The Queen with No Name (Return of the Ancestors, #1)

by J.J. Makenzie

For now, I had to survive to see the day I could only hope would come to fruition. The day my mother said was foretold, when the three kingdoms in Greatland would be united once again by one who could roar like ten lions but was as meek as a lamb. The chosen soul would be sent by our Ancestors with the knowledge of the old ways lost long ago. A time and place where all men and women had lived as equals. My mother promised me I would see such a day again, if only I had faith.

All most men wanted, as far as I could tell, were women and power. And as they ruled women, they had all the power. I wanted to be respected … and longed to be loved. My mother would tell me stories of love matches from long ago. They sounded like tales, but she promised me they were not. I had often found myself imagining it was I playing the part of the women in her stories.

“There is good in all kingdoms. All you have to do is look for it.”

“Please let this be my death,” I begged. I wasn’t sure if I spoke the words out loud or said them in my head, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Ancestors were speaking to me again. The phrase echoed over and over in my head. “You promised to live. He will need you.”

“There once was a kingdom,” I said, my throat raw and raspy. “The royal family had three sons: a sheep, a wolf, and a lion.”

“But there was one not so loved or influential who saw the truth—the third brother, Lion. You see, though he was born with a majestic heart, no one paid him any attention. From his birth, his face was scarred and mangled. And he spoke uncomfortable truths that no one wished to hear.

My mother said that the Ancestors had foretold that when the swan and lion danced together again in the sky, Greatland would be healed.

“Child,” he’d whispered, “a butterfly must struggle to emerge from its captivity. The struggle makes it strong. Without beating her wings against the cocoon, she will never have the strength to survive. Not only to survive, but to beautifully soar as she is destined. You, child, must continue to beat your wings. You will soar one day. That, I promise.”

Perhaps if I kept beating my wings hard enough against my own prison, I would someday be strong enough to break completely free and fly. It seemed like an impossible dream. Be that as it may, I knew one thing: I would live one more day.

A spark of hope burned in my chest, yet I was afraid to let it ignite. Hope had been a fickle companion.

“There is never enough power to satisfy one who is never content with what he has, whether it is little or great,” I whispered.

My mother had taught me to be kind even in the face of cruelty, not only for the benefit of humankind, but for my own humanity. “You must always keep your humanity,” she would plead. “If you lose your humanity, you lose everything.”

“It is easier to bear the truth than to hide from it. Bearing it allows you to learn. Ignorance only blinds you.”

My mother would say, “One person can start or stop a war—be careful what you choose.” Saloman would say, “There will always be good reasons to go to war, but open your eyes to see the better reasons to make peace.”

“To hate is easy,” she would say. “Always make the hard choice to love,” she would beg me.

Something was not right. I felt myself fading away. I realized then that I did not have it in me to do one more day. Because I knew this one more day would turn into more days of never-ending torture.

“Does your beauty please me? Yes,” he groaned. “But a relationship based solely on beauty is an obsession, not love. Obsession leads to possession. Trying to own and possess someone leads to chaos. My people, nor you, deserve such a relationship. So, to answer your question, no, wife, I do not only care for you because you are beautiful.”

If you want to change hearts and minds, you must meet the people where they are at,” he said wisely.

Rowan watched him go. “You too easily charm my men.” “What would you like me to do about that?” He neared and gazed down upon me. “Save all your smiles and stories for me.”

How the four families eventually could not come to an agreement, and they separated, each creating their own kingdom. That only created more divides. It spoke to more of the need to come together. But that meant letting go of pride. My mother would say, “Be the first one to let go. Don’t serve a master that only serves itself.” That was the very definition of pride—a master that only served itself.

“It is easy to see the worst in our enemies when we only give passing glances, because if we look too closely, we will most likely see ourselves.”

Many from the four kingdoms joined her cause in the mountains of Azad. They called themselves Calle, meaning free. It was the first time in six generations that citizens from other kingdoms had lived among each other and wed. There they lived in peace for many revolutions of the sun. The monarchs of the day feared she and her people would usurp power as they grew. People came in search of Alessandria, longing for freedom, especially those most oppressed from Candalus.

She proclaimed before she was brutally run through, making sure all her blood was spilt, that there would be one to come from her that would know the ways of the Ancestors and restore peace to all of Greatland. That the one like her would kill the last king of Candalus.

“What do you do when you disagree with your husband?” I would welcome any advice. “That is easy. I wait until he sees I was right all along.”

“I will find my name, and when I do, you will be the first to know.” That was me telling him I would be giving him my whole heart.

“When I find my name, you will be the first person to hear it cross my lips,” I pledged.

“Who you are is not in a name. It is what is in your heart. What is in your heart? There you will find your name.”