The Book of the Broken

[ChrisGibson]

MYRNE AND WOLF SET OUT TO FIND HILDA AND THE ABBEY OF SAINT CLEW. MEANWHILE, HILDA RECEIVES
A VISITOR


THE WESTERN FENS




“Myrne!” Wolf cried as her horse misstepped and, with a great neigh, fell neck deep into the water of the fens while Myrne’s head disappeared beneath the water.
“Myrne! Wolf cried again, dismounting.
Myrne came up out of the water, soaked, weeds in her hair, floating on her back, and Wolf, jumping into the water, dragged her onto, if not shore, a shallower spot in the reeds.
“Myrne!” he cried. “Speak to me.”
Black hair plastered to her white face, she did not open her eyes, but when he pressed on her chest and she coughed, Myrne said, “Damn these marshes.”
“Gods!” Wolf picked her up and pulled her to him. “Gods, you’re alive!”
“So, I am,” Myrne said, as her horse neighed. “But get Snowmane back on shore. If his leg is alright.”
Myrne coughed again. “Is it?”
Wolf took off his soaked cape, heavy and smelling of wet fur, and he and Myrne tugged at the horse. Snowmane seemed to resist for a time, but came back onto the shore screaming in pain.
“It was by my magic he even got to shore.” Myrne said.
Crazed with pain, the horse screamed every time it landed on its leg, and almost danced back into the water. As Myrne moved back from the horse and Wolf reached for his dagger, suddenly something whistled past them and stuck fast in Snowmane’s neck. The horse neighed crazily again, and then collapsed on its side as Myrne called out its name.
But now they all saw a small boat sailing over the more open water, and it found the firm, higher land Wolf could not. Out of it came a brown and bent old woman, so ancient her nose touched her chin.
“’El be fine,” she said, coming to the horse. “But ‘el be sleepin’ for a wul till I get some plank and bandage for ‘im.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Wolf said, sounding uncertain.
“Yer a yung fine piece o’man you are,” she assessed, winking and grabbing Wolf’s backside, “Twill be a treat for me if you ride back to the stead.”
“Stay with Snowmane,” Wolf said to Myrne, feeling like an idiot as he climbed onto the raft with the old woman. The crone winked at the wet Myrne and chucked Wolf under his chin. As he smiled foolishnly at Myrne, she watched him and the old woman paddle away to her house in the swamp, leaving her alone..
If the leg could be bound, and if Myrne could get a good night’s sleep, then she could perform a spell powerful enough. And draining enough to heal Snowmane.
As they left, Myrne knew they were going to get bindings for Snowmane, but she thought of old fairy tales where strange hags demanded one night of love from a young man for their favors and part of her imagined Wolf sleeping with the hag. She knew she should laugh, but as she coughed up water, Myrne found the idea of Wolf sleeping with anyone distinctly unfunny.





THE ABBEY OF
SAINT CLEW



An afternoon’s walk southwest of the city of Ambridge, the road was more crowded than ever, but with a peaceful measured walking, almost like a procession, as the crowds came to the long low stone abbey of Saint Clew. There was always food for the hungry or for whoever came, but tonight there would be a great feast. Tonight there would be blessings. The great Abbess always bestowed her blessing, but tonight, young Hilda had returned, shem who some called Saint Hilda, the future Abbess. They had seen her black veiled procession coming up from the southwest where she had presided over her father, King Anthal’s funeral. They had beheld, if not participated in the coronation of King Cedd before going on retreat to Saint Phame’s convent..
Now she would be present to sing the evening hymn, say the blessings of her community, and all who came to Saint Clew to be ministered to, to give offerings, were in the end the community, and so they all entered past the great portico, into the large, long hall, with its open windows that let in the light of early evening, and back and forth, robed in black, came the acolytes. Along the walls of the old monastery were painted the frescoes of the gods and saints, over and over again, the sitting, peaceful statues of the Ard. The very end of the hall had his great stone image. He had come into the world once, as the one who restored peace, order and joy, but he was in all, and in all times, and they revered in their worship, for now the Ard was the Great Way and the Great Way was within.
As the rows of people began to sit, and the already quiet murmuring died down, suddenly from a side door, robed in black or in their white gowns and black veils, came the monks and nuns, bowing to each other, led by the old Abbess Gertrude. Beside her was Hilda and now, Gertrude deferred to Hilda, who sat in the center of all the religious as they turned to face the congregation, almost like small Ard’s under the peaceful image of the great Ard.
As she had done in the temple back in Kingsboro, Hilda struck the gong. Before she sang, she looked out at the girl she had heard about. They would have to speak. She, this girl, and Mother Abbess. But for now what she could do was sing.

“Ohu mataka samagi kirīmakin samba
adahas samagi kirīmakin samba
manasa vignānaya tula samagi kirīmakin samba
manasa sparśa samagi kirīmakin samba
hā ōnǣma deyak lesa prasanna hō vēdanākārī hægī
hō hō-vēdanākārī-hō-prasanna ē ḷamayage
ehi atyavaśya san̆dahā manasa sambandha samaga
tattvaya, ē itā samagi kirīmakin ohu dakiyi.”

Hilda began the song, folding her hands over her lap, closing her eyes as the monks and the nuns joined in, speaking of the condition of men finding suffering and sadness, torture and pain in this world, not knowing how to escape the cycle of time and violence and anger. Long ago, to this land many times conquered, where men were always conquering, the message had come and the Sendics had put away one eyed Wode the Spear Carrier and Thaynar the Hammer, their gods of war who could help them conquer but could not show them peace. Here in the hall they sang, their voices ringing along the walls, those of the congregation who knew the words, heads bowed, sang along as well.

"Ohu samagi kirīmakin sammukha vū viṭa, āśāva sidu sudumæli.
dæḍi āśāva piḷiban̆da maḷānika samaga, ohu mudā vē.
nidahas karana viṭa, ehi dænuma bava ohu
mudā gat vē. "

Tonight, after the long journey, tonight after so long a time of living with hating one sister while fearing for the other, and enduring one brother while wondering where the other had gone, she was home, and tonight as she had not been able to do before, her prayers went out to them. May they be at peace. May they be well. No, but that was not enough. That was a generic thing. May they escape Cedd. May they be victorious. May they triumph. May we all live to see Cedd and Morgellyn humbled.
No, no, but that was not the way either. Give yourself to the Way. Even this fervent anger, this fervent prayer for safety and revenge was not prayer, putting all of ones self into these words, realizing the blank place you drifted into by accident and not by earning was the true nature, the true self and the only power. This was the prayer.

“She understands: 'Birth is exhausted,
the holy life has been lived out,
what can be done is done, of this
there is no more beyond.'"

When she had first come to Saint Clew, with some knowledge that she might one day be abbess, Hilda had attempted to fling every part of herself into the religious life. She had tried, through half closed eyes, to look out at the many people in the congregation, gathered for evening prayers, and feel their pain, their longing, their suffering. Maybe she had even tried to feel their envy and her sense of specialness, lifted above them, called to live a life of charity and beauty for those poor and ordinary people out in the crowd who could not. It was over a long stretch of time she knew none of this mattered, that every thought she had while she was singing was foolish. At first she thought it was only some of them, a few thoughts that were no good. Now she understood every thought was wasted.

That is what the Blessed One said.
The disciples were glad,
and they approved his words.


“I’M GLAD YOU CAME to us,” Abbess Gertrude said.
“I did not want to come,” the girl said, sitting in a chair across from the old woman. “I did not think you would want someone so soiled.”
“You are not soiled!” Gertrude said, passionately before Hilda could speak.
“Nothing that happened to you was your fault,” Hilda added. She was standing by the window looking at the pale, still frightened girl, with her pale brown hair hanging lank down her back.
“They say a girl who comes to work in the palace opens herself to it. I knew I was not the first,” she continued. “I do believe,” she confessed, “that part of me thought that if it would happen it might even be pleasant.”
“The King is a monster,” Hilda said.
“The King is a man,” Gertrude dismissed this. “He did what all powerful men do. He did what he was able to and you suffered for it, child. You do not have to discuss it if you do not wish, but we are here for you to say whatever you will.”
The young woman shook her head, her lips not quite trembling. Her eyes looked dead.
“I knew it was going to happen when I was called. When he called me to his chambers. Part of me wanted to run, to jump off a parapet or something. But I thought that surely they would catch me, and I thought I could endure it.”
“And you did endure it, child” Gertrude said, touching her hand. “Now we will help you live through it.”
“What is your name?” Hilda said as if this was the most important thing in the world.
“Hilary,” said the girl.
“Hilary,” Hilda told her, stay with us until this nightmare is bearable. We will leave a light on for you always.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion. The descriptions used were very powerful. Sounds like the king is proving to be even more of a bad person but I can’t say I am surprised. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Kind Edmund almost makes Cedd look like nothing. We will see more of him and of his father in law Ulfin soon. Things may have not been safe in Westrial, but just wait till we get into Inglad.

