When I was little, my mum used to tell me what a wonderful queen I'd make one day. For never one second did she doubt that I would follow in her footsteps. That when the day comes, when I am old enough to fight, I will become a pawn and make it all the way across to the borders of the black territory. Becoming queen, it was my destiny. That's what she used to say because it was hers, too.
'What if I don't want to become queen? What if I fail?' I would ask her every night before bed.
'My dearest Clarity,' my mother would reply, 'it is in your blood.' Then she would kiss me good night and leave me alone with my thoughts.
Other times, she would tell me about the war. What one had to do to survive. How she survived.
'So, does that mean I will have to hurt people when I grow up?' is what little me used to ask her. Then she always sighed.
'I'm afraid you won't be able to avoid it.'
♕
I land hard on a cold, wet, stone floor. Then, half a second later, I hear a heavy thump beside me followed by a deep groan. I leave my eyes closed for a second. This can not be happening. This can not be happening. This can not be happening. I prop myself up on my elbows and open my eyes just to close them again. I let myself fall back to the ground again. Everything around me is pitch black. Great.
'God damn it!' So, he noticed too. I don't bother answering him or asking him what's wrong. It's probably the light he's complaining about, or rather the lack of it. And even if it weren't, I am too busy not caring. This is very unlike me but being trapped in this dark cave with a person that was just trying to murder me is enough of a circumstance for me to not care. Or at least that is what I tell myself. Plus, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything all morning. My brother had urged me to eat but the thought of going onto the battlefield and fight, made me feel nauseous. Now I am starting to regret not listening to him.
I feel an arm slap onto my body and remain there.
'Get off of me!' I yell and push it back where it came from. If he apologised, I didn't hear it. I sit up and scoot over a little bit in order to get away from him when I hit a wall. It's equally as cold and wet as the floor, though it's not made of stone but rather wood. Wood that feels rotten and, admittedly, very fragile beneath my fingertips.
I try to stand up, a sharp pain immediately rushing through my head. My bones are aching and my throat is sore as if it had been days since I last drank water. Thinking about it, it very well might have been a little too long.
I stretch out my back. I'm lucky that, apart from the stiffness and a bit of pain, I'm fine.
I look around. There is no tiny bit of light, no indication of where we were coming from. Strange. I start feeling my way around, keeping both of my hands on the wall next to me.
'Do you have a match?' I ask the soldier who hasn't moved or spoken since.
'If I had a match, princess, I would have lit it by now. You are not the only one who's been buried alive, you know?' He sounds annoyed and accusing. I don't like the way he keeps calling me princess as if it were an insult. I don't blame him for it, though. I don't have a better opinion of him, either.
'Oh, sorry for asking and trying to get us out of here,' I snap, 'I will certainly consider this kindness when I eventually find a way out while you're still lying there, on the floor, doing nothing to help me.'
'You won't leave me behind.' The certainty in his voice is irritating.
'You don't know that!' I tell him, even though I know he's right. He might have tried to kill me before and he might even want to do so again but I have not. Wanted to try to kill him, that is. That hasn't changed. Even now, when he's being so insufferable and lazy and not caring about getting us out of here as if he had already given up all hope of surviving, I won't wish death on him. So, eventually, when the time comes, when I've found a path out of this tunnel, I won't leave him behind, as much as I want him to believe otherwise.
'Oh, yes I do. You didn't even have the guts to fight me up there. Do you really believe you would leave me in this dark, lonely cave with no food, no water and perhaps not even enough oxygen where I would slowly but surely suffocate?' He tried to over exaggerate but we both know that this was not too far off from a possible future. But I'm not going to be the one to voice both of our concerns.
'Oh,' I chuckled, 'does that mean you admit that it would be possible for me to do that? Without any fight from you?' I'm trying to sound as mocking as possible, which is not something I'm good at.
I don't get the reaction I hoped for. In fact, I don't get any reaction at all. There's just silence. I sigh and take another step forward. And another. Until I bump into the edge of something. I place my hands on the object and pat along it. There are round edges and a smooth surface with a bunch of things on it. This could very well be a table.
'There's a table here,' I tell the soldier.
'So what?'
