The glass crown

Hymn of hunger

The king looked out of his window onto the streets below. The people there moved slowly, as if the fog kept them from any motion. Or emotion - the hazy grey masses down there were like the fog, indifferent. The people, what about them, the king thought, and turned his back on them as they had done on him - he being unable to feed his folk.
Altheizar had always been that way in autumn, when the mists rose up from the Strauma, mixing in with the smoke and smell of the city, the cloudships that sailed in from a cold Salamandran and washed upon the shore of the Heizar Hills. And Vindels cold breath whispered from the north, carrying the promise of snow and ice.
The king frowned and shivered. It was cold in the palace, and cold in his heart. The long hallways, the chambers and rooms, all so empty and quiet, covered in the silence the fog brought into this Overveer monument. His footsteps on the stones ticked away time as he moved up and down the corridor, impatient, jumping up and down his own thoughts, entangled in untouchable dreams.
He passed the mirror every now and then. Sometimes, he glanced at his own face, never looked himself in the eyes. He did not know what to think of himself. Too old to live, to young to die, he sometimes said. But that was not the reason he did not dare to see in his own eyes.
Or face the portraits on the walls, his ancestors looking down on him, wondering what he was up to. Or wondering what they were up to - they, the indifferent masses on the streets. Shabby dressed citizens, hungry peasants, the poor and the pissed off - a revolution was close by.

How could it happen that Overveer was so destructed, so drowned in despair? The wars were won, they had their own sovereign state, the enemy from across the Kristal River was defeated. The richness of the arable lands, what happened to it? Wheats and cattle seemed to disappear in the smooth curved hills, fade away with time. Hunger crawled the hamlets, and Molik, God of Dead, knocked upon the doors of the farmers, preying in the weak and the ill.
Like rats the peasants left the lands and flowed, fled into the city, to warm themselves in the arms of cheap wine and paying customers. And more often than not, they screamed for help under the balconies of the palace. A chant that did not leave the ears of the king, an ever repeating rhyme amplified by empty stomachs, accompanied by the crying of dying babies. The chorus of death.

The king sighed as he heard someone behind him. He turned and saw the walking skeleton of the librarian. The man bowed for his king. Then looked up, worried. Questions in his eyes he did not dare to ask his king.
"Your majesty?" the librarian said as the silence seemed to freeze all conversation.
"Yes, master Varsin, what was so important to leave the library?" the king said to his librarian. He liked the tall man, who was shrouded in a much too large frock and had the wisdom of the owls in his eyes - large yellow eyes, knowing almost everything what was going on. It scared the king sometimes.
Nervously, the yellow eyes crossed past the corridor.
"Your majesty," the librarian repeated, "Have you heard of the glass crown?"
"No I haven't," the king said after some thinking. "What about it?"
"There are these ancient books, written a long long time ago, from before the wars, from the times that Sudzi travelled Overveer and had their, well, kind of court here. They had a king in those days, a wise man. He had a queen, who had a glass crown. As long as the glass crown was carried by the queen, the land would be prosperous and happy."
The librarian bowed to end his sentences.
The king thought about it. He could need a glass crown. And a queen to carry it. He traced the faces of the former kings and queens, hanging dusty in the dimly lit corridor. Nowhere a glass crown, and all of them died unhappy.
"Did the book say where the glass crown can be found, Varsin?" the king informed.
"No, your majesty, not exactly. But there are only few places where it can be found. In the crypt under the palace, or in the treasury, most likely. Maybe in Ildritz. I could look for it if you want me to. I keep the records of those rooms in my library, and some others could track it in Ildritz if it is there."
The king nodded. "Very well. Make it so."

