This is a work of fiction, a work of magic and kings, love and war. It's the sequel to Dark Wishes', previously copyrighted under Nifty and the unopened copy of the manuscript in my desk drawer now recognized by the U.S. Postal service and International Common Law. I received a few requests for this sequel, and I hope you will bear with me because Dark Wishes' took three years to write. These chapters won't be posted as close together.
Unspoken Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part One: Markel
They sat amidst the ruins of toppled stones overgrown by an encroaching forest. This place, sacred to many but known to few, was hallowed ground to the old grandmothers who knew where it could be found. Their legends told that once it had been a place of glory and majesty, now reduced to rubble.
Ingraith, Belthanan, and Jacoberra, so ancient in years that their skin barely clung to frail bones, sat and waited until the first star of the evening made herself known to them. They chanted quietly, lest they disturb some unknown spirit, summoning the star to appear.
Carinus ... Mother of Life, she was called and the goddess of a cult so ancient that the beginnings were lost in antiquity. She was the mother of sons, brave and bold ... kings and great lords of magic. Her mate was Cignus, father to her children and he from whom all magic flowed.
"Hear us, Mother," Ingraith intoned.
"Heed our prayer," Belthanan said.
"Succor and nurture us," Jacoberra added, completing the beginning of the summoning.
To the untrained eye the distant star seemed not to hear the three aged women. No one would have believed that a distant object in the sky could respond to whispered prayers and entreaties. But in the silence and darkness of this hidden place, in the presence of three women whose clothing was worn and tattered, a small light began to glow and the wind rose.
"Great Father, we honor you."
"We hold the memory of your sons deep in our hearts."
"Have mercy on us and hear our plea."
The three had recited the litany each night as long as they could remember, from the time they had joined their own mothers in the sacred place. The world needed both the mother and father of life and magic ... for life had become tenuous, and the high priestesses of the cult of Nelsfralaine knew that the only hope left to mankind was the return of the High King.
For many years the sons and grandsons of Toran had ruled Elanen through times of peace and prosperity. The basic laws created by Trelaine were firm and fair, aiding the other ten kingdoms as well. Trade between the kingdoms flourished and knowledge continued. But peace and prosperity cannot continue unchallenged and, one by one, challenges occurred.
During the reign of the fourth of Toran's line, Petidel, the weather entered a dangerous cycle and drought dried the once bountiful grain fields. Starvation knocked at the doors of both rich and poor and many died. After four years of drought came torrential rains and flooding. The giant glaciers of the far north began to melt and rivers changed course.
The kingdoms were beginning to recover from the vagaries of the weather when Petidel's son, Marlarnen, was the king of Elanen. In his eighth year as king an illness struck the kingdoms that decimated the remaining population. The massive fortress citadels were emptied as, one by one, those who survived the plague left to claim vacant farmlands.
Weather and neglect struck at all of the ancient cities and, one by one, they crumbled. Knowledge almost ceased to exist and mankind struggled to survive from one day to the next. The magnificent horses of the past, without man to care for them, ran wild and free across the plains of the kingdoms.
Year by painful year, the world began the decline into darkness and ignorance. Only the old forest grandmothers carried on the spoken litany from generation to generation of a time when the world prospered.
. . .
Deep beneath the earth, deeper than the mind of any mortal man could imagine, consciousness regained itself. Without shape or form, it gathered itself together from fragments of memory. Thoughts of magic and battles filled the being that was beginning to form. Memories of love slowly returned: men with bright eyes and quick minds ... strong bodies that gave embrace and love beyond reckoning.
It continued to grow, this thing that felt itself being summoned. The call had gone unheeded for centuries for it had no desire to return to the world of mankind. Eight hundred years it had lived before and was content deep within the bowels of the earth where the loss of so many loved ones could not inflict more pain.
Now the call was stronger than ever before and it could no longer ignore that which summoned. Gathering strength, the magic propelled itself upward and erupted suddenly in the middle of a small graveyard ... six graves to be exact. The elements had toppled the gravestones and worn away the names but the grandmothers knew them all.
Ingraith, Belthanan, and Jacoberra backed away from the white fire that erupted in their presence, frightened and unsure.
"Are you Qell?" Jacoberra finally asked timidly.
"If I am, whom did you expect?" the sudden apparition asked.
"The last great Qell Lord was Trelaine. It was he whom we sought to summon," Ingraith answered.
"Trelaine is no more," the figure answered as it began to assume solid form. "His time was before. I am Tynan, one of his brothers."
Cowering before the figure that appeared before them, the three women barely dared to glance at him. He was taller than any man ever born with long black hair that hung unbound to his hips. His skin was pale; like marble his veins showed beneath the skin. Jacoberra dared to look at his eyes and was mesmerized by the deep silver she saw. Qell.