Queen of Swords

[Rebeccaej]

I sometimes use tarot cards as writing prompts. This was the first story I wrote entirely based off of card-inspiration. I decided to use it as an exercise in building characterization in "negative space," hinting at a character's backstory, without ever describing it directly.

This isn't really meant to be a full story, but whatever it is, I think I like how it turned out.

***

She said almost nothing the day she arrived—the long-haired woman in the fine red linen, shoulders as wide as an ox. She sat in silence, laid her sheathed knife on the table and said, “wine.” Only that, “wine,” and only once.

Even when Oswyn, the innkeeper’s swaggering nephew, helped himself to the seat beside her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her hip into his, even as he whispered in her ear, asking if she was looking for a place to spend the night, she responded with nothing but a cool glance. Her finger twitched toward her knife. His eyes followed, taking in the starburst scars across her knuckles. Quietly, he considered who might be quicker.

She said nothing as he backed away.

Joseph, the innkeeper, slapped a broom handle into Oswyn’s chest as they passed each other. “Get in the kitchen and find something to do.”

Oswyn sneered. “Your eyes are fading. You must be looking for your serving boy.” Putting a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, he pressed as if to turn him. “He’s probably back there somepla—“
Joseph jerked away and whacked him in the chest again. “Consider it an apology for troubling my guests.”

“She’s not troubled, are you?” he turned to the woman. She snorted and scratched at a spot on the table.
Joseph glared another moment, and Oswyn took the broom. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry.” He trudged out the back door, to the kitchen.

“He’s harmless, I promise,” Joseph said. “Just needs someone to push back.”

She nudged her glass toward him.

He crouched and she twitched away, dodging his gaze. With a shrug, Joseph reached over the counter, retrieved his pitcher of wine and refilled her glass.

***

“Who’s that?”

The question hung in the air. She’d spent the afternoon and evening in silence, poking her glass toward Joseph each time he passed until she’d drunk more than Oswyn and his cousin, Luke, combined. When their drunken singing annoyed her, she stood and walked a straight line to her room. The next morning, she slumped back into her spot. Joseph cut a slab of day-old oatmeal, fried it in lard and offered it with weak ale. She ate and drank without complaint.

Now, Joseph’s head emerged from behind the kitchen door. Luke stuttered to a stop and fumbled his armload of dishes. Oswyn twisted in his seat and followed her eyes out the window.

“You finally find your voice, and you spend it on him?”

On the side street beside the inn, a bony old man was carrying a stool and a board game. Two stools had already been left out, and he arranged the third between them, with the board on top. He sat facing the road and waited.

“Who is he?” the woman repeated.

“Matthias,” the innkeeper said. “He’s taken to sitting out there asking people to play backgammon with him. I’ll send him off if he’s bothering you.”

“Nothing wrong with backgammon.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Oswyn said. “Last time I spoke with him, he insulted my father.”

Joseph turned to him. “Your fault, for joking with him in the first place. You know he can barely carry a conversation.”

“Still, there are things you don’t say.”

Ignoring him, Joseph turned back to the woman. “You’ve probably seen his type before—changelings or something. Every town I’ve seen has one. Reads a bunch. Sits at the edges of crowds and watches. He seems to like people well enough, but doesn’t quite know how to be one. Don’t bother with—“

But she was already heading to the door.


“White or black?” she asked as she sat facing Matthias.

He blinked. He hesitated. He answered, “I like black.”

“My name’s Maribel.”

“Matthias.”

She studied him as he set up his checkers. His thin fingers trembled slightly around the stones, but from age, or nervousness, she couldn’t say. His eyes darted between her and the board, and his arms pulled in, shoulders high. He carried himself with none of the confidence she usually associated with age.

He hummed to himself as they played, pausing every few moments as he glanced at her and seemed to realize he wasn’t alone, then starting back up almost immediately.

“Is that your knife?” he eventually asked. He nodded toward the blade on her hip.

‘Mm-hmm. Why do you ask?”

“The talon emblem. I’ve read about them. The Falcons. The king’s champions, almost 300 years old, you
fought—are you really a knight?”

The words tumbled out in a rush, then cut off as he waited for an answer. He wasn’t looking her up and down the way some did. He was gazing at her eagerly. Where others demanded to know if she could really be a knight, he was asking if she really was one.

Maribel nodded slowly. “For most of my life, yes. They raised me.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, then.”

“And you.” She waved toward the board. “You’re an excellent strategist.”

They played another few minutes, until his squirming grew impossible to ignore.

“Would you like to ask something else?”

“Where’s your sword?”

She twitched and her smile faltered.

Matthias twisted his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. I’ve overstepped. I do that. I’m sorry. We can just play if you like. I won’t ask again.”

“No, it’s ok. I’ll get it.”

She stepped back into the inn, where Luke and Oswyn were scattering from the window. “What did you say to him?” Luke asked. “He’s practically wetting himself.”