Not much later, all of Overveer knew the king was looking for a queen to carry a glass crown and a glass crown for the queen to carry. Once beautiful maidens lined up at the palace door, all wanting to please the king as his queen and to taste the food in the palace that lacked in the towns.
Some starved on the stairs to the palace. Others where so thin they slipped through doors even cats could not enter.
And the king looked down on them from his window. Pity he felt, but not the feelings that could make him a husband to any of them. Like bones and rotting flesh they looked, lips longing for a bit of food, reaching out their hands to the cold stone of the palace, with desperate eyes looking up to the blinds.
The King turned his eyes away. What else could he do? It was not he had a reign of plenty, no stomach was filled in the whole of the land. The politicians just discussed the situation, but could do nothing about it. The treasury was empty like the stomachs of the people. No food, no future. And yet, there had to be a place where all the food went, the golden ears that swayed in the breeze all summer, the fragile green vegetables that lined up on the fertile lands. What had happened to the sheep and cows that had liven up the scenery that year? Had they never reached the butchers?

It was the unicorns, the peasants told. They took everything, and paid with pestilence. And the peasants were afraid and hungry, giving their fate away to the hands of the king. The king who had to tame the unicorns, kill them if necessary, get rid of them and return the golden ears they had taken, the sheep and the cows.
"Whatever you do," the barons said, "please get rid of the unicorns before they destroy this kingdom. Let the maiden you marry to be your queen tame the unicorns to prove her bond to the country. We prayed to Gräins and sacrificed to Molik, and our priests say that is the will of the gods."
And the king made this promise.

Crenzia

"Your majesty, this is Crenzia," the Governor said.
The king looked up and saw a woman like he had never seen before. Not for a long time, anyway. She was tall like a tree, and fresh fair flesh dressed her fine bones. The fabulous foreign cloth she wore showed all colours of the rainbow with the slow motions the woman made. The curves of her body might have been a phantasmagoria under the opaque flounces and fringes. She smiled, and it was for the first time in years the king saw a mouth that did not long for food, but for love and kisses.
"My queen," the king said, and kissed the inside of the sweet smelling hand of the woman. Her long dark hair caressed his cheek as she bowed.
"She is the eight daughter of the King of the Lost Mountains, the realm beyond Wythviz, beyond Fanigawi, where the Naglani once had their hide out. She might be of Naglan birth," the Governor informed the King. "She was sent here to carry the glass crown."
"She has to tame the unicorns first," the king said, and hesitated by his next thought, maybe a vision of the future. She could be killed by the unicorns, her frail body impaled upon the horn of the unicorn, twisting and turning in the pains that would write dead on her once pretty face. And he thought he was in love with her. He could not let her die that way.

And so a prestigious part of the army of Altheizar took off to the Forest of Rhauthus, the place where the unicorns were seen only recently. Crenzia, future queen, rode a white horse in the head of the queue. Next to her rode the king on his tall Husa stallion. Through the villages they rode, and past farms, always accompanied by the call of the yarning bellies.
They stayed with the baron of Rhauthus for a few nights, until scouts had seen the unicorns not far away, south of the town.
They left the town in a glamourous row. Crenzia up front again, protected on both sides by the baron and the king. The people watched them go by, and made the sign of Alls Return before they turned their eyes down in mourning. They where sure the beautiful girl on the white horse was going to die. She was too pretty to survive in the forest, too fragile to withstand a unicorn in there.
For the forest was wild and wondrous. The old beech trees shadowed the damp soil with their red crowns, where leafs and broken off branches formed an amorphous mass with the snapped twigs and sneaky animals living there. Snakes and mice, tawny twiggots, the long tailed sniggnoz, they somehow lived as one organism. An organism, determined not to be penetrated. A fence of trees and a trap of twigs, the forest had its own ways to protect itself.
And on the glades it gave way to the majestic unicorns, large white horselike beings, with one horn on their head, who danced with their split hooves on the dew. Their neighing was like laughter, the mocking laughter of an ancient evil wizard, echoing through the forest.
The king felt his heart beating loud as he first saw the animals, their neighing made him cold on the inside.
But Crenzia rode on, leading her horse to the border of the glade. She smiled at the sight and descended the horse. Then, she undressed, and walked barefoot and naked towards the middle of the glade, to the unicorns.
The men hold their breath, the whole army stood there, watching the naked woman entering the territory of the most feared animal in Overveer. The air went dry and damp at the same time, the pulsing of a dozen veins beating like one heart filled with desire.
The king reached for his sword, and lightning struck his hand. The sword seemed to glow. So did the helmets of the men next to him, the necklace of the baron... the beech trees themselves glowed, buzzed with an unknown energy.
Bewildered, the king looked around. What was happening? The woman he loved walked over the grass, somewhere far away, behind a veil of moving air, strangely touchable, almost liquid.
Then, Crenzia started to dance. A strange dance she danced, with moves that looked impossible, but gracefully at the same time. It was like she bend the air, and twisted time.
It got the attention of the unicorns, this dance. They stopped their play, watched and scratched their hooves over the soil. Turned their ears as if they heard music to the dance, shook their tails with the rhythm.
The oldest, most majestic unicorn walked up to the woman, holding his horn low, aiming for her heart. She didn't seem to notice. The other unicorns however, did. They stormed on, fast forwards, eager to get the heart of the dancing woman before their elder brother did.
The woman danced on, now on the rhythm of the oncoming hooves, droning upon the glade. A dozen horns aimed at her, ready to penetrate her heart. She still didn't seem to notice, weaving her own space and time, her own web of reality.
And the king, at the border of the glade with his men, could only see the unicorns closing in, but he did not dare to look at the dancing woman, presumed soon dead. He shouldn't have come here, he shouldn't have let her go.
The unicorns collided. Their horns clashed, impaled the bodies. Blood soaked the soil, the angry neighing turned to scared screaming and evil laughter was heard no more. The unicorns, who had slaughtered themselves in the attack, died in the middle of the glade.

