The Servant

I have listened to stories from long ago, tales of the fae, sprites, and the hidden folk. Our imaginations can go wild! Closing my eyes and drifting into a dreamlike state, I wondered what life would be like in ancient Iceland, with the magic that they spin within their tales. Slowly drifting off to sleep, I found myself walking in Illia's shoes.

Walking past the winter willow into the frozen castle, far away from the rest of civilization. Follow me, as I step back in time in the footsteps as I dream about Illia.

~*~

The ice tendrils trespassed against the frozen fortress, imprisoning the souls within. Bound in winter's silence upon the snow-covered land. Wondering and wandering the great halls. Searching and calling, echoes of the past haunted the shadows and mist. The laughter of a child, a distant memory. Footsteps running, a chase around the corners of her mind. What a lonely place. Isolation. Desolation. Long lost dreams forgotten, hidden somewhere within her forlorn heart.

She looked down at her chaffed hands, frowning at her raw skin. Scrubbing and cleaning, day after hopeless day, in this barren land where darkness lingered passed its welcome. A gray sky and dark clouds were her only true companions within these abandoned halls.

Illia brushed her black locks aside, begrudgingly ringing the rag out, continuing the laborious task of scrubbing the kitchen floor again. How she wanted to scream? Why was this her lot in life? She believed there was so much more to who she was, but what she could not fathom. Meaning. Purpose. These were mere words, not meant for the servants within these walls.

Picking herself up and trying to brush off her melancholy mood, Illia slowly walked over to the window, frosted over from the mist of the lake. She longed to see what was beyond. To explore. To race barefoot in the meadows. To escape the confines of the winter fortress and what? What did her heart yearn for?

That was her problem. She was restless. Searching. Hoping.

Placing her fingers on the iced window, the cold made her feel alive, shivering as the cold ricocheted through her thoughts. She might have stayed frozen in place if it were not for the male voice shattering her silent moment.

What would Master Rowan want now? She rolled her gray-blue eyes that perfectly fit the temperament of this land she was born unto. Rowan, the storyteller, always tried to distract her from her work and would one day be the death of her.

Keeping her eyes down, she meekly replied, "Master, how may I be of service to you today?"

Shock waves shattered her thoughts as his gloved hand touched her chin, and he slowly lifted her head for their eyes to meet. Barely breathing. Hardly comprehending. Transfixed as she got lost in his green eyes.

Trying to look down again, she whispered, "Master."

"You forgot the fire again, Illia. Shall we catch our death tonight?" he reprimanded her.

She stepped away, fearing his reaction. Would she be flogged? End up on the dungeon floor without heat in the freezing cold? "Please, Master. Please forgive me. It was a mistake."

Looking at him with a quivering lip, she feared his wrath, knowing it would be his right to punish her with the strap.

When he frowned at her, she thought she would faint from fright.

His voice was stern, "Illia, I shall not flog you, but it is important that you set the fire in a timely manner, or the bed chambers will be too cold throughout the night, regardless of how many furs we don."

"Master, I shall set them now." Her words were barely audible, for her voice was shaking uncontrollably. She feared this man, though he had never harmed her. She intrinsically knew that a master could destroy a servant, and he was biding his time, buying her trust with his faux kindness and then one day. All it would take was the right mistake, and then he would beat her, abandon her, destroy her.

She knew it was only a matter of time.

Trying to scurry off, she wanted to melt away as he gently grabbed her hand, keeping her from escaping. Looking into his eyes, she was confused at the emotions swirling around. Exasperated, he exclaimed, "Illia, I have already set the fires for the evening. Tomorrow, you shall not forget. Correct?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered in a still, small voice, trying to tug her hand away from his grasp. Confusion reigned over her as an awkward silence filled the space between them. She wondered what words he was holding back from saying, what punishment he was forming for her, when he pulled back and whispered, "Just go to bed, Illia, before things get out of hand."

He left without another word, leaving her standing there flummoxed, pondering the emotions he wore upon his grave countenance. What was he hiding from her? What secrets did he hold?

~*~

After he left, she stood there in the middle of the kitchen, bewildered. Determined. There was something about being in his presence that unsettled her, and she needed to figure out the mysterious ways of her master.

Who knows how long she would have remained alone in the darkening kitchen, but she was startled back to reality with a booming crack that echoed through the frozen halls of the castle.

Running out of the kitchen and down the hall, she slammed into the back of her master, who was staring at the sudden damage in the grand hall, if you could call it that. Perhaps, centuries ago, it was grand, but the only thing grand in it now was the man standing before her.

Shaking her head, that fleeting thought disappeared with the realization of the damage before her bewildered eyes. A tree crashed down, shattering glass throughout the hall. The wind was howling outside as a fierce winter storm raged on, threatening to send the remaining glass clinging to its frame toward the gathering crowd.

"Illia, please go back down to the kitchen before you get hurt," Rowan nervously said. His eyes frantically darted from the damage to Illia.

She protested, "But master, is it, not my job to clean this up? We must fix the hole, or we will most certainly freeze to death."

He turned to her and pulled her away from the great room and back into the hall, then he responded, "Don't be foolish, girl. If the rest of the glass comes down on you, you will die a dreadful death. Then who will look after me? The soldiers will clean this before the morning sun rises. Until then, head to your room and remain there until I come for you in the morning. Do not leave under any circumstances. Regardless of what you hear, I fear it shall be a wicked night."

Illia's lip trembled, holding back her tears, "But what will you do, Master?”

Rowan looked at her with compassion and fought every instinct to wipe her tears away. Swiftly changing his demeanor, he blurted out, “Illia, just go to your room, and the soldiers will deal with this. Don’t question my authority in front of others, or you shall pay the price.”

She dragged her feet, turning back often, fearing for her master’s life. She had never felt like this before. Dread. Fear. Anxiety. Something was wrong, desperately wrong. Evil. It was approaching the castle.

Illia felt like her heart would run away from her. She could hear the pounding in her ears. Drums are beating. A steady march. Realization hit her like a hammer as she covered her mouth to suppress a scream.

She needed to warn him. Now!

Running back towards Rowan, she yelled, “Master! Master! They are coming! They are coming!”

Rowan was in the middle of a conversation when he heard her warning. Whipping around, their eyes met for the briefest of seconds. He screamed at her, “Illia, go now! Go to your safe place, and don’t come out until I come for you! Go now!”

”No! I want to stay and fight!” She screamed at him, unsure as to where this faux bravado came from, but her survival instincts were not for her alone. Her master must survive! It was essential that she save him.

He turned to one of his unnamed soldiers and gave him muffled orders, then turned to her, saying, “Ifan shall take you there. Illia, do not disobey me. Do I make myself clear?”

Rowan’s words only hung in the air for mere seconds before the battle began. His attention turned to defending the castle while Ifan dragged Illia away, begging and crying to return to her master.

~~~~~

I imagine there is so much more to this story of ancient days in the magical land where faeries lived, between the mountains and the frozen lands. What truth is hidden within the ancient Icelandic tales or are they lessons for wee little ones? Was Illia a servant girl or a princess hidden within the forlorn halls of this castle? Would Rowan someday be her lover, or will he forever be her master?

~*~

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