 

[ChrisGibson]

AS WOLF AND MYRNE CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY ACROSS THE FENS, MYRNE DISCOVERS OTHER FEELINGS THEN MERE AFFECTION IN HER HEART AND DOWN SOUTH, ANTHONY PEMBROKE ARRIVES IN KINGSBORO WITH THE PRINCESS ISOBEL WHO IS READY TO BE MORE THAN A MATCH FOR HIM AND CEDD.


THE WESTERN FENS






If Myrne had known that Bessie had a very pretty granddaughter named Sanelin, she might have worried more about the hour Wolf spent away from her. The girl was wheat haired and blue eyed, and she came back in the barge with Wolf and Bessie, and helped her grandmother bandage Snowmane. Later that night, after a lentil stew and sweet small beer, Sanelin came to sit by Myrne while old Bessie shared her long pipe with Wolf.
“Are you alright?” Sanelin looked down on her, touching her hair. “Anything on your mind?”
“Only getting to Saint Clew,” Myrne said. “Ah, and poor Wolf’s face when Bessie grabbed his backside!”
“Gran is an old cat, she is,” Sanelin said. “Still, you can’t blame her.”
“What are you getting at?” Myrne said, sharply.
“There it is!” Sanelin laughed.
“You’re too cruel,” Myrne said.
“Wolf is a lovely looking man is all I’m saying.”
“I know exactly what Wolf looks like, and I’m not so bad myself.”
“In fact you might make a lovely couple.”
“I didn’t say all that.”
“And he was so worried for you when you fell in the water.”
“Wolf is a gentleman,” Myrne said. “He’d feel the same way if you or Bessie fell in a marsh too.”
Sanelin smiled to herself and said, “No, dear Myrne, I do not think that is so.”

“Well, you un been trav’lin for somethin’ long,” the old woman said, “an I heard tell from friends down up in Midtomlin way you stayed near ‘em for a few nights, so I knew oo you were. Why the fens I wonder at first? Then says I to myself, it’s the quickenest way, Also the the way un would trabble if ‘ey ‘idn’t wanno be seen.”
“And you would be right enough,” Myrne said. She was wrapped in a great blanket that smelled of oats, and quite warm before the woman’s fire. Snowmane was outside, his leg bound, eating hot mash and on his way to sleep.
“We’re on our way to Ambridge and trying to get there as soon as possible,” Wolf said.
“Well, you’re almost there,” Bessie said, “Fact you’re three days from it.”
“Actually we are on our way to Saint Clew.”
“Ah, the Blessed Abbey in Durham,” Bessie said. “Good folks. They know little of the old gods, but their new ways are good. Saint Clew be even closer.”
“We can travel out alongside the water in a few mornings,” Wolf said. “I see we’re coming to the end of the fens.”
“I got one better,” Bessie said. “My un nephew, Tim drives a ferry boat to market, and‘ll take you up if you ask him.”
“We’ll compensate him well,” Myrne said.
“Bless you, girl,” the old woman closed a leathery, affectionate claw over Myrne’s hand. “You have something of the old witch women about ye. And I sense there be a true reason for yer coming. Der’ll be no price saving ye remember old Bessie of Weedlyn House and her kin.”




KINGSBORO




“Do you find it fair?” Anthony asked her.
Isobel Tryvanwy looked up at the towers of the Kingsboro rising over the city, and she said, “It is most fair.”
On the other side of her, to her left, Teryn thought, how can you do anything but love her? After spending time in the presence of Queen Moregellyn, where one could practically smell the intrigue wafting from her, Queen Hermudis of Sussail was pure dignity, but there was something more about her daughter, the Princess Isobel. Black haired and dusky skinned as Teryn, having the blood of the Royan and Remulans, there was always kindness in her dark eyes and, more than anything, honesty.
The night in Raymond House when the engagement had been secured, Anthony had come to Teryn’s bed.
“I came to you because I did not think you would come to me,” Anthony said.
“I did not believe I had that right,” Teryn said simply.
“You always have that right,” Anthony said. “This is not like what you did before. You are not a simple servant.”
And he was right, this was like nothing Teryn had done before. Already Anthony had set him to learning the intricate rules of house management, and at the same time he was teaching him how to be a proper squire with the intent of making him a knight. Anthony undressed him so tenderly, Teryn turned away, embarrassed, but Anthony held his face in his hands and kissed him. That night he lay down for Teryn and brought the boy inside of him, and when Teryn stopped himself, Anthony whispered, “No, no. don’t stop.”
Surrendering to the pleasure as Anthony turned around for him, Teryn reached for the larger man’s hips and pressed himself deeper into him, surprised by Anthony’s tightness and his warmth. He answered Anthony’s cries with deeper thrusting, his own body shaking until, at last, unable to stop his strangled cry, he shouted with orgasm, shook and, at last, collapsed against Anthony’s back, embracing him from behind.

When they were done, they lay side by side in the dark and Anthony said, “This new princess, we must take every chance we can to impress upon her the power of King Cedd, to make sure her mother and Sussail know his power. When the time comes we want to be equal to them. We do not want to be importunate beggars, but allies who meet them on equal footing.”
Teryn was about to pretend he understood, but what he said was, “Anthony, I do not follow.”
“Hermudis is cousin to King Rufus of Daumany.”
“As is King Edmund?”
“Yes,” Anthony said. “She fairly grew up with the new king, and that means when he replaces Edmund, as seems likely, Sussail will be quite powerful.”
“It means we will be caught between the Three Kingdoms of the North and Sussail in the South.”
“This is only one way to look at it.”
“I see no others.”
“The other ways will only be created if we make friends of ourselves with Sussail and not enemies. Sussail would stand to gain from a change in regime no matter what. But from now on Cedd will share in Sussail’s success. It could make all the diference between a fruitful alliance with the Three Kingdoms—”
“And a war where they attempt to dissolve us.”
“Yes.”

But when Anthony attempted to impress the Princess with the might of Kingsboro, and she only replied with enthusiasm to how fair the city was, she seemed impervious to intrigues. What was more, Teryn did not wish to intrigue against her. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but in the last days when Isobel had come to him, genuinely asking about his country or even his opinion on a gown, there was something so open and honest about her, he felt unclean and almost ashamed. And it wasn’t because of his past on the streets, or at least it was not the actual sex that had made him ashamed, but the coyness and the lies accompanying it, the deception and the pretense. All of his life, Teryn thought, had been deception and pretense, reliance on good looks he did not think very much of at the moment.
Queen Hermudis had ridden south with her son, Prince Bohemond and his intended, the Princess Linalla. She promised to join her daughter soon enough in Kingsboro for her wedding to King Cedd. Now the gates of the city opened, and Anthony, who had set out alone and returned at the head of retinue including Teryn, seven maids and three knights and Princess Isobel, came into the city with great fanfare, bearing the banners of Sussail and Armor, the homeland of Queen Hermudis.
Cedd had ridden down from the Kingsboro, and he was on a black horse, but all in white, white doublet well fitted, white scabbarded sword, snug white riding trews. He vaulted from his horse, his white cape shining behind him, and a golden circlet on his head. His teeth sparkled, and Anthony thought. “Gods, he is fair.”
Cedd genuflected in the dust before Isobel though, Anthony noted, not so low as to dirty his trousers.
“My lady,” he kissed her hand. “Welcome to my home.”
Anthony ached for him. But even as he ached for the King of Westrial, he thought of Teryn whom he had lain with all these nights, and this princess who would soon learn how much of her king she would have. Or, perhaps, would she sway him? Did such a lovely girl have that power? For the first time, Anthony Pembroke, who was never uncertain, was very uncertain of the future.


