The Book of the Broken

[ChrisGibson]

CHAPTER ONE​

Now, the Dark Age has come.
Plant the Ursunam, the Name of God.
It is not the season to plant other seeds.
Do not wander lost in doubt and delusion.

-Sage Imbeth Atanambyl

DAUMANY​

Sitting cross legged in the serenity of the temple, Rufus might have been mistaken for a monk in his black robe, burning incense before the black stone image of Yawata, and yet the sword in the laquered scabbard that lay across his knees told another story, as did the fact that Yawata, with the baskets of grain offerings before him, was not merely god of grain and protector of farmers, but protector of the whole people, and therefore the god of warriors. The only sound in that quiet sanctuary was the murmur of his prayers as the heavy stone beads, hooked together on their bronze chain, moved through his fingers.
It was only because Rufus was a warrior with ears that might have heard one of the enchanted people, that he turned when another tall man, one who actually was a monk, stood behind him. This one was in similar black robe, and as Rufus rose, this one nodded.
Rufus made obeisance to the image of Yawata, as did his brother, and then the two men left the sanctuary. They were both tall and pale, Rufus balding, Odo, elfin faced with short brown hair. Only their shorter brother, who was waiting outside the temple in full armor, could be considered handsome.
“I’m sorry, Rufus. It’s happening any moment.”
Rufus placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder and said, “It shouldn’t even mean anything to me, really.”
The three brothers left the house of worship that was actually a chapel on the palace grounds, and crossed over the intricate garden, the garden that reminded Rufus of peace, and the solitude he’d once had, the peace and solitude that were Odo’s inheritance. But Rufus was Yawata’s own, a warrior, and as he went up the shallow steps and entered into the dark corridor’s of the king’s house, he put these thoughts from his head.
The man in the bed by the censer burning heavy incense seemed ancient, but a careful eye would have noted this was sickness. The three brothers were not the only ones in the room, merely the last. Four other men, hale and hearty, three still in the black or red or blue laquer of warrior’s garb, helmets in their hands, sat grim before the bed. The sickly man turned and looked at the young men entering the room, or the younger men it would have been better to call them. At once, Rufus fell on his knees before his father, and Odo winced for the pain of such a fall, though Rufus’s face showed nothing. Above the bed was an intricately worked bronze sun, the symbol of Holy Okiname, God of this house, and beside it stood a monk in a white belted robe like Odo’s.
“Choose,” he said, simply, “and do not leave your land in disarray.”
William, son of Richard, son of Richard, scion of Roland the Dayne who had been the first king of Daumany, turned and stretched out his hand to Rufus.
As the hand lay on his brother’s head, Odo gave a shout of triumph, and then covered his mouth, ashamed. But he had heard something similar from his younger brother, and about the room there were some hisses of discontent.
“So it is done,” the white robed monk called so all could hear, and Odo echoed, “So it is done.”
Rufus, sensing a sudden heaviness of his father’s hand, looked up, and as the hand slid from his head, he caught it.
“Oh, dear,” said one of the women by the bed. Then she murmured, “It is done.”
She took King William’s hand and placed it on the bed. She took the other one and crossed it over that hand as Rufus looked on in disbelief, and the white robed monk closed the King’s eyes, and shut his slightly open mouth.
“The King is dead,” Odo intoned. “Long live the King.”

THE WEST ROAD​

That night they stayed in a town called Washedaw which lay beside the side of the West Dunes and three days southeast of the Great Forests. They were not poor, and though Ohean had spoken of taking the Princess Imogen away in secret, he did not seem terribly concerned about it now, so they took three great suites in the inn. Beneath them they sat eating dinner and now hearing men talk of the end of the war two years back where Prince Anson had come back a hero having, they said, handed the king of Daumany’s ass to him on a platter.
“They say that King Cedd was so jealous he bit off his own nose, but of course he had to pretend to be glad. After all his brother saved the nation.”
Beside Ohean, who sat blank faced, Anson’s usually untroubled face looked embarrassed.
“No one here has ever seen you,” Ohean said, calmly eating his curry. “Just carry on like you’re any other very goodlooking, bronze haired soldier.”
“Ohean,” Conn said, more to take their attention off of Anson than anything, “May I ask you a question?”
“Only if you want to know things.”
“What is the Third Creation and the Second and… what was that you were speaking of?”
Wolf put down his chicken leg, because though he had not asked, he wanted to know as well.
“The Third Creation,” Ohean began, “is all this you see around you. The world you know now is the Third Creation.
“The First Creation, or the first we know of, who can say how long it lasted? But it was the age borne of the Time of Dreaming. In those days the Gods still walked the Earth, for they were the Earth, and their First Children walked it with them, as well as the Second and Third Children, who are called the Fair Folk. The Vomor and the Ystrad, the Elves, walked along side them. In those days one could easily see the tree spirits and the spirits of the earth and men and Gods lived upon the earth together. But also other things walked the earth, those things that the New Faith calls devils, and in the end the world was destroyed by a great flood. The Flood would have lasted forever had not the High Gods intervened. Some stories say that all that breathed died, or that only one ark survived, and that is nearly, but not completely true. Most men died, and it is said that most men surviving were the children of Medwyn, or Urubpak. Sometimes he is called Noach. His name differs. But other men had great knowledge, magic and craft as well, for they were more than human. They were of the Gods and the Elder Folk, and these men sailed far west and established the great land of Atle. From these were born the Royan. It should be said other people were born of that land as well.”
“Yes,” Conn said in a quiet voice, “It was always said that the Royan came from the Far West.”
“The fathers of the fathers of the Royans,” Ohean said, “The men of the Far South and of Chem and old Achaea and Axum share the same blood. As do many of the Sincercians. It was the time of the Second Creation, when Atle became a mighty power, and in the east, Caldé and its great tower rose. These lands were full of magic. Between them also rose the mighty land of Axum in the Great Sea, and also there was and is Chem, the Black Land. In these lands was the ancient wisdom. But then a great shadow arose. Some say it was pride and some say it was a true shadow, that the greater the light, the longer the darkness it can cast, and some say the Gods and demons walked upon the earth again, though in the Second Creation it was different.”
“Why?” Gabriel asked.
“Because the Flood had truly altered the world. It was not new. It had come out of its Dreaming, and now that it was real and solid, it could not bear the full weight of the Gods. The Gods could no more enter it successfully then a storyteller can enter his own book.
“But a storyteller could write himself as a character in his own book,” Conn said.
“Ah,” Ohean smiled, “Yes. And that is what the Gods did. That is what the avatars are, the way the Gods enter the world, and they did so, and there was, in time, battle, though the battle was a thing all good men attempted to divert, and in this battle the great island of Atle fell beneath the waves. That was the end of the Second Creation.”
“But how,” Wolf said now, “could an island sinking be the end of the whole Second Creation?”
“Wolfling,” Ohean said, tenderly, “do you remember Kratow?’
“The Volcano? Didn’t it exploded around a hundred years ago?”
“A hundred and fifty, really. But, yes,” Ohean said. For those who did not know he said, “Kratow was the great volcano in the far Southern Sea that exploded, throwing its gas and debris all over.”
“And that whole year nothing grew. They called it the year without summer.”
“Yes,” Ohean said. “There was plague here and ice storms in the Two Hales, and that was from one volcano, a very great one, far to the south. Well Atle was an entire continent. And it exploded. This is what men called the Great Cataclysm. If the avatars were not present, if the Gods themselves had not removed the Veil and stretched out their hands to do a work, then all life would have ended.”
Ohean suddenly sang.

First was the mage
Who moved from age to age
And second was his hero strong

Third was the starry maid,
who lived in trees,
whose wood would never die
Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down

Conn had heard this tune, this song, or some of it. Lorne had been singing it the first time they had all gone out onto the roof to enjoy the wind of early winter, but Lorne had only sung one verse, and he didn’t seem to know what it meant. Nor, as Ohean went on singing, did he offer to explain.

Four is for the lady who fits inside
men’s hands
Who gave up arms and legs to
be an arm again
And Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down

Five alive, the Great old Man,
the mighty Oaken Tree
Mighty rash, who bore the Ash,
and Ash and onto Thee
Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down

They say a man gave up his
land to be the Woman’s Key!
Oh! And Seven came down
Oh, and Seven came down
Of all of them I’ve spoken
Except the one who’s broken

But he did not have to explain, for these, surely, must have been the avatars, those who had repaired the earth and who, it seemed, continued to do so.
“All the world would have ceased, continents been flooded, the air filled with poison. Great magic was made to hold the lands in places and drive away the smoke, to save lives which would have died. In the end Caldé survived, but diminished, and so did Axum and Chem. No other lands survived that second creation. Chem had been founded by the people of Atle and of Atle all that was left was Solea. For some time the survivors of Atle all came to Solea, but at last they traveled further east to the newly risen land of Ynkar. There they founded Chyr and in time Ynkurando. The Blue Priests came from Atle and established the first Blue Houses on this land, your own being one of them. There an ancient magic was stored, for there are five orders which preserve the Third Creation from destruction, and to this day by their work they still the tremors and keep the world from falling apart, the wizards of Calde, the wizards of the White Tower, the Witches of the Silver Hand, the Women of the Rootless Isle where I was born, and the Blue Priests.”
Conn blinked in amazement.
Ohean nodded.
“Atle sank thirty five hundred years ago, long to you, but short in the history of all things. There have been three creations, and I and those I mentioned are bound to preserving this one, for it is said there will not be another save the dawning of the Age of Love, and that is something different entirely.”