'So, that means there used to be people here, Sherlock. People that might return. Or who, at the very least, had some sort of light source. An oil lamp, some matches, a candle, a torch-'
'I know what a light source is,' he cuts me off. He doesn't sound too interested in this piece of information but for me, this was very exciting news. I decide to explore the surface further, feeling around for anything that might be useful. I feel a feather, a small glass jar, some parchment paper but no matches. I take a step to the side and run into something else. After further inspection, I found it to be a chair. I make sure there is nothing on it before sitting down. My hands return to the desk, looking for possible drawers. Surprisingly successful. I open a drawer and feel around. There is a lot of junk in it, most things I can not identify by the mere feel of them. But then there it is. A small paper box. And when I pick it up, it makes the quiet rattling sound of matches. Excitement and relief flood through me. I was right. I quickly open the box and strike the match against the side of the box. The light that comes from the flame sitting at the tip of the match isn't nearly enough for the entire room to be lit but it does make the desk and everything on top of it visible, which is already much of an improvement.
The desk before me is made of dark wood and is very expensive looking. Lying on top of the table I can see some of the things I have already identified before. Additionally, there are some keys, an old notebook, chalk, pencils, a stack of what looks like maps and a white candle that had already been used almost entirely. Using the match, I carefully light the candle and blow it out before the fire reaches my fingers.
From the corner of my eye I can make out a tall silhouette hovering above me. I didn't hear him come closer. He reaches around me and picks up the notebook. It is as big as his hand and the leather cover was already worn out, the dark red colour faded in some places. I look behind me and see him opening up the notebook and slowly flipping through it. He looks so invested in this book that I start wondering what it might contain. I stand up and walk around the chair. Now standing next to him, I try to peek over the rim of the notebook when he suddenly shuts it.
'Hey, I was going to read that,' I say, trying to get it out of his grip, only for him to tug it beneath his leather vest which is part of the black armour he's wearing. I glare at him.
'You wouldn't have any use for it, anyways,' he tells me in the pragmatic voice I know all too well from my brother. The voice that doesn't allow any discussions. The way he looks at me doesn't either. And yet, I'm not bothered by it because he's not my brother.
'I don't know that yet because I didn't even have the chance to look at it,' I tell him, 'If you'd just give it to me and let me have a look at it. You can have it right back afterwards, if it's really as boring as you claim. I promise.'
He doesn't answer me and instead continues to look at me with this fierce expression of his. I cross my arms and look back. If he can be stubborn, so can I. I use the time to take him in for the first time. He was quite a bit taller than me. His dark hair is messy atop his head, a few strands falling into his face. Although he is quite young, his leather armour makes him look much older. And yet, even with all of the troubles of war visible, he seemed put together, radiating a confidence that was almost admirable. I, on the other hand, must look like a mess. My white hair, that has formerly been braided, is now unravelled, falling onto my shoulders. The white leather vest of mine, and the white skirt I'm wearing are full of dirt. I feel the heat creeping up my face. But I am not going to back down. Neither is he.
'I'm not going to give it to you.'
'I'm not going to go anywhere without it.' I raise my chin a little. Why this notebook is suddenly so important to me, I don't know. All I do know is that my curiosity mixed with the spite in me of not wanting to give it to him that easily, makes me want to win this even more.
'Well, that's too bad.' The pity in his voice doesn't show. Before I can even think about what I'm doing, my hand darts forward in order to retrieve the notebook from under his vest but he was quicker. With one swift motion, his grip tightens around my wrist that didn't get the chance to go anywhere near his torso.
'Don't even think about it.' His tone is threatening.
'Let me go.' I say as calm and as cold as possible, my eyes still locked with his. Surprisingly he does as I say. I let my hand fall to my side again and look at him a little longer before I turn around to sit back down on the chair and start to look through more of the stuff that is lying inside of and above the desk in an attempt to find out where we are and how to get out of here.
♕
I wake up to a loud hammering sound. There's the soldier hammering against a door trying to break it open. I close my eyes again.
Soon after I sat down last night, the soldier left too, wandering off somewhere else, taking the matches with him. Eventually, he started lighting a few torches that he had found sitting on the walls. I don't know how much time had passed while I was looking through the letters and maps, notes and what-not but eventually I was starting to get tired. I hadn't taken the time to take in the room quite yet. It was small, bookshelves lining two of the walls. The desk I was sitting at was placed in the centre of the room, but scooted back a bit so that there was also space for a small sofa next to a door. Between the sofa and the desk there were rocks lying on the ground. Rocks that had fallen from the ceiling with us. The hole in the ceiling was completely shut by more rocks so big they didn't fit through. The soldier had been lying on the sofa already. I layed down on the carpet behind the desk, before I fell asleep.
I breathe through several times, trying to gather up some strength to get up. I open my eyes again and stand up, heading directly towards the desk and sit down. The torches are still lit while the candle has already burned down. I start where I have left off.
