The Book of the Broken

[ChrisGibson]

In Herreboro the old religion makes a come back under a man called Cynric, and at Cair Daronwy, Imogen prepares for her wedding.



HERREBORO


From Herreboro Monastery, Abbot Cuthbert watched the long train of men in brown, walking in the deep valley path below. Their torches were aloft and they were headed to one of the meetings he had heard about for some time. The monasteries were empty theses days, and when some said that the new God was losing to the Old Gods, Abbot Cuthbert merely said that the Gods were one.


“Do you know what this is?” Cynric Yoreson said, holding out his coin.
“It is the coin of the Dayne, the coins they had when King Sweyn ruled.”
“Was King Sweyn really a good man?”
“King Sweyn,” Cynric said, “was a conquerer, and he was a murderer, but he practiced the old religion, and this coin bears our sign. When all the coins in Hale and North Hale bear this sign again, then will we truly be free.”
“Hold your tongue,” Signy said.
“Wife, I will not,” Cynric said. He was gentle face, not tall, young, possibly twenty five, with blue eyes, straw colored hair and a strong build. He did not smile often, not because he was unpleasant but because he was shy.
“If we have to be silent, then we are not free.”
Now he did smile, lifting the girl onto his lap.
“We are free when we can remember. I will tell you the tale of the beginning of things.”
“Not those ancient stories,” Signy murmured.
“Yes, the real stories, the true Gods we forgot, who we loved when the Wulfstans ruled us, and we were free and not under the trhumb of Edmund to the south, and when the Baldwins didn’t make unholy alliance with the monasteries.”
“Tell me the story,” the little girl demanded.
Cynric lifted her up and laughed.
“I shall, my girl.

“It was Time’s morning,
When there nothing was;
Nor sand, nor sea,
Nor cooling billows.
Earth there was not,
Nor heaven above.
The Ginungagap was,
But grass nowhere.”


Many ages before the earth was made, Niflheim had existed, in the midst of which is the well called Hvergelmer, whence flow the streams: Svol, Gunnthro, Form, Fimbul, Thul, Slid and Hrid, Sylg and Ylg, Vid, Leipt and Gjoll, the last of which is nearest the gate of Hel. Then added Thride: Still, there is before a world to the south called Muspelheim. It is light and hot, and so bright and dazzling that no stranger, who is not a native there, can stand it. Surt is the name of him who stands on its border guarding it. He has a flaming sword in his hand, and at the end of the world he will come and harry, conquer all the gods, and burn up the whole world with fire. Thus it is said in the ancient songs:

“Surt from the south flares
With blazing flames;
From the sword shines
The sun of the war-god.
Rocks dash together
And witches collapse,
Men go the way to Hel
And the heavens are cleft.

All giants have
Come from Ymer.
And on this point, when Vafthrudner,
the giant, was asked by Gangrad:
Whence came Aurgelmer
Originally to the sons
Of the wise giant!”


“ I do not know why you fill her head with such—”
Cynric looked at his wife sharply.
Signy blinked at them and sat down.
“Now I shall teach you,” Cynric said, “And now you will listen. Both of you.”
Now Signy did not speak and now the poet’s voice took on a measured cadence.
“Next thing was that when the rime melted into drops, there was made thereof a cow, calledwhich hight Audhumbla. Four milk-streams ran from her teats, and she fed Ymer. On what did the cow subsist? She licked the salt-stones that were covered with rime, and the first day that she licked the stones there came out of them in the evening a man’s hair, the second day a man’s head, and the third day the whole man was there. This man’s name was Bure; he was fair of face, great and mighty, and he begat a son whose name was Bor. This Bor married a woman whose name was Bestla, the daughter Ymir; they had three sons,—the one called Wode, the other Vile, and the third Ve.”
“The Gods!” Ingrid clapped her hands.
“Yes!” Cynric said, “Yes, the very Gods.
“The sons of Bor slew the giant Ymer, but when he fell, there flowed so much blood from his wounds that they drowned therein the whole race of frost giants; excepting one, and so, all that night, Cynric told the ancient stories of their gods and as night deepened and Signy was long asleep, he came to the end of the great saga of the gods and heroes.
“And then,” said Cynric’s daughter, “came the Ragnarok, where the Gods died and the new ones came.”
Cyrnic made a great intake of breath, but Guerric, the old house servant, said only, “Bless, you child. That is an old untruth. No, the Gods live. The Gods are all around us.
“They wait only for us to give up the monasteries and the priests, the Inglad and the men of Ambridge. To return to them,” Cynric said. “And return we have.”



CAIR DARONWY




That morning, all in white, the Princess Imogen departed from the great brass doors of Pennllywn, descending the long stair between her brother, the Prince Anson, himself all in white, and the mage Ohean, all in scarlet, his scarlet hood thrown back from his head. In their party were Pol and Austin Buwa, dressed smartly with daggers hanging at their side. They came down one low flight of steps, and then turned to another and then down another, and all the time the long writhing stones sculptures of the feathered serpents flanked them, their expanses descending either side of the steps like massive banners so that, when they came out onto the Great Avenue of the Dragon, the faces of those painted protectors glared in a fury that was comic and in a comedy which, looked at too long, became fury.
The bells were ringing from the carillon behind the many colored temple with its eight swirling onion domes about the high spire, and an hour earlier, from another section of the palace, King Idris, the Princess Sayaana, Ralph Curakin and many others had depared into the massive house of worship. The façade of the House was two great staircases rising to a central tower, but these they rounded and came to what was truly the main entry, and as they entered, the choirs began to sing, and torchbearers led Imogen into the heart of the temple.
It was unlike the open great abbey in Kingsboro. This was a series of domed chapels connected by corridors, and though many might see into the central part of the temple, few could actually enter. Imogen was led through the honeycomb of connecting chapels while the choirs sang

I on pokazal mne chistuyu reku vody zhizni,
prozrachnuyu, kak kristall, iskhodyashchuyu
ot prestola Boga i Agntsa.

I ne budet bol'she proklyatiya; no prestol
Bozhiy i Agnets budut v nem; I slugi yego
budut sluzhit' yemu;

I oni uvidyat yego litso; I imya yego budet
u nikh na lbu.

I Dukh i nevesta govoryat: pridi. I pust' tot,
kto slushayet, skazal: Pridi. I pust' tot, kto
zhazhdet, pridet. I kto khochet, pust'
svobodno prinimayet vodu zhizni.

They sang in a tongue older than the Royan usually spoken and, curiously, Anson caught himself able to hear a few words. It was from The Book of the Bride and he murmured:


“And the spiritof the bride sayd, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come.”

In the height of a late fall day, where the sky was deep and clear blue and the sun shone on the waters, in the secret of the House of Varayan, in candlelight, darkness, incense and hymn singing, Imogen walked about Idris seven times and their wrists were joined by a silver chain, and then she was wed to him, and next was led into an even more secret place. When she came out into the day, a crown was on her head and Anson had the curious feeling that she was no longer his. But how could she be, she was Queen of Rheged? As the people cheered, Anson turned to Ohean and said, “This means we can go.”
Ohean nodded, and Ralph was behind them.
“I would like to go as well. If you will have me.”
Anson looked to Ohean, uncertain, but Ohean said, “We will have whoever wishes to come.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am enjoying learning about the old religion. It was also nice to see Imogen’s wedding. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, and just you wait to see what happens next! There's a lot going on up north in Herreboro.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WE RETURN TO ZAHEM, AND IN RHEGED, ANSON AND OHEAN PREPARE TO MAKE A JOURNEY



ZAHEM



After the funeral they all came to him, murmuring pious words, but it was his mother, all in the white they had worn into the Temple, who genuflected slowly and then, pushing the veil from her face, kissed his hand.
“Mother.”
“It must be done,” she murmured, rising. “You are the Prophet, and they must remember it.”
“They are sussing me out.”
“Yes,” she said, a bit of her golden hair escaping the veil as she rose, “and will continue to do so. You never had the chance to move through the proper channels, to establish allies.”
“What in the world am I going to do? They say I’m the Prophet, but I feel like a fifteen year old boy. What’s more, I feel like they feel that way too.”
“Study your history,” his mother said as she linked arms with him and they walked about the white room with its crystal chandeliers and ivory pillars.
“I do.”
“So do I,” she said. “Find the men here who have grown to care for you. Find all of your friends. Begin with them. Pay attention to all the factions and set them off against each other. Be for the people, but do not count on the people, for they do not live in the palace or run the great councils. And speaking of councils, you need a chief councilor.”
“Has a Prophet ever made his mother a councilor?” Dahlan jested and Aimee said, “This is a man’s world. Choose the man you trust most.”
“I trust Erek Skabelund the most, but Allman is the older.”
“He is without guile,” Aimee said. “Make one your first minister and the other your second. Be on guard against priests.”
“Do you have any other advice?”
“Yes,” Aimee said, parting from him and pointing to the corner of the room near the cakes.
“That girl over there.”
“Sariah.”
“She’s been staying back from you all day, and I know you were the closest of friends. When I say make allies I mean make allies of all, keep all of your friends, low and high.”
Dahlan, nodding to his mother, walked away. He put his hands behind his back and walked across the room toward Sariah, nodding politely to those who approached him, but in a way which signaled that he was on other business.
“Dah—” she began, and then said, “Prophet.”
“Are we friends no longer?” Dahlan asked her.
“I,” Sariah began. “This has never happened before.”
“You knew I would be Prophet one day.”
“One day, yes. But…”
“Can we talk?”
“Right here?” she said. “But there are very important people here.”
“You,” Dahlan stated, “are a very important person.”
“All the same,” Sariah said.
“Well, then tonight?”
“Alright,” Sariah said. “Tonight.”



