Hope's Quest
by firejay1
In a... vaguely medieval fantasy world, two girls from polar opposite backgrounds, one a princess, one a dirt-poor orphan, go on traditionally doomed quests only to bump into each other and discover that the two quests are one and the same.
Carmelia: Departure
“I’m scared.” It was the thought she wasn’t supposed to be thinking above all others. Carmelia knew this. But as she watched the tattoo being burned into her arm by the Ridderstone, a brand she knew she would carry until she carried out her task, or died trying as others had before her, she couldn’t help thinking it over and over again. No matter how much she tried to push it out of her head, it still came after her: fear. Still, it wasn’t like the fear made a difference. The Reactors chose every sacrifice carefully. What point was there in fear if all your family was dead and no one around you cared to know it existed?
“Sacrifice.” The cold voice of her “escort” greeted her. As usual, they had chosen one boy and one girl to accompany the Sacrifice. The only time those were replaced was when they died, but that wasn’t all that uncommon. These ones had lasted for eight rotations, so they were veterans, but their appearance never changed. They still looked like the 12 year olds they had been on their very first trip, just as dark, mysterious, and cold as always. Everyone knew sacrifices were chosen from the many homeless, loveless orphans of the Amphtink slums, but no one knew where the escorts came from. People said they were fairies or imps, ageless creatures of evil, but Carmelia didn’t think so. They died, didn’t they? All the ancient legends said fairies and imps never died and never grew older, but Escorts made it clear what age they were and how long ago their time had stopped. In her opinion, it was more likely that the Quest somehow stopped them from aging.
The Escorts did not have names. They referred to themselves only as “the Escorts” and did not seem to need to communicate with each other at all. In the same fashion, they only ever referred to her as “Sacrifice.” The two of them looked identical to one another, even though they were different genders. Both had sharp, pointy features and thin, lithe bodies. They moved quickly and quietly, with their dark hair and dark eyes. Their skin was browned from the sun, but it didn’t look natural on their delicate figures.
“Yes, Escort?” She didn’t feel like she was being escorted anywhere, more like they were the masters and she was the slave.
“Do not think useless thoughts.”
Carmelia didn’t answer; what was the point in doing that? The escorts would just ignore her, anyways.
The final traces of the tattoo blazed on her skin. It didn’t hurt that much, but it still scared her: it was a mark to her and everyone around her that she was now officially prey to the things that no one ever spoke of. She stared at the now-black mark, looking very much like it had been inked on, instead of magically burned into the underbelly of her right arm. The Escorts flanking her raised their right arms and faced the underbellies of their forearms outwards, so that their arms were like pillars on either side of her, sealing her fate. The mark had appeared on their skins as well, as it would stay for as long as she was still alive in the midst of the quest. In unison, they said, “Hope has not left yet. Hope has not left yet.”
This part had never made sense to Carmelia. The Reactors did not operate on the principle of hope, they strictly preached the Doctrine of Death and Defiance. Hope had nothing to do with the Doctrine at all. The Doctrine stated that we would all die eventually, becoming nothingness, but that it was the duty of all to spend their worthless lives defying the rules of the wealthy so that their worthless lives would be endowed with meaning by the force of the Cause and the Quest.
There was no hope in the Doctrine, not the kind her mother and father had taught her about, at any rate. Her parents had taught her that hope was something beautiful, not just a blind wish for success. It was an almost arrogantly confident expectation in the truth of life, meaning, and fate. Hope changed people, made them stronger and more caring. It gave them the ability to live out their impure lives with a special purity. There was no hope left anywhere in the Amphtink. Of this, Carmelia was sure, and even if there was, the Reactors would most likely take pleasure in destroying it. “The rich do not need hope, and the poor cannot have it,” Carmelia thought bitterly, some part of her laughing at the irony of it, but so that was with all things when it came to the rich and the poor; that would never change.
Carmelia and her escorts were taken to a tent, where she was stripped of her fancy Reactor ceremony clothing and dressed in the blue dress, black leggings, brown cloak, and long leather sandals all sacrifices wore. The Escorts wore similar garb, but their dresses were black, and the boy’s was more of a tunic than a dress.
Each one of the escorts wore a ring. They were simple, yet extravagant, in a sense. Each one was made of two pieces of shiny, brightly colored metal. The boy’s was a vibrant green with a blue tip, and the girl’s was a strong, golden wheat color with a gleaming, hot red tip. The bands were somewhat wide, but not very thick. It was like a man’s ring, thicker on the edges, but with carvings in the middle, but it was more petite and colorful than anything a man would wear. The carvings were senseless winding designs that started out small and thing, but widened as they reached the focal point. They were somehow both floral and feral at the same time, like a snake made of vines. The focal point was the second piece of metal, in a shield design. Same as with the bands the shields had thicker edges, but lithe carvings on the inside. The boy’s had a coiling snake in it, while the girl had a roaring lion in hers. Overall, it was the only spots of color the escorts had between them. Escorts only ever wore these rings as accessories, nothing else.