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

I was glad to see that this story was back! Lots going on, Rufus seems like an interesting person. I am happy that the travellers trip is going well so far. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Oh, Rufus will be interesting enough in time. Back to Westrial. And back to Felix and Scott tomorrow.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT.... LUST OVERTAKES



The next day, Ohean said, “We will ride away from the King’s Road,” and they left the great highway and traveled further west. The land began to rise and towns were scarcer while the land became more greener. It was colder now, though, for they were leaving the south, and there were still now and again touches of winter. To their constant left, which was west, rose green hills going higher and higher to the trees, and these they followed along low slopes.
“We are a merry and slow bnad of criminals,” Anson had said.
“Criminals!” Quinton’s voice rose.
“He’s just joking,” Gabriel told his old friend.
“But not entirely,” said Myrne, who had not removed the veil from her head in all of their travels, and maintained company with Sara, Obala, and the herds most of the time.
“Anson is right,” Ohean said. “It is we, Imogen, Myrne, Anson and I suppose myself, who should be crossing the border as soon as possible, and though there is safety in a crowd—“
“Perhaps there is more safety in splitting up and some of us hurrying up.”
“Precisely, Conn,” Ohean said.
“And,” Anson added, nodding at Conn with admiration, “Safety in some of us traveling slower.”
By this he meant Conn’s sister with her baby and and Sara and Obala with the herds, some of which were dropping lambs or nursing chicks. The Great Marnen Road was not just an arc of land the Marnen herders traveled, by a tract of land on which they lived, and they came closer to the Chryan border there were whole settlements where it was wiser for Obala and the others to rest a few days at a time, then match the pace Anson and Ohean had set.
“And there is little need for you, friend Derek, to travel so fast either,” Anson said “The Blues can make their way settling in homes for the night where we cannot.”
“We will not be parted from you,” Gabriel said stoutly.
“Conn shall not be parted from us,” Ohean said, “for the there is much to teach him. But we will set out at a hard right a day ahead of you, and you meet up with us when you can.”

This turned to be am excellent plan. Afterward, Derek would remind himself that Ohean was a wise councilor and Anson a strategist so they should have known better. In the last year Derek Annakar had wanted to feel part of something. In his seven years in the temple he had always felt part of that life until the war came, and then he wanted to feel a part of the outer world, he longed to be out in it.When they had begun their travels, Derek felt very much a part of whatever was happening, for something was happening even if no one could name it. He remembered not only those days when they would all have long nights and long lunches in their shared rooms, but the trips to the river to be among the Marnen herds and their pilgrimages to the Wedding Country. Here they were, he, Matt, Quinton, Gabriel and Cal, only Lorne and Brian and a few others left behind, traveling in the spring weather under budding leaf and pink blossom, Sara and Jon in a bright vardo, ponies placidly pacing beside them for when walking grew tiresome, and the great dirty white herds of sheep, and the honking flocks of geese led by the Marnen and then, in the midst of it, Anson and Ohean with their strange companions, Wolf and Pol and Austin Buwa, the last two of whom Derek had a curious desire to learn from, maybe even lie with.
And now they were parting company. Two who were rarely seen, and whom Derek realized were more in need of hiding than anyone else, emerged from the herds, the dark haired, pale maidens Imogen and Myrne. Myrne, apparently had been in hiding for some time, and was a member of the Herreboro family in Hale, She was not technically a princess, but she was high up enough to be in danger if seen roaming Westrial. Imogen was the very daughter of late King Anthal fleeing King Cedd and his orders to marry her off to whomever he saw fit. It was of the utmost importance that those ladies get as far from Kingsboro as possible. Surely this was no light trip for them.
As Derek watched them ride off of at a high pace into the northwest, Conn’s blue cloak streaming out alongside Anson’s, he felt, rather than the weight of losing friends and a lover—if only for a time—a curious lightness about his own life. He stood beside Matteo, watching the riders grow smaller and smaller until they could be seen no more, and then, bidding goodbye to Sara and Jon, to the herds of the Marnen which were grazing slowly and would probably only travel a few more miles before night came, Derek Annakar mounted his pony and was the first of the Blues to began their meandering trot in a direction that, slowly, and in view of more towns, would follow their companions.
Traditionally Blues traveled two by two and they mimicked this now, Derek and Cal, Matt and Quinton. They had passed three towns, but none had an inn, and as evening approached an old farmer with the ancient stone herms on his boundaries came out waving to them.
“You are Blue priests,” he perceived. “Be at peace in my home this night.”
Though old and poorly appointed with floors which had been scrubbed so much the wood had gone white and then grey, the house was large and clean and run by the old, rawboned man who was red skinned and looked like one of those combinations of Royan, Sendic and Tribesmen which so defined the countryside of Westrial. He had a son only les rawboned and they laid out a good table of fresh bread, brown butter, bean soup, a couple of roast chickens, and small beer.
“There are no well appointed rooms as in nice houses,” the man said, but me and the son sleep in that great space there, and beyond those pillars is something like a room for ye. I can bring blankets and pillows and the like and you can sleep well, holy masters.”
Here was a man, like many in the west, who kept the old ways and honored the old priests.
“I only ask,” he said, not look at them but at the floor, as he laid the blankets out, “that you bestow your gifts on my and the boy who is powerful lonely, and on our land before you leave.”
Derek and Gabriel nodded solemnly.
“Of course,” Gabriel Rokamont said.

They rose early in the morning, wishing to join their friends more than to sleep in and, at any road, Matt knew how Quinton’s leg troubled him and sleeping on a floor, no matter how gracious the master of the floor had been, did not help.
“You would have done better staying with Obala and the wagon,” Matteo chided.
“I didn’t want to be parted from you.”
“You know I would have stayed too.”
“Then we would make no progress. I can live with pain,” the handsome little man said. “I do not court it, but neither will I indulge it.”
As they tried not to argue, from the inside of the house came the stifled cries of the man and his son, the finally unrelieved shouts of the boy as Gabriel fucked him in one room of the house. They could hear the clapping and clapping of flesh against flesh. From the open window came the sighs of the old man while Derek rode him to completion. In the end it was not the old man, but Derek who cried out as he ejaculated inside of him.
For Matt, the moments after the cry, rather they came from his mouth or not, were always reeling and strangely silent. The birds the chirped again were almost a violation and he heard a strained climax again, presumable from Gabriel or from the boy, as Derek, solemn faced, smoothing his blue cloak and tunic came out of the house, taking a hand through his black hair.

They took the northwest road for some time, hoping to catch up with their friends, but Derek after a time Derek confessed: We underestimated them. They had been on thoroughbreds builf for speed, leaving the few heavy things they had behind with the ponies and wagons. These ponies, strong enough and fast enough in their own right, were not going to catch up with Connleth and Anson and Ohean today, and Ohean, Derek realized, had not meant them to.
In this country, they saw often the Red Priests and the Red Priestesses stopping by fileds where a great pole with a red banner wrapped about its top were planted. There were no Red Priests in Kingsboro, but they were all of a kind and so they made the sign of reverence to Derek and his companions as they departed into the fields to find the men or maids who awaited them. They traveled the road with a handsome, dusky skin man named Jayson who told them at this time of year he rode through here and if a family could not conceive, then they would invite him in for the night and then the man would leave and have him lie with the wife.
Derek pretended not to be shocked, but Gabriel could see he was.
“This I understand,” Gabriel said, “for my mother was a Red Priestess as my uncle was Blue and I came into the world this way. She served in the fields to bring blessing to the land and came back to the temple pregnant with me and later with my sisters.”
Derek, who loved the life of the blue Temple had been born into the very conservative world of the Doman middle class, and had to remind himself of this.
The last night when they traveled alone, before they would rejoin Conn and Ohean, they stayed at a brookhouse, one of the wealthy boat houses kept by university aged boys on vacation from school and family. It was far more sumptuous, though far less pious, than the home of the farmer and his son who had so plainly asked for Gabriel and Derek to lay with them, and Derek felt the strange drunken lust which did not much resemble reverence sneaking over him as they changed from sober blue robes to the snug mesh trousers through which one could see their sex, and they drank and feasted well into the night, knowing this was in the service of the God as well. As firecrackers went off from other boats and hooting and laughing was heard all along the river, in a darkened room, on an expensive bed, Derek planted his hands on the shoulders of an eager college boy and plowed him into the night while, in the next room, Quinton lay on his back gasping as another boy rode him. In the main room, still lit with chandeliers and littered with expensive plates and half empty glasses, Gabriel fucked one boy against a sofa, mouth open and panting while, on the floor, legs pushed back till his knees touched his ears, Matteo took the other.





