The Still

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When I was young, before a wasting illness gripped her, Elena Queen of Caledon took me to the secluded vault that held the Vessels. I was barely twelve, and in the dank windowless corridor a nameless dread prickled my spine. I didn’t want to think about our Power, or behold its implements.

Deep in the bowels of Castle Stryx, at the corridor’s end, a smoky torch hissed and sputtered in a sconce. Brusquely, Mother dismissed Chamberlain Willem and the ever-present sentries.

The Queen withdrew a chain with two keys from her bosom. Facing the massive bronze door that barred the vault, she inserted each key into a recess so deep it swallowed her whole arm.

She paused, and a fleeting smile warmed her eyes. “Don’t worry, Roddy. The locks won’t eat my fingers.”

“I didn’t-I wasn’t …”

“You hadn’t heard? Perhaps it’s best for now.”

The second tumbler clicked; the door swung open. She ushered me into the vault.

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