This is the ongoing sequel to `Dark Wishes' and the Qell lords of magic, both of which are copyrighted under Nifty and International Common Law. This is a story of kings and magic, love and war, and is suitable for all age groups because love, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.
Unspoken Wishes
M.C. Gordon
Part One: Markel
Chapter Seven
Spring came slowly to the ten kingdoms. Usan and Hadrad took turns hunting with the Qell when the weather permitted for Tynan and Iashain were reluctant to venture far from Markel and Efren. The hunters never strayed from the strict laws laid down by the lords of magic: never take the life of a female for she will bear the future, and never take the very old who teach the very young. And should a whitish-grey feline with dark grey stripes be sighted he was to be respected and avoided, protected by Tynan's magic.
Their meals sometimes consisted of no more than a scrawny quail or hare mixed with tubers in a stew, but Frina did her best to add herbs and tasteful grasses to the pot. She trusted in the Qell to see that there would soon be wheat to grind into flour and daily tended the yeast that had been handed down pinch by pinch from her earliest ancestress, Trelaine's cook. Sticky bread and pies were known to be favorites of the Qell of ancient times and she saw no reason to doubt that these magic lords would hesitate to sample when she had the chance to bake them.
Efren's arm healed slowly for his exposure to the winter storm had given him more than broken bones. He clung tenuously to life through the long winter, alive perhaps by Tynan's love for him. Markel spent much of his time with Efren, slowly trying to teach him the ancient art of reading that he was learning from Iashain.
"I am to help when spring finally returns," he told his friend one afternoon when the weather turned.
"Our lords are going to take count of all that live and I will keep the tally."
Efren barely paid attention to the neat lines Markel had etched into a hide until he heard, "King Tynan told Iashain that he hopes you will be well enough to journey with us."
. . .
"Are they very like the ancient lords?" Efren asked one afternoon when Tynan and Iashain were hunting for fresh meat to add to Frina's simmering pot of roots.
"We know only w'at be passed to us by t' grandmothers who lived in their time," Usan told the two young men. "I believe both o' them have a part of Trelaine, and he was all three of t' Ancients. Only time will tell us which of t' lords be most like their individual kinsmen."
"I believe Iashain must be Ilafrain," Markel said as looked up from the study his lover had assigned him. He used a stylus fashioned from the pin-feather of a bird found dead outside their door one cold morning and dipped it into ink made of water thickened and darkened with ashes from the fireplace to practice his writing. "The legends say he was a gentle lover and the creator of the old archives."
"And you his Nels?" Efran teased before he asked, "Which might Tynan be?" His question was aimed at Usan who was aiding Hanrad plan the future city of Aolane by drawings of the castle and other buildings on the dirt floor.
"Perhaps he be Resnaron," Usan replied and Efren wrinkled his brow, for Resnaron was remembered as cold, distant, and weak.
"Legend tells he loved Frayne," Markel quickly added, "so much so that he would not let his lover see him die."
"I wish you may be right," Efren replied, "for I love him and would like his love in return. Better Resnaron than Miralen."
" `E may have cause one day t' wish that part of Miralen be in our lords as he was in Trelaine," Usan told both of them. "Might be others what will tries t' take from us when Elanen prospers again."
"But Miralen did murder without rhyme or reason," Efren replied.
"We do not know that for fact," Hadrad said, looking up from his drawings. "Nor do we know why he murdered, if he did. The only knowledge of which we are certain is that he was a war-lord of great passion who protected the ten kingdoms of old. I, for one, would want him as my leader if I were to face an enemy with nothing about me but a shield and lance."
"Best be back at study, lads," Usan finally said, not wanting their talk to turn too much toward the thought of the feared Miralen. "Lord Iashain will want Efren to read what `e wrote, Markel."
The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully with Markel trying to remember and write the words Iashain had shown him for the various types of animals the