THE ESSAIL BORDER:
RAYMOND HOUSE



King Raoul had been at the funeral of King Anthal along with his Armorican queen, Hermudis. They, and the King and Queen of Essail had all ridden back together to eastern Essail along with that dreadfully dull baldheaded Hilda and ler little monks. That they had the same father was no strange thing. That they had come from the same womb, Morgellyn could hardly believe.
But tonight the royals minus the royal nun and her retinue dined at Raymond House and tonight, Morgellyn put her daughter in a watered silk gown and did up her hair in the elaborate braids they wore in the north, or in the Royan kingdoms for that matter.
“I don’t want to marry him, Mother,” Linalla protested.
“Don’t be stupid,” Morgellyn said, pulling a little too tightly on the cinch around her daughter’s waist. “No one’s getting married today. But just give it three years—”
“Mother!”
“I was wed to your father before I was sixteen.”
“Everyone knows you hate him.”
Morgellyn spun Linalla around and struck her across the face.
The girl yelped, and Morgellyn turned her around and, with an especially vicious tug, she did the last of her cinches.
“Bite your tongue, you stupid girl,” Morgellyn commanded, sitting down.
Did everyone know? She wondered. More importantly, did Stephen know? And she didn’t hate him, not really. She just could not be in love with him. She corrected herself . Well, I do not love him is the thing.
But when her maid walked into the room, Morgellyn decided that was enough honesty.
“The Princess will walk ahead of me,” Morgellyn said, “so much the better for Bohemond to see her.”
“But, yes my lady,” old Wenis said, “and how old is the Prince Bohemond?”
“Eighteen and with a will to wed,” the Queen said. She turned to her daughter and said, “Show him you are a woman and not a girl.”
“I am a girl,” Linalla said, fiercely.
“Not in a few years time, dearie,” old Wenis said. “And there was a time when a girl your age would have been packed off and wed after her first bleeding.”
“There was a time,” Linalla told her, “when a servant who didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut would have had her tongue ripped from her throat.”
Morgellyn did not correct Linalla for this. If all went well her daughter would be Princess Reignant of Sussail and afterward it’s Queen. She would have to learn, and slaves had better learn to respect and obey.
As the Princess walked ahead of her mother, down the corridor, through the small breezeway and then into the great hall of Raymond House, Morgellyn, her golden hair tied back in similar fashion as her daughters, reflected, “She does not think I would be in awe of her, or proud of her. She cannot know. She cannot understand.”
As her daughter swept past Prince Bohemond, she noted the pleased look on his face. Yes, yes. And there was his sister, the Princess Isobel, looking unimpressed, bitch. Stephen, the fool, looked somewhere between amazed and stupid, and he took his daughter’s hand and put her to his left. It would have been just like Philip to complain that this was his place, even though he was eight, but she had given him a long talking to about minding his manners before company.
And now, at last, Morgellyn came, and when Stephen took her hand and she sat down beside him, she smiled graciously on the house, and over the food and upon their guests. Her eyes passed over Isobel, over Bohemond and over the Queen of Sussail and met squarely with Raoul the King.
In the south alone the Remulans, who in the Old Kingdoms were called Rufanians, had remained, and the South Ayl did not conquer as much as they had intermarried. There the royal line had strong Royan and Rufanian blood, and the southerners had often married with the Armoricans across the sea, and the Valencians as well. They were a hot blooded lot, and Raoul’s chocolate eyes met hers and asked a question so loud she wondered no one could hear it.
Smiling, Morgellyn, beside her stupid husband, mouthed the answer.
“Yes.”

After supper, the Queen had retired to her favorite rooms in this house, or some of them. Up here where her herbs hung, and glass bottles revealed ground spices and powders, she worked her craft. When Eva came into the room, Morgellyn, leaning over a counter, chopping herbs, looked up and said, “Did you deliver the draft?”
“It’s in the King’s beer.”
“You made sure it was the right one? Not the one for Queen Hermudis?”
“I did, Lady, though I do not see the difference in one sleeping draft or another.”
“It is not for you to see, but to obey.”
“Yes.”
Eva looked so exhilarated Morgellyn made note of this. When she was reprimanded, Eva took an almost erotic pleasure in it. This strangeness made her fond of the girl. There was no other she would have trusted with the delivery of her powders and elixirs.
Now, Morgellyn moved from the counter, wiping her fingers on the work dress she wore when she was retired from court. She caught Eva’s hand and led her along the long wall, opposite the large windows. All along it, at irregular intervals, were old bronze panels and now, standing eye level with one, she opened it and said, “Look through the darkenglass.
“We can see them,” the Queen said, “but they cannot see us. How do you like him? Does he suit you?”
The square of glass looked down from the top of a warmly lit bathing room. Below, Eva could see a tall, dark haired man, much like his father, chocolate eyed with a touch of roundness in his face, strong shouldered, darker than most Ayl, dark as some Royan, his teeth flashing as he spoke to the page boy who began to undress him.
“The Prince Bohemond?”
“Yes,” Morgellyn murmured.
Eva knew from that bath room this window would seem like one of many square patterns in the wall, and as she looked away, to look at all the other panels in the Queen’s apothecary, she wondered what rooms they spied.
“He is good to look at,” Eva said, returning to gazing on Bohemond’s naked body, “much like his father.”
“Go to him if you wish. Tell him you are a gift from the Queen.”
Eva blinked at her.
“Remain with him for the night even. Especially. He is young. He will be done in five minutes, but keep him entertained all evening. Make him work to pleasure you. Tell him I insist.”
“He is your majesty’s future son in law.”
“Linalla is thirteen,” Morgellyn said, matter of factly. “The more you enjoy him and he enjoys you, the more he will remember his first meeting of Linalla as a wonderful night. By the strange alchemy of memory and men’s minds he will forever associate seeing Linalla with the most passionate night of his life. Make sure to take the jug of wine. Yes, that one right there. And you do not wish to have a prince’s bastard when you are not in his household. Take that direweed and boil it into a tea for yourself while he sleeps.”
Having taken the jug of wine and the small bag of weeds, Eva bowed delightedly, and put her hand to the door. Morgellyn was watching as the young prince with his beautiful brown body stepped into the tub full of sudsy water. How lovely he was. How surprised he would be when Eva appeared.
“Will your majesty be watching our pleasure?” Eva said.
“Of course I will,” Morgellyn said. “It will increase my own desire for less than an hour from now when I go to Bohemond’s father.”
As Morgellyn watched the boy washing himself, the water glossy on his skin, Eva said, “While I am making love to the son you will be with the father. It makes me shiver.”
“Off with you, you insolent slut,” Morgellyn said, indulgently, as Eva left the room.
She did not blame Eva, though. She could not. As her nipples rose and her thighs moistened she realized the same thought made her shiver too.

MORE ON TUESDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow lots going on in this story already! There seems to be plenty of lust happening on this journey. I feel sad for Linalla but hopefully everything works out with this arranged marriage. This sleeping draught might lead to interesting things. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Poor Linalla is living the life of a princess, but let's see if she can bend things to her will the way her mother seems to have done. Meanwhile, on the road, Derek and the boys dispense their particular brand of holiness and Morgellyn finds ways to entertain herself. Oh, there's a lot going on so far.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WHILE OUR FRIENDS ARE STILL TRAVELING WEST, ANTHONY PEMBROKE RIDES EAST ON HIS JOURNEY TO MORGELLYN'S HOUSE TO MEET WITH KING RAOUL AND QUEEN HERMUDIS AND ARRANGE A MARRIAGE BETWEEN THEIR DAUGHTER ISOBEL AND CEDD. STOPPING IN GEMOND FOR THE NIGHT HE MEETS TERYN WESLEY




Eleven












And then, in the night, she opened her mouth and began to tell me, of her past days, many an amazing thing…

