Sci - Fi Short Stories

Underground

~*~

Catalina of Aragón was not very fond of ships; the waves’ movement was not very pleasant for her, and to make things worse, there was an upcoming storm darkening the skies.

“It looks dangerous…” she said, distractedly, to the captain.

“Worry nothing, Your Grace. I have been through worse storms and survived.”

“I do not care about your adventures or your survival. Will I survive?”

The man looked down, blushing. “I would protect you with my life, Infanta.”

“Not that it is worth a lot, but I thank you anyway.” She said, coldly, walking away from the captain.

“Infanta, you should not be rude to people!” Dona Elvira said, shaking her head. “It is not proper for someone of your importance.”

“He irritates me.”

“He did nothing to you.”

“I do not care, he irritates me! And you are irritating me now!”

Dona Elvira raised an eyebrow to the girl. “Infanta?”

“I will go to bed now. Wake me up when this torture is over and we have reached my new kingdom.”

Dona Elvira curtsied, without a word, and Catalina left to her cabin. The maids, chosen personally by her mother, promptly stood up, ready to undress the Infanta, comb her long hair and put it on a braid, wash her and put on her night gown. After all the work was done, Catalina made a gesture with her hand, dismissing all of them and indicating she wanted to sleep alone. The girls submissively curtsied and left, silently.

“Dio mio, what a torture!” She mumbled. Going down to her knees on her oratory, she recited the prayers she had been taught ever since she was little, knowing that God listened to her and favoured her, knowing that she was a blessed girl, and that God loved her in special. She knew He would end her torture soon and that she would be very happy in her new kingdom. With a peaceful smile, she went to bed and fell asleep.

~*~

When the Infanta opened her eyes again, she was no longer in her cabin.

Actually, she did not know exactly where she was. The place was completely dark, but she was sure she was lying on the cold ground. She sat up, confused and frightened.

“There is no reason to fear, Infanta.” A voice said, from behind her.

A small light appeared from an unknown object in the hands of a boy wearing exotic clothes made of silk. He looked really young, maybe five years old. His olive skin alarmed Catalina.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Muhammad al-Fasi, son of Hasan.” He replied, bowing.

“Are you a Moorish?”

“Yes, Infanta.”

“Then you are a heretic.” She said.

“Ah,” he said. “I am, aren’t I? Forgive me, then, Catarena of Spain, I shall go now so you won’t have to be in the presence of my humble self. Goodb-”

“Wait!” she shouted. “Where am I?”

“This is the place of my people.”

“And where is it exactly? Spain? England?”