She had been born a queen. The realm she should have ruled had been stolen from her on the day that she was born.
So too her crown jewel – but the usurpers who had conquered an entire kingdom for it had been disappointed.
The Camellia Star knew its owner, and became as dull as a withered flower surrounding cheap glass when in the wrong hands.
Until Queen Floresther regained her rightful place on the throne of Camellia, the symbol of her realm's dual prosperity would not bloom or shine.
The usurpers set about robbing Camellia in every way, to satisfy themselves in their disappointment.
The people languished under their cruel new rulers, and for 20 years, they did not know that the infant queen had survived the terrible circumstances of her birth.
The palace had been attacked, the army defeated.
The king and his bravest knights had died one by one, defending the king's wife long enough so she could give birth.
The queen had died in the effort to push her first and only child into the world in time for her to escape.
“Long live Queen Floresther!” the king her father had shouted in defiance as he died beside his wife.
The nurse had escaped with baby Floresther, now an orphaned queen of a defeated realm.
None of the realm's allies were strong enough to come immediately to the rescue – the attack had been set up by great subterfuge over many years, and had turned so suddenly that all of the realm's allies were left both trying to understand what had happened and also were reconsidering each other. A betrayal of that size among allies is always disconcerting.
The usurpers knew what they had been doing. They had sown enough distrust so that they would be left to ruin the realm they had taken over for 20 years.
However, the king of tiny Iveh, though he had the smallest kingdom of in the region, refused to take the matter lying down, and defied his mighty foes by sending out a brigade to find the fleeing nurse and the infant queen and bring them to Iveh. The brigade succeeded, and brought the nurse and the infant queen safely to Iveh. The nurse and the infant queen were both weak and ill, but once in safety they recovered, and were presented to the king of Iveh ten days later.
The nurse, with the child in her arms, curtsied deeply to the king of Iveh, and was surprised when he came from off his throne and bowed deeply in return.
“Be henceforth known as Dame Mercuria,” he said to the nurse, “the defender of the crown of Camellia at its hour of greatest need, who holds Her Majesty Queen Floresther in her strong and loving arms.”
Thus the king of Iveh began to receive Dame Mercuria and the infant queen into his own family. Within a year, his third son had made Dame Mercuria his princess, and Queen Floresther grew up as if she were the grandchild of the king and queen of Iveh.
However, she knew that she was always different from other children.
As still an infant, she could not be kept away from flowering plants, and they would bend toward her like heliotropes looking toward the sun.
Rose bushes and blackberry vines and citrus trees would bend their thorns away from the toddler, and Princess Mercuria her adoptive mother would find her curled up in the midst of them, the thorns pointed outward to protect her, their leaves arranged over her to protect her from rain and sun. Trees would lower their branches to help her climb them, and shift around to make sure she could not fall.
Because Camellia had modernized years and years earlier, the ancient powers of its rulers and its people had fallen into neglect. Yet apparently, they still existed.
“I knew that,” His Majesty the king of Iveh said about it to his daughter-in-law Princess Mercuria when she had dug up the ancient stories. “My friend His Majesty the late king of Camellia used to grow flowers on the spot for my late queen, but by that time in history, it was little more than a parlor trick. I do not need to explain to you the consequences of allowing one's heritage to become little more than a parlor trick.”
“But, Sire-Dad,” she said, using her affectionate nickname for her father-in-law, “I've never been able to do anything like that.”
“You were raised never to know you could,” the king answered, “and your queen would have been raised exactly the same way. But for you it is not too late to claim your heritage, and I have arranged things so Queen Floresther and your children by my son will never be hindered in being who they were born to be.”
“This is why my husband's attitude is always like it is … unless it is absolutely storming we are always out of doors under the sky, in the dirt, with the gardens and woods and plants.”
“Yes,” the king said. “That is why. However, everything depends on not only her developing for what she is, but you and my son developing for what you are as young parents and maturing people. Iveh is too small and our allies too full of distrust to build an army sufficient to put Queen Floresther back in her proper place for many years … but she and you may find you need not wait on us. Remember: you are not even on your home soil, with your home seeds. Imagine what it would be if you and she were home.”