“What is the Temple like?”
“Surely you have seen it.”
“Only from the outside,” Sariah said.
They were walking through one of the gardens in the labyrinthine palace.
“And I have gone inside the first court,” she admitted. “But never beyond. You must be initiated to go beyond, and this doesn’t happen for a woman until she marries.”
“Well,” Dahlan said, “it is some dull stuff.”
Sariah looked to their right, the three spiraling towers of the Temple shone in the floodlights placed on it every night, and she said, “What a shame. You’d think the Temple would be more exciting.”
“It ought to be,” Dahlan said.
“Did you know,” he added, “there are tales that long ago there was another and greater temple beneath it, and in that temple secret things of great importance really did happen?”
“But not in ours?” Sariah said. “We are always told they are great secrets. You are the Prophet.”
“Well, the Prophet prophecies. Perhaps the temple was not meant for me. Most of the time it will be Phineas who leads temple matters. The Temple holds very little interest for me.”
They stopped walking, and Sariah looked away from the Temple as if, now that it held no interest for Dahlan, it did not hold interest for her either.
“What does interest you?” she said.
He smiled to himself, and then turned the smile on her. He touched her brown hair and bent to kiss her.
“Sariah, stay with me tonight?”
She said, “Alright.”




RHEGED




In the midst of the feasting, while birds were sent off to the kingdoms to announce the royal marriage, Anson, Ohean, and their company left quietly. By sunset they were past the marsh and well to the Royan Road under the shadow of the mountains. On the other side of the trees they could hear the waves, and after Ohean looked up to those hills, he looked at Ralph, who smiled, and remembered the past.
“We should head straight,” Ralph said, “through the forest, and down along the lowlands, taking the Royan Road. Or does anyone object?”
“Lord, you know the land,” Anson said. “This is foreign to all of us. Save Ohean.”
“Save Ohean, indeed,” Ralph said. “But this road will take us to the capital of Chyr.”
Ohean shook his head.
“We will leave it before we reach Immrachyr. I do not wish for Ermengild to know we are here. Too many signs are leading to many things, and it may give her a hope she has long surrendered. In the end I think I will exchange this red cloak for something far less interesting.”
They entered the woods by nightfall, but there was little to fear so they kept traveling in the dark. Each of them had a horse, and Ohean manned a vardo. Though no one knew the location of the Hidden Tower, Anson imagined Ohean must, and the enchanter walked with certainty. Ohean, mindful of Anson’s mental distress, merely wished to put his lover on a trip that would take his mind off of matters.

They ate well, Ohean being practical and not wishing to cook, had taken much from the wedding. Long into the night they laughed, told stories, drank, and under the shadow of great trees with roots like old expanding toes, they slept. While Anson slept beside Ohean, he heard music coming from outside the vardo. He turned to Ohean to see if he heard it or not, but Ohean only snored. Long Anson lay, debating if he should rise from sleep or no, but at last he did, hearing the singing faintly.
About the fire he saw only the burning wards, for Ohean had seen no need for actual watchmen, and, at first, Anson heard no music. When he did hear it again, the music was from in the woods, and he said to himself, “Careful, there, Anson.”
He went into the trees, following the sound that was like hearing music in a dream, hearing music in the waking world you could just barely reach. At last he heard the singing more clearly.

“Sa chás go íslíonn an highland creagach
As Sleuth Adhmad sa loch,
Tá Tá oileán duilleogach
Sa chás go ‘erons flappin éis
Na francaigh uisce codlatach;
Tá againn hid ár dabhcha Sí,
Atá lán de caora
Agus ar reddest shilíní goidte.”

Now he could see, faintly, lights, bobbing lights or, no, it was the moonlight falling on things just barely there, and now, as he followed the light that seemed to shimmer on glass or on glass figures, the music became more pronounced.

“Tar amach, O leanbh daonna!
Chun na huiscí agus an fiáin
Le Sí, lámh ar láimh.
Maidir leis an domhan níos iomlán de
gol ná mar is féidir leat a thuiscint.”

And now as he saw men and women in fine clothes sitting about a fire he had not seen, he saw three women, their heads pressed together, and they were singing to him, and as the black haired woman between the gold haired women beckoned, he understood that it was not their words but his understanding that had changed. They sang:


“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.”

“Anson, son of Essily, what are you looking for?” the black haired one asked.
“I followed the light, Lady,” he said, and now he was aware of all in the firelight looking on him. They resembled the Royan, but these were not the Royan, and what they were he did not dare speak, not even in the silence of his heart.
“I followed the music,” he corrected himself.
“Aye,” the black haired woman in the blue gown nodded, “But what does the son of Essily desire?”
“My lady,” he said, then turning and bowing about him at the faces who smiled on him gravely, “My lords and ladies, I cannot rightly say I know.”
“In time you shall,” the black haired woman said. “And when you have discovered your longing, then you shall know me again.”
“Until then, Prince of the Crystal Isle,” the gold haired woman to the dark haired ones right said, “Abide with us, and hear our songs.”
“But do not touch our food,” the other pale haired woman warned, “for that is not for such as you, not if you would remain in the mortal world.”
A blue robed bard, black haired, handsome, lifted up his voice and sang. He was tall, like a warrior, and they said his name was Garavac.

Ahna bless all here who are tired,
who are weary who are wintered
over, who do not think they will
make it through another day
bless the community of the
languishing, the chaffed, the
wearied and the lonely
and gather them in where
all is gathered into one
give love to the one who
can go on no longer
and weakness to she who
is too strong
and to those broken down
a song
Alam!


Anson stayed until he was yawning, and the black haired woman bid him rise and return to his tent, and when he did Ohean, though he seemed to be sleeping, turned to him and Anson told him of all that had happened.
“You were with Them,” Ohean said, “And so you have been blessed. Keep that with you.”
“Have you seen Them? Do you know Them?”
“I do, as much as they wish to be known.”
“They called me the son of Essily.”
“And so you are.”
“And Prince of the Crystal Isle.”
“And so you are even though Westrial is all you think of.”
“Perhaps it is Westrial I need to stop thinking of. Perhaps I need to remember I am Royan.”
“Perhaps you should go to bed,” said Ohean. “Soon we shall come to the coast, and on the coast we will take a ship to sea, and from the ship we shall come to an island, and from that island we will approach the Hidden Tower.”
“The Tower is out on the sea?”
“It will be,” Ohean said. “This time.”


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I like Dahlan and Dariah and I hope they have a good night together. I am glad Anson got that blessing and hopefully that bodes well for the groups journey. Fantastic writing as always and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I imagine they will have a nice night, but keep your eyes on that Temple. And Anson is on his way to the Tower, something is surely about to happen! Thanks for reading.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, THEONE ENJOYS PEACE IN THE HOME OF YARROW AND CEDD JOURNEYS TO THE SOUTH WESTERN BORDERS OF HIS DOMAIN WITH HIS TERYN, ANTHONY AND HIS WIFE TO BE



All around you a storm is raging. Above you, beneath you the storm is raging. Here, in this moment, when enemies gather and fears assault, become quiet as the earth. In your breathing take all things into you and so will you find a space none can reach. Then comes the power to ride all waves, and penetrate all things.

Ifandell Modet, The Crystal Teaching










THE DAUMAN MARCHES




“That was the first real sleep I’ve had in a long time,” Theone told Yarrow the next morning.
“And it will not be the last,” she said. “But I know you have to go.”
Theone did have to leave. She would have liked to stay forever, and part of her had hoped that Yarrow would offer, if not forever, then perhaps the next day, now that she was in a safe place.
“I’ve been running a long while,” Theone said.
“Yesterday, before you came,” Yarrow said, “Birch said you would come, and pointed in the direction which you should go. And I know that direction will keep you safe. And what is more, I have reason to believe that if you stay here much longer, then somehow it will not be safe. Not for you. Theone. I am sure that you must move on, and move quickly.”
Theone looked out of the window, and in the glade the red horse was grazing.
“I had hoped to somehow send that lovely mare back to her family.”
Yarrow shook her head, “Not today. Today you must be moving on.”


Gimble had kept her only two months, and then she was off to other men. She was off to several. After her third, she realized just how kind Gimble had been to her. Once, while she was coming out of the room of one of the Hands, someone reached out to touch her, and she saw it was Gimble. In the hall.
He whispered to her: “I am trying to get you back. They don’t often deny me, but you had to be with other men before they would send you to me again.”
Theone nodded and she colored at this. She was just a Woman now, sent off to be with Other Men. Now it was all too real to her, the thing that had been dim in her future, that was being something not quite a whore. There was no payment for her, and no option. The best she could hope for was Gimble, who was good in his own way. Until then she had to learn what she was, not even a slave or a concubine, because she wasn’t the property of one man.
Every other night was the pattern because she was young. Anonymous men, most of them not terribly rough, some young and some old, none thinking of her. It almost made her feel innocent because she knew she wasn’t really there. He would mount her and close his eyes and shuttle up and down her, losing all composure. In time they had no faces. It was a thing to be done, and when it wasn’t done, she was now in the House of the Women.
Number Sixteen said, “At least no more of those little girls. No more of the children,” But Theone missed the children, and her heart was sad because she knew the children would be like her. There was the thought that one might be a boy, but then they might be like the endless line of interchangeable men who mounted her and shot out their need inside of her, heedless but halfway hoping they had made a child.
Then a month passed, and nothing happened. She didn’t know what that was all about. Hyrax, who was the only other woman who had a name, and Hyrax wasn’t even a name, but a title, sent Theone down to the dungeons with water and bread.
“Take a torch down and feed the new prisoner,” she said.