Her voice failed again in their company. She stalked to her room and returned a moment later, casually twirling her sheathed sword as a wealthy man might gesture with his cane. For the first time, she tossed the young men a scrap of attention—a threatening smile as they parted around her.

Matthias’s fingers trembled down the length of the blade. They hovered over the sign of her order, etched above the cross guard.

“Would you like to hold it?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he gasped. Stepping back, he returned to his seat. “Show me? If you don’t mind, of course.”

Would she be able to get through an exercise without shaking? If she chose the right one, perhaps. She stepped backwards, checked her space was clear, spun the blade in her hand, and began.

She’d learned the drill long ago from an older, teenaged student, not her mentors. The wild strikes could never be completed in a real battle. The blade would catch in the enemy’s bone and need to be jerked
free. The leaps were a useless waste of energy, and would be doubly so in armor. She’d always known it was, in some way, not a “real” training exercise. Only now, though, revisiting after so much time away, did she realize what it was. It was a sword dance, an innocent game designed by a child.

She finished, blade spiraling through the air as she twirled and dropped to her knee. She held the pose a full three seconds then let her form collapse into laughter. “I haven’t done that in years!”

“Why not?” Matthias shouted over his own applause. “That was beautiful! If I knew that, I would do it every day!”

The playful moment shattered. Her laughter sputtered to a halt. She forced out a few more chuckles to affect a natural fade and found a sudden interest in the ground in front of her. Suddenly, letting this sweet man see her eyes felt like she’d stripped naked and let him examine her scars. When she could bear to, she rose, swiped the dust from her legs, and smiled shakily. “Well, that stuff about knights fighting and killing is so overblown,” she said. “We hardly ever need to.”

They finished their game and started another. After an afternoon of chatter, the sun set before they’d finished. They left the board as it was and agreed to meet back in the morning.

“Why are you here?” he asked, as they resumed.

“To be the arm of justice. To impose order on chaos and—“

His eyes were gleaming with laughter. “I meant in this town. There’s nothing interesting here. Nothing fitting for someone like you.”

After a pause, she answered, “I’m resting up for my next battle.”

“Where’s that, if you can say?”

“Oh, a few towns north of here,” she chirped. “A lord is taxing his townfolk almost to starvation. He’s away now, but we plan to meet him on the road when he returns.”

Matthias gasped. “That’s awful. Are you going to kill him, then?”

She stole a glance at him and refocused on the board. Was he waiting for a tale of noble slaughter, the kind that ended only when the streets flowed with the blood of the villainous? She couldn’t tell stories like that anymore. They left her trembling and feeling cold, no matter the temperature. No, he was tense, and had lost his cheerful grin.

“We won’t kill him,” she said. “We’ll talk to him. Once he realizes he’s hurting people, he’ll want to stop on his own. We call it a battle, but it’s more a battle of wills than anything.”

He relaxed again, took his turn and nodded. “That’s good. I hate to think of anything happening to you. Who’s we?”

“The Falcons. My brothers in arms. I’ve…stepped away for a few days to rest, but I’ll join back up with them.”

“That sounds nice,” Matthias said. “Having friends like that. Having people by your side.”

An uncomfortable moment stretched. Finally, Maribel said, “They’re good men. The finest. Let me tell you, one time, we caught bandits on the road and found they had a chest of gold with them. It took the five of us to haul it from their carriage. Once we’d wrested it away—through moral discussion, I mean—we asked all the neighboring towns if they’d heard of gold being stolen, and couldn’t identify the owners. So Gabe, my sword-brother, he had an idea. You know what it was?”

“What?” Matthias grinned.

“Gabe and Kendrick and me, we split up the gold and went through the towns, finding orphans and widows, poor people just scraping by, and we asked them, we asked, ‘what do you need?’ We paid for one little boy to go to school, and bought—“ she paused to think a moment “—a few cows and a bull for a farmer whose herd had died. All sorts of things.”

“That much gold could’ve bought you some beautiful land.” He handed her the cup of dice.

She rolled as she answered. “Or some fine weapons. But no, every copper went back to the people.”

“How did you find out it was stolen?”

Maribel fumbled and dropped her checker. “Hmm? Oh, because they were bandits of course.”

“But,” he thought it through a moment, “if nobody reported stolen gold, how did you know the people who had it were bandits?”

She picked up her checker and twirled it between her fingers while she considered the question. She answered smoothly. “Because they confessed to it. That’s the thing people don’t understand—how easily evil gives up in the face of good. That’s why we almost never have to fight. People are fundamentally good, see? If you catch them being a bit selfish, or a little ignorant, not realizing they’re hurting people, you can just…push back. Let them know, and they’ll stop.”

“That simple?”

“That simple.”

“But what if somebody is so twisted ‘round, they don’t believe you? What if they keep on thinking they’re right?”

She placed her checker. “That doesn’t happen.”

She never would have said such things to a child. It was cruel, the stories people told children. But if he’d gone this long without learning the truth, what was the harm?

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked as they packed up the game.

“I don’t know,” Matthias said. “Thing is, some of the fellows and widows have a lawn bowl in the mornings. Agnes invited me a few weeks ago. I was thinking of going tomorrow.”