So: Princess Mercuria and Queen Floresther grew in the adopted soil of Iveh, nourished by the king and his son in love and also in their Camellian heritage of “friendship” with the plants. Meanwhile, Camellia itself wilted, its modern facade crumbling due to the rapacious neglect of the usurpers ruling it, its people now separated from the knowledge of their own heritage and also the benefits for which they had turned their backs on that heritage. Poverty became the norm. Even the plants all seemed to become weeping willows.
Yet those plants increased greatly in number, as no one maintained the landscapes that would have hemmed them in. Gardens expanded into largely abandoned streets and public squares. Trees planted on sidewalks continued to grow, their roots busting up the sidewalks and emerging openly into view. The woods encroached upon cities. Slowly, a highway of greenery, sad and dull though it appeared, was linked between the weary cities and the more vigorous countryside.
When Queen Floresther was nine, her adopted parents sat her down between them, and told her who she really was – not their daughter and the granddaughter of the king of Iveh, but the queen of Camellia, adopted by Joseff and Mercuria after the death of her parents and the loss of the realm.
Queen Floresther considered this for a long time, then cried in the arms of the only parents she had ever known, and then said, “I know that.”
She then got up and went to the coloring book her adoptive grandfather had ordered made for her.
“The child princess who was friends with the plants and has to go home to her people – I've always known she was me.”
The king of Iveh had prepared the way, in his wisdom.
“Do I have to go now?” she asked.
“No, Floresther, not until you are ready,” Prince Joseff said, and stroked his adoptive daughter's face, so reminiscent of the color of Camellia's rich soil. “It is not a child's job to do, but we are going to help you get ready, and when you go, I am going with you to help you.”
“What do I have to do now?”
“Keep doing what you have been doing – keep excelling at all your studies, and continue to get to know the plants of the field. The ones here in Iveh know you, and the ones in Camellia will know you even better.”
“But I've never been there, except when I have dreamed about it.”
“This summer, we are going to go and introduce you to Camellia, and you will see for yourself.”
So, in the summer, the third born prince of Iveh and his adoptive daughter dressed in peasant's clothes and crossed the border between Camellia and Iveh.
Young Queen Floresther noticed how sad the people and the plants of Camellia were compared to those of the only home she had ever known … but although the people certainly did not know her, the plants instantly perked up. A scraggly rosebud visually strained to force its scraggly buds into bloom … and Prince Joseff thought of how his wife had described how his adoptive daughter's real mother had made her last efforts to force her child into the world, into the arms of her nurse.
The child took a stick and went to a nearby creek, and dug a little channel through the dry soil all the way to the rosebush, to water it.
“There,” she said. “It just needs some caring for. Everything around here does.”
“When you are ready,” her adoptive father said, “you will come and do it.”
“I know,” she said. “I know that.”
The rosebud, upon receiving the water it needed, strained to embrace the young queen, its thorns bent all the way back.
“The people will be harder to help,” Prince Joseff said, “but that is why you are studying with Uncle Crown Prince and Sire-Pappa.”
For eleven more years, those studies would continue – all the ins and outs of statecraft with the wise king of Iveh, who had kept his tiny kingdom by both shrewd diplomacy and also a small but efficient army.
However, there was another secret that the aging king repeated over and over again to his adoptive granddaughter.
“Your people here at Iveh will always be your people too,” he said, “and you know our history and who we are and what our strength is. That strength will always be in you too, Sire-Granddaughter. Yet we have also been sure that you and Princess Mercuria your adopted mother have learned your real history and learned your relationship to the plants. When you get home, you both will have to turn your people back to who they are in order to rebuild the realm in a way that can be strong. You can never be strong denying who you really are.”
When Queen Floresther was 19, the king of Iveh sent spies into Camellia to see how far along the plant growth had come along. By this time, the plants were providing the people a necessary means of survival. The usurpers upon the throne had put their second generation on the throne, and the second generation was more rapacious than the first. Taxes now swallowed everything of cash value – cash crops and food crops. However, the wild plants had compensated, and many people scarcely had to get beyond their doorsteps to forage food.
