!” he called back. Turning back to her, he gave one final parting comment. “It is me who should be thanking you, Edda. You’ve given me purpose.” With that, he jogged off towards his captain, rain pattering on his metal shoulderguards.

Edda sat and stared as he walked off. The rain began to soak her hair against her, making her body cold and sending shivers through her. Inaya had already found shelter beneath the trees, caring not in the slightest for her. She looked out again at the river, watching the droplets come down in waves and disappear into the water. A brief, insignificant splash, and then nothingness.

She carried her gear like the rest of them. She was covered in bites and scratches, her skin marred by the rainforest in much the same way, different patterns of the same style. She went out in the rainforest to hunt, had proven herself capable, and even if she had failed to catch anything…

Her self-doubt set in again. Perhaps she was deluding herself. To them, it could be like giving a child a bow to hunt with their father, and while every arrow comes up short there’s a recognition of the effort. For the child, it’s thrilling, a beginning of new things and the passing of the mantle. For a grown adult such as Edda, it’s demeaning. She’s one for others to pacify and carry along.

The rain poured harder. The river grew stronger. In her pack she could feel the pull of the flask that was within it. Her confidence was shattered, and in that bottle was encouragement. Hope. Resolve.

Danger.

She thought back to the warnings, to the deaths that have already occurred on the crusade, to the tremendous risk. Who was she to delve into such things? Who was she to test the boundaries?

Then, she also thought of the consequences. The life not lived. How would she see herself if given an opportunity such as this and refusing to follow it through to its conclusion strictly out of fear?

A single drop was all she needed. That’s what she was told. Perhaps that would allow her just to consider hatching a plan to get across the river. She had heard that little girls in Vanda would dream to be in her place. Expensive robes, jewels that glittered with gold and beauty, a settled life of glamour and authority. But it was all given, not earned. All she strove for now was to cross that river, and receive a pat on the back from Alarik and a nod from Inaya. From Farmund, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps just… recognition.

All that potential, locked in a flask, concealed in a single drop. Turning her back to the camp, she removed the bottle from her pack amidst the pouring rain and tilted it until it nearly dripped out. She dipped a finger in, wetting the end, and brought it to her mouth.

The feeling was nearly immediate. A rush of belief and self-confidence ran through her veins, feeling the warmth course through her. The negativity in her mind fled in retreat, replaced by surety of purpose and ability. It was a simple river, one that had been crossed countless times before, a kind of task that man had come to think of as trivial, and that is all that stood in her way. She had able bodies at her beck and call, only to realise now that she was the ranking officer of this crusade. She was a duchess, and she did not have to answer to a captain. Whatever she deemed to be the path forward was the one they would have to pave beneath her feet. And today, she meant to pave it herself - not because she had no other means, but because she was here to show that she could.

She turned back to the river with a smile beaming across her face, giving her a look of madness with the rain pouring down on her. It was no longer a daunting, terrible thing but a challenge. A trophy to be conquered, a skull to hang on the wall. The first of her great line of successes.

Yet it moved with such power to seem indomitable. She felt she had the will, but the means seemed out of reach. Doubts flooded back, waging an internal war with the contents of the elixir that was made for her. The flask still remained in her hand. She had to put these ideas out of her mind, had to stop thinking about the condescension towards her from the rest of the party. Another drop seemed so reasonable, so fair. The ones that were dying were ones that had taken so, so much more.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She dipped her finger in again and had just the slightest taste further, just enough to send another rush of confidence surging through her. She felt her flesh tingle with anticipation, the cold of the pounding rain nothing in comparison to the heat of her passion and fearlessness, manifesting itself physically in her into a sort of brimming energy and anticipation urging her towards release.

Another taste would be all it took. She was close now. She would find a way, if only she could believe she was capable. And what was there to stop her? Vague warnings from some miscreant in the rainforest? Who had died to these thus far? Reckless subjects of an empire under her control. She was a duchess, bound to rule, and after they saw what she was capable of, they would all one day call her queen. She gripped the flask tighter now, its contents screaming out to her, demanding their consumption. She held it out in front of her, holding it with both hands at arms length as if it were some great sword and she was a storied warrior.

“I am not some common subject,” she said to herself, voice heard hardly over what was now driving rain. “I am not one to dismiss and be set aside. I am not a coward, nor should I be seen as such. They will all bow to me! I am a queen!”

She tilted her head back and drank half of the contents in a single gulp. Immediately, images coursed through her head of returning to Vanda, head high, like a champion returning from battle. Lines of adoring citizens, praising their leader, showering her in rose petals. It was difficult to dismiss it as a mere possibility. In her head, it felt like a prophecy.

