The Rising Thunder
By: Rachel Banks
As I rushed through the narrow gold-plated hallway, I paused for a moment only to remember the great urgency of my trip. I felt a warm heat touching my stomach; a small, fragile body was clinging to my waist underneath my many cloaks. I continued to stride down the hallway, passing enormous windows with every step. Diamond encrusted chandeliers hung overhead. I was deep in thought when a loud yelp made me stumble, almost dropping the precious baby who depended on me. One slip up could cause this baby to be imprisoned, or worse.
I began to run through the hallway until I finally reached the door that led to the outside world. There was a new snow on the ground that covered all of the nearby trees, water fountains, and park benches. It was sheer poetry. But I had no time to stand by and take in the beauty of the world, nor the beauty of the amazing castle in the center of it. I had a mission and I could not let anyone down.
I ran into the forest, which was the first part of our plan, but I still needed to find a particular area within it. I looked toward the newly risen sun and knew that I must force myself to keep moving. My feet were numb from the great change in temperature. The baby gripped my frozen arm, which felt as though someone had sent needles through it in every direction. I began to run through the forest as fast as I could manage, holding onto a helpless life the entire time.
As I found the frozen lake I was looking for, I heard a peculiar sound coming from the castle. It was the sound of a… of a… cannon. The bellowing noise blasted throughout the forest, then repeated itself again. The invasion has begun.
The only way to reach my destination before it was too late was to cross the frozen lake, rather than going around it. This was a risky move. I knew I could fall through the ice at any moment because it was still early in the winter. I took a step onto the rock-like ice. As I continued to maneuver my way across the ice, I heard a voice. I looked back at the shore and saw a young boy, maybe five years old, staring at the ice. He looked frightened, as if he knew something that I did not.I called to the boy, but he did not answer. He was not coming to me, and I had no intention of retracing my steps, so I journeyed on. With the next step I took, I heard a cracking noise. I knew what that meant. The ice underneath me could not hold my weight any longer. The bundle, still clinging to my waist, began to cry once more. I did not know what to do, so I took a deep breath then lay down on my back with the baby on top of me. I began to slide my way across the frozen lake. I was almost to the other shore when I heard a crack. I felt a shift of weight, then I plunged into the water.
The bitter water stung my skin, and I felt sure it stung the baby’s skin as well. I held the baby with one arm and struggled to grip the smooth, burning ice with my other. My clothes weighed me down, so I quickly took off my cloaks and let them drift away. Then I slid the baby across the ice until he was almost to the shoreline.
I pulled myself up onto the ice and collapsed only a few yards away from where I had fallen in.
I was exhausted. As I lay there thinking about what had just happened, I could feel my hands and feet begin to go numb, along with the rest of my body. Suddenly, I remembered the powerless baby lying only ten yards away. I scrambled to my feet and made it to the crying baby. I picked him up in my arms and walked safely to the shore.
The next step was to find the white horse. I slashed my way through the thick forest in hope of seeing a large, white house. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I saw a beautiful mansion between the forest and a meadow. A white horse was carved into the side of the home. I rushed to the back door of the house and knocked, two swift times and one hard bang. That was our secret knock to let the caretakers inside the home know it was I and not a conquistador. A large, pale woman opened the door; as soon as she did I saw her face flush with relief.I could still hear gunshots and cannons in the distance, yet I knew that my mission was complete. The fight between Spain and France was spreading like wildfire, so the Queen of France asked me, a poor peasant girl, to take a dangerous journey to deliver her only son to a safe haven. I am Aimee Camilla Chaffee. I am 11 years old and I alone carried the heir to the throne of France away from danger and into safety.
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Laura Lynn Tisdel
Copyright © 2009 by Rachel Banks, youth