Time and space seemed to have returned to normal, the air was no longer liquid. The buzzing of the trees was gone, and the glowing metal has lost its magic. But silence remained.

The king smelled the air. It smelled of blood, death and lightning. He got from his stallion and walked to the heap of torn flesh, once being graceful majestic unicorns. The flesh looked a little burned on the edges, still smouldering slightly.
He took his sword and pushed the bodies away, looking for his future queen underneath the ripped skins, the broken horns, the smashed bones. But there was nothing human there.
Crenzia - gone. He could hardly believe it, unable to face the truth spelled out in front of him. He cried, and his tears blurred the world, caging him in his own sadness and grieve.
"My king." A voice touched his heart. A hand touched his shoulder. "I am here." Crenzia smiled as the king looked up, surprised by this resurrection. Here naked body looked unharmed. And behind her, it snowed starlings, gently drifting in the air.
The king took of his cloak and laid it over Crenzia's shivering shoulders. And thus they returned to Rhauthus.

The wedding

"Your majesty," a panting man said at the door of Rhauthus. "They have found it."
The king stopped his horse. "Found what?"
"The glass crown, your majesty. It was in Ildritz, and they now take it to the royal palace. Altheizar is already preparing your wedding."
"It is good to hear that, messenger," the king said. "Take a rest, then return home. Tell them, the unicorns are defeated. Maybe our happiness will return now. I am looking forward to the wedding as well."
He smiled at Crenzia. She smiled back to him. The future would be theirs.

The glass crown was what the name indicated. A frame of silver supported crystal clear shards of glass, reflecting the light like jewellery. The angles of the glass made a surreal reflection of the light falling on it. As if the crown was enlarged by rays of light.
Varsin looked at it in silent admiration before he snatched it away and put it in the bag he carried. He was afraid the shining of the crown would flow through the cloth of the bag, but it didn't, and under the perfect cover of the night he left the tavern. Lukarna left him alone in the dark, alone with the treasure he carried.
The messengers would be surprised the next morning, Varsin thought. The dogs dead, the crown gone. He giggled. His Masters would be content. He got to his mule and rode away on it, all the way to Spychl Lake where he would meet the Masters. The Master of Ceremony would take over back in Altheizar.