-The Song of Ayar





THE ESSAIL BORDER:
GEMOND


There had been bright lights ahead in the town of Gemond, and he had ridden three days hard to be here in order to reach Raymond House tomorrow. This is why he sat in the travern, a little weary, ready for bed until a moment ago when Anthony had seen the boy. He had it on very good word that the King’s sister would be there one more day or so, entertaining the King and Queen of Sussail.
How strange, Anthony thought, that he always referred to Morgellyn as the King’s daughter and now the King’s sister though she had been Queen pf her husband’s kingdom for the easy part of fifteen years. He did not relish being in her country or in her house at all, but he was in the service of his lord, and Cedd needed a wife. To drag his feet and hope to chase the royal party down after they left Morgellyn’s acquaintance was a comfort he would not allow himself.
There were some comforts Anthony Pembroke allowed himself, though. There was that young boy, ivory skinned with coral lips, pale blue grey eyes, hair that shone like polished bronze, and Anthony moved with the smoothness of a hunter to follow him out the door.
“Do you get good business in these parts?”
The boy smiled at him. He had almond eyes and a grave, serious face. These boys were not stupid.
“I make good business in all parts, sir,” he said.
“What will you charge for me?”
The boy looked him up and down.
“I’ll have you for free.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Anthony said. “I’m a rich man and you ought to charge a rich man out the nose.”
The boy looked serious. He nodded as if he were learning something.
“How do you want it?” he asked Anthony. “We could… the alley? Most men like it in the alley.”
“I am not most men and I have no wish to disgrace you or myself. I have a bed, and nice apartments. I’d like it in the bed and I’d like it to be pleasurable for the both of us. And I’d like you to be well paid for your time.”
“No one ever said that to me,” the boy reflected. “No man I’ve been with.”
“Maybe because no man ever lived like you,” Anthony suggested.
The boy made a courtly bow, seeming to mock himself more than he mocked Anthony Pembroke.
“Let us be off,” he said. “And I promise I will earn my money this night.”



“Oh!”
“Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”
“No, no,” the boy said as he gripped the window and looked out onto the town. “No, just… be gentle with me. At least at the start.”
Anthony nodded, and slowly he pressed himself inside of that beautiful bronze haired boy while the boy’s eyes widened and his mouth widened, and he made a small sound. He reached back to pull Anthony inside of him, and their rhythm began.
The boy panted, trying to stay quiet. As he gripped the window ledge and screwed himself to receive Anthony, he whispered, “Please… Can I shout?”
“If you wish,” Anthony said through gritted teeth, pressing into him deeper. He stopped and fucked him rapidly, then stopped again.
“It excites me, actually.”
As Anthony fucked him, and the boy gripped the window he cried out into the night, and the villagers heard him cursing, calling, exulting. In the inn, across the yard of the inn, they heard the roar of Anthony’s orgasm, the boy’s wail.
Silence. Two shadows moving in the square window.
Darkness.


“Do you want to leave or do you want to stay?”
A flame unfurle in the dark as Anthony lit his pipe, and the smell of it filled the room. For a moment, by the low light, the boy saw him, broad chested, handsome, sitting up naked in the bed.
“I was leaving,” the boy said. “Usually that’s how it happens.”
“Would you like to travel with me? I’m on my way to Raymond.”
“And be… your catamite?”
Anthony shrugged. “Among other things. You have a mind about you, and a pleasant personality. Or do you want this always?”
The boy did not speak at once. When he did he said, “Sir… I do not need saving. If that is what you are about. Some men are about that. They see a boy and want to save him.”
“We all need saving,” Anthony said. “And we all need patronage. We all need help. Do you wish to make your way in this world as something more? If you do, come with me.”
In the dark, the boy looked thoughtful. God, Anthony thought, he’d been with so many boys in the past, sweet, kind often, but not very bright, not capable of much more than fucking. But, the look on this boy’s face.
The boy looked to him.
“Would I be your squire?”
“Squire and secretary.”
“And catamite?”
“That’s an awful word. It sounds like parasite.”
“It’s less than a lover and more than a whore.”
“I know what it is and if you want to sleep with me while we travel that’s fine, and if you don’t I’ll find someone else. The truth is, when we return to Kingsboro you will simply be my squire and secretary. When I am there… I am commited to another.”
“Many men are commited to another. That doesn’t bother me. Yes, I would be glad to come with you, Lord.”
He stood up and Anthony ached for him a little. He was of medium height with a lovely body. Lovely was the only word for it. He had that slim softness of youth, the strength and beauty of a growing boy. The face turned to him had a wisdom that threatened to become world weariness, and a bitterness if he stayed on the streets too long.
“Do you have a name?” Anthony asked.
“My name is Teryn.”
“Do you wish to sleep in your own bed or in this one?”
Teryn cocked his head, looking confused.
“You are confused because no one has ever given you a choice.”
“I choose you, tonight,” Teryn told him, coming to the bed, his young sex already rising, already hard as was Anthony’s under the blankets.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

Interesting to see a portion of this part of the story from Anthony’s point of view. I like Teryn and I hope Anthony treats him well. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, we've been a while away from Anthony who has been, until now, a very minor character.

 

[ChrisGibson]

DEREK


“We should meet them by the end of the day, or tomorrow,” Derek predicted.
“How do you figure?” Cal asked. “We should have seen them days ago.”
“They rode at breakneck speed,” Derek argued, and I’m sure they continued to. And we have trotted along for the last few days. There is no reason we should have caught up with them until now.”
“And now,” Cal, said, “We have not caught up with them.”
Derek understood that on one level, Cal was afraid that they were lost from Conn and Ohean and Anson. He had wondered as well, but it was Matteo who said. “They will be waiting for us in Ollagoth. It was agreed. We will all meet in Ollagoth. And as you see, we are still far ahead of Sara and Nialla and Obala. We’ve already discussed this. Ohean and the others had to ride as far as possible to the West.”
“Is it true that in the West Country they will be out of danger from Cedd?” Quinton wondered.
“The King cannot openly say he is opposed to his brother or admit that his youngest sister has fled,” Derek said, “and as yet, he doesn’t have the intelligentsia to hunt for them secretly. The West Country is independent from the rest of the land in all but name. He would never venture as far as Ollagoth.”.
“It is possible,” Gabriel spoke for the first time, “that even this far northwest is beyond Cedd.”
“It’s beyond something,” Quinton said, looking down from the rise the road lay along to the great brown expanse of the river Westyl. It was so side that marshy islands the size of small towns rose from it, and near the rocky banks were freshets and rivulets. The late morning sun that warmed their heads through the hazy day cast light on the wooded hills across the water. At Langenford they would cross the river and enter into the Far West.
“It would be good to bathe in that river,” Matteo said.
“It would be cold and mucky and opposite of good,” Quinton, always a southerner, protested.
“Still,” Matteo said, “I feel the need to a bath.”
“I know what you mean,” Derek said.
They were all Blues and Derek fully understood that often, regardless of how they personally felt about who came to them, they were vowed to give pleasure to men. Even on the nights of orgy, where the spirit of lust possessed them and they went to their work with abandon, it was still an offering, and when it was done there was exhaustion. Men were not meant for these things, not really, and there was a magic that passed through them. Dressing and washing the morning after they had left the houseboats, Derek had felt an exhaustion, a loss of personal space and boundary after his nights of riding and being ridden, and this morning he felt that same loss over their whole group. Together they were part of a Ogdoad, Matteo vowed to Quinton, Cal vowed to Gabriel, all of them vowed to each other, but in these last days they had not known each other, only known other men they were would never see again, only been the bodies through which shock and mercy and magic and orgasm had passed through.
“Perhaps we will find a village tonight,” Derek said. “When we do we will wash and purify again. We will keep harum for a while and not be open to others until we can be ourselves again. We will be for ourselves for a while. How is that?”
No one said anything, but this seemed to be agreeable to all and so they rode on.
For a long time it did not look like they would find any town, let alone a bathing house. They did, now and again, find clumps of Marnen with their herds and now and again see stretches of them riding north and south. Once they ran into a troupe of Red Priests and passed a camp of brightly colored vardos belonging to the Traveling Folk. The days were longer now, and as this one came to an end they reached Langenford, a city strtching out on both sides of the river and found no great inn, but a quiet hotel whose mistress assured them was fresh up on hot bread and hot water.