MORE TOMORROW

- - - Updated - - -



AS WOLF AND MYRNE CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY ACROSS THE FENS, MYRNE DISCOVERS OTHER FEELINGS THEN MERE AFFECTION IN HER HEART AND DOWN SOUTH, ANTHONY PEMBROKE ARRIVES IN KINGSBORO WITH THE PRINCESS ISOBEL WHO IS READY TO BE MORE THAN A MATCH FOR HIM AND CEDD.


THE WESTERN FENS






If Myrne had known that Bessie had a very pretty granddaughter named Sanelin, she might have worried more about the hour Wolf spent away from her. The girl was wheat haired and blue eyed, and she came back in the barge with Wolf and Bessie, and helped her grandmother bandage Snowmane. Later that night, after a lentil stew and sweet small beer, Sanelin came to sit by Myrne while old Bessie shared her long pipe with Wolf.
“Are you alright?” Sanelin looked down on her, touching her hair. “Anything on your mind?”
“Only getting to Saint Clew,” Myrne said. “Ah, and poor Wolf’s face when Bessie grabbed his backside!”
“Gran is an old cat, she is,” Sanelin said. “Still, you can’t blame her.”
“What are you getting at?” Myrne said, sharply.
“There it is!” Sanelin laughed.
“You’re too cruel,” Myrne said.
“Wolf is a lovely looking man is all I’m saying.”
“I know exactly what Wolf looks like, and I’m not so bad myself.”
“In fact you might make a lovely couple.”
“I didn’t say all that.”
“And he was so worried for you when you fell in the water.”
“Wolf is a gentleman,” Myrne said. “He’d feel the same way if you or Bessie fell in a marsh too.”
Sanelin smiled to herself and said, “No, dear Myrne, I do not think that is so.”

“Well, you un been trav’lin for somethin’ long,” the old woman said, “an I heard tell from friends down up in Midtomlin way you stayed near ‘em for a few nights, so I knew oo you were. Why the fens I wonder at first? Then says I to myself, it’s the quickenest way, Also the the way un would trabble if ‘ey ‘idn’t wanno be seen.”
“And you would be right enough,” Myrne said. She was wrapped in a great blanket that smelled of oats, and quite warm before the woman’s fire. Snowmane was outside, his leg bound, eating hot mash and on his way to sleep.
“We’re on our way to Ambridge and trying to get there as soon as possible,” Wolf said.
“Well, you’re almost there,” Bessie said, “Fact you’re three days from it.”
“Actually we are on our way to Saint Clew.”
“Ah, the Blessed Abbey in Durham,” Bessie said. “Good folks. They know little of the old gods, but their new ways are good. Saint Clew be even closer.”
“We can travel out alongside the water in a few mornings,” Wolf said. “I see we’re coming to the end of the fens.”
“I got one better,” Bessie said. “My un nephew, Tim drives a ferry boat to market, and‘ll take you up if you ask him.”
“We’ll compensate him well,” Myrne said.
“Bless you, girl,” the old woman closed a leathery, affectionate claw over Myrne’s hand. “You have something of the old witch women about ye. And I sense there be a true reason for yer coming. Der’ll be no price saving ye remember old Bessie of Weedlyn House and her kin.”




KINGSBORO




“Do you find it fair?” Anthony asked her.
Isobel Tryvanwy looked up at the towers of the Kingsboro rising over the city, and she said, “It is most fair.”
On the other side of her, to her left, Teryn thought, how can you do anything but love her? After spending time in the presence of Queen Moregellyn, where one could practically smell the intrigue wafting from her, Queen Hermudis of Sussail was pure dignity, but there was something more about her daughter, the Princess Isobel. Black haired and dusky skinned as Teryn, having the blood of the Royan and Remulans, there was always kindness in her dark eyes and, more than anything, honesty.
The night in Raymond House when the engagement had been secured, Anthony had come to Teryn’s bed.
“I came to you because I did not think you would come to me,” Anthony said.
“I did not believe I had that right,” Teryn said simply.
“You always have that right,” Anthony said. “This is not like what you did before. You are not a simple servant.”
And he was right, this was like nothing Teryn had done before. Already Anthony had set him to learning the intricate rules of house management, and at the same time he was teaching him how to be a proper squire with the intent of making him a knight. Anthony undressed him so tenderly, Teryn turned away, embarrassed, but Anthony held his face in his hands and kissed him. That night he lay down for Teryn and brought the boy inside of him, and when Teryn stopped himself, Anthony whispered, “No, no. don’t stop.”
Surrendering to the pleasure as Anthony turned around for him, Teryn reached for the larger man’s hips and pressed himself deeper into him, surprised by Anthony’s tightness and his warmth. He answered Anthony’s cries with deeper thrusting, his own body shaking until, at last, unable to stop his strangled cry, he shouted with orgasm, shook and, at last, collapsed against Anthony’s back, embracing him from behind.

When they were done, they lay side by side in the dark and Anthony said, “This new princess, we must take every chance we can to impress upon her the power of King Cedd, to make sure her mother and Sussail know his power. When the time comes we want to be equal to them. We do not want to be importunate beggars, but allies who meet them on equal footing.”
Teryn was about to pretend he understood, but what he said was, “Anthony, I do not follow.”
“Hermudis is cousin to King Rufus of Daumany.”
“As is King Edmund?”
“Yes,” Anthony said. “She fairly grew up with the new king, and that means when he replaces Edmund, as seems likely, Sussail will be quite powerful.”
“It means we will be caught between the Three Kingdoms of the North and Sussail in the South.”
“This is only one way to look at it.”
“I see no others.”
“The other ways will only be created if we make friends of ourselves with Sussail and not enemies. Sussail would stand to gain from a change in regime no matter what. But from now on Cedd will share in Sussail’s success. It could make all the diference between a fruitful alliance with the Three Kingdoms—”
“And a war where they attempt to dissolve us.”
“Yes.”

But when Anthony attempted to impress the Princess with the might of Kingsboro, and she only replied with enthusiasm to how fair the city was, she seemed impervious to intrigues. What was more, Teryn did not wish to intrigue against her. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but in the last days when Isobel had come to him, genuinely asking about his country or even his opinion on a gown, there was something so open and honest about her, he felt unclean and almost ashamed. And it wasn’t because of his past on the streets, or at least it was not the actual sex that had made him ashamed, but the coyness and the lies accompanying it, the deception and the pretense. All of his life, Teryn thought, had been deception and pretense, reliance on good looks he did not think very much of at the moment.
Queen Hermudis had ridden south with her son, Prince Bohemond and his intended, the Princess Linalla. She promised to join her daughter soon enough in Kingsboro for her wedding to King Cedd. Now the gates of the city opened, and Anthony, who had set out alone and returned at the head of retinue including Teryn, seven maids and three knights and Princess Isobel, came into the city with great fanfare, bearing the banners of Sussail and Armor, the homeland of Queen Hermudis.
Cedd had ridden down from the Kingsboro, and he was on a black horse, but all in white, white doublet well fitted, white scabbarded sword, snug white riding trews. He vaulted from his horse, his white cape shining behind him, and a golden circlet on his head. His teeth sparkled, and Anthony thought. “Gods, he is fair.”
Cedd genuflected in the dust before Isobel though, Anthony noted, not so low as to dirty his trousers.
“My lady,” he kissed her hand. “Welcome to my home.”
Anthony ached for him. But even as he ached for the King of Westrial, he thought of Teryn whom he had lain with all these nights, and this princess who would soon learn how much of her king she would have. Or, perhaps, would she sway him? Did such a lovely girl have that power? For the first time, Anthony Pembroke, who was never uncertain, was very uncertain of the future.