Theone had never been to the dungeons. Her black robes skirted along the worn, cold, shallow stairs that slowly spiraled down. The red flame of her torch licked the walls dully to reveal their stones, and she felt the heavy weight of this whole house above her. Except for occasional excursions to the gardens, she never saw anything of the outdoors. The gardens were, of course, all courtyards. From them she could see the few windows looking out of the heavy, streaked, grey stones.
“This is an unhappy place,” she thought. “I have no idea why I exist or why any of us is here. But we are all prisoners.”
“Hello, there!”
A voice interrupted her thoughts, and Theone looked into the long corridor whispering: “Are you the new prisoner? I have brought you food. Water. Bread.”
“We are all prisoners in this hell hole,” he said, and when he said her thoughs, she shuddered. She approached the cell and set the torch in a wall sconce.
“Here,” she said, pushing the jug of water and wrapped bread through the bars.
She was afraid he’d snatch at them, but he was civil despite being dirty.
She had never seen anyone like him. His hair was reddish brown. All she knew was black hair. In the light his eyes were peat green and he needed shaving.
“Your eyes,” she began.
He bit into the bread and then took a swig of the water.
“And your eyes too,” he said. He belched. “Excuse it. Even the pit of hell’s made better by manners.” He put his hand through the door and said, “I am Ethan.”
“And I am Theone,” she said, taking it.
Ethan blinked at her.
“Theone? The daughter of Heli?”
“That was my father’s name,” Theone looked at him, cautiously.
“And still is.”
“How do you know this?” Theone said.
“Because his wife was called Esnarra in this country, and she was a great lady of my land. She was a kinsman. Kinswoman.”
Theone sat on her haunches. “I don’t understand. I…”
“Your mother came into this land for one purpose. She was taken and later, when she was free, she remained in these lands, ashamed of the things that happened to her, vowing never to come back to Chyr until she had found that for which she had come. But it is the same reason I am here too, and perhaps the same reason as you.”
“What do you?”
But Hyrax was calling, “Theone, are you there? Theone, come up here!”
She was about to ask Ethan again, but he said, “Go! I’ll talk to you when… when we can. We’ll meet again.”
Theone nodded, smoothing her skirts and then headed up the steps with one last salute.
When she had reached the top of the stair, Hyrax, wrapped in her black cloak, said, “You are the one for willfulness. I’ve got no more time to be calling you. I’ve got summons and you yourself have been summoned. Gimble has won you. You must go to him at once.”
And then Hyrax added, with something like admiration, “You must have put quite a spell on him. He’s determined to make you a mother or die trying.”







THE WESTERN BORDER OF WESTRIAL




They were arriving at Castle Vermeton, under the hills near the western border, when the messenger hawks swirled down to their encampment. King Cedd held out his gloved fist and the falcon landed on it while the King unfastened the message. On one side of him rode the Princess Isobel, who was careful not to look at him, and on the other was Anthony who watched Cedd’s face change.
“She has wed without me,” Cedd said, shortly. “Let us turn and head back to Kingsboro.”
Anthony’s face hardened, but Isobel, practical, said, “Lord Veldon is waiting for us. We will stay at Vermeton tonight, for a few days in fact, make an occasion of it, the King coming to visit his western provinces. Tonight I will send a falcon to Sussail and one to Abbot Merrill for our winter wedding.”
While Anthony and Cedd looked on Isobel with respect, she continued, “The wedding will be on the first day of the year. It will be the spectacle the people have been waiting for.”
She added, “And it will certainly outshine what Imogen has done, or how you were not there to see her do it.”

That night the first snows could be seen out of the large windows of Anthony’s chambers. In one chair Teryn Wesley sat across from Anthony, and a servant came in to add another log to the fire.
“The thing is,” Anthony admitted, “I don’t believe Imogen feels like she hurt Cedd in any way. They have never been close, and if she hadn’t have fled, he was intending to marry her off to some old lord. He had intended to dishonor her.”
Teryn’s brow knotted and his crossed legs stretched across the thin carpet.
“That is not the King I know. And yet,” he shook his head, “how much of the King can I really know?”
“He is gentle and kind,” Anthony said. “But not always. And the not always is what Anson and Imogen know. Apparently Anson is on his way back here and so Imogen wished to marry before he left. And now she is Queen of one of the most powerful realms in Ossar. A Royan queen has far more influence than a Sendic one.”
“That Isobel….” Teryn began. Then, “The Princess Isobel…”
“Quite a woman,” Anthony agreed. Then Anthony said, “Teryn, come with me.”
Teryn nodded, rose, and walked out with Anthony, closing the door behind them.
The lights in the halls were out now, for it was late, and as they passed through them to where new corridors were faintly lit by spaced lanterns, Anthony pressed a door before open.
“Teryn,” Cedd said. “I am glad you came as well.”
Cedd was in a blue dressing gown, and his dark eyes were distracted as he put down the letter and said:
“This is a new letter. This has come from Inglad.”
“Your Grace?” Teryn said.
“Not tonight,” Cedd shook his head. “We will not discuss this tonight.”
The King of Westrial rose and shrugged off his gown. Teryn still shuddered to see his lean, body naked, the play of muscle underneath, the soft, faint growth of dark hair defining his body. He came forward, unself conscious, and kissed Teryn lightly on the lips while grasping his hand and beckoning to Anthony, who was also slowly undressing.
“For now,” Cedd said, “let us rest.”



Isobel of Sussail, daughter of Hermudis, daughter of Iffanwy watched the lovers, contented. She cared for Teryn and wished his comfort, thought he deserved both to be loved and to be the lover of these two men. But as her hand swished gently over the water dish and it reflected only candlelight, she prepared the fire for a Sending. She would have to sleep late tomorrow after such spell work, for she was no Ohean, nor did she possess the power of Nimerly. She imagined telling the court, “Oh, I’m sorry, my witchcraft has exhausted me!” and almost laughed. It was Essily’s witchcraft that had kept her from reigning as a true queen, and it would be a long time before Westrial could except a sorceress on its throne.
Hermudis must set out for the wedding in the morning and not wait on some bird, and Nimerly must know that now that Isobel had let Cedd and his lovers live in peace, it was likely she could have whatever she wished, be as powerful as any Sendic queen could be. After all, terrible tidings were coming from Daumany and beyond. Edmund could never be trusted. The Black Hands were moving about the Temple in Zahem, the Temple those people knew so little about, though they had made it the center of their worship. She had been trained not to see in blacks and whites, mere goods and evils, but clearly now, one side stood for preservation and life and another for destruction. The kingdoms of Ossar, The Rootless Isle and the Hidden Tower would need all the strength and unity they could muster, and if Isobel secured them by letting her husband carry on with two men, so be it.