Upon receiving the report of his spies, the king of Iveh sat down with Queen Floresther and walked her through the situation.
“The plants know who you are and also know who your people are,” he said, “and they are doing all they can to keep your people alive. But they can only do so much. Your army too is nearly grown.”
Then he sighed, and ran his hand through his gray hair, and told her the whole story of how her realm had begun its fall to the ruin it had become, where it all depended on the plants because the people were so broken.
“I always say it to you, and now you know all of why, Sire-Granddaughter,” he said. “No people can succeed in denial of who they really are. Your great-grandparents decided they wanted to be like the nations all around them, instead of appreciating the fact that they were the nearest thing to again being stewards of the first garden of God. The people of Camellia eagerly followed them in this time of change.”
“But are not things supposed to change, Sire-Pappa?”
“Things are supposed to change, Floresther. That is not the problem. The problem is when things change you. You must always remember that what is given you by God is more important than what mere man can give you in exchange. Your birthright is not for sale, no matter what change may come. You must teach your people this. Your nation has lost all its modernity now. You can rebuild, but you must do it in a way that maintains your people's birthright.”
He sighed again.
“I am an old man now,” he said, “and you are a young woman. One more year, and my life's work will be complete.”
“Please don't leave me, Sire-Pappa!” Queen Floresther cried, throwing her arms around him.
“Leave you I must in due time,” he said, “but I hope to live to see you leave me, and return to your proper place. Next year, the army of Iveh marches with you and Princess Mercuria back home to Camellia.”
One year later to the day, the army of Iveh, with Prince Joseff at its head, stood with Queen Floresther and Princess Mercuria. Both of the ladies were wearing light armor in case of attacks by archers, but their feet were bare, and the queen had her head uncovered.
Little wonder. The people who had loved her parents saw the beauty of her mother combined with the stature of her father, and his smile … and better days in the past … and perhaps to come. The men of Camellia took courage and whatever they had that might make a good weapon, and went with their queen. There was very little that she had to say to convince them. The plants all looked like heliotropes as she passed by, as if she were the sun, and every wild plant gladly reached its summer bounty of edibles out to the growing throng.
In a neglected corner of the palace, forgotten in a storeroom, a light began to shine out of an nearly empty treasure chest. The second generation of usurpers did not know what it signified; they figured that it was some kind of light coming from the storeroom's windows, reflecting off of something – everything they considered of value had been removed years before.
They had never seen the Camellia Star in its beauty.
They never would.
Word at last came to the capital: the infant Queen Floresther had indeed survived, and she had grown up and was coming, backed by the army of Iveh, to retake her throne.
This was almost laughable. The army of Camellia was ten times the entire army of Iveh, at least on paper. Yet when it came to it, 80 percent of the army, when called up to defend the usurpers, refused to do it.
Only those who had been corrupted completely, who would lose everything if the rightful ruler returned to the throne, turned out – now, the army of Iveh was only outnumbered 2 to 1.
“We can handle them,” Prince Joseff assured his adopted daughter.
“I don't think you'll have to be bothered, Dad,” she said, and then stepped forward before the army of Iveh with Princess Mercuria.
“To the army of Camellia: I am your queen. Come join your brethren behind me, or lay down your arms. Do not fight any more against what is true and right – is not 20 years enough?”
“Charge!” one of the soldiers said, and that whole portion of the army charged, only to have the grass under their feet pull itself up and trip them all up in a great wave.
“You need to surrender now,” said Queen Floresther. “It will get worse if you don't. You cannot fight against your birthright forever.”
They were angrier than ever, not understanding. They re-formed and tried again – the relentless grass flung them to the earth again, and this time, put their roots above the ground and snaked them through the chains in their chain mail armor. So, there the soldiers lay, cursing and swearing and crying, as the queen directed those with her to take all their weapons and shields and leave the soldiers right there.
A lookout had seen the entire situation and had run back to the army commander to tell him what had happened – thus, a hail of arrows greeted the queen and all those with her. But she had brought her army through the trees, and the tree branches swatted the arrows harmlessly away, again and again.