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

This story is still a very good read! It reminds me of Game Of Thrones but more interesting. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Thank you. That's a huge compliment. It's kind of the best compliment I could hope for.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT OHEAN, ANSON, AUSTIN AND POL REACH CAIR DARONWY, AND OHEAN REMEMBERS THE PAST


CAIR DARONWY


“This is the very safest place we could have come to escape Cedd.” Pol said.
“Or to start our own life,” Anson said.
“Agreed,” his sister agreed.
The River Syann had a long mouth, and at the end of its mouth rested the great city of Cair Daronwy. One saw it well before they were in it.
Above them, the ancient palace of Pennllywn rose high over the city on a granite cliff, a fortree built in and about the Rock, and sometimes the whole castle was called the Stone. The main keep was high and peaked with a forest green roof, surrounded by towers the color of sea foam. The Stone was followed by two baileys the last slower than the first as the first was lower than the stone and both large enough to contain a village. But surrounding the stone and these baileys could be seen, as they approached, Ohean said, “Those are the Wyllgwrd, the Green Walls, they encompass the whole of Pennllywnn, and even in the time of the Remulans.
“I have never seen anything as fair as this city, Anson marveled, and as they rode closer to the Rock, it appeared mightier still and, overhead, the birds at the port screamed in the triumph of life as they passed over the wide mouth of the river into the city.
“Ash,” Anson whispered at they approached the first of many gates into the palace and the guards, came to attention, noticing the small party, “What does Pennllywnn mean?”
“It means the Place of Kings.”
They were greeted by the King before they had made their way to the gate and Ohean declared, “You saw us!”
“I saw you and your banner and that handsome prince of yours a soon as you came into the city and,” Idris bowed, taking Imogen’s hand, “this fair maiden.”
She was not sure if he was mocking her or not, but Idris was so tall and handsome in his silver armor, a wicked twinkle in his eyes under his high planed mahoghany face and went he bent to kiss her she swooned.
“Such lovely dark skin against such milky white fairness,” Pol commented. “Lovely children you would make.”
“Shush,” Imogen returned, sounding a little drunken, and Idris’s eye was already upon her.
“Come, my friends, be welcome in the palace of Penllwyn.”

It took as long to make their way through the outer bailey and through the first into the Stone as it had to travel through a great deal of the city, and now they stood amazed at a long and shining hall, higher and more grand than the hall of Kingsboro. The whole time Anson stood beside Ohean, trying to keep his composure, trying not to stare like a complete fool. He needed to stop being an ass. Pol nudged Anson and Anson cleared his throat.
“I said, the people of Rheged really know how to clean up.”
“Oh, yes,” Anson cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“We came almost in secret,” Ohean said, walking about the hall, stomping the butt of his staff. “It will have to be made known that the Prince of Westrial is here.”
“Cousin,” the dark slim King of Reghed said, playfully, “But of course. You all will sit with us at the high table, and you, Cuz, sit in the place of king’s council. Or,” he added, “just put a circlet on your head. You are a prince after all.”
“The Prince of Reghed!” Pol called. “Indeed.”
Austin Buwa put one foot before the other and made an elegant bow.
“You’re idiots,” Ohean said, and then he said, “King’s Council is more than enough.”
As he moved through the high hall, past the hanging banners and by the magnificent guests, Ohean, unlike the rest of the company, paid them no mind, and was amazed not a wit when the servants pulled his chair back for him and sat him there.
The night was spent in what seemed idle chatter, and for Anson, sitting two seats from Ohean on the other side of Idris, Imogen beside him, it was everything he could do to simply remain in his skin. Even at home he had not been used to palace evening life, preferring taverns, pubs, stables or the privacy of his own chambers. Now, he had been felt up, chatted up and found by every powerful lord and lady in the city. And how glittering they were, women with hair piled up in elaborate snaking braids, or completely bald but beautiful, radiant in gowns of rainbow colored silk that changed colors when they swished about. And there were men in fine robes or great silver suits of decorative armor, in pants so snug they revealed every curve of the body, caramel skinned, chocolate skinned, desert dark, lemon light and yes, his own dark ivory color and at last, seeing all the many types of folk here he knew what he had always known but never quite understood in this way:
“I am Royan. This… this is my heritage.”
He turned to his white who, far from being seduced by King Idris, was smiling at him like a serpent while he had burst out into laugher over a thing she had said. Yes, what made the Ayl different from the Hale up north was that they did have Royan blood. All of them did, all of them mixed, even his pale, half Hale sister. And what of Myrne, schooled in the south, surely even in Herreboro was the ancient Royan blood and now such a feeling rose in him that he could not describe. A tingling, a surge of something. He looked to Imogen again. Her children, he suspected, would be Royan.
He remembered that first time he had met Idris. It had been when Ohean had come back into his life, the day after the night when they had first become lovers. Idris had come because the cavalry horses the king of Rheged had inquired upon were the descendants of a gift from Rheged one hundred fifty years ago, when a high princess of that land had married Anthal the Great, his father’s namesake. That evening they had discussed Edmund King of Inglad who now ruled Hale and North Hale. Twenty year he had been wed to his Halic wife, Edith, but sired no children on her.
“It is not that she cannot bear them,” Imogen said, “rather it is said that he will not bear them with her.”
“Daughter, such gossip.”
“Not gossip, but truth,” Imogen said, “and more than truth, the reason we should all worry a little.”
“The princess is right,” Ohean said, “Edmund’s heir is the king of Daumany.”
“The king of Daumany lies on his deathbed,” Cedd had said.
But Imogen’s words, far from being a girl’s gossip were the shrewd knowledge of a princess fit to be a queen. As he looked to Idris who was whispering into his sister’s ear, he wondered, “His Queen?”
“He could do worse,” Ohean whispered to him.
Anson blinked.
“Did I speak?”
Ohean shook his head, “You did not have to.”
Ohean had his winning wizard’s smile, but because Anson loved him, he saw when the smile faded, when he was caught off guard. It happened when he had turned and looked away from Anson and across the hall was what Anson admitted had to be one of the fairest men he’d ever seen. He had just entered the hall and was standing between two great pillars. The man was a soldier, certainly, caramel skinned, lantern jawwed, his head clean shaven, and he had a bit of a wolfish… or maybe dragonish smile, and lambent green eyes. A fine, silver sheathed sword hung as his side, and he was tall, taller than Anson. A grey cloak hung from his strong shoulders, and he was smiling at Ohean.
“That’s Ralph, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Ohean tried to say, but his throat was dry.
“Go to him,” Anson told the enchanter. He added, “After all, this is why we came.”
Ohean nodded, and removed himself from the table moving among the guest. Anson watched as he approached the man Ralph, and saw Ralph, one foot before the other, bow. Well, yes, whatever else Ohean was, he was a prince, the grandson of the old King. They spoke a moment, and then Anson watched as his lover, mantled in black that was lined in gold, removed himself from the hall to a balcony, arm in very formal arm with Ralph.

“So that is the Prince Anson,” Ralph said.
“It is.”
“He is fair,” Ralph allowed. “I knew you had returned to Westrial. I thought that you had done it for him.”
“I did it because of duty and to attend the dying king.”
“Yes,” Ralph allowed. “But also for him.”
They had come through the many pillared doors to the portico that overlooked the city. Now Ralph took a cheroot out of his pocket and lit it. Ohean could already smell the smoke of sweet tobacco. He was quietly puffing.
“There is no good way to put this,” Ohean said.
“Then put it the bad way.”
“The sword,” he said, “the sword at your side you said was mine when I needed it again.”
“You need it again,” Ralph looked at him, unamazed.
Ohean nodded.
“I knew you would,” Ralph said, “and I knew you would have to come back to me for it. I did not know you would belong to someone else, though.”
“And you did not know the sword would be his.”
Ralph blinked.
“The inscription,” Ohean said. “I did not know what it meant. The sword is his.”
Ralph’s eyes changed and Ohean said, “What is it?”
“Friend,” Ralph said, “we were lovers. You are a great mage. The greatest. Do not think I learned nothing. One does not just happen upon a sword of legend, especially not if he is a mighty mage entangled with a half Royan prince born from a king and a priestess of the Rootless Isle.”
Ralph quickly, without looking, while the cheroot was tamped between his lips, unbuckled the sword and handed it over. Ohean was surprised by the size of it.
Ralph looked at him directly, concerned.
“What is happening?” Ralph said. “The mages say they see signs everywhere. What is happening?”
“Truthfully,” Ohean said, pulling the heavy sword into his robes, “I do not know.”
Ralph passed Ohean the cheroot, and when he smoked it, the dampness at the tip was comforting. They looked over the city, passing the cheroot slowly back and forth, letting out great roils of white smoke like dragons.
At last, Ohean spoke. “What are you thinking?”
Ralph’s eyes twinkled in the night.
“I am thinking of us,” he said. “Of that very last time when we were together. And of this night, this very perfect night when things are being reawakened. About how I still love you. The life we had is too beautiful to put behind us and be forgotten.”
It seemed that Ohean was about to say something else, but then he only shook his head and said, “So much is.”