On either side of him, hot and firm, gentle and smooth, were his lovers. Lying on their stomachs they were just blinking in and out of sleep. He loved them so much. He kissed one and then the other, and he placed one hand on Anthony’s back, another on Cedd’s. He stroked them gently and they both sighed. He moved his hand down to the small of their backs and they shuddered. He massaged their asses and they sighed, mouths open. They made child noises. Gently, he slipped a finger into each of them, and both Anthony and the King’s mouths opened. The King’s mouth! Their eyes flew open in amazed wonder. In a trance, removed from who they were in the day to who they were in the middle of the night, Teryn worked them they moaned, grasping their pillows, then the sides of the mattress. And then, Teryn kissed them.
He kissed them down their backs, first Cedd, and then Anthony and then again, all the way down until his tongue moved inside of them, from one to the other and they both cried out now. They shouted a little now. Anthony banged on the headboard with his fist and shuddering sounds escaped from Cedd. Teryn’s mouth worked on them, his hands reached around and kneaded them. Anthony and Cedd looked at each other, eyes wide. Suddenly they began to kiss. As they kissed fiercely, Anthony reached down and brought Teryn up. Now they were holding each other’s faces and now Anthony was reaching around undresseing him. Now he was laying down between the two older men who were looking on him with so much sweetness, and on each other, taking turns to kiss him while they kissed each other, undressing him and leading him in undressing them. Now they moved kiss to kiss, mouth to mouth, and the kisses that began on the lips went to their throats, to their breasts and stomachs and further still.
Cedd and Anthony kissed, pressing together with Teryn between them, going up and down Teryn’s body until, gently, Anthony turned him on his stomach and Cedd, brought into a strange contemplation, watched Anthony fuck him. His mouth was half opened. His eyes glazed over. Teryn grabbed the mattress and his eyes went dull under Anthony’s thrusting.
It ended all too quickly in an orgasmic flood, Anthony’s hands bunched on Teryn’s shoulder, the cords of his neck strained, his red face to the ceiling, his cock, thick, wet, spewing, deep inside of the younger boy. But when Anthony came out of him, still stiff, his cock wet, Teryn reached for Cedd, and Cedd came to him. Now it was his turn. Now they were together. He wanted to hold it in. He did, a little longer, making love to Teryn the same way he did when they were in private, holding back his burst. Anthony was there, exhausted, on his side, watching. In a way it was like they were doing this for him. When it was time to let go, Cedd almost mourned it. Teryn gave a long whimpering cry.
The room was hot, and it smelled like sweat and the long night and fucking. They all three, sprawled, limbs together, their stomachs sprayed by their semen. No one said a word. Teryn loved it when they all did this, though thoughts of the Princess Isobel, sleeping alone went through him. He put this out of his head. She had secrets of her own. Isobel knew everything that went on, and was no creature to be pitied.
Teryn said, “Come and hold me. Come clean off, and then come and hold me.”
The King, tight bodied, his arms and thighs traced with black hair, got up a little unsteadily and made his way to the watercloset. Somehow the King was different after he had been inside of him, and Anthony’s body would seem different too when, inevitably, the Lord of Pembroke asked Teryn to fuck him. Cedd returned with a cloth, and gently he wiped off Teryn, and Anthony and then wiped up and down his own chest. Lightly he put the cloth on the bureau.
Drowsily, he climbed into bed and Teryn pulled him in. Anthony lifted the covers over them.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow lots going on at the moment! Theone it seems is having some changes in her life. It sounds like King Cedd isn’t very happy about Imogen’s wedding which isn’t surprising. I am still enjoying this story a lot and look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Theone's life is, by anyone else's standards, miserable. But by the standards of where she is, better. However, she is still a prisoner and we haven't found out how she got away. Cedd is hurt with reason, but seems to have forgotten that he had awful plans for his sister. Meanwhile, Isobel has plans of her own.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT CYNRIC'S TRIBUTE TO THE OLD GODS IS INTERRUPTED BY WORLD CHANGING NEWS FROM HIS COUSIN DERYK WAVERLY, AND MEANWHILE THEONE REMEMBERS THE TIME WHEN HER OPENED TO GIMBLE AND LOVE GREW BETWEEN THEM


HERREBORO




They had been coming into the hall for some time, sharing mead and feasting, and Cynric, squeezed his wife around her waist. This gathering was not forbidden, but it was not completely approved, and it was new. Not only was it new, it was the old new again. In the center of the forest clearing a fire burned before the old rough carving of Wode. It was not delicate and beautiful like the images of the gods and saints in the monasteries, but rough with the power of nature, little touched by the artistan’s hand, more a thing with the imprint of magic and vision than the civilized art of the monasteries and the religion that had come to them from the south.
“We forgot who we were,” Cynric declared, “and the one thing the Dayne brought us was our memory. When they came to these shores and ruled us, ruled us in power, it was because they still held the power we forgot.”
The Dayne had come with their dreadnoughts and with their seidmann and their thunormenn, the priest of power and thunder and lightning, the mighty men of magic whom all Sendics had once revered. They had come with the old gods and their coins, while Svig and Sweyn ruled, they bore the images of Thaynor’s Hammer, of the spear of father Vadan, and of the sun boar, represented as a curved line with curved rays spurring from it, that belonged to Lord Farr.
“Sing us a song,” Thahalan encouraged Cynric.
“A song, Cynric! A song!”
They did not shout or demand, and Cynric had always been someone shy of his skills, quiet in everything, handsome, easily redfaced, straw haired, blue eyed, earnest. He nodded.
“If someone gives me a harp I’ll give you a song,” he promised.
“Daddy, sing!” Ingrid called.
He beamed at his little girl, and his wife pulled out a chair for him to sit down and sing while Fervil brought the great old harp to him.
Cynric sat down before it, and began to move his fingers over the harp.

“Widely is flung, warning of slaughter,
the weaver’s-beam’s-web: ’t is wet with blood;
is spread now, grey, the spear before,
the woof-of-the-warriors which Valkyries fill
with the red-warp-of-Randvér’s-banesman.

Is this web woven and wound of entrails,
and heavy weighted with heads of slain;
are blood-bespattered spears the treadles,
iron-bound the beams, the battens, arrows:
let us weave with our swords this web of victory!”

“Thou art a lucky woman,” the old woman called Grid said beside Signy and the plump woman, looking upon her husband decided that, though Cynric was fair to look at, this woman knew very little of the day in day out business of her marriage, and should be quiet.


“Goes Hild to weave, and Hiorthrimul,
Sangrith and Svipul, with swords brandished:
shields will be shattered, shafts will be splintered,
will the hound-of-helmets the hauberks bite.”

When the Dayne had come, no one had been glad of them, though many high families with them made allegiance. Signy remembered the tales of her father from the time when her family had come over with Sweyn, and she remembered how, though all in North Hale had stood solidly behind the House of Wulfstan, when it was known that the only one who had survived was Edmund, and that Edmund was more Dauman than Hale, that he was not hesistating to kill off all other Wulfstans and had himself forsaken the name, a change began in the two Hales, and the further north one went, the more the change was apparent. The further northeast one was, the more Dayne families remained. The Hale, who had been on their way to becoming something different than their relations across the sea, who were always making that difference known, began to change again, becoming more like their ancestors by the day.
This sitting about the fire, singing the old songs under the rough carved image of the old gods, was nothing less that frith, a word they had almost forgotten, peace, humility, friendship, unity, simple duty to ones own, the cultivation of that community under the light of the gods.
Now someone new came into the circle, into the stang, the gathering made holy, and as they looked up, Cynric stopped singing. Most of those with him were in simple dress. The more expensive dress was considered Daumanish or even southern, but here was a handsome face from childhood, still in his armor, a cloak making a splash of bright deep rich blue. His short dark hair was stylish, and even attempting to look earnest, his face was still boylike, innocent, ready for a laugh. Cynric looked up and laughed.
“Kin,” the rider called, “I come with a message!”
“Cousin, finish the song!” Cynric commanded.
Deryk pulled off his mailed gloves. “Can’t you see I’ve just come from a long ride?”
“If you do not sing,” the girl Ingrid told him, “No message.”
“Fuck!” Deryk cried, threw his gloves down and walked in. He was in full mail as he sat down and Signy wondered what his message would be.
“But you play, Cynric, for I never learned the harp.”
The cousins looked at each other, and began.

“Wind we, wind we the-web-of-darts,
and follow the atheling after to war!
Will men behold shields hewn and bloody
where Gunn and Gondul have guarded the thane.”

Now Deryk took over, closing his eyes, his head going back a little. He never completely closed his mouth, and despite his good looks, there was something rabbitish about his teeth and long nose, but it only made Signy a little more tender to her husband’s cousin.

“Wind we, wind we such web-of-darts
as the young war-worker waged afore-time!10
Forth shall we fare where the fray is thickest,
where friends and fellows ’gainst foemen battle!

Wind we, wind we the web-of-darts
where float the flags of unflinching men!
Let not the liege’s life be taken:
valkyries award the weird of battle.
Will seafaring men hold sway o’er lands,
who erstwhile dwelled on outer nesses;
is doomed to die a doughty king,
lies slain an earl by swords e’en now.”

Deryk lowered his head like one out of the spell, and there was clapping all around while Cynric squeezed his cousin’s arm affectionately.
“And now,” Deryk said, and even Signy was surprised that, quiet as he was, he did not need to lift his voice for the stang to grow quiet.
“Now this.”
Deryk reached into his tunic and pulled out a letter.
“This came to me early this morning, by raven.”
Cynric frowned and looked at Deryk.
`` “From Ambridge,” Cynric said.
“Fuck Ambrdige!” someone swore.
Deryk ignored this.
“It is from Myrne,” Deryk said.
Cynric’s eyes widened.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Really?” Deryk gave him a weary eyebrow, cleared his throat, and then read.

“Cousin,
I am sure more treachery than ever before is being launched in Ambridge. Only the other day, the Queen attempted to murder the new Abbess of Saint Clew and secure the Black Order for one of her kinswomen, and even now I am in the palace at Ambridge, betrothed to Allyn Baldwin.”

“What?” Signy began, buy Cynric’s face only grew harder.

“He thinks to declare himself King after the death of Edmund, which makes me believe the death of Edmund is at hand. He would use the strength of Herreboro and me as his wife to make himself lord of the three Kingdoms. He has promised me a Queenship and I have accepted.”

“Hells!” Cynric finally said.

“I am on my way to Herreboro, but do not worry for me. I have written this letter so you know the only reason I accepted was to reach Herreboro. In Herreboro I will marry, and I will even wed, but you must go to the village of Adden by Kester, for it is to this place I have sent Osric Wulfstan, son of Eoga, son of Edred last true king, and in Kester we shall be reunited.”

The whole stang was silent. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard.
“Eoga died without issue,” old Grid said. “His wife fled.”
“But she was pregnant,” another old woman said.
“Yes,” Grid said. “This has long been whispered.”
“More than whispered,” Ostan Henley said. “I had heard that she bore a child and it was raised in the West Country, many say by Ohean Penannyn himself.”
“I’ve heard the same thing.”
“We need to stop hearing,” Cynric said, “and get to obeying. When does Myrne need us in Kester?”
“As soon as possible,” Deryk looked up to his cousin, “To meet this Osric.”
Cynric nodded.
“Then we ride tonight.”


