The woman heaved herself across the bank, dragging limp legs through the mud behind her. She reached the meeting place, thrust her back against the stump and closed her eyes. She panted, her breath slowing as the pain subsided. Clumps of earth matted her white hair. She looked down at rolls of skin hanging slackly off tired muscles, as though they belonged to someone else. I remember when this body was supple and strong, and all eternity lay before me to enjoy it. How quickly eternity passed. She listened for the old man, but only heard the soft rustling of young leaves, brushing together in the breeze. She drew a long breath, savouring the scent of fresh growth and fertile air. She remembered the first time she smelled the forest after rainfall. That Spring, she had fallen in love. Or, as her father put it, she had lost her mind. 

Her mind was returning though. The sobering nearness of death cleared the fog that had obscured these final years. She remembered that in a moment of wild, inspired hope she had planted a seed. Yet, in her confusion, she had neglected to watch it grow. Everything depended upon finding it.

Suddenly, the old man was in front of her.

“I didn’t hear you coming.” She reprimanded. He did not usually move so quietly. Not like the others of his kind who crept around, fearful and cautious of every shadow. She should have heard his footsteps from afar, snapping and thumping through the undergrowth. She would have liked to hear that.

“I’m here, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you, then?”

She shook her head, and the shake became a shiver that rippled across her whole body, as though it were throwing off the title in disgust.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Anything else, old man.”

He remained silent. He stood too still. She looked up and saw that the soft currents of air, which buffeted the thinner branches back and forth, did not disturb a single hair of his beard. A mere apparition. She let out a long, deep groan that morphed into a wail of despair. How had he let this happen?

“He killed me,” admitted the old man, hanging his head in apology, “My apprentice. We fought and he killed me.” He looked away, wiping his eyes as though tears could still fall from them. “I was beastly to him. I can see that now.”

“Then you failed.”

The man nodded.

“Then I failed, too.”

“We failed together.”

He looked at her directly. He never did that before. She wondered where his body was and what was left of it. How long had this memory of a man lingered in the world, waiting for their meeting? On how many new moons had he arrived, only to find that she had forgotten or neglected it again?

The woman closed her eyes, relishing the warm sun on her skin. She would never feel it again, when this was over. Had it all been worth it? Poor man, it’s already over for him. She opened her eyes and looked at him kindlier. She had expected too much. After all, his mind had been rotting just like her own. The trunk spread its sickness to the branches. The old man glanced at the trail that she had dragged across the bank. Then he looked to the undulating, silver lake and back at her.

“Shall I go? What will happen now?” He asked in a trembling whisper. His fear, childlike and innocent, unnerved her. In life he had been a powerful man, and the powerful amongst them were seldom innocent. Death had stripped away his arrogance and rage, exposing a raw and vulnerable heart.

“Go.” She rasped, waving a hand. “But I don’t know what will happen.” Then she added, with a touch of bitterness, “That’s death, isn’t it? None of you know what happens.”

He turned to the lake and walked in. When the still water reached his waist he gasped and paused, as though to turn back and wave goodbye, but continued deeper.

The water arrived at the shining top of his head and closed over it. No bubbles broke the surface. 

The woman was alone.