“Light a candle?”
“Just one candle,” Ohean said. “So I can watch you undress,
“Undress with me.”
Ohean, long and dark, fell on his back and opened his legs to Ralph. It was so quick, and they were so quickly out of themselves. Faces lifted to the ceiling, then looking out of the window to the sea beyond. Ohean looking down at Ralph’s mouth opened in ecstasy. Ralph, so much bigger than him was always so careful of him, but now here he was, almost bruising him, large hands firm on his shoulders, thrusting quickly inside of him, Ralph came with a violent, vulnerable shout, body quavering, eyes wide open, hands in the air.
Ohean had wanted this for well over a year. It had always been on the edge of his thoughts and now this was more than a miracle, the together again in Rheged in those first rooms they’d shared, in this beautiful, soft, strong bed, the whole night left to them, now Ohean on his knees, hands treasuring the muscled back, strong shoulders of his lover, engulfed in the heat of his tightness. Last time it had been Ralph who fucked him. Now the orgasm was like a sharp magnet that tugged at his balls and turned his cock into something large and cosmic, slick and throbbing. The orgasm pulled itself out of Ohean, causing him to go into a violent seizure and then, eyes gazing at the light of nothing, he knelt there still, too taken to even move. It was Ralph’s warm, large hands that moved him, put him on his back. He felt Ralph riding him, cock against his cock, lubricated by the slickness of his semen. They moved together in that incredible heat until cursing and swearing with a staggered, oh—fuck—my—god-god-god-damn, Ralph came again. He came hot, the liquid flowing between their stomachs, to their chests.
“I missed you,” Ohean said. “Why did you leave me?”
“You needed me to. You needed to go to the Tower and learn what you hadn’t before.”
“And you needed to become you.”
“Yes,” Ralph turned his large back, firm buttocks, the backs of his strong thighs to Ohean. He murmured, “I suppose.”
Ohean touched the back of his neck and said, “I am not blaming you. It’s only… you needn’t act like what you did was so entirely selfless.”
“I didn’t know who you were,” Ralph said. “Not at first.”
“You mean a prince.”
“A prince would have been a little thing,” Ralph turned to him. “To call in ships from the waves and cause them to crash against the shore… I did not know the fullness of what you were.”
“And so you left me.”
“I had to,” Ralph sat up, beautiful and naked, his knees drawn to his chest. “I would have cramped you.”
“Ralph!”
Ralph looked at him sharply.
“I,” he repeated, “would… have… cramped you. Plain and simple. You could not grow into the Great Ash Tree with me at your side.”
Ohean crawled across the bed to the large, longer man, the more handsome man as Ohean saw him. He turned his face and kissed him full on the lips, and then lay down beside him and Ralph lay with him. At last, Ralph climbed on top of him, making a space for himself between Ohean’s legs, shivering as Ohean ran his hands up and down his back. They were like that for some time, Ohean under the heat of Ralph. Then, at last, Ralph got up. He returned a few moments later, tall, nude, clean, with a white cloth for Ohean.
It was hot and moist and Ohean cleaned himself up with it. Ralph stood before him. He had the most beautiful penis, still firm, still erect and bobbing, balls hanging in their dark brown sack, the hair of Ralph’s loins darkly red-brown, and beautiful. Swiftly Ohean took Ralph in his mouth. He needed Ralph.How rare this was for him. He wanted Ralph so much that Ralph came back to the bed and their fooling around turned into second sex. In the aftermath of it, in the late night the two men lay damp and hot and naked, tangled together, barely breathing.
Ohean tried to laugh and sat up.
“What about now?” Ohean asked. “Now that we are both men?”
Ralph looked away. When he spoke he said, “You are great and powerful now, going all through the Old Kingdoms. I heard you had spent the summer with Queen Ermengild, finding out what had happened to her daughter, and—”
“Now it is you who do not wish to be tied to me,” Ohean interrupted him, not accusing, simply sussing the truth.
“Ohean.”
“You said it right the first time. I am a great enchanter. You cannot hide the truth from me. You cannot dress it up in bows and think I will not see it. It is you who want your freedom now.”
“Ohean, we are both still so young, and so out in the world, doing very different things.”
“We are not so young,” Ohean said. “And I am not so foolish.”
Then he said, “Come to bed. You were not my first lover and you certainly will not be my last.”
Ralph, tall, strong, a warrior with a warrior’s body, suddenly looked like he would weep. Quickly he slid onto the bed. He pulled Ohean’s warm body to his. It was important they be as close as possible. It felt so good to hold him, to be near him. He kissed him very softly and then squeezed Ohean.
Ralph told him: “We could be together in the future. When we are both ready.”
Ohean blew out the candle.
“No, Ralph.”
As Ralph held Ohean, his very body changed, his disembodied voice in the dark, changed.
“I am the great mage, growing greater. I chose you. You could not bear me. I will find someone who can.”


This night, in Cair Daronwy, so many years later, the air was perfectly still now and Ralph said, “Neither of us is young.”
“Speak for yourself. I am of the Rootless Isle,” Ohean said. “We do not age like others.”
Ralph cleared his throat and turned to Ohean. “I will say it and say it clearly. I was a fool. I should have never walked away from you.”
Gravely, Ohean nodded. His arms were crossed under his mantle, holding the blade of Sevard close to him.
He said: “And I should never have given you this sword.”
And then he turned and went back into the hall.

MORE ON SUNDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am glad this group of travellers have reached their destination. Ohean’s past with Ralph is very interesting. This story never fails to impress and surprise me. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Ohean gots game, what can I say? Stretching your mind way back, you'll remember that Anson regularly attended the Blue Temple and that he and Pol were getting up to all sorts of mischief, but Ohean has a past too, and here is a Ralph, a man who was his lover when Anson was still a child! And it is good to see our friends out of danger, and into these fables western kingdoms we've been trying to get to for so long.

 

[ChrisGibson]

In their chambers, Anson took the sword in his hands and drew it out slowly from the sheath, the light of the lamps catching on the blade. Anson could see the sword was made of a material like grey and silver waves breaking over waves, more waves underneath as if he were looking on a silver sea. Etched up and down the blade in a long thin hand, were words he could not say.
“The legend says that the God Wode planted this sword in a tree?”
“Yes,” Anson spoke, paying more attention to the sword than his lover.
“But not that he made it?”
“Eh?”
“But not that he made it?” Ohean was louder.
Anson looked up, still dazed by the blade in his hands.
“Ohean, love,” Anson looked up at him, though his hands still ran along the mottled pattern of the blade, “it is a story, and a story of gods the Sendics stopped worshiping long ago.”
“And yet,” Ohean noted, “there is the sword, and it is very real. So, again, in your story, Wode did not make the sword?”
“I do not know,” Anson said. “According to the saga, he walked in, planted it in a tree and left. The truth is, he did not even say it was destined for his descendents… of which, I imagine, I am one.”
Then Anson said, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because the sheath is Sendic,” Ohean said, and that is all I have ever paid attention to. I knew little of swords. But that sword—”
“is not a Sendic sword,” Anson finished.
Then he said, “I mean it is now. Now Sendics make their swords like this, but by the standards of what we lived like back in Dayne. The Sword of Sevard,” Anson pronounced, “is a Royan blade.”
“It is half Royan and half Sendic,” Ohean said.
“As am I,” Anson finished.
Suddenly, Anson said, “And you took this from Ralph?”
“It was mine to take, yours to take back.”
“And how was it? Seeing him?”
“I needed to see him,” Ohean said, “to know how much I love you. Shall we go to our rooms now?”
Anson nodded, eyes hooded.
“We shall.”



“Come to bed,” Pol called, and Austin could see his lovely body on the other side of the gossamer curtain.
Pol was humming lightly, and by now, Austin knew the song.