THEONE



When Theone came to him, he was sitting on the bed, waiting eagerly. Gimble got up, crossed the room and without much in the way of greeting except a rough kiss, brought her to the bed, lifted up her skirts, dropped his pants and then had her. It was rough and quick and Theone was surprised and embarrassed by the pleasure she felt in it. When it was over he rolled off of her, breathing, and said, “I bet you don’t know why you haven’t been with anyone in a month. I went to the Master and said I wanted to be the one to get you with child. We had to wait a month to see if you were with child, and then I could have you again.”
Gimble seemed so genuinely happy, as if she was sharing in his plan and ought to have been delighted. As she looked at him, suddenly his face changed. He looked young and uncertain.
“I don’t expect you to love me,” he said. “We’re not supposed to love anybody. And I’m rough. I know. I’m stupid. I have affection for you, Theone. And I want you to have it for me too. I can’t make you have it, but…”
He shook his head.
“I’m not supposed to have feelings. I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m lost and stupid, Theone.”
Then she touched his cheek and pulled him down beside her. She kissed him.
“I don’t know much about love, either,” Theone told him.

No one had ever cared for her since her mother and father. Theone reminded herself that her father and mother must have come together the same way she had come to Gimble. Now she had to think about him, about his affection for her, about how there was no way he could have been anything like romantic, not naturally, and how, having lived in the outer world and being raised in the House of Girls, all she ever thought of was romance.
She came to enjoy his eagerness, and also his attempts at being gentle. After the score of men she had been sent to, she enjoyed coming to him, night after night, sharing his bed, waking up with him. She enjoyed him holding her.
“I do think I love you,” Gimble told her. “Even though it’s forbidden.”
She didn’t dare say she loved him back. At the end of two months, though, she could give him the closest thing to confessing her love. She told him:
“I am with child.”

MORE TOMORROW, AND MORE OF THE BLOOD WHEN WE LEARN WHAT JENEAN'S AUNT HAS TO SAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion! Lots going on with regards to the upcoming war. I am very interested to see what happens. Theone’s life is sad but at least she has Gimble in some ways and the upcoming child. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, IN ZAHEM DAHLAN BEGINS HIS POWER STRUGGLE WITH THE HIGH PRIEST PHINEAS, AND PRINCESS MAUD OF CHYR ARRIVES ON BUSINESS OF HER OWN






ZAHEM


The blanket was whisked off of Dahlan, and he was pulled into consciousness. From being sprawled across the mattress, hugging the pillow he now sat up naked and looked at Sariah beside him.
“Leave,” the severe man in the black robe who held the stripped blabket in his arms said, simply, and the girl, grabbing her nightgown, sped out of the room.
“Get out of my apartments before I have you flogged!” Dahlan demanded, standing up and reaching for his dressing gown.
“You cannot have the High Priest flogged.”
“And you,” Dahlan said, “cannot enter the House of the Prophet and issue commands.”
“The Prophet should not be plowing his way through the palace staff. That is not the way of the Prophet.”
“Enough,” Dahlan said, taking a hand through his hair. He went to ring the bell by his bed and call to his guards, but the High Priest said, “Before you do that, you might hear me out.”
“Speak and speak quickly,” Dahlan told him, “and then never be so presumptuous again.”
“We are a land with enemies,” Phineas said. “Enemies within and always enemies without. The Rebels are all through this land, not to mention those within the Faithful who would bend the Faith to their will. What we need is a strong Prophet, not a boy who takes maids into his bed and plows them all night because he can. The office of Prophet must be seen as holy.”
“Are you through?” Dahlan asked him.
“I am.”
“Good,” Dahlan told him. “I am not unaware that the High Priest is never my ally. Ever since the days of the first High Priest when you all rose to fill the vacuum left by a weak Prophet, you have been seeking to do the same when every Prophet comes to power. I presume you seek to do it with me.”
“I seek to serve,” Phineas said.
“Well, then seek to obey,” Dahlan told him. “I will see that the guards understand by the end of the day you are by no means allowed into this palace and certainly not into my quarters without my express permission.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Phineas’s eyes narrowed. “You are the youngest Prophet we have had in a long time, but traditionally, when one came to the Mantle so young, having not risen through the Council of the Young and the Elders, never having learned the proper working of things, he has met an untimely end. Never forget Aradahn Snow. He was twenty, five years your senior, when he became the Prophet, and he found himself imprisoned, strangled and left dead south in Vahoras. For sixteen years my ancestor, Entathen, sat in power while we all waited for another Prophet to be born.”
Dahlan was not sure if what passed over him now was fear or rage, but at that moment he struck the bell and he said, “That is not the end of the story, of course. Entathen was one of the most powerful High Priests ever. He even overshadowed the reign of the new Prophet once he was found. He and his sons were great powers in the land. Some even say they had a hand in the death of the Prophet Lemuel. Ah, but when Jayson came, the Prophet Reborn, he said he was sure Entathen had had a hand in the death of Aradahn Snow. Do you remember how Entathen died?”
As the doors opened and the guard entered the large room, Phineas said, “All of the House or A’run remember Entathen was killed.”
“He was crucified,” Dahlan said, “on Vahoras hill, the same place he had left Aradahn Snow—”
“We do not know if he killed Aradahn—”
“He did,” Dahlan said. “And Entathen, and his sons were crucified upside down, on the hottest day of the year. His wife, all of the women of that family, were blood atoned, and the children. Vahoras Hill ran red that day.
“Guard,” Dahlan said, “Now that the High Priest and I have reminded each other of history, lead him from my chambers and be sure not to allow him in here without my express permission.”




Skabelund was surprised when word reached him that he was desired by the new Prophet, and on his way to Dahlan’s quarters, he was surprised again to see Brother Allman apparently on the same route. They did not speak, but nodded one to the other, and then entered the great lobby and wound their way to the offices of the Prophet.
The boy had never seemed very earnest, and Skabelund was surprised to see that, though he still had the thick hair that fell into his face, in his black robe, Dahlan—the Prophet after all—was sitting at a great desk going over papers while being consulted by the mayor of the palace.
“You are here,” Dahlan said when they entered, and when he rose, both Skabelund and Allman went to one knee.
“Leave us,” Dahlan said to the mayor, though it was more a request than a demand.
The round faced man nodded, and turned to leave after genuflecting while Skabelund and Allman both murmured as Dahlan walked around the desk, “Prophet. Prophet.”
“Rise,” Dahlan said.
The mayor had shut the door, and Dahlan said, “I have to establish a council for myself.”
“There is already a council established,” Elder Allman said.
“We don’t have time for this,” Dahlan said. “I am a young Prophet. I need men loyal to me and not to the old system or to the High Priest or to themselves. Allman, are you loyal to me?”
“Of course I am!” the flat faced man declared. “You know since you were a boy I have always looked after your interest. I and my family.”
“And Erek Skabelund,” Dahlan said, “are you as good of heart as you seem?”
“No man is that, Lord,” Erek said.
“But are you loyal?” Dahlan said. “To me.”
“Yes,” Skabelund said. “Always.”
“And with no false motives, no agenda,” Dahlan added. “I know this about you. Even when you were disappointed in me—and often you were—you always had my best interest at heart.”
“And the best interest of our people,” Allman said.
“As do I,” Dahlan told him. “Believe it or not. Brother Allman, because you are the eldest, you will be my chief councilor, Skabelund my Vice Councilor. Together you must assemble my cabinet.”
Skabelund could not hide his surprise, but Allman nodded manfully and said, “Is there anything else you need us to do?”
“Not for now,” Dahlan told him. “The rest is for me to handle.”

She looked up from the roses she was was pruning, and was surprised to see Dahlan.
“I am so mortified,” Sariah said.
“Do not be,” Dahlan said. “It is the High Priest who is now mortified.”
“Dahlan, you msut be careful. He is the High Priest.”
“And I am the Lord and ruler of Zahem,” Dahlan told her, using the sacred name of Zahem. “I am the Prophet. I have let him know fully what will happen if he ever tries what he tried today.
“Now,” Dahlan said, after a moment, “if for your honor’s sake you do not want to be seen openly with me in the day, that is understandable. But if you would, I want you to come to me at night.”
“Is it even right?”
“All of the Prophets had wives. They did not live like the White Priests. Men and women need each other in order to be whole, and you are too young to be a wife. I am too young to be a husband. I have thought of this. In old times the Prophets took many wives and before polygamy, joined themselves celestially to many women.”
“And the women?” Sariah said. holding a dead rose. “While you are… celestializing me in the middle of the night?”
Here Dahlan laughed.
“While you are doing that,” Sariah asked, “What of me?”
“I will ask nothing more of you than that you come to me,” Dahlan said.
Then, sounding like a boy again, he leaned in close to her.
“Remember last year? When it first happened? All those times, when we were just stupid kids? Why would you think anything had changed about how I feel?”
“Because you have changed.”
“Prophets have no coronations because technically we were born Prophets. Think of that. The first time, under the rose bushes, you were being celestialized by the Prophet.”
Sariah laughed at this, and then she trembled.
“I always thought,” she said, after a time, “that you were the boy who would be… I never thought of it, not really.”
“Well, then do not think of it now,” Dahlan said. “Come to me tonight. Or let me come to you, alright?”
When Sariah still said nothing, he said, “You do love me. Just a little. At least a little. For this? For what we have had and what we can have?”
“Come to me,” Sariah told him, turning away. “You know where I sleep.”
She went back to gardening, adding, “But for now go back to work. I have things to do. So should you.”



