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 that manuscript in my desk drawer now recognized by the U.S. Postal Service and International Common Law. Dark Wishes' took three years to write and was posted rather quickly. The sequel won't be posted as quickly because I am currently writing it.
Unspoken Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part One: Markel
Chapter Two
He was like, yet unlike, any of the Qell before him though there were none alive to notice the differences. The alabaster skin and raven hair were the same. Tynan was taller and more heavily built, lacking the extreme slenderness of the Qell of bygone years. His eyes were his most striking feature as was true of all Qell. But unlike the four before him, Tynan's were of a different intensity ... the sparkling silver appearing to flicker into shades of violet or blue. He bore himself majestically, as does one who knows he can command absolute power over all around him while choosing not to. The aura surrounding him was overwhelming.
"Has Lord Trelaine vanished forever?" Jacoberra asked, barely able to speak in the presence of this new and unknown Qell Lord.
"My brother lords are with me," Tynan replied gently, seeking to ease the fear he felt from the three aged women. "We are, all of us, bound together.
I carry all the memories of those who served the world before me, as will others when they are needed."
"Are you many," Ingraith asked.
"As many as the drops of water in all the seas and rivers of the world, Grandmother," the Qell responded. "We are the magic that binds all things together."
Silence followed as Tynan went to each of the women and touched them, raising them from their positions of submission and fear to stand before him.
"You need not fear me," he said softly. "I am here because you summoned the Qell and I am the one whose time has come to serve."
The night air had grown cold and the sky grumbled displeasure at some unfathomable thing. Tendrils of lightning flickered across the sky and the wind rose, carrying with it the scent and feel of rain.
"I think it best that we find better shelter than the barren branches of this ancient oak," Tynan said as droplets of rain began to fall.
"We have only our own humble cottage," Belthanan said.
"Any shelter in a storm is better than none," Tynan replied. "If I am to be your king I can think of no finer place to spend my first night than in your cottage."
The three women, sisters and widows, made their way to their small home as the sky seemed to erupt in anger above them. Bolts of lightning sought to strike at trees and homes but were held back, as was the rain.
"This is an unusual storm," Ingraith said as they entered the cottage and welcomed the Qell to their home. She quickly picked up a pile of dried grasses and took two stones from a pocket of her dress. Striking the stones together, she managed to light a small fire in the fireplace.
. . .
In the small neglected graveyard, the ancient oak tree long thought to be dead was suddenly filled with leaves. The toppled stones returned to their rightful places and the names of the long dead again appeared, as if time had never interfered. Tynan smiled to himself as this first small thing was done to restore order to the world. Those who had been his lovers when he had been Miralen, Ilafrain, Resnaron, and Trelaine would once again be remembered in that small garden beneath an ancient tree, even though the fortress was now nothing more than rubble and dust.
He was not yet strong enough, for he was young as a Qell, to spread his magic far. But he cast protection where he could and all within reach of his gift found that their roofs failed to leak and fires did not die during the storm that unleashed itself that night.
The morning air was crisp and clean when the women and the Qell woke. Tynan was surprised to find the windows of the small cottage un-shuttered. He assumed it was because a horrible smell came from the fireplace. His nostrils pinched themselves closed and he secretly hoped that a bird's nest had fallen into the pitiful fire, for the alternative was food.
He was dismayed as the figure in front of the hearth began to scoop out bowls of something that smelled horribly burned from the black pot hanging over the remnants of the fire. The three women eagerly approached the hearth and accepted their meager meal and Tynan knew his worst fear was about to be acknowledged. But fear is relevant, even when it concerns a bowl of burnt greens and moldy grain ... and the sight of the young man who brought him a bowl of the questionable repast quickly dominated his olfactory senses.
"Please accept our humble food," the lad said and Tynan completely forgot his repugnance at the smell, not to mention the sight, of what was given him. The young man took his breath away.
"This is Markel," Belthanan said by way of introduction. "He is the youngest son of my oldest son's youngest daughter's youngest son."
"I thank you," Tynan said as he looked at the lad. Markel was tall for a mortal, slender almost to emaciation. Unwashed, uncombed red hair stuck out from his head in odd angles. His complexion showed long hours spent unprotected in the sun. But he had the countenance of one who has learned to be content with life rather than rail against that which cannot be changed. There was a sparkle of merriment in the soft green eyes, along with an invitation that did not go un-noticed to the lord of magic.
Not wishing to appear ungrateful, for he had begun to realize that life was hard for those who had summoned him, Tynan quickly used a small bit of his magic to make the meager meal more palatable.
"Grandmother," he said to Beltanan when they had all finished Markel's meal, "may I borrow the grandson? I must see for myself what must be done to begin to rebuild Elanen and he will be my guide."
The three women smiled at each other, knowing that the healing of the world was about to begin. A Qell, albeit not the one they had hoped for, was once again present. Markel had attracted the interest of the Qell Lord, and the forest grandmothers had always known that those lords of magic would know love from none but men. The hope of generations was about to be fulfilled.
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