From a distance, Derek imagined himself exploring Langenford. He was not sure if the town was actually two towns, dock houses and little houses, red tiled spreading out from the shore, not very many tall buildings but most of them charming, and all the city radiating out to little farmsteads. Here there wre clumps of Travelers raising camps as well as herders, Marnen, Thadden and Westrial. After traveling so long seeing no one, now they saw, in addition to the Travelers and herders, the small villages of the Elundi, with their round white houses.
All of these jostled together in the wall less town, and now Derek knew as he yanwed that he would not be going anywhere. They had taken three rooms and he one alone. They shared a bathroom between them, one with a great shower and hot water that reminded him of something in the Blue Temple, and in that room was a large tub as well and a commode. Derek sank into the bath and there was a candle lit by the window that shone on the city he would not be visiting. He yawned and Cal, walking in reached down and flicked him.
“Don’t you fall asleep and drown in that tub, Mr. Annakar,” he said.
And Derek only laughed a little, barely conscious of Cal, laying his clothes on the flagstone of the bathing room and then sitting on the commode to relieve himself. Derek hated bath houses and bathrooms where the commode was close to the tub and this was not one of them. There was a sink between them and he heard Cal singing:

The wind doth blow
Today my love
A few small drops of rain
Never have I had
But one true love
In cold clay she is laid
I'll do as much
For my true love
As any young man may
I'll sit and mourn
All on her grave
At twelve months and a day

Derek had also jumped at this journey because the last time he had left the city was to return to the east where his family lived and care for his father. This was not the way it was supposed to be, he’d said. At not quite thirty, he was not supposed to have a dead mother, and what was more, with other siblings, he was not supposed to be the one caring for his father. He had been away from the temple and away from his life for three months before he was sternly called back, a call he barely obeyed, and when he had returned, Hryum lectured him sternly.
“You are trying to gain a love you never had,” Hyrum said. “It is like guilt, but it isn’t guilt. What it is is hopeless, and you will spend your whole life on someone who has already taken up so much energy it took your mother’s life.”

The twelve months and the day being gone
A voice spoke from the deep
Who is it sits
All on my grave
And will not let me sleep
'Tis I, 'tis I,
Thine own true love
Who sits upon your grave
For I crave one kiss
From your sweet lips
And that is all I seek

Derek was surprised the words of the song had come from his lips. There was a gentle flushing from the commode, or had the flushing happened a while ago? The running of water, Cal cleaning himself before entering the showers.
But Cal did not enter the shower. Derek felt the displacement of water. Heard the splash, felt the sole of Cal’s foot press against his own and then felt Cal settle into the bath with him.
“When I was a little boy, my old man would pass me around to be fucked by whoever,” Cal said. “He once took me out on the corner of Queen’s Park and told me to sing to attract men. I said I couldn’t sing and he hit me in the back of my head till I did, and then he gave me to two men so he could buy liquor and watched them use me.
“I have always been proud to be a Blue Priest,” Cal said, sinking deeper into the water so that his thighs touched Derek’s and only his curly hair was visible above the suds, “But sometimes I feel like that little boy again, and that means I will probably have to stop this soon.”
Derek remembered leaving his ailing father. His sister had called him, telling him how heartless he was and how she and her husband should not be left to care for their father. She had said more, about them being pillars of the One Faith, well known in their community and respected and how everyone pittied them for being saddled with such an old man, but also such a strange brother.
“I will go,” Derek had said. “I will go long enough to put things aright.”

Cal sang:

You crave one kiss
From my clay cold lips
But my breath is earthy strong
Had you one kiss
From my clay cold lips
Your time would not be long
My time be long,
My time be short
Tomorrow or today
May God in heaven
Have all my soul
But I'll kiss your lips of clay

Now the others entered, chatting but too tired to be loud, Derek blinked. They were already naked as they turned on the shower and did not bother with the curtain. They had known each other so long nakedness was not eroticism. The gentle loving touch that happened under covers was eroticism. Derek was not sure if Cal was going to ask to sleep with him tonight, and Derek wasn’t sure if he was going to say no. Right now he was thinking of Conn and how many days they had been apart, and how Conn had traveled with him to the east, and it had been Conn who found his father splayed on the floor and brought him back to Kingsboro, to place him under the care of the White Father’s, in the home of the Aged at Purplekirk.
It was Conn who had said, “You did all you could. You did all you could.”
Gabriel was singing, with his flawless voice, as he passed the shower head over his flawless body:

See down in yonder garden green
Love where we used to walk
The sweetest flower
That ever grew
Is withered to the stalk

They must have all heard him and Calon singing, Calon who had known much he no longer discussed, who had been on the battlefield two years ago and given himself to men in the night who had been killed the next morning.

The stalk is withered dry my love
So will our hearts decay
So make yourself
Content my love
Till death calls you away

The song, a warning against being obsessed with what one could not have again or return to, the way in quiet moments Derek thought of his dead mother and dead father. No, Derek thought, no matter what you did, and how you gave, no matter what you gave, it never really did seem to be enough.

They were weary after their travels and went to bed quickly and, Derek suspected, weary of not being with each other. They all belonged to each other, and always would. But Gabriel belonged to Cal and Matt to Quint and Derek belonged to Conn who was not here and had not been with them. Long after Gabriel and Cal had gone to their room and Matteo and Quinton had gone to theirs, he where the sloping roof of the hotel came to a flat surface and watched the little nightlife of a friendly town far from enemy borders. Lovers out on the main street and friends, having a late evening stroll. A couple of people sober enough coming out of the taverns, crying good night. The stars were a high bright tangle overhead that shone down on the broad blue river and now he could see the shallow runnels of the ford they would cross in the morning. They were, he measured, only a day from Ollagoth.
Derek stretched and yawned and felt almost too tired to move. In the plain blue denim and blue tee shirt, he stood up and made his way, through a window, back into his suddenly lonely room. He crossed the hall, to turn the door and look in on Cal and Gabriel, but when he did, he was surprised, by his night vision, to see that Matt and Quint were there. Gabriel lay in the bed half asleep and naked under a sheet, but Matt and Cal were chatting and the slight Quinton, naked, his troubled leg angled, lay on his back sleeping on the sofa.
As Derek undressed and climbed into bed beside Gabriel, he heard his old friend, thrusting some blanket toward him murmur, “We were wondering when you’d get here.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am really enjoying getting back into this story! I feel sad for how Cal’s Dad treated and exploited him. Hopefully he likes his life better now. Nice to get into Dereks point of view. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, most of them including Cal have talked about days of abuse before joining the Blues. What he actually said is he doesn't like his life better now and that the last few days are reminding him of the past.

 

[ChrisGibson]

RAYMOND HOUSE







“My dear, you are beautiful,” Stephen King of Essail took a strand of his queen’s hair and said, “Please promise you will come to me tonight. Before we leave for Sunderland.”
“You know I haven’t been feeling well,” Morgellyn reproached her husband, lifting his hand from her hair.
“Perhaps you’re pregnant again.”
She restrained the urge to spit and smiled instead.
“That could very well be true,” Morgellyn said.
“After all, you are scarcely thirty.”
Morgellyn was about to return that she was not yet thirty, but sweetness counted. She said, “It is true, and there is life in me yet.”
She even laughed.
“Maybe another boy!”
“Yes!” she laughed. “A whole tribe. Now drink your mulled wine. I had it specially brewed for you. I think I will lay down a while.”
Stephen nodded, and lifted the cup to his lips. Only then was she satisfied. She had given him three sons already and he wanted another? Why didn’t he try carrying a bowl stone in his belly for the larger part of the year, risking health and gaining weight, sore breasts, the morning sickness, the loss of a tight body, the danger of the childbed? She had been pregnant at fifteen, and did he not know by now she would never have a child again? Direweed had taken care of things since William was born, and the two times it had not, there were other herbs to casts a growing child out. The first time she had done so she had surprised herself, but watching Stephen finish his wine and wipe his lips, she remembered the second time, as she had boiled the parsley and the barley along with a double dose of direweed, she had rid herself of the second pregnancy with no moral trouble at all.
As Stephen was preparing to leave, Eva entered the room.
“Your Graces,” she said, surprised to see the King, curtseying to him and then to the Queen. “We have a guest.”
“Damnation!” Morgellyn swore, standing up and lifting her skirts to head out of her chambers ahead of the King. They came down the corridors and through the dining hall to the ante hall where she stopped, wanting to curse again.
Stephen only saw the red cloak and the golden dragon. He did not know Anthony Pembroke, but Morgellyn was in no mood for him.
“Anthony,” she put out her hand.
Courteous as ever, Lord Pembroke genuflected, doffed his cap and kissed her hand. The boy beside him did the same.
“Who art thou?” she said to him.
“Teryn Wesley, your Grace.”
“Thou art fair,” said the Queen, and Teryn bobbed his head again and stood behind Anthony.
“Hast thou come on leisure or business?” Queen Morgellyn asked Anthony.
“I come on the business of your brother, his Highness the King of Westrial.”
“Oh, joy!” Stephen clapped his hand together. “Will he be coming?”
Morgellyn schooled her face to remain expressionless, and Anthony continued:
“I’m afeared not, m’Lord, but I come on his behalf. For I have heard King Raoul is still here with his family, and I come to pay court to his daughter, the Princess Isobel.”
“My brother seeks a wife?” Morgellyn said with what Anthony thought was a sly smile..
But before he could reply, King Stephen, pulling Anthony by the hand, also grasped Teryn’s shoulder.
“Come in! Come in! We will refresh ourselves and talk of marriage this very night. Raoul will be so pleased.”
As the men went into the house, leaving the Queen on the steps with Eva, she looked after them, took a breath, and then came back into the ante hall, making a bee line for her chambers and for her solitude.