A servant pushed back the thick curtain of the palanquin, and the bright light of the south struck her eyes so that Maud immediately shielded them.
“Princess, we are nearly upon the city.”
“My Thanks, Ghan.”
The curtain closed again, the darkness surrounding her, and in this cool lack of light, Maud sat up, preparing her red hair, sweeping it back into order with the back of her hand, and straightening her rose colored gowns. Zahem, the place called in their sacred language Deseret. There were stories of this land. Once, before it was blighted, their land had been deeply green. The Temple they loved so much, had been built then, by others far older than the Zahem, for rites which the Zahem knew nothing about.
She heard the trumpets heralding her arrival. She could hear the people on the streets of Nava gathering to see the bright palanquins. Heathens they call us! They looked at the gold and beige and brown skin of the Royans, and according to their holy books it was a curse. They said they’d changed their minds on this, had a revelation, but this was because in order to do any manner of business with anyone in this world they had to. As the palanquin swayed through the streets, Maud unfolded the great map of the city of Nava. She could tell they’d entered through the Gateless Gate and were now on the Marvelous Way. She could tell that they had turned on Filup Street and were now on their way to the Street of the Lion, and by the noise, by the shouts outside, she could tell they were now on that street. It was not nearly as loud as the streets of Soladyrr or Immrachyr, but for the people of Zahem, or so it was said, the streets were plenty noisome.
And now they were in the Temple Complex. According to the map, it was quite a labyrinth, the palace half hugging the mighty temple. Maud leaned over to peer through it and she saw the three spiraling towers atop it, gleaming white, almost painful to look at. It was said the Prophet Asdah had built them and the first of the High Priests had cased them in stone so bright it burned the eye to behold. She allowed the curtain to close but sat up straight, anticipating this moment where the palanquin was lowered, and she was received by the Prophet.
When it was, she was brought down and her servants, Sinalla and Dalia took her left and her right hands, and as she stood, these white men in black bowed, and she nodded her head.
“Princess Maud,” a tall, severe man came forward to take her hand.
But Maud had seen the younger, more pleasant one, curly haired, and in some ways reminiscent of her Ethan, standing between two men who appeared to be in their thirties, and it seemed to her that this man had violated protocol, had stepped before the younger one.
“I believe you are the High Priest Phineas,” Maud said.
“Yes.”
“But is it not true that the Prophet Dahlan is Lord of the Zahem?”
She looked past Phineas, already wondering what she had started, if her impulsiveness might continue some kind of squabble in this land, but she bowed low to the young man, curly haired man and she saw the smile on his face as he bowed low to her. She even kissed his hand.
“Your Holiness,” Maud purred, her green eyes glinting, “it is a great pleasure to know you.”


“I do not know what over came me,” Maud said that night in the Lion House. “I came to this land as an emissary from my cousin, Queen Ermenglid, not to speak with the would be head of the Zahem, but the actual Prophet.”
“I am new to this, your Grace,” Dahlan said as he leaned over the table pouring more wine.
“I want to add,” said the one called Erek Skabelund, who sat next to a pretty wife, “that at every turn our young Prophet has shown himself a lion, and yet the priesthood keeps wishing to assert a power it believed it would hold.”
“Because the Prophet is young?” Maud guessed, “or because they are used to such powers?”
“Zakil was growing old,” the flat faced Allman said. Maud thought he had the perfect look of a sinister person and yet she could tell he was a trustworthy man. Serious, possibly humorous, but utterly honorable.
“Because he was old, Phineas was already overstepping his bounds. The truth is, the Lord Dahlan did not seem like he would be as fierce as he has turned out to be. I believe Phineas had planned to take over immediately, and he has, so far, been stopped at every turn.”
Here, Allman even consented to smile, and to Maud, the effect was dazzling.
“My praises to you,” Maud said to Dahlan. She wondered at his mother, so poised. It was said the Prophet could come from anywhere, and this woman had been nothing royal, nothing grand, and yet here she was with such elegance, the unofficial chief councilor of the Prophet. In Chyr she would have been more than official, a woman of great renown. Maud wondered what Chyr would make of her. But, after all, the new Queen of Rheged was a white woman, a princess of Westrial.
“And yet,” the Princess said, “there is an issue I would discuss with your High Priest.”
“And not with me?” Dahlan said.
“With you as well, I imagine,” Maud said, “but I believed the Black Star were under the employ of your High Priests.”
Dahlan frowned
“Yes, the Black Star.” Dahlan shrugged, “they are not under my jurisdiction. I wish to say all is under my jurisdiction because I am the Prophet and yet… not so.”
“The Black Star came some time ago,” Allman said. “They are not of us, but from Solahn and what is now Daumany. The High Priest Ingasadon made a bargain with those soldiers to help us defend the land, though some believe he really wished to defend himself against the Prophet. This was in the days after Entathen had been crucified with his whole family.”
Maud nodded, steepling her fingers together.
“You know what was in this for the priests,” Maud said, “but… and I understand you love your country… what was in it for the Black Star?”
Skabelund and Allman looked to Dahlan and Dahlan said, “The truth is, we have been taught to believe that our land is desirable, that we are the center of all things. It has never really occurred, I do not believe, to any of us, that there could be anything beyond simply serving us, that the Black Star could wish.”
Maud looked on him with mild amusement and he added, “But now I see this was foolish. What then, would you say was the reason they were here?”
“Oh, Lord Dahlan,” Maud said, “have you ever heard the term, a devil’s bargain.
Dahlan nodded.
“I fear,” Princess Maud said, “your priests may have made one.”


MORE AFTER A WEEKEND WHERE WE CAN ALL RECOVER!

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great and busy portion! It was nice to have so much Dahlan content and for him to assert himself to that nosey priest. Excellent writing and I look forward to more after the weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm glad you think so. Originally I was not going to keep Dahlan's part of the story in, or cut it to a minimum. You convincied me to keep him. Thanks.

 

[ChrisGibson]

YARROW



The next morning he arrived at the House. Ruval knew this was where the woman had gone. He knew that she was, in fact, one of the Women. He had been away from the House a long time, so he could not be sure which one she was and, even if he had been there recently, they were shapeless creatures in black, all dark haired, the occasional one with hair that was red or gold. None of them meant anything to him. Vaguely, in his mind, was the shadow of that man from the other night, his body, limbs twisted with his own.
Ruval thumped on the door and Birch opened it.
“I am looking for a woman, dark haired. Dark eyed. Have you seen such a woman?”
“No lies can be told in this house,” the wheat haired woman said. “Do you plan to pursue her today? The night is drawing on.”
Ruval looked up, the sky was a deep and graying blue.
“You may stay the night in this house,” she said.
Ruval nodded.
“Thank you.”
He came in.
“There has been such a woman. I will even show you the way she went,” Birch said. “For I have been instructed to.”
“Instructed?”
“Wait till morning,” she said. “I’ll tie up your horse. You may bathe if you wish. Wait till morning.”

“Food will be ready soon,” Yarrow said while, Birch nodded. “I know what you are. You are a Hand. Are you going to kill that woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should know her name is Theone. She is on a red horse. Do you think you’ll be able to overtake her?”
“I can. If I start out early.”
Yarrow nodded.
“You have no judgment?” Ruval said. “You have nothing to say. You will not attempt to dissuade me.”
Yarrow shook her head. “I do not attempt anything.”
Ruval looked at the women closely. They looked at him with no expression in their eyes. Neither had any fear, but why should they? Whatever they were, they were other. There was a power in this Yarrow.
“You are not lying,” Ruval discovered.
“No, it’s as Birch told you. There is no lying in this house.”