Still half of the bottle remained. There was nothing to stop her from finishing it completely. There was nothing that could stop her. She was to be the queen of Vanda, the leader of the Vanderik Empire. Was she to be afraid of an ounce of liquid? Without a second thought she finished the remaining half.

Suddenly, the grandiose vision felt no longer like a possibility, but a surety. Briefly, she wondered if she could quite literally see the future. Had her blood made her so powerful that she could foresee events before they happened? Was her rise to prominence not so much a path she must follow but a foregone conclusion? By that logic, then, there was nothing that could prevent her from reaching it. The future had been preordained.

She was a conquering goddess. The world would bow at her feet.

She looked back at the water, seemingly small and insignificant, a paltry task on the path to total dominance. Where once stood a roaring, powerful river was now a quiet creek.

Perhaps the rest of the crusade was worried for their own reasons. They were what was holding her back. Inaya’s jealousy of her station was why she did not show the proper respect. She would call her to heel soon enough, or see her people crushed beneath her armies. Farmund, with all his heavy armour protecting himself from the threats that did not exist, was likely afraid he would drown under his own weight. Alarik, the old fool, lacked the courage and conviction, too plagued by the losses of his failed campaigns to cross it on his own.

Only she could do it. Only she had fearlessness. The courage. The conviction. She was the sun and the moon and the earth itself. Gone was mortality. She had ascended.

Head held high and arms out wide to welcome the rain, she walked towards the river alone. She felt Inaya’s eyes on her as she left the camp.

“Edda, what are you doing? Get back out of the rain and under the trees. If you’re not soaked already you’ll- Edda?” Inaya stood up and yelled louder, wondering if she couldn’t be heard over the rain. “Edda! You fool, get back here!”

The duchess of Vanda kept moving forward, arms still out, smiling from ear to ear. She held her palms up, bringing the rain upon her like she would walk through the crowds of her citizens levelling praise at her feet. Each raindrop was a piece of her glowing reputation. She welcomed it. She wanted it. She deserved it.

“Edda, if this is some point you’re making, I’m having none of it!” Inaya yelled at her back.

She didn’t care. There could be an army at her back soon, not this rabble. The water was near her feet now, and it thrashed and roared in anger, the depths of the river unknown to her. But of course, Edda cared not in the slightest. She was indomitable. The rain had turned to a torrent now, and it blew her hair behind her like some mythical hero of times past, the elements themselves rising up to challenge her but finding itself wanting.

It would all be hers in time. This river was just the beginning, and when that die was cast and she stepped out of the shadows not as a servant but a leader, the world would see for who she truly was.

Edda could wait no longer. She removed her footwear. Placing her toes in the water first, she felt the rush, the power of the water sending a charge through her body. The banks of the river were the precipice of fate itself.

Taking another step in, she heard Inaya’s voice behind her, jealous and threatening, warning her she’d drown, or was a fool, or some other such nonsense. It was beneath her station to listen to some Khorsuli thief. It was always the efforts of the weak to reduce the achievements of the strong. Edda didn’t even so much as turn her head to see her.

The water rushed up to her knees, yet she was only just beginning to enter the river. For most, it would seem impossible, but to her the challenge ahead and its difficulty only spurred her on further. No great achievement had ever been recognized through the completion of an easy task.

Her muscles tightened in the cold of the water that ran at the height of her thighs and cascaded down upon her from the stars. Inaya’s voice grew distant, either having abandoned her attempt to slow her or having simply walked away. It was irrelevant to her. All that mattered was the crossing.

Another voice now. Strong and masculine, but full of panic and fear. It could only be one. Farmund had arrived upon the beach. She was glad for it. It was his duty to follow her, and he would watch her ascend from docile lamb to powerful lioness. She heard him call, desperately, afraid for her. Edda could only smile as the water crashed against the side of her head, the depth up to her chest now. It threatened to take her. She would need to swim, lest they try to drag her back and stop her rise.

A second voice. The captain’s. The old fool was calling for her return as well, but shortly after, something else. He was yelling at Farmund, and they seemed to be in an argument. Over her, likely, but for what, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. Peasant troubles matter little to nobility, let alone a goddess.

Splashing. One of them had jumped in. Judging from the noise it made, it would have had to have been Farmund, coming to “save” her from her destiny. Oh, sweet Farmund. Couldn’t the man just let her free, even if for but a moment? She gave one final look back, a reassuring smile.

Edda dove into the water. The time for her rise to prominence was now.

The current took her. Dragging her rapidly back and forth, she was pulled below the waterline before she was dashed upon the rocks, her head landing heavily and knocking her unconscious. Her body would drift along the river until it slowed, depositing her along the beach some distance away, along the other side of the river.

She had made it across as she knew she could, the brave conqueror of the river.