THE WESTRAIL BORDER:
OLLAGOTH




One morning Connleth saw a ring of grey stones like giant’s teeth. From then on, now and again he saw things like these, stones as all a man, many collapsed but which still made spirals. There were tall pillars which were the remanants of what had once been a wheel or seeming doorways with their great lentils knocked down. They were, for a time, separated from Sara, Nialla and Obala. Now they did not always find a village to stay in, but Wolf and Anson taught the others how to set up a tent. In the early morning, Myrne saw these ancient stones, veins strong, lichen covered surfaces rough, some leaned over as if spying, dark grey in the early mist.
“Are those from Atle as well?” she asked. “Are they from the Second Creation?”
“Atle and Calde are not the only things from the past,” Ohean said. “These stones are old, very old, were here even before the Royan were here. Only the descendents of the Tribes can speak of them, and often what they can say is not much. But their power is deep, and their power is true. This much I know.”



Though he knew it was wide, Derek had no true idea of how broad the river was until they forded that next day. In place of a bridge there was a long, broad walkway, like a pier of earth and rock that extended for sometime, and for sometime was above the level of the water. It was broad enough for several wagons to cross, and several did, until at last that path was lost in mud and slime and became one with the many rises and falls of marshy land and stony isles. At some places there was so much dry land houses on stilts had been set up, and there were great flets for boats to be pulled across by ferrymen, but always there was the water. They breakfasted amongst the high grasses and spring flies, and Call laughed to see that there was a tavern on stilts set up, but at last they found themselves walking another pier and crossing into the other side of Langenford.
That other side was richer with buildings of stone and more Royans, golden brown skinned and red brown skinned. Just like that they were very clearly in the Far West. They rested their ponies and then trotted a steady pace on an old stone road toward Ollagoth.
It was early in the evening Connleth heard them whistling and calling and Myrne slowed her horse, reminding herself these were friendly calls.
“I though the same myself,” Imogen murmured from beneath her veil.
But now the Blues were dismounting, and Derek was embracing Conn and swinging him around.
“Well met,” Ohean said and Anson went about embracing each of the Blues, followed by Pol and Austin.
“My Buwa, Mr. Kurusagen, you do look a little less stylish these days,” Calon noted and Pol said.
“We didn’t have the luxury of stopping at hotels.”
“Should we wait for the others?” Imogen wondered and Thano and Myrne looked at her.
“My fear says no,” Imogen said. “But my good senses say to hell with fears.”
“We will all be together soon enough in Ollagoth,” Wolf said, and Ohean said, “that much is truth. Ollagoth or sooner.”

And now they rode into the hills and into the great black pines, and Ohean said this was the southern lip of the Great Forest. Here the land seemed to plateau, which was good because the trees were dense.
“The land spaces out,” Ohean said, “and there are villages to rest in, We shall stay in Ollagoth tonight. No tents, so cheer up. And in the morning we shall reach our destination. Or rather,” Ohean corrected himself, “a destination.”
The great trees cleared to reveal a village of white stone houses with high yellow limestone tiles. It was only coming close that you could see how large the houses were, for under the trees the homes looked like the play things of children. A great road stretched west from Ollagoth toward Chyr and the men here were dark as Ohean or darker.
“This part of Westrial is nearly all Royan, and here a priest might wear your Blue Robe and command respect.
In the tavern, quieter and better kept than most he had seen outside of Kingsboro, women as well as men drank and they discussed the end of the war and the matters in the surrounding land.
They say that Michael Flynn is coming back, but what is he coming back to since King Cedd disinherited him.”
“There was no fairness in that,” another said.
“Cedd wanted to gift one of his favorites and, in truth, the old Lord Flynn was behind in taxes—”
“But mercy!”
“Cedd Athelyn has never known mercy, and now he’s full of jealousy every since Prince Anson covered himself in glory.”
Anson, who had not worn his hood over his bronze hair for some time, put a finger to his lips, and they continued eating.
The only concession Ohean gave to hearing this was a small grin, but the men went on, “Anson is one of us. He has the old blood. This Cedd is a Sendic with a Hale mother.”
Imogen looked at Myrne and both white women seemed to shrink into their seats, “and now he sends in a white man, one of the Ayl to take Loxley Holding, well, you think there won’t be trouble?”
“The Walters will see to that.”
“And true…” the conversation drifted on.
Wolf had blenched at this, but Ohean said, “Never fear, those of the Far West do not mind white men. They simply mind being being ruled by them.”
“And besides,” Connleth pointed out, “You all are the Lord Ohean’s companions, so they’ll probably feel even better about you.”
“True enough,” Wolf said. “You should see the looks I’ve gotten in Chyr.”
“You have been to the Old Kingdom?”
“Only a few times,” the red head said.
Connleth did not want to lose his train of thought and he said, “The whole business about Loxley and whatever… is that why we are here?”
Derek had wondered the same. Conn didn’t exactly know the route to the White Tower, but he was sure there were quicker ways than the one they were traveling.
“It is a reason,” Ohean conceded.
“Oh, you have to understand about the master,” Wolf said with an indulgent smile, “He never has just one reason for doing anything.”
“That,” Anson pronounced, “has always been the truth.”

That morning a large assembly of Marnen and Thad guiding clouds or sheep, flocks of sqwaking geese and herds of cattle entered Ollagoth. They were accompanied by Elundi and Shahang riders and amongst them were Nialla, Sara, John and Obala. That night, as they sat on the great well lit pine porch after dinner, Ohean smoking a cigarette and Wolf a long pine pipe as if he were an old man, Conn wished he was a smoker too and looked up into the hills which were above the trees. He could just see, like stars, the lanterns of men and women, traveling up those hills.
“I wonder where they’re going?”
“Into them,” Ohean said.
“Into…”
“That is a Raid,” Ohean said. “That is a traveling band of Ystrad. High Folk.”
“The Elves,” Gabriel breathed, tracing a sign of blessing over himself while Quinton blinked and looked away.
“The Children of the First Creation.”


MORE NEXT WEEK

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow so much going on but it’s all very interesting! I will have to read this a few times to take it all in. Great writing and I look forward to more next week!

 

[ChrisGibson]

There is a lot in just a few pages. Reading it a second time is always a good option.

 

[ChrisGibson]

AND NOW WE RETURN


The next morning they rode deep into the high treed forest and they camped in an old hut, though Ohean said, “We will be there tomorrow. Our journey is nearly done.”
But even as they camped in the hut, there was the jingle of bells, and from where the stayed in the house, Conn saw brightly painted wagons led by shaggy horses, and governed by colorful people, laughing and singing, take their rest in the field not far off. He and Wolf watched the camp being set up and the fires build. Men around the fire sat smoking and he said, “I wish we could go out to them.”
“We could,” Ohean said. “But I would leave people their peace. For those are Travelers, and there is much time when they know no peace.”
“I do not fear them” Wolf said.
“It is not a matter of fear,” Ohean told him. “I do not fear them either, for long ago they gave me a home and much more.”








THE NEW FOREST




That night, as they settled down to rest while Thano and Wolf built a fire, Anson said, “It would be good if we had a tale.”
“Master is a fair bard,” Wolf said. “In fact, he is one of the greatest bards in the Four Lands.”
“Only in the Four Lands?” Ohean smiled, bemused while Thano cackled.
“Master Ohean!” Wolf said.
“Well, I say we have had weary traveling,” Ohean replied, “and why tell you one of the strange and ancient tales of my people, when you have tales of your own, and a fair storyteller at that.”
“Ohean,” Imogen turned to him, “is there a fairer bard than you?”
“More of a skald than a bard,” Ohean answered, “though there is not much difference. As he turned to Wolf, the redheaded man blushed.
“Wolf!” Myrne sounded delighted at finding him out. “Really?”
“I don’t play an instrument. I’m just a singer of tales and a stringer of words.”
“Can you do it in the old fashion?” Imogen said. “In the Old Tongue?”
“He can,” Ohean boasted while his young servant went red.
Anson came from around the fire, pulling his knees under him and smiling fiercely.
“This I must hear. I haven’t heard the singing of a real skald since I left the court of Inglad.”
“Keep that old Skraeling language to yourself,” Imogen differed. “Whatever we used to be and whatever we used to speak, it is too much like the Dayne across the sea for my taste. I want it in plain Common Tongue.”
“Or as plain as a poem can be,” Myrne added, “for whoever wanted a poem to be too plain?”
Wolf looked to Ohean and Ohean, shrugging, said, “It looks as if you will be singing for us, my lad.”
“The tale of Sevard and Byrnahild!” Anson cried.
“Oh no, the Geatasaga!” Imogen said.
“I always loved the story of the Brisangamen,” Myrne murmured, touching the necklace at her throat.
“I will do none of them,” Wolf said. But already, as he sat back and placed his long fingers on his knees, his voice had grown more musical, his northern accent turned into something else, something older. “I will sing of the hero of the North, King Beo, the last lord to rule all of the Hale together. After him his descendants became the kings of North Hale and Hale, and in his time he chose to rule little at all, for he was a great hero and chose to be the champion to kings rather than a king himself. Beo the Great, Beo Wulfstan, who some have come to call Beowulf.