THEONE



“You must go down to see the prisoner,” Hyrax said.
“But I am with child,” Theone said.
“Yes, I know. I did not say lie with the prisoner. I said go see him. Take him his food. You talked to him a while, did you not?”
“He spoke to me.”
“You have an effect on men,” Hyrax said, seeming slightly perplexed over this.
“Go to him and learn what you can.”
“What if I can’t learn anything?”
But why had she asked that? Didn’t she want to see him?
“Theone,” Hyrax said. “Go.”
So she came down there, and while she was putting out the food, Ethan said, “I knew you’d come again.”
“I’ve been gone a while,” Theone said. “I’ll be having a child.”
“Congratulations?”
Theone laughed. “No, I am not unhappy.”
“You love him? Don’t you?”
When Theone said nothing, Ethan said, “You shouldn’t be afraid. After all, your mother loved your father, and that’s why you exist. It’s why you were born free, and why you’ll be free again.”
Theone nodded. She had not known she loved Gimble until then.
“Do you have time to hear a story?” he said.
“Yes,” said Theone. “Is this about what you were going to tell me before?”
“Yes. Partially,” Ethan said, putting down his bread. “Or at least, it’s the story of the story of what I was going to tell you before.”
Theone, knowing she had permission to stay with Ethan, pulled her skirts under her and sat down on the floor across from him.
“What do you know about the history of the world?”
Theone opened her mouth, but then she said, “I know nothing. I never thought of it.”
“Or where men came from?”
Theone looked at Ethan. She had never wondered any of these things, not until now when she was asked about them. And she said, “I know nothing.”
“Long ago we did not come from here. Once men lived in the Utter East, the land of the Gods, which is to the utter East. But they were expelled from there, and on five ships crossed the sea. Their leader was Mahonry. He was the father of my people, and of your people, who are the Ossar. From them came the ancient lands of Laudinekke, Varakke and Great Cenar, the heart of the world. Your mother was a princess of the Royan, and her people held the Star of Addiwak.
“The Beryl, as it is called, was one of the four gifts of the Vasyar. Mahonry had many sons who had many sons and so forth and then in time those kings died out and there was, in the house of Essen, only one daughter. This was Ennar and she married Conrad, who was a star.”
“A star?”
“Yes. One of the race of living stars, the Kuaelar. He fell to the earth and she married him, and their son was Julian the Hammer. From them came the house of Alcontradi, that is the House of the Stars, and Julian’s great granddaughter was Teahana, who loved another of the Kuaelar. He was Jaeseth, and they stood against the Otuns, those terrible elemental spirits of the North, back in the Second Time of Trouble.
“The Otuns, the white men call them Jotuns, are the mighty Giants, terrible spirits of the fire, the ice and the mountains. Their brothers are the Woses, the Wild Folk of the Forests, and they are distant kin to the Gods. The mightiest of them in his day was Jumutankandi. His sister was Scaelahn, goddess of wind and ice, and in his rage he reached up and blackened the sun. Teahana and Jaeseth went to destroy Jumutankandi, and they cried unto the Gods. Addiwak, called Ylial, who is Mother of the Star Gods stretched out her hand from the Veil of Hiding, and she touched sixteen stones and so they glowed. These stones were a guide through the dark, and Jaeseth took also the Sword Callasyl. With these, Teahana and Jaeseth crossed the land. They crossed into this land and beyond, into the high north, and entered into Jotunmark. In time they slew Jumutankandi and restored the light. These stones they placed in the Shehalan, that is the The New Palace, the Crystal Place in Yrrmarayn, the original capital of Chyr, where Teahana lived as Queen with Jaeseth as her king. Their children were called the House of Liahandran, and they reigned for many years.”
Theone had nodded frequently, as much from manners as anything, and now she wondered, What is he getting at? But she did not speak. She continued to listen to the man who, after all, was imprisoned in the depths of so great a prison with no one else to hear him.
“Another day came when the House and the land were old, and the royal house grew corrupt. For the Century of Bitterness a series of kings sat on the Crystal Throne, not a one of them reigning beyond ten years, not a one suceeding father to son, and no Queens. The last of these rulers is called Elrehad the Unrar. He succeeded three of his uncles though his father was never a king. Elrehad refused marriage to a princess of the Royan, but made a pact with a Solahni princess. Because of this, the land fell to her uncle, who was Raienell. The Solahni overrode the whole land, and their mightiest soldiers were the men of the Black Star.”
“All the princes, all the dukes, all positions and lands of power were taken by the Domans, and for near a hundred years we were heavy under their foot.”
“But…” Theone began, “Did you say Daumans or Domans? For I knew of the Daumans as a child. The land east of us is called for them. They came to it three hundred years ago.”
“The Domans were the people in Solahn connected closest to the Black Star, and it is they who Daumany is named for.. The Daumans are named for Daumany. But the truth is, that land called to them, though they did not know it. Many of the Black Star, most now, have Dauman blood, for the Domans were their ancestors. They returned to it three hundred years ago. Some went to the north and still some remained in Solahn, and though some of them had forgotten what they were or the spelling of their name, the enchanters, the priests of darkness, who controlled the Black Star… they never forgot.
“When the Doman were expelled however, they took with them the Sixteen Stones and the Beryl.”
All of these names, and all this information, had rolled over Theone’s head, and she was now completely lost, but when Ethan said, “Are you still with me?” she lied and said, “Yes.”
“It was King Phelan, with the aid of the great mage, Akkrebeth, who put down the Domans at last. They recovered all the great stones. Unfortunately, the city of Yrrmarayn was destroyed. Now, Phelan built the great city of Immmrachur, which is the capital to this day. In it he hung high the Beryl of Ylial and it remained until the time of the Remulans when, before the Hidden Tower and the Rootless Isle were established, the Beryl disappeared.
“And this was…” Theone began, still not entirely sure if she was interested.
“Seventeen hundred years ago.”
“People have been looking for it for seventeen hundred years?”
“No,” Ethan said. “When Ermengild, who rules now, became Queen, she chose to rebuild the old Crystal City, Yrrmarayn, but she remained in Immrachyr. She vowed that until the Beryl was returned, no one would rule in the Crystal City, and her son, Prince Theo, sought out the stone, then died. Later his daughter, the Princess Jergen, sought it as well. Before she left, she went to seek out Akkrabeth for his blessing.”
“The wizard during the time of Avred Oss?”
“Yes. But he was also Arsennon in the time of Phelan.”
“I do not understand.”
“He had been reborn,” Ethan said. “When Jergen went to find him, he was only a little boy. He may not even remember that she came to him.”
“Reborn?”

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

Ethan sang.
“Some are reborn,” Ethan said, “though most cannot remember their lives, and perhaps he cannot either. It is said that there were Seven.", especially, who would remain always in the world to help, and he was one of them. Akkrabeth lived after Phelan. He lived several times. He lives even now under the name of Ohean Penannyn,” Ethan said, lifting his jug of water and taking a drink.
“The Princess Jergen came here. And you know her story.”
“She eventually called herself Essnara,” Theone said. “She met my father, and they escaped and lived together with me. Until she died, and then I was taken.”
“Yes,” Ethan said, nodding. He chewed on his bread and then, disinterested, he put the bread down on its cloth.
“But she never found the Beryl.”
“No,” said Ethan.
“She came all the way here,” Theone said. “But she never even learned where it was.”
At this, Ethan’s expression changed.
“What?” Theone looked at him.
“That your mother never learned where the Star of Ylial is kept,” Ethan said, “is not true.”




ESSAIL




That night, in her office, as the moon shone on the last of the leaves fallen from the tree, Queen Morgellyn composed a letter to her daughter the Princess Linalla. Across the room, to her right, behind the door, the wet cough of King Stephen could be scratched through the halls of Sunderland, and she turned to look at the open door and then dipped her pen in ink and wrote.

“My dearest daughter,
I hope this epistle finds you well. There is much to say which you may already know. Your Aunt Hilda, who is the only woman I know who on becoming a cloistered nun would come more to the fore than the shadows, is even now in Ambridge being hosted by King Edmund on one hand, but also having him lick her feet on the other. Apparently she uncovered a plot by Ulfin Baldwin to have her raped and illegitimized as Abbess—which she is now, so there will be no hearing the end of it from her pious mouth. She escaped intact—pun intended—and allied to, of all people, Odo of Daumany, King Rufus’s younger brother. Now she is the most important woman in Inglad.
On the other hand, your dull as dishwater aunt Imogen is the most important woman in Rheged. Who would believe that that glorious Idris would look on such a pale and frumpy girl and propose marriage to her? He must have done it with the hope of seeing one of his sons on the throne of Westrial, for I should doubt very much that Cedd will ever put a son on that throne himself. Anson is there with them, but not doing much of anything. He always was an awkward fit to the family. He is half Royan and I wonder if being in his own land will somehow make him less of… an Anson is the only thing I can think to say.
I have heard that you will be in Kingsboro for Cedd’s marriage to Isobel. She seems a haughty but uninteresting girl, pretty but in the matters of the mind too plain and innocent to survive being a queen. Perhaps she should have been a nun and Hilda a monarch. There are things about your uncle I have never fully discussed, but if this girl does not understand them, and I do not believe she does, what an unhappy reign she will have!

Morgellyn had stopped writing, for now the King’s coughing was so bad she could not ignore it. She went into his room to look over him, and when she returned, Eva was in her office.
“A moment,” Morgellyn said, raising her finger.
She pulled back her chair, sat back down, pushed back her long golden braid, and dipping her pen in the ink, continued.

Lastly and sadly, your father’s illness does not seem to have gotten any better. It really began in earnest on the way back from Raymond House. Hopefully he will recover in time for the winter feast so we can all be at your uncle Cedd’s wedding togethe. These days he can scarcely stay awake through the day. He has even begun coughing up blood. Keep your father in your prayers and me as well.
Sincerely,
Your Devoted Mother.


As a whole new fit of coughing began, Morgellyn said, “Is the King’s wine prepared.”
“My lady--!” Eva began.
“Who are you?” Morgellyn snapped, “my maid or my conscience?”
“Not your conscience,” Eva murmured. “Clearly.”
“I should slap you.”
As the King’s cough spluttered from the room beyond, Moregellyn frowned and said, “Put twice the usual amount in the wine, but put a sedititive in it tonight. When you are done bring me the books of state.”
“Which ones,” Eva said when she paused at the door.
From her desk the Queen looked at her servant wearily.
“The ones that explain the Regency,” she said.


We are coming to the close of our adventure, and there are only a few more posts till the end of the Book of the Broken.