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

Austin undressed uncertaintly, a little drunk from the long feasting, and intoxicated by the beauty of the palace. He came toward the bed and Pol, who was like a young god, and now the two of them lay naked together. Pol said a word, and the lights went out. Soon Pol slept, snoring softly, leaving Austin, suddenly stiff, to remember Zahem, and Erik Skabelund, after so long a time, played constantly in his memory these days.

The first time Austin came to the Temple he undressed timidly in the anteroom.
Erik Skabelund came into the shower room, toweling his compact body, and Austin could hardly stop himself from looking at the firmness of buttocks, of rounded thighs and biceps, firm stomachs.
Today was the Bestowal, and before the ritual bath, most had the sense to take a real bath. The ritual bath was short and public. Skabelund wore an elaborate tight waisted silk jacket and tie over well fitted trousers, Now Austin wore nothing at all. He was waiting to be totally stripped, taken out of himself and placed into the deep mysteries of Zahem.
There was something private and cave like about the emersion room. What levity was in the boys faded when they entered the dim room. In the semi darkness of the anteroom, each boy undressed, folding his clothes on a bench, and then went through a small door into an even darker room where hands were placed on their shoulders and on their sides, guiding them to steaming pools. Austin put his hand over his groin, feeling himself unfold in the presence of so much vulnerable beauty. He shook to see all of these boys he’d seen rough with each other, naked and exposed and wondered what could possible happen if they were naked with nothing between them.
“Hot!” he heard Skabelund say, This brought Austin back to reality.
The water Austin stepped into was just right, and he remained only a little while before a man of middle years pulled him out. He stood dripping before the man who held a vial of oil. He touched Austin’s wrists, his feet and then, surprisingly, his penis. He recited:
“This is the name of the Token—‘Health in the navel, marrow in the bones, strength in the loins and in the sinews, power in the Priesthood be upon thee, and upon thy posterity through all generations of time, and throughout all eternity.’”
They dried him thoroughly. He felt warm and holy and good, and now his nakedness was covered only in a white robe. Heading out of another door, a hand surprised him by gripping him and whispering, “Your name is…” But what the name was he understood ought not be spoken until the Bestowal a few minutes off and then, at last, in the moment of his death when he stood before the Gate of God.
This practice happened every three days, and Austin, bored by his education, looked forward to it with mingled horror and delight. One day, as he was leaving, Skabelund, just redressed, ran to him
“Ey, Austin, wait up!” Skabelund said as Austin was walking with his bag of clothing.
“Hold on,” Skabelund said.
Austin did.
In that half dark and empty room, Skabelund reached into his shorts, and pulled out his cup. Austin was instantly jarred, and then Erik Skabelund stuck his hands back in and started rubbing himself. Austin wanted to look away. He wanted to be away. He wished he hadn’t come here. But at the same time he knew this was the true mystery, the actual excitement, the thing he wanted to see.. Under his trousers his own penis was going heavy.
“See,” Skabelund said, suddenly pulling out a penis that was large and full headed, stiff and thick in his hands.
“Health in the navel, marrow in the bones, strength in the loins and in the sinews. This is what it is.”
Austin was hard. His mouth was dry, and his body was trembling.
“Yes...” he remembered saying.





Every day they went to the Temple, Skabelund exposing himself, and then them going to the shower. By the time they got there it was no one but Austin and Skabelund, and in the shower Skabelund would wash himself slowly as possible, touching his nipples and stroking himself into erection then laughing it off. Austin laughed it off too, not understanding what was happening, unable to stay away.
One day, after temple services, Skabelund just said, “Would you like to please me?”
“I…” Austin began. He could hardly speak because his heart had come up into throat and his chest was pounding. “How could I?”
Skabelund’s voice was tender, He said, “Please, Austin. You know how. Don’t make me beg.”
Skabelund laughed and pointed to Austin’s groin.
“I know you want to,” he murmured.
“Don’t say that,” Austin said, embarrassed, hard and trembling all at once.
“It’s okay,” Skabeland said, pulling down his trousers. “I’m the same way.”
And then Austin dropped to his knees, but Erik Skabelund said, “No. Not right here. Further back behind the dressing room.”
Austin got up quickly and almost tripped to the gallery behind the dressing room, to a little dark space in the empty wash hall.
And then, suddenly, Erik’s cock was in his mouth, he was taking it deep, and pulling it in and out, licking the head, devouring it, and Erik was muttering, “Oh... ah... oh...” his voice was high and pleading, and his hands went for Austin’s hair, and then fell, lifting up and down, helpless. Austin opened his eyes and looked up to see Erik thrusting, his eyes closed, his lips parted. He looked like he was praying. His hair was shaved low. Austin came up and put his hands around Erik’s face, then kissed his mouth.
“No, Austin. Not... that,” he said.
And then Austin went back to sucking Erik. He was so huge and so tender and so hard and so slick and the more he did it, the more he wanted to never stop. And then Skabelund’s body rocked, and before he could push Austin away, he was coming. His semen dripped out of Austin’s mouth, down his chin, onto his shirt. It dripped in a thick rope on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Austin,” Erik said, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Austin wanted to lick Erik clean. He wanted to kiss him again.
Austin said, “Okay, now it’s your, turn, Austin.”
Swiftly, Skabelund went to his knees sucking and Austin cried out and planted his palms against the wall. He was afraid to touch Austin, to put his hands on Austin’s head the way Austin had done to him, but Erik reached out and pulled Austin’s hands to his scalp, guided them in rubbing his hair and his shoulders until he was confident in doing it himself. It felt so... good.... Austin was surprised when he was coming, but he caught himself and tried to pull out of Erik’s mouth. Instead Austin pulled him in deeper, and he moaned as he emptied his load in Erik’s mouth and while his body rocked, shoot, Erik held his hips, sucking him even when Austin was heaving, exhausted after his orgasm.
When it was over they sat side by side.
“Now, Aussla, I’m going to kiss you,” Erik said. “I don’t know why I said you couldn’t do it to me. I was scared, I guess.”
Austin only nodded, thinking of touching Erik, then placingh is hands at his sides.
He kissed Austin. When his hands went to the back of Austin’s head, and to his thigh, Austin’s hands went about Erik. They kissed for a long time before heading to the showers.

TOMORROW WE CONCLUDE PART ONE

 

[CharmedFan28]

Interesting to hear more of Austin’s history. He is still one of my favourite characters in this story. Great writing and I look forward to the end of part one tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Austin a wonderful treat of a character. I know just what you mean. He's joy to write.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT WE CONCLUDE PART ONE OF THE BOOK OF THE BROKEN



CAIR DARONWY




“What in the world are you singing?”
Anson stopped.
“You don’t like it?”
“You’ve a fair voice and you know it, but it sounded familiar—the song—and I cannot place it.”
“I just know the tune really,” Anson said. “It’s one of Pols favorites. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before.”
“Maybe I had other things to think of than Pol’s favorite song.”
“Maybe you did,” Anson agreed, “but you have nothing better to think of now, and if you’d paid attention before, you might know now.”
Ohean grimaced, but Anson sang:

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

Third was the I’m not quite sure
with a burr and a burr!”

“You’re improvising.”
“I am,” Anson said, “But then here comes the bridge, or the chorus, excuse me.”

Anson cleared his throat and croaked—it was late, and he had been smoking:

“Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down!”