When the sun was sunken, he set out to visit
The lofty hall-building, how the Daynes had used it
For beds and benches when the banquet was over.
Then he found there reposing many a noble

Asleep after supper; sorrow the heroes,
Misery knew not. The monster of evil
Greedy and cruel tarried but little,
He drags off thirty of them, and devours them
Fell and frantic, and forced from their slumbers
Thirty of thanemen; thence he departed

Leaping and laughing, his lair to return to,
With surfeit of slaughter sallying homeward.
In the dusk of the dawning, as the day was just breaking,
Was Rangel’s prowess revealed to the warriors:
A cry of agony goes up, when Rangel’s horrible deed is fully realized.
Then, his meal-taking finished, a moan was uplifted,

Morning-cry mighty. The man-ruler famous,
The long-worthy atheling, sat very woful,
Suffered great sorrow, sighed for his liegemen,

When they had seen the track of the hateful pursuer,
The spirit accursèd: too crushing that sorrow,
The monster returns the next night.
Too loathsome and lasting. Not longer he tarried,
But one night after continued his slaughter
Shameless and shocking, shrinking but little
From malice and murder; they mastered him fully.
He was easy to find then who otherwhere looked for
A pleasanter place of repose in the lodges,
A bed in the bowers.

And so he sang of the hero born across the sea in the Northern Lands where their ancestors had come from near a thousand years ago, where their cousins, the fierce warriors of Dayne, still dwelt. In those days, and the days were not long ago, there was much traveling across the whale road, that is, the great sea, on the sea steeds, that is, the long ships. There was little difference between the Skraelings of Dayne, Northmark and Svae, and the Ayl and Hale who came from those lands. Aylland was no more, but Beo had come from there, and his great deeds were performed across the Cold Sea. He fought the great monster naked as birth, for the monster was naked himself, and it would have been a foul thing to not fight him as an equal. And in the end, when Rangel’s five sisters came, he bested them as well, though it was said he lay with the last and produced a line of heroes.
“But all that is young grows old, and all that is strong must weaken, all that prevails,” Wolf sang, “must fail.”
This was a truth at the back of the minds of the Ayl. The older tales of the ancient gods, long put away and replaced by the Grey and the White Monks said this. The old tales were of a world where the gods who fought against the chaos from which they were born, in the end had to submit to it.
“Beo grew old, and in the very protecting of his people was doomed to fall.”
He hosted at a greathall which was now the stone castle of Grethal in North Hale, a feast for all of his mighty warriors, and one of their slaves escaped and happened upon a treasure hoard. He took from it, to provide for himself, one gold chalice, and so awoke the dragon who guarded it. Thus the seeds of the people’s suffering was in the suffering of one thrall who sought to be free from careless masters. The drake awoke, roaring into the sky like a comet:


Then heard I that Wihstan’s son very quickly,
These words being uttered, heeded his liegelord
Wounded and war-sick, went in his armor,
His well-woven ring-mail, ’neath the roof of the barrow.

Then the trusty retainer treasure-gems many
The dragon’s den.
Victorious saw, when the seat he came near to,
Gold-treasure sparkling spread on the bottom,
Wonder on the wall, and the worm-creature’s cavern,
The ancient dawn-flier’s, vessels a-standing,

In his old age, the hero who had always fought alone, fought alone again, this time because he was abandoned by the men who should have been there for him. He fought the dragon and won, but the people lost because he died, and they who had relied upon their protector now had no one, and so, in far across the sea, those people were consumed by their neighbors and now are no more. Meanwhile those who escaped came to Hale, to remember the tale, the tale that moved through all the lands of the Sendics.


The folk of the Ayl got him then ready
A pile on the earth strong for the burning,
Behung with helmets, hero-knights’ targets,
And bright-shining burnies, as he begged
they should have them;

Then wailing war-heroes their world-famous chieftain,
Their liegelord beloved, laid in the middle.
The funeral-flame.
Soldiers began then to make on the barrow
The largest of dead-fires: dark o’er the vapor
The smoke-cloud ascended, the sad-roaring fire,

Mingled with weeping, the wind-roar subsided
Till the building of bone it had broken to pieces,
Hot in the heart. Heavy in spirit
They mood-sad lamented the men-leader’s ruin;
And mournful measures the much-grieving widow


Only the sound of crackling fire could be heard, and the falling of a leaf when Wolf went quiet and they all sat before you.
“I didn’t know you had such music in your, brother,” Anson began, and Wolf was about to reply when, instead, he said, touching his sword, “what’s that?”
No sooner had he spoken and Myrne turned around, then out of the bushes jumped men on every side. There was no time to assess them, but Imogen shouted as her wrists were grabbed and penned behind her. Myrne felt hands on her throat, and then heard a death gurgle as Wolf’s sword went over her head and through the shoulder into the heart of whoever held her. As the assailant fell, almost dragging her down, and she freed herself, Ohean stood in the midst of them, and reciting a word, limbs from the trees above fell, a branch swung against another brigand, hitting him on the head. Anson’s sword had gone through two, and Thano and Pol stood behind him.
“Nafat,” Thano cried, spitting into another one’s eyes, and he dodged away, screaming and when Myrne heard it, she said the same thing, turning to spit in the face of a man who tried to come behind her.
Ohean pronounced another word, but he seemed to be standing in the midst of them doing nothing, almost unaffected. However, when he spoke, the brigands became more clumsily, or fell to the ground, or seemed to stumble into a tree that was not there before, in his red mantle, the handsome mage seemed calm, serene, but suddenly he called out, “Anson!”
Out of the woods had come another brigand, and while Wolf struck one with his dagger and another with his sword, the second escaped, coming against tall Anson. His sword was about to come up into Anson’s belly when Ohean pronounced a word and the sword faltered and the man died. He was the last of the men, and now Myrne saw there was a feathered arrow in his back.
“What in the…?” she began.
“Feet!” Wolf cried, still at attention. “Halt! Who comes!”
“Peace,” a voice called out from the night.
At once they all stood still, but maybe it was because Ohean was still. Out of the trees came four men and one woman. Myrne noticed she was about the same age as herself. The men were Ayl but for one White Monk, and led by a handsome fellow abour Wolf’s size. They seemed to be, by the firelight of the night, in brownish green the color of the woods, and the girl was Royan, as red brown as Ohean. Indeed, she was was running to Ohean, when a last brigand came out of the wood and, quick as anything, she ttook out a knife and plunged it into him.
As he fell in the middle of the clearing, the girl with the long black hair embraced Ohean, calling him, ‘Cousin!” and while the rest of the companions looked at this new party, the handsome man—he was undoubtable handsome—who led them, doffed his feathered cap like a young lord and said, “Peace be to all you, I am Michael Flynn, and these are my woods Or, if not my woods, then certainly the woods I keep in safety.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a very interesting portion! I was engrossed in the tale that was told then surprised with what happened at the end. Great writing and I eagerly await more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

That makes me glad. I am delighted to engross you. After this very full weekend I was taking a nap that's about to turn into me going to bed. I promise the story will not grow dull. Pease and good night and thank you.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WHILE MICHAEL FLYNN AND HIS MERRY WOOD FOLK HOST OUR FRIENDS IN THE FOREST AND TELL THEM OF THE POLITICS OUTSIDE, IN DAUMANY, RUFUS PLOTS TO GAIN POWER.