Yesterday I found a map of what must be the tunnel system we're in. But there was something else. Something far more interesting. It's letters from my brother to someone named Georges. They seemed to be very close. According to the letters, Georges' father had fallen sick and died. There was also something about Antoine wanting to protect him from something. Someone. A girl to be specific. But none of the important questions of who, why or how were answered.
But there was one letter in particular that peaked my interest. One letter that I haven't read yet. It's still sealed and, according to the date, the last one. My curiosity is getting the better of me. I carefully break the wax seal and open the letter. I take out the paper and start reading.
For a moment, I just sit there, trying to take in all of the new information. Georges was the name of the boy my brother loved. Georges died.
'He's dead.' I whisper underneath my breath. Somehow it was still loud enough for the soldier to hear. For a moment he stops hammering.
'Who is?' he asks. He's still facing the door, his back turned toward me.
'The owner of this place, I believe. This Georges person. He died.' Suddenly, he turns around and with a few steps he's in front of me, plucking the letter I was holding out of my hands. He quickly reads it and then his eyes focus on one point of the letter.
'Did you know him?' I ask carefully. He folds the letter and tugs it into his pocket.
'No.' He says and returns to the door. He lifts the hammer and-
'Wait. Try the keys.' He pivots on his heel, puts down the hammer and I toss him the keys that had been in the drawer along with the letters. He catches them and tries every one of them, until he finds one that fits and opens the door.
'Why didn't you tell me sooner?' he asks.
'It was quite entertaining. Man against steel door: Who will win?' I joke. I want to lift the mood a little. To my surprise he actually laughs a bit. He takes a torch off the wall and is about to step through, when I start talking again.
'Hey, can we like, start anew?' He sighs, turns around and walks a few steps toward me.
'If you stop putting your nose in other people's businesses, and reading their mail.' I don't see what he means, since he's the one who took both the notebook and the letter but I don't complain.
'Hi, I'm Claire, nice to meet you.' I offer him my hand. He takes it and starts shaking it.
'Hi, Claire, I'm Matthieu. It's nice to meet you too.' He doesn't sound like he means it but at least it's something. I stand up, take the map that's still lying on the desk and walk around it. Matthieu is already holding the door open for me. I step through, into a tunnel. Matthieu joins me. Earlier, I used some of the pencils to draw a route to the exit. It was coming in handy now. Matthieu is in front of me, in case of potential dangers. I'm behind him, reading him the directions. Other than that, we don't talk much. The only sounds are our footsteps. But the silence between us isn't loud. It is quiet. Comfortable. I'm very thankful for that.
♕
I don't know how long we've already been walking for but my feet are starting to hurt.
'Matthieu?' I say, exhausted and a little breathless, 'Can we take a short break?'
'What for?' He sounded genuinely curious and perfectly fine.
'My feet are killing me.' I'm practically panting. I don't wait for his reply. I stop and sink to the ground. My legs won't take me any further.
'No, come on. We need to get out of here, before we run out of water.' He had turned around and is now looking down at me.
'You have water?' If I could, it would have said it louder but instead it was a sorrowful whisper.
'You don't?' The surprise in his gaze is sincere. I shake my head. He sighs.
'Come on,' he says, 'I'll carry you.'
'You don't need to carry me.' I try to sound convinced, when I'm not. He gives me a look.
'When was the last time you've eaten?' I think.
'I don't remember,' I admit.
'Come here,' he says, offering his hand to me. I take it and he pulls me to my feet. He pulls out some crackers out of his pocket and gives them to me. I take them gladly and bite into one. As soon as I swallow, the feeling of hunger that I had already forgotten, returned. I took another bite. Now, Matthieu was also offering me his water bottle. I swallow the cracker and take a few sips from the water, careful not to drink too much. The cold liquid is running down my throat. It was heaven.
'Thank you.'
'No worries.' I hand the bottle of water back to him. The rest of the crackers I put into my skirt pocket for later. He closes the bottle and puts it back into his pocket, 'Now, are you ready to keep going?'
It really wasn't much that I've eaten, not nearly enough to satisfy my empty stomach but it did give a little bit of life back to me. I nod. He turns around again and starts walking.
'Why are you doing this?' I ask him.
'What am I doing?'
'Helping me. Why don't you just take the map and run away on your own, leaving me behind? It's not like you haven't tried to kill me before.' I hurry trying to keep up with his steps.
'I don't know anything about you, but what I do know is that you're a good person. You had the chance to fight me, multiple times but you never did. You could have snuck out while I was sleeping, leaving me behind without a map or a torch. You didn't. I want to give that back to you.'
'I- Thank you.' I stop walking for a moment.
'No, don't thank me. You would've done the same.'