“Surrender now!” she called out to that portion of the army. “The trees know what you are doing and you will not survive!”
Sure enough, the archers were not only knocked down by the grass roots suddenly lifting the ground, but strong tree roots emerged, snaked around the necks of the men, and dragged them all, strangling and struggling, below the ground. In five minutes, the grass closed over them like they never were.
A runner carried the news to the palace … the palace where climbing vines had been creeping up for twenty years, and trees and bushes had been slowly situating themselves.
“Come out and surrender,” the queen shouted up to those looking out of the windows. “You will have to answer for what you have done to destroy this whole nation, but it will be kinder than what will otherwise be done to you.”
A hail of curses and arrows came in another minute from the palace, but Queen Floresther and those with her had lifted enough shields from the vanquished army to safely cover themselves until the sound of a rumbling came as every plant root around the palace forced its way into the palace foundation and then drew back, thus breaking the stones. The entire palace collapsed in the next minute, and those who were not killed by the collapse itself were dragged under by the tree roots.
A minute later, a stout tree root brought a box out of the rubble and put it on top. Light was pouring from every seam of the box. The queen walked up on top of the rubble, opened it, and reverently pulled out the Camellia Star, which was blooming and shining once again.
Those old enough to remember the queen's father holding the star and it glowing like that fell down in reverence – they knew.
“Long live Queen Floresther! Long live the queen! Hail Her Majesty! Long live the queen!”
She waited for all of this to die down, and then walked to the humblest looking man there.
“Let me show you something,” she said, and then put the Camellia Star in his hand.
To his surprise, it glowed in his hand.
“Pass it around – let everybody hold it for a minute, and then bring it back to me.”
This took hours. It was night before a small child finally carried the Camellia Star, now brighter than the moon, back to the queen.
“Listen to me, my people. This is not about me returning to my rightful place, but us returning to our rightful place. We are so weak that our plants have had to care for us, these 20 years. Who here disputes that?”
No one said anything.
“We are so weak that the only men willing to defend us against usurpers we have let sit and rob us of what is ours for 20 years were the men of Iveh – an army one-tenth the size of our own. Who here disputes that?”
Silence, a silence the queen let linger.
“Those of you that are older than I am remember what Camellia was interested in before we were taken over-- trying to be like all the nations around us, not concerned about nourishing our special relationship to this land and the plants on it. You remember exactly where that got us to.”
No one disputed it.
“Everything Camellia chased after from my great-grandfather's reign to now is in rubble like this palace that he built instead of the simple dwellings his predecessors had – in essence, we have been returned to simplicity. Our nation has been thoroughly plundered, and we are at least 20 years from even being respected by our allies again.
“We will have to walk in the old paths, and use our ancient gifts again – but we can learn. We all still have them. The Camellia Star does not lie, and you all saw that all of you have the birthright connected with it. We can rebuild, and we will – but not in opposition to that birthright we all share. We are of Camellia, of its soil and of its plants and of its knowledge. You have seen with your own eyes: if we lose that, we lose everything. If we have that, all that is supposed to be built on that foundation will come.”
Still silence as the words and ideas sank in.
“Go to your homes,” she said, “and in the morning, pay attention to the plants that are paying attention to you. We will all go from there.”
It would take until Queen Floresther was her Sire-Pappa's age – 45 years added to her 20 – before Camellia was prosperous again. Like him, her work was completed by then: Camellia's people had regained their birthright, and were moving into the future in concert with it. It had not been an easy path, for there were people who wanted things to go back to what they had been under her father's reign … but everyone knew that how had come out.
By that time, Queen Floresther was a grandmother, and heard the man who had stepped in and become her grandfather coming out of her mouth when she spoke to her grandchildren and to her great-nieces and great-nephews who were great-grandchildren of Queen-Mother Mercuria:
“You must always remember that what is given you by God is more important than what mere man can give you in exchange. Your birthright is not for sale, no matter what change may come. You can only succeed by working with what you are. You can never be strong otherwise.”
The picture is an original piece of fractal art I made in Apophysis this last weekend, with the name also given this piece of fiction