MORE TOMORROW, AND TOMORROW WE WILL RETURN TO THE BLOOD

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I hope Theone survives whenever Urval finds her. Lots going on and some excellent writing! I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, Ruval is in Yarrow's house now, so anything could happen.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT WE CONCLUDE THE BOOK OF THE BROKEN


MAUD




As Maud sat on the edge of the bed, at that late night time where it was hard to do anything but think of sleeping, and every movement toward bed seemed to take forever, her thoughts drifted into memory. The jasmine air from the courtyard became the air of the forests of southern Chyr.



“My love! My love! Come down to me.”
“My love my eye,” Maud took her slipper off and threw it down at him.
From below, Ethan laughed and said, “Well, now you have to come down.”
Maybe he thought that Maud would come out through the back door, if not the front door. But instead she came out of the window, landed on the little flat roof because the bottom part of the turret was larger than the top, and then climbed from there to him, in the soft wet grass, holding her hand out for her slipper.
“What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
She smirked up at him and said, “I’ll tell you that when you tell me what you’re doing here.”
Instead he caught her hand and they walked through the darkness toward the starlit band of the stream in the woods.

The grass was dewy underfoot and
all the tender stars did shine
When Ivo of the Linthindor courted
the blessed Celandine
Blessed of name, blessed of eye,
the fairy queen he saw
And all the blood of stars in him
was filled with tender awe

“You’re just like a bard, you know that?” Maud said.
He kissed her on the cheek.”
“You really think I’m like Celandine.”
“You are finer by far,” Ethan told her, “than Celandine.”
He leapt up on a rock and held his hand to her. He helped her climb onto the mossy place, and then walked up a little to stand by the river. The stars were so bright they painted the water, and all the trees guarded them.
“Would you fall out of the sky for me?” Maud said.
“Hum?”
“You know one line of the story—”
“I know several lines of the story—”
“But you don’t know—”
“Conrad was one of the Kuaelar,” he pointed up at the sky. “the Stars. He lived in Kokobeam, that is the realm of the stars, and one night he leaned out of heaven entranced by thr beauty of Teahana, and he fell to earth. I know the story.”
“A lot of stars used to fall out of the sky entranced by beauty.”
Ethan grinned and kissed her.
“It was a different time.”
They were kissing now, and Maud was pulling his face close to hers when she started and pointed.
“What?”
“A falling star.”
They both watched, and when it had arced through the night, Ethan said, “Well, I guess the time we live in is not so different after all.”
“Are you going to kiss me again?”
“I could,” Ethan said, kissing her. “If you’d like.”
“I like the way your lips almost of stick to me. It’s like being branded.”
Ethan held her shoulders and she liked that too. She liked how his eyes were black, twinkling pools, and he came and kissed her again and he smelled like spice, like pepper and like the wild mint they’d climbed through. He kissed her on her throat, and then opened her robe a little and kissed her between her breasts.
“Do you want me to stop?”
His voice was low. He was looking at her, just bent and kissing her in this secret darkness, and Maud felt a flooding. An opening.
“No,” she said, unsteadily. “That… would not be a good idea at all.”
They held onto each other, kissing greedily.
“That space, back there. In the moss,” Ethan said, his voice panting a little.
“Would you like that?”
She didn’t want to be coy or witty anymore. This surprised her. This desire was numbing. She nodded. Ethan took her by the hand, tenderly, and they went into the little dark mossy place, to lie on the shelf they had climbed to reach the river.

They didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the time for saying things. This was the time for kissing and darkness and more darkness. Something about the night took away any inhibition, and Maud lifted her arms and let her nightgown be taken from her. She could have never been naked if there hadn’t been night for cover. She could never have accepted these hot kisses on her breasts, on her nipples, down her belly, down to the center.
Ethan lay on his side letting him undress her. She was surprised by the belt buckles and trouser snaps, the shirt buttons. She had heard that women wore so much more. But then she lived in the woods, and was away from the court right now. She had come out here in her nightclothes. The warmth and the solidity of his body under the cotton and the silk and the leather that had always encased him surprised her.
“Maud,” his voice came out a little startled moan, and then they joined, legs around legs, needing their bodies to press together, needing to hold more and more of each other, to kiss more and more.
“Are you afraid?” he said, “to let me in?”
She was, but she said no.
“I’m afraid,” he confessed.
Slowly and tenderly they worked. She was the earth for him, like that story where the Sun came down to love her and they made the world. She felt so powerful. She felt so open to him. The warm weight of him settled between her, across her, his sighing breath, and then gently they worked at it again before they both caught their breaths at his entrance, at the strangeness of him inside her. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but wonderful, that she could hold Ethan there. He was still and quiet. They were both in this wonder. She repeated it over to herself. That he could be inside of her. And then he moved with a rhythm, and her thighs pulled him in even more. Even more they joined. Even more. The moss was soft and damp on her back. Ethan’s leather trews were her pillow. His pants were pillow because he didn’t have them on, she thought because he was naked with her and her hands went up and down his body and pulled him further and further in. She was convinced that it must be possible to swallow him whole, to pull him so far inside he would become her heart.





YARROW




In the middle of the night, Yarrow rose from her bed. She’d only had a light nap, nothing that would put her under for the night, and she crossed the room and, opening a drawer, pulled out a long black wand.
As she left the room, the wand took on a faint glow, and she went down the hall, and then down the steps and into the parlor where this man called Ruval slept. He slept on the pallet in the middle of the room. The wand was white now with pale fire, the walls white blue, and Yarrow walked about him, slowly tracing a circle around him.
Slowly, the air about him glowed with a pale, shimmering light, like the reflection on water, light on water. In Yarrow’s hand the wand glowed with starfire and she said, “You who call yourself, Ruval, awake.”
With no yawning, he awoke, and he stood in the starlight, turned white by it, not blinking, his black eyes looking at Yarrow steadily.
“By Kokobeam, by Addiwak, by Olea, by Shinehah, by the Crown of the Kuaelar, by the power of all the Stars I adjure you. Do you hear me?”
Dumbly, Ruval nodded.
“Thou who barest the Blackened Star, the Dead Star, the Eaten Star, thou who hast been consumed, be thou unconsumed. Forget thy quest and forget thy duty. Forget all things. Know no thing. Return to the beginning. This, I command by the White Star and by the Black Wand. Hark ye?”
Ruval nodded again and Yarrow, letting the wand fall said, “Then rest. For Indul of the Ancient Wood commands it.”
And Ruval sat. And as the stars and the starlight faded, he climbed onto the pallet and slept again.
In the darkness again, Yarrow held the wand lightly to her, and then nodded to the sleeping man, and returned upstairs.


HALE




After Myrne had left by one route, Odo and the Abbess Hilda headed north by another in the name of a goodwill journel to the monasteries of Hale. That night, in the little monastery outside of Kester where Hilda was guest, she and her monks sang and, among their acolytes, hood over his head, Wolf listened to them.


It is she who will free you from the snare of the fowler
who seeks to destroy you; she will conceal you with
her pinions and under his wings
you will find refuge.
You will not fear the terror of the night nor
the arrow that flies by day nor the plague that prowls
in the darkness nor the scourge that lays waste…

He was just at the beginning of things. He wanted so to fight, to declare who he was, and yet he knew Myrne had been right. So soon after declaring their love she was on her way up north in the morning, and he on his way to the woods that night.

In the day of distress I will call and surely you will reply.
Among the Gods there is none like you,
O Lady; nor work to compare with yours.
Lady of mercy and compassion,
slow to anger, O Gracious One,
abounding in love and truth,
turn and take pity me.

He touched his side to feel the weight of the sword through his robe. After having declared himself Osric Wulfstan, here he was again, hiding it.

They departed the hall in peace, and Wolf followed Odo out into the night. There was only a little ways through the darkness under the moon until they reached the wood.
“Only a pace,” Odo said, the branches snagging on his robe.
“Damn, but I wish I could come with you,” the monk added.
“I wish you could as well,” Wolf said, “You have become a true friend.”
“My brother will miss me, and the truth is I am more use to everyone when I am near him.”
There was a hoot owl to their left. And then then it hooted again. Now a third time.
Wolf hooted three times, and it hooted back.
Now, with scarcely a sound came Polly and beside Polly was Michael.
“Are you ready, Osric?” she said.
“Osric?” Wolf said.
“That is your name,” Polly said, “that is who you are. You are the true Heir to the Triple Throne. Edmund robbed it from Edred and killed your father. We are riding north to meet the men of Hale, and you had better know who you are when they find you.”
“Osric,” Michael said.
“Osric,” Odo nodded. “King Osric.”
“King,” Polly said, pointedly, “Osric.”
“And Queen Myrne,” Michael added. “Thrones there will be for both of you, but tonight there is only flight.”
Odo quickly kissed all three of them, and then, squeezing Osric Wulfstan’s arm, he turned and headed from the woods not looking back. Let no one who might see him wonder at all.
He did not dare look back.

THIS CONCLUDES THE BOOK OF THE BROKEN. IN TIME WE WILL RETURN TO OUR STORY, BUT FOR NOW WE ARE AT REST

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great ending to The Book Of The Broken! I look forward to the next book but I am satisfied to wait for the moment. Excellent writing and I look forward to whatever you post next alongside the end of The Blood!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I didn't know it was going to end there. I thought I had a couple of nights left. But.... there you go! Thank you.