Sacrifices did not wear accessories. Most of them were too poor to in the first place, but even if you had a family heirloom or something else of value you were not allowed to keep it with you for the Quest. You weren’t even allowed to dress yourself. Her hair had been lopped off short when she was chosen for the Quest, and she kept finding herself fingering the ends of her short hair, where there had once been long brown curls she had kept up with her mother’s wooden hairpin. The hairpin was in her mouth now, the only place the Reactors didn’t keep track of, since she was rarely allowed to say anything at all. Carmelia was pretty sure the Escorts knew about the hairpin, but they hadn’t said anything about it, and she wasn’t about to ask them.
Carmelia and her escorts sat in the tent for a while in utter silence. They knew what was going on outside, or at least Carmelia did. The high Reactor was reading the Doctrine to the people, including the provision about the Quest. The Quest would only be declared failed or completed when either Carmelia or the escorts returned without the Mark. It said nothing about what happened if they did not return, but everyone knew that another sacrifice and another two escorts would just be chosen the next year. Once the Reading was completed, Carmelia and the Escorts would be bundled out of Amphtink to begin the Quest. She had been told the Escorts would explain the Quest to her once they were outside of Ampthink, but no one in Amphtink knew anything about the Quest except that it was a way of getting rid of more homeless orphans every year. Carmelia had been the oldest orphan yet alive; she had been expecting this, sooner or later, and now it had come. There was nothing to do but fight for her life and pray to whatever gods were out there that she would survive.
The Reading was over. Without another word, her escorts blindfolded her and began to walk her out of the tent, on hand on each of her shoulders, guiding her to her doom. As she walked away from everything she had ever known and all the misery she had grown so used to, Carmelia had just one last thought left. It was a thought she felt almost guilty for thinking. “I wish I had someone who loved me enough to mourn for me.” But she didn’t. She was all alone.
Princess Lillia: Departure
“I’m scared.” It was the thought she wasn’t supposed to be thinking above all others. Princess Lillia knew her responsibilities better than anyone, and as the first princess to be born in the past few generations, she was required to do the Sacred Search. That was the way of all princesses of Ramesia. There was no way she was allowed to tell anyone that the Sacred Search scared her. She even had four others going with her, to protect her, her own special guards she had known all her life.
She pulled on the simple brown trousers and loose white shirt. It was weird to be wearing male peasant’s clothing, which was nothing like the gowns she was used to wearing. She looked around her room. For all that people supposed the palace to be a grand affair, the princess’s quarters really just consisted of a simple room made of wood with a small, if very nice bed, and a bedstand and wardrobe. It was plain, but home. The yellow lamp sitting on her bedstand flickered, casting its light shakily around the room, as if laughing lightly at her fear.
One of her guards opened the door tentatively. “Princess?”
She turned abruptly, facing Jonathan with a regal air. Once she was done with the Search, she would no longer be able to face her guards with anything less, so it was best to start practicing now. “Yes, Jonathan?”
“We’re ready to leave at your discretion.” He informed her formally.
“I’ll be down shortly.” She responded tersely. He bowed and left the room. The minute he was gone, Lillia relaxed and stared at her room again. She turned as if to leave, but the item in her drawer that she had told herself time and again to leave behind was calling to her. “Don’t take it. If you don’t return and the king finds out you took it with you he’ll be furious. It’s a national treasure. What if you lose it?” One side of her argued. “If you die on this quest, as many princesses before you have, you’ll never see it again anyways.” The devil on her shoulder whispered back. And it was that thought that had her rushing to the drawer, surreptitiously opening it and hastily grabbing the black box lying under a hidden compartment. She stuffed the flat, square box into her coat and walked out of her room, feeling not one bit herself. For goodness sake’s, she was the one and only princess of Ramesia, not a peasant thieving the kingdom’s jewels, and yet she looked and felt like one.
She joined her guards at the gates of the city, her heart pounding in her chest. Julie, her brown hair pulled back into a long ponytail, scowled at Lillia. “Are you ready?”
The most-definitely-NOT-ready princess nodded her assent. She wasn’t even sure what the Sacred Search constituted, just that her guards knew and half of the princesses never returned. Ramesia was a large country, she knew from having studied maps of the world, but she herself had never ventured outside of the gates of the city, which were heavily guarded.
She looked at her four guards. She had never seen them take a step out of the gates, either, but not one of them looked afraid. There was Julie, a scowling, unfriendly character even in their youth, Jonathan, who was kind and soft-spoken, yet always stood up for her, Andrew, a skinny, black-haired man who could not be more serious about his duties, and Heather, cheerful and seemingly carefree, yet capable of turning into the most dangerous woman in Ramesia in a matter of seconds.
Princess Lillia took a deep breath, then blew it out again, knowing her guards were watching her, waiting for her signal that it was time to finally begin the Sacred Search. She picked up her pack, which they had prepared for her, and looked once more at all her guards. Forcing a smile onto her face, she said lightly, “Well, let’s get on, then.” And with that, she turned on her heels and took her first step out of the city. As she walked away from everything she had ever known, she got the distinct sense that, despite her guards, she was all alone.