Early the next morning, Fon still hidden behind the woods, Varsin reached Spychl Lake, a quiet lake, jet black, with eternal mists dancing on its surface. He could look into the water, to see his own face. The owly eyes, the wrinkles in it, his pointy nose. People might think he was a Naglan. He wasn't. He was one of the few Ainahawair, disliked, misunderstood. He had hidden his life in books, serving a king he once had loved.
"To our revolution, my friend."
Varsin looked up from the black mirror. His Masters had arrived. He smiled at them and showed the bag.
"That is the crown?" they wanted to know.
"Yes, it is," Varsin proudly said, and got the crown out of the bag. The early light of Fon reflected on the glass, setting the crown alight, a golden haze of fire, swirling red and orange in it the virtual flames. One of the most beautiful objects in the universe. The best thing to sell in Diwan, it was better than any Dernian glass objects. With the Diwan gold, they could pay the revolution.
"Give it to me," Master Brent said.
Varsin handed him the artifact. Sadness shifted over his face as his fingertips let go of the crown. It was so pretty, so frail, so vain...
"Good handcrafted thing," Master Brent said. He tried to put it on his head, but the crown was to small for his curly skull. He took it off, and looked at it again. Then he flung it into the water - a falling star drowning in the lake.
"What was that good for?" Varsin asked, surprised and angry. "What about selling it? The money we could have had for it?"
"Unnecessary for you to know, dirtbag Ainahawair. Our knowledge, our plans reach much beyond your paper world." Master Brent turned his back to Varsin. Looked over his shoulder. "You liked the king, didn't you?"
Varsin nodded, stunned, surprised, still desperate with desire for the now lost glass crown.
"You loved him, wanted to be his queen, didn't you? And he betrayed you with that Crenzia." Master Brent smiled a very evil grin that sent shivers down Varsin's spine. "Maybe you want to have the crown all for your own. I can give you that. But first... you wedding night. Go ahead, friends."
And the other Masters got Varsin, pushed him to the ground, raped and strangled him, then threw his badly battered body in the jet black eternity of Spychl Lake. To be one with the crown.

In the palace, everything was arranged for the wedding. It was not as splendid as a royal wedding should be - famine ruled the festivities.
The king sat down on his throne. His long heavy robe, lined with Kaurnwyrms fur, kept him seated. Crenzia stood next to him, more beautiful than ever before, a true future queen.
The four priests chanted a song of harmony, wordless, a gorgeous melody just for the gods. Then, as the song faded in the royal hall, they turned to the king and asked him if he wanted to marry Crenzia and if he was aware of the duties a husband has.
Yes, he said, four times, once for each god.
And if Crenzia wanted to marry the king, and if she was aware of the duties a queen would have.
Yes, she said, once for Alls.
And she shared her blood with her husband's, like she would share her life with his.
The priests then took her arms, and guided her to the throne on the stage. Here, she would be crowned Queen of Overveer. Here, her new life would start. She sat down and bowed her pretty head. The priests stepped back and started chanting again.
The Master of Ceremony strode to the throne of the queen, a pillow in his hands, shards of glass on it, sparkling in the candlelight of the royal hall.
He stood in front of the bride, placing the pillow on a table, picking up the crown, a crystal in the candlelight. Then he placed it firmly on the queens head.
Crenzia screamed.
The Master of Ceremony laughed. "Isn't she a beautiful queen?" he asked the audience, and he stepped back, so all could see the new queen.
She still screamed, and blood flowed down her dark hair. The sharp shards of glass stuck into her skull, causing her blood to spill over her wedding dress.
"No!" the king screamed, got rid off his robe and got up.
"Keep seated!" a voice yelled at him, and the felt the point of a dagger caressing his back.
Crenzia still screamed, sobbing at the same time. She was blinded by the blood that had gotten in her eyes, her fair skin was coloured red. She was dying, and everybody knew. But no one cared.
"The Glass Crown made its sacrifice, now it is time for a revolution towards wealth and happiness," the Master of Ceremony said. He cheered. All alone.
Because the audience saw the queen behind his back weaving a web of another reality, and she changed. The blood came loose from her body, swirled around her, making the air liquid and buzzing.
"Crenzia!" The king screamed her name across the silence of the royal hall. As he got to his feet, the dagger on his back ripped his skin, cut his flesh and broke his heart.
While the king was dying, and his life dropped on the marble floor, he saw a starling fly away from the throne to the starry place the dead went. He knew they would meet again, when he died and the hungry masses feasted upon his body to celebrate the revolution.

Glass Crown