Anson was about to go on, attempting to remember more, when he stopped at the look on Ohean’s face.
“Wizard, what?” he said.
“Where is that song from?” Ohean said.
“It’s an old folk song. About a war… Probably a hundred years ago.”
“No it, isn’t.”
Anson frowned, a little irritated.
“If you knew, why in the eighty-nine hells did you ask?”
Ohean ignored this, shaking his head.
“That is a spell or some sort. It is not a song. Or not only a song. It’s—” Ohean interrupted himself with a yawn, “too late to wake Pol up, but… in the morning…”
“Is it really important?”
Ohean opened his mouth, closed it, frowned.
“I do not know. I… I think perhaps we must go to the Rootless Isle. I think things may be going on that we do not really understand. More than the simple struggles of kings and queens, more than politics as usual. There always is more, really. As I am now, unawakened, I only get glimmers. You as Prince of Ondres, that song, the witches in Westrial fleeing. Ermengild’s daughter disappearing and never coming back. I need to understand more and I have kept myself from understanding.”
“As I have,” Anson said.
Ohean said nothing, but Anson said, “I have stayed away from my Royan heritage, not commited to learning the Skill or… much of anything. Only wanted to be a soldier. And if you are right, if something is happening, we’d better find out. We’ve already been pushed out of Westrial into the Old Kingdoms.”
Ohean nodded.
As Anson lay before Ohean, he said, “They say you are Arsennon reborn. They do. I’ve heard even my father call you this, Akkabeth, the great mage to glorious Avred Oss, the Once and Future King” Anson said. “They really believe it.”
Ohean turned on his side and looked at Anson patiently.
“Are you asking out of curiousity about me or about you?”
“Every time Akkrabeth comes into the world, he is accompanied by a mighty warrior,” Anson said, “this much I remember of Royan lore. Shall I be the emperor, the hero or the king?”
Ohean did not answer immediately. He turned over and Anson almost thought he had gone to sleep when finally he spoke.
“I… have to go to the Rootless Isle to undergo the Ethane.”
“The Ethane?”
“It is when all one’s past lives are restored,” Ohean said. “If indeed one does have past lives. I know that I do. I suspect you do as well. Many do.”
“Should I go through this… Ethane?”
“No,” Ohean shook his head.
“But I should. I have to.”
“Do you think Pol’s little song can help us at all?”
“I do, actually,” Ohean said. “It is about the Seven.”
“The Seven?”
Ohean shook his head. “Not now, love. In the morning. If you can wait.”
Anson yawned now.
“Yes, Ohean, I think I can.”
“I think,” Ohean said, “that once I waited for the Gods to effect something, and then I would move, their humble instrument who could do little else. Now it is different. Now I think there is something of doing what we are led to do, but much of making things happen, and that anything we want to happen we must make happen. You want to be King.”
“I don’t,” Anson protested. Then he said, “Well, not necessarily, only I…”
“If you cannot look at your own ambition, then how can anyone help you?”
Anson was still. Now he frowned, and then he sat up, hitting the bed.
“Well then, fine!” Anson said. “Damnit, I do. I want to rule Westrial. I want to be what Cedd pushed me out of being.”
“Then you must kill your brother,” Ohean said simply.
Anson blinked at Ohean.
“You are mad.”
“I am stating the obvious.”
“I am… I am not a murderer. You know this.”
Ohean nodded.
“I do know this.”
“Then—”
“Then you must think of being something else,” Ohean said.
Ohean called for the light to go out. As he settled into the bed, and Anson settled in beside him, he said:
“Or you must find another way.”

SEE YOU IN A FEW DAYS

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great conclusion to part one. I wonder what Anson is going to do about his brother? I will have to wait and see. Excellent writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, at least we know he won't kill him. Of course, there is another question: what is Isobel going to do now that she is about to be Cedd's wife.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT WE’RE GOING TO PUT UP A LITTLE CATCH UP MATERIAL TO A STORY WHICH HAS BECOME QUITE LARGER

When we began Book of the Blue House, Conn Aragareth, to get away from home and start a new life entered the famous, mysterious and sometimes ridiculed Blue House as a dependent, living with his sister Nialla. There he met her friends, chiefly Derek, Calon, and Gabriel and eventually decided to follow in their steps as a Blue Priest himself. Meanwhile, to the South, war was brewing with the Kingdom of Daumany and this is when Conn was introduced to Prince Anson who frequented the Blue House and later his cousin and lover, Ohean who was considered a Blue as well as a great sorcerer and an incarnation of the God Adaon. The war won, Ohean told Conn he was a mage too and he would begin to teach him and one day, when he said it was time, Conn would leave the house and follow him.

In Book of the Blessed we met Myrne Herreboro who was fleeing the north and anyone who knew her and ran into Wolf Asheman who turned out to be the yeoman of Ohean. Meanwhile Anson, returned three years from the war we see in the morning after a threesome with friend and prostitute Pol Kurusagan as well as Austin Buwa, a young lord they have seduced into a threesome. This is the day that Ohean has returned to court, for King Anthal is dying and he must insure that though Cedd die, his power be checked. Anthal indeed dies, and recommends that Anson leave quickly. Ohean’s work seems almost for nought, and he leaves with the Prince as well as Princess Imogen who wishes to flee being married off. However, not all of Ohean’s plans are ruined for he has written Queen Hermudis and her daughter Isobel who are, unknown to most, both witches and cousins of Ohean on their mother’s side, to put the princess in running for marrying Cedd, ruling Westrial and protecting its magic.

As Book of the Broken begins, feeding into the greed of Queen Morgellyn, Cedd’s sister, Hermudis arranges to be at her palace of Raymond House and with the aid of Anthony Pembroke, Cedd’s lover, arrange such a marriage with Isobel. Meanwhile, Ohean, Anson, Conn, Derek, Myrne and many of our friends have fled west into the Great Forest where they meet the hero Michael Flynn and his lady, Polly. Conn decided to strike across the river into Chyr to found a Blue House and await what message the God sends him and when the rest of them hear that Anson’s sister, Hilda, is being plotted against, Myrne and Wolf go to help her by way of the Fens while Ohean tells Anson it is his to go into Rheged, figure his fate and secure a life for his youngest sister Imogen. Meanwhile, the new king of Daumany has been crowned and his cousin, King Edmund of Hale, responsible for many murders to gain his crown including those of Myrne’s relatives, arrives back at his capital of Ambridge to terrorize and rape a young a girl named Hilary. As we return to the abbey of Saint Clew, Hilda’s home, she and Mother Abbess Gertrude have vowed to protect the girl and we meet, to the north, Edmund’s own deadly enemy, Ulfin Baldwin who has made himself second only to that king and married his deadly daughter Edith to him. Meanwhile, in Rheged, Princess Isobel makes a success of herself and begins to fall for King Idris, Ohean’s cousin.


THERE WILL BE MORE INFO TOMORROW, AND WE WILL RETURN TO BOOK OF THE BROKE PROPER ON THURSDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

Thanks for posting the catch up material. It was a good reminder of what has gone on. I look forward to more info tomorrow.

 

[ChrisGibson]

I thought it was about time. So much has happened

 

[ChrisGibson]

THE ALMANAK



Wolf Ashesman- (b. 1709-) the son Gedran, Ohean trained him to be a servant and taught all to refer to him as Wolf.


Anson Aethelyn Prince of Westrial- (b. 1699)- the second born son of King Anthal of Westrial by Essily of the Crystal Isle. Appointed First Knight of the House by the age of nineteen, 1718, served with distinction in the border wars and was appointed Captain of the King’s Horse in 1727. The animosity between the prince and his brother Cedd led to Anson’s flight at his brother’s accession to the throne. Now more famously known as the lover of Ohean Penannyn of Reghed.

Caedmon Aethelyn King of Westrial– (b. 1694) the first child and heir of King Anthal of Westrial and the only son of his first queen, Emmaline of Harrowfast. He succeeded his father as King in the fall of 1729, triggering the flights of his brother Anson and sister Imogen. Generally known as Cedd.

Abbess Hilda Princess Aethelyn – (b.1707) the second born daughter of King Anthal and Queen Tourmaline. She entered into the Abbey of Saint Clew at the age of fifteen (1722) was declared Reverend Mother (1726) and then ordained Abbess in the autumn of 1729.

Imogen Aethelyn Princess of Westrial - (b. 1711) the youngest daughter of Queen Tourmaline, the last wife of King Anthal. She fled Westrial with her brother to escape marriage to Prince Rymac of Senach. In Rheged she was proposed to by Idris of Rheged, accepting him and wedding him late in the autumn of 1729.

Morgellyn Princess Aethelyn Queen of Essail – (b. 1700) the firstborn of King Anthal by his third wife, Emmaaline. Upon her mother’s death she was married to King Stephen of Essail (1715) becoming Queen at the age of fifteen and shortly bore Linalla, Philip, Peter and Lewys.

Lord Austin Buwa of Desseret- (1700- ) only son of Lord Nephy Buwa, and practioner of the Zahem faith. His wife is the Lady Natalie Buwa, also born of the Outer Zahem. His lover is Pol Kurusagan.