“A lawn bowl?” she asked.

“You know, bowling? You just throw a little ball on the field, then roll bigger balls near it, to see who can get closest. It probably sounds boring to you, though.”

She settled on her stool, resting her arms around her chest. “It sounds nice, actually. Simple. Do you think they’d let somebody younger come?”

Matthias started. “Well, I suppose you could, but…oh, this sounds awful selfish, but I think you might scare people off. And Agnes, who asked me to come, she’s been widowed a few years now and I was thinking…”

“Say no more,” she smiled as she stood. “Good luck, Matthias. I’m glad I’ve met you.”

The next day, as he whistled his way home from bowling, Joseph called Matthias into the inn.

“Your friend left this for you.” He held an envelope toward Matthias, tapping it on the counter with a loud thunk. “Some kind of coin? She paid with the weirdest pile of coins I’ve ever seen. Didn’t even recognize half of them.”

“My friend? Oh, Maribel, you mean.” He accepted the envelope and muttered “Must’ve gone to meet Gabe and the others.”

“Was that her name?” Oswyn leaned over the bar and waggled his eyebrows, leering at him. “Hey, just how close did you two get, anyway?”

Matthias started to back away, paused, and stepped back in. “Keep your mouth shut, boy. No one wants to hear that.”

Oswyn’s eyes snapped open in surprised. Luke looked between Matthias and Oswyn, gaped a moment then howled at Oswyn’s expression. Joseph suppressed a snicker while he poured an ale and slid it across the counter to Matthias.

Luke calmed and asked, “who’s Gabe?” as Matthias cracked the ceiling wax and tipped a bronze medallion into his palm. The face was etched with an image of a falcon’s talon, each claw sharp, extended, and ready to strike.

“Another knight in her order,” he said. “Good fellow.” He rolled the medallion in his hand, then held out where the others could see. “They get these when they’re inducted. What language do you think this is?”

He passed it to Joseph, who passed it to Luke, and together they agreed it must be Latin, or possibly Greek.

“What was this Maribel even doing here?” Joseph asked.

Matthias sat and sipped his ale. “Well, that’s a bit of a story.”

***

[bobRas]

It is kind of hard to talk about something that one can't really put into a neat little box. It feels like a part of a bigger whole, like I'm missing the picture. History outside this story is mentioned and hinted at. The characters (or at least two of them) seem to have a life outside this snapshot. We can only interpret why Maribel felt like Matthias was someone worth talking to, as opposed to the others.

But I don't think this piece will stick with me. Maybe it is unfair to compare this to "Hills like white elephants" but bear with me. In that story, we only meet two characters (one is even unnamed) talking about something that is only hinted at. And yet, there is still a story progression, something of a character arc, and a change in their relationship, even if only one of them notices. In your piece, two strangers meet and have a nice talk, but I don't get the feeling that anything changed. Matthias will have something to talk about in the future, sure, but he seems like a guy with many anecdotes.

This was apparently just an experiment, and I think you succeeded with your characterization in "negative space" overall, though I think it could have been taken further. Just as an aside, giving the two principle characters names with the same starting syllables is a risk usually not worth taking.

[Priya12345]

I liked this. I've always wondered what heros did between adventures. This was an interesting way of building a backstory with flashbacks and anecdotes. It painted the idea of a complex history. I felt a certain sympathy for the conversation options available to a woman in a small town, and why a 'changeling' would be an option (I'd like to think it's because people who read books are more open minded)

Maybe this will become the opening to an epic story,maybe it will remain this little vignette of another world.

Keep writing! I'd love to see your interpretation of the full Tarot series.

[DATo]

I have to agree with both bobRas and Priya12345. Your writing was enjoyable to read and I have no complaint with the story except as bobRas pointed out there doesn't seem to be enough information from which to draw a final conclusion.

The name "Gabe" and the fact that Maribel and her fellow "knights" dealt with bad people through persuasion began to lead me in the direction of thinking they were .... angels? As I said, not enough information to draw a sensible conclusion.

I also agree with Priya12345 - keep writing, you have talent. I enjoyed reading it.

One small correction: Fifth to last line - I think you meant "sealing wax" instead of "ceiling wax".

[Rebeccaej]

I'm a little surprised that people seem to be taking Maribel at face value. Is it not clear that she's lying?

[bobRas]

I'm a little surprised that people seem to be taking Maribel at face value. Is it not clear that she's lying?

I thought she was lying, but a thing to keep in mind is that we're dealing with your world here. We don't know enough about the world you've created to be 100% sure either way.

[Priya12345]

The hint she was lying was 'she answered smoothly'
To me, you need to be smooth when you're making stuff up on the fly.

And 'what was the harm' was a time check that she wouldn't be staying on long enough to worry about tripping over a detail.

It would be lovely to see the conversation between Maribel and an active knight on assignment, in a public setting where they both have to maintain cover, but both recognised the other.
That would be fun to sort out, especially which lies hint at the truth.