The trees of this wood were so very old they were wide as several men and bent, twisted by time into forms, many of them, housing all manner of life though the trees themselves were often dead. The shadows they made on the ground while Michael led them had made Imogen and Anson and the others feel something higher than eeriness.
“Lonesomeness,” Derek said. “Yes.”
“The Ayl,” Michael said, “more than the Hale, though the Hale as well now, have a foot in two worlds. There is the world of the North from whence Eoga and his corsairs came, and this land, the Royan land, which the Royan blood you possess has always known. And so always there is something calling to us. We are home, and yet home is somewhere just over the hill.”
Michael Flynn had led them by paths they had not dared to travel into the depths of Ardan Wood, and now they descended into a deep clearing, large as a castle. Here, in the night there were many more men and not only men but women and children, living freely in the forest like the First Men of the long ago world. Boars were roasting over fires, and boys were jumping over ditches, playing at arms. Still others were, tending horses, preparing food for the morrow or for the late night as if they were, indeed in a castle. They possessed everything but the walls, and walls seemed a thing beyond these people.
“It seemed as if you were working a great magic,” Wolf said to Ohean, “when that last arrow came. “But then it was Michael.”
“Can you not see, Wolf?” Polly, the black haired companion to Michael Flynn said, “That was a great magic.”
It was Conn who said, “After all these years do you still expect the power to be like fireworks and balls of flame? It works itself out through the way of things. Why do you think you were unscarred while you fought?”
Polly nodded in silent approval.
Derek said, “I felt all terror leave my heart. Felt strength in my hands.”
“I felt myself keener,” Anson said. “I will not say I was a poor warrior before, but I felt myself sharper, stronger, almost untouchable. Was that you?” he turned to Ohean.
“There is magic in you too,” Ohean said. “But it was partly me. As were the trees. As was the clumsiness of the brigands. But for the most part I called out to Michael Flynn and Polly. And so they came.
“You defended yourself most admirably,” Ohean added, turning to Myrne, “with that inventive spell.”
“It was actually a spell to find poison,” Myrne said. “I inverted it. I had no idea how unable I was to defend myself until then.” And then she said, turning to Polly, “and until I saw you.”
“But why do you call Ohean cousin?” Imogen asked Polly. “Are your families very close?”
“Oh, very very close,” Polly laughed. Her eyes were wide and dancing in the night. “I call him my cousin because he is. My mother is Meredith, the daughter of Nimerly, which would make me,” she turned to Anson, “your cousin too.
“My mother, his sister loved to go out into the world so did I, and it was in the world,” she touched Michael’s cheek, “that I met this one, and many adventures came to me because of him, So here I am.”
“One day, love, the adventures will be at an end.”
“Oh, I hope not,” she said, “though I could stand to leave these woods.”
“But how did you come to be in the woods?” Anson asked him.
“The same way as you, Prince Anson,” Michael said, “by the great displeasure of a treacherous king. Nearly thirty years ago, when Edmund came back into power, we thought that perhaps it was enough for him to have Inglad, which was his, or even Hale, but he wanted North Hale. He wanted all the kingdoms the House of Dayne had seized in their years of power. People had come behind him, but after he killed his own brother—”
“I have never heard anyone say he killed Edred,” Wolf interrupted.
“We speak the truth here in this wood,” Michael Flynn said. “And after he poisoned him, with Ulfin Baldwin’s help, I know, all he wanted was an empire. Not justice. That was why he killed the last of the Wulfstans.
“But it was not enough to kill Edred or the Wulfstans. One by one he dispossessed—or disappeared—any lord who resisted his power, anyone who remembered the old Wulfstans. Such a one was my father, Garrett Flynn of Locksley. In time he took all my father’s land and saw that he died of a broken heart as much as poverty. When I knew I was as good as dead, I fled here, into these woods, and many men came to me, for in the three kingdoms hard times had begun.”
“I was a singer in the court of Ambridge,” said a tall man with a long nose, “but the king found the tales of Alan a Dale a little too true, and so I would have died had not Michael learned of me, and rescued me.”
“I cannot speak of it,” a rough jawed man called Red Bill said. “I will not say what happened, but here I am.”
In the midst of them, stood Derek, Conn, Gabriel and the other Blues. Beside them, looking at him with great sympathy, was a long tall monk who said, “There is much sorrow here for every priest to heal. Edmund replaced all the Sendic monks in my monastery with Black Monks from Daumany who spoke the Dauman tongue. And so I am here. He is half Dauman and scarcely a Wulfstan at all, and he would see all the three kingdoms be as he has made Inglad. As he will soon make Hale.”
“And so we are here,” Michael said, “and forgive me for this prophecy,” he turned to Anson, “but now that your brother is lord in Kingsboro, all those who came to Westrial for some measure of peace, and all those who counted on it being a land of reason, will soon see how unreasonable it is. These woods, mark my words, will be filled with refugees fleeing Cedd. You are merely the first.”






DAUMANY




Saskata set amboragaya
Astokay endo mysotahae
Ando leas taman noramate
Ando am gastaham

The chanting came from beyond them where the White Monks and the Black Monks sat, legs folded under them, singing the hymn of the dead in the Great Hall of Oland Palace.
Under a cloth of gold the old king lay, glinting coins pressed over his eyes. The three brothers, black robes tied about their waist, weaponless, rose, bowed to the dead king, and then turned to leave, walking slowly to the back of the hall, and then up the stairs to the gallery that overlooked the dead king and the empty throne.

Astrakay astrakay adohaem ladohaenam
Astrokay astrokay adohaem ladohaenam
Saska saskya, enno dum saski


“You were declared King in the room easily enough,” Robert said, “but will they crown you in the House of Okimini?”
“It won’t hurt to pay her an offering this and every night,” Rufus said, half in jest.
“You will be crowned,” Odo said, simply. “But will you be obeyed? That is the issue. You have three uncles who would love to be King in your place.”
“And to secure it for their children,” Robert added.
“They don’t give a damn about their children,” Odo hissed.
“Brother, I love you, but be calm. My family problems are not your family problems,” Rufus said.
“Of course they are,” Odo scolded his brother. “They are the problems of the whole land.”
The talk between the three brothers might have been confusing if one did not know the story of their mother. The Lady Herleva had stayed away from court, thinking it best. She was the reminder that Rufus was the son of King William, but she was also the reminder of how. Herleva was a tanner’s daughter, not born to royalty, and never the wife of King William, but rather his mistress. Some said more than simple mistress, she had been a prostitute who had fallen on her feet. William had made no secret of his mistress’s pregnancy and had no doubt that her child was his, He had paraded, to the anger of his whole family, the round belly of Herleva, and when she had born him a son, he had named him Rufus.

Saskata set amboragaya
Astokay endo mysotahae
Ando leas taman noramate
Ando am gastaham

“I will never have a wife, and I will probably, never have another son.”
The Daumans had been Dayne raiders from the far north, corsairs, and in olden times a corsair king might have had several wives or really no wife at all. But marriage was different in this world, and something that had not interested William. After a time, he wanted to do well by his mistress, and even the King, libertine that he was, did not think mistress was a fit place for the woman he loved to end up, so he married her off to his cousin, Gearstand.
Though no king, and no great warrior, Gearstand was called the Badger and the Unmoved. All the men of the family feared this short man and he said he would not have Herleva unless the King vowed never to touch her again.
“I may be a badger, but I am not a cuckold, and I will wear no horns.”
William had given more of a solemn vow than he wished to in the House of Inushi, the God of Honor, that if he cuckolded his cousin, his manhood would shrivel or be forfeit to Gearstand’s sword. That very day, Gearstand had wed Herleva, and it was as if by the marriage every taint of her former life had been removed. She brought Rufus into the house of her husband, who raised him as a son, and soon added Odo, Richard and Cecily to the mix, but no one ever forgot the real heritage of Rufus and King William had called him to court for fostering, swearing above the outcries of his brothers, that this boy would succeed him as King of the Daumans.

Astrakay astrakay adohaem ladohaenam
Astrokay astrokay adohaem ladohaenam
Saska saskya, enno dum saski

Saskata set amboragaya
Astokay endo mysotahae
Ando leas taman noramate
Ando am gastaham

“But how will I make my claim good?” Rufus said. “Armies of course.”
“And the support of the White Monks, the Black and the Red,” Odo added.
“And not all of your uncles are against you.”
“And I am for you.”
They turned around.
The man had almost purred. He was elegant and dark haired, handsome, and Rufus blinked twice.
“How did you get here so fast? And do you dare leave you own lands untended?”
“Not untended,” the man said, His armor was different from theirs, a netting of mail and a red overcoat with three lilies upon it. His helmet was under his arm, made in the Sendic fashion, for Sendic he was. His mother had been a Dauman, and though treacherous to him, had him raised far away in this land, by her cousins, one of whom was this dead King Rufus.
“Edmund!” Rufus clasped him on his shoulders.
“Your Grace,” Edmund bowed to his cousin.
“Your Grace,” Rufus returned.
“You all have grown,” Edmund said to Odo and Richard.
The two other men placed their hands together and bowed.
“We have been remiss,” Odo said, “Greetings upon you, Kind Edmund.”
“And greetings to you,” Edmund replied. “Never fear, Cousin, you will be King indeed, for now that the King of Inglad and the Two Hales is here, you have the might of three nations behind you.”

MORE TOMORROW?

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story and lots of content packed into this portion! I like where the story is at the moment and am enjoying it quite a bit! Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!