Myrne Cenned of Herreboro- (b. 1710-) daughter of Toman Earl of Herreboro and his wife Lady Ashley Senae, third in the Wulfstan line of succession to the Triple Throne, entered the Rootless Isle in 1724 and rose to the rank of Dame in 1727,


Idris Desmond- (b.1692 son of King Amr of Rheged and Princess Llyell of Far Isles, King of Rheged (1714), wed Imogen Aethelyn (1729), first cousin to Ohean Penannyn and brother by marriage to Anson, Cedd, Morgellyn and Hilda. His two illegitimate children from a previous union are Kelyvn and Isomer.
Pol Kurusagan- (1704- ) born by the Sussail border from a Solahni mother and a half Itzumi father, he traveled to Kingsboro with his brother, in time becoming a successful streetworker. Close friends with Prince Anson and current companion of Austin Buwa.

Pollanikar Meretane- (b.1704-) the daughter of the priestess Meredith, raised on the Rootless Isle, she attained the rank of Dame by the age of twelve. For some time she served in the court of Queen Ermengild IV under her councilor, Owena. There she befriended Michael Flynn whose family had fled to Chyr.

Ohean Penannyn (Desmond) (b.1689- ) the son of Senaye of the Rootless Isle and grandson of the Crystal Lady. He is the acknowledged nephew of King Amr of Rheged and grandson of King Math and holds the title The Great Ash from which comes his nickname Ash. Chief councilor to both the kings of Rheged and Westrial, some attribute to him divine origins and he is acknowledged as the mightiest of sorcerers though only vaguely associated with the Wizards of the White Island. His cousins are Meredith, Pollanikar and Nimerly the Crystal Lady as well as his lover, Anson Aethelyn.

Sir Anthony Pembroke of Gaverton (b. 1697) chief steward to King Cedd and his one time squire. They both distinguished themselves at the Battle of Edmonton (1718) where Anthony was granted the title Duke of Wilmington.




Isobel Beregond Tryvanwy- elder daughter of King Raoul Beregond of Sussail and Hermudis Tryvanwy Queen of Sussail and Princess of Armor, the betrothed of King Cedd, secretly trained as an enchantress on the Rootless Isle.

Sir Teryn Wesley (1713- ) born in southern Westrial to a half Royan family, first steward to Queen Isobel of Westrial, squire and lover to Lord Anthony Pembroke.



The Age of Chaos- not the be confused with The Flood, a time often ill described, when the various peoples of the earth who, up until then, lived close together, split up due to warfare. According to the Book of Nations, many people were destroyed. It was at this time that Osse took his people to Ossar and they became the Royan.

Akkrabeth- according to Royan tradition is the great sorcerer of the Age of Heroes who raised up mighty Hero, Enkial father of Oloreth. According to Royan lore, Akkabeth is an incarnation of the God Varayan and has willed himself to come into the world through many lifetimes, each time with an incarnation of Enkial.

The Ard- the Sinercian teacher regarded as an incarnation of Varayan whose main disciples became the White and the Black Monks. They brought his teachings to Ossar, but later other followers formed an institutional house of worship with a highly hierarchical clergy which eventually came to dominate the south of Ossar as well as Daumany and Armor.

Armor- land across the Solahn sea, east of Solahn, west of Daumany and north of Ferrar, Eshaan and Marandé.

Arsennon- the Mage, sometimes called the Blue, the great enchanter whose time of influence was the reign of Avred Oss, his father Avred Yuther and Yuther’s brother, Embry Caddan. He is believed to have been an incarnation of Akkrabeth.

Avred Oss- the legendary last great king of Ossar. He rose up in the time after the fall of the Remulan Empire and before the Sendic Conquest. Though most Royan kings and many Sendics, are descended from him, the Kings of Rheged consider themselves to be his heirs.

The Book of the Blessed- the last of the holy books of the Royan, commited to memory until around seven centuries ago, in some ways associated with the end of this present world and the beginning of another.

The Book of Oloreth- a love poem, and the most ancient of the Royan poems dating, in fact, from the ancient land of Hur from which Osse and the first Royan came.

Chyr- the kingdom that shares the Cambrian Peninsula with Armet and Rheged, known for generally having women rulers, often schooled on the Rootless Isle. Its current queen is Ermengild IV.

Daumany- the kingdom east of Armor which was taken over by the Dauman, a group of Dayne who intermarried with the native population around four hundred years ago. Their current king is Rufus and by an old marriage they are now linked with the House of Armor.

Dayne- the peninsula to the northeast of Ossar, icebound at its northern region from which the Hale, the Ayl, the Daumans and many other groups come. Though it seems at one point in time Dayne was the name of one of the many tribes of the peninsula, in time it came to be known as the name of the entire land. Around seven centuries ago the Ragnarsson family began the union of Dayne and in 1108 most of the peninsula became the Kingdom of Dayne.

Hale- the nation north of Inglad that takes up the Trunk of Ossar, also the people for whom the nation is named. At one point in time it included the northernmost country of the Sendics, North Hale.

The New Faith- the religion born from the teachings of the Ard. It is new in comparison to the religions it replaced or incorporated but has dominated Westrial for eight hundred years. Also called The Kirk, also called The Assembly and/or The Assemblies.

North Hale- see Hale.

Oloreth- the great Hero of the Song of Oloreth who lived after the age of Heroes in the land of Senar. He was the son (or grandson) of the hero Enkial and his song records the love for his best friend, Nardil, their adventures and the history of the Hur, the ancestors of the Royan. Oloreth was the grandfather of Osse.

Osse- Father of the Royan (the Ossar), the grandson of Oloreth and great-grandson of Enkial who, accompanied by sorcerer Akkrabeth, fled The Chaos, taking his people to Ossar.

The Flood- according to the Song of Oloreth, the mighty flood which destroyed the Old World and brought an end to the Age of Heroes. One of the few people to escape it with the blood of the heroes were the Hur who lived on for some generations, but were largely wiped out in the Age of Chaos.

Locress- (Ankar, Ynkurando) of old the central and most important Royan kingdom. It was subjugated by the Remulans and later, in the time of the Sendics, divided into the five kingdoms of Inglad, Westrial, Essail, Senach and Sussail.

Remulans (Sincercians)- are a race related to the Royan who ruled much of the western world including Ossar for nearly five centuries. The people of Armor and Sussail are in part descended from them as are many old families in Westrial and Rheged. Their ancestor is the legendary Rufus and their capital is Rhufain. The modern calendar marks itself from the beginning of their empire seventeen centuries ago.

Rheged- Kingdom north of Chyr and east of Inglad, Hale and Westrial. It was, of old, a Royan territory part of the High Land of Locress but, after the arrival of the Hale, a retreat for many of the Royan who had then lived in Inland Ossar. After the Battle of Colden, the descendants of the Kingdom of Dera reestablished themselves at Rheged and Armet. The Kings of Rheged consider themselves the heirs of Avred Oss, the legendary last great king of Ossar.

The Rootless Isle- the island of enchantresses and enchanters south of Westrial currently ruled by the Lady Nimerly.

Royan- the descendants of Osse who lived in Ossar before the coming of the Sendics and who now live chiefly in the west, though most people in the Ayl kingdoms and not some few in the Hale lands have Royan blood. Royans are known for being darker than Sendics and gifted with magic but having been made of three different stocks, differ more from each other than do Sendics.

Sendic- see Sussaineth.

Sussaineth- the term the Royan use for the Hale and the Ayl collectively. As mercenaries and then later raiders they came from the northlands over a thousand years ago and now inhabit the East Country and the North Country. The lands of the Hale and the Ayl are referred to as Sussany or Sussainy. The term the Hale and Ayl use to describe themselves is Sendic.

Westrial- the kingdom founded by Eoga the Sendic when he wed himself to the last Princess of Locress. It is considered the hub of all the kingdoms of old Locress, and the Kings of Westrial were, until the time of Edmund the Atheling, considered first among equals in the South.

Zahem- a primarily desert territory southwest of Westrial over the Siral Mountains, north of Solahn. It is primarily dominated by the ethno-religious group who follow the teachings of Joses Zahem and regard him at the True Prophet of God.


AND TOMORROW WE BEGIN PART TWO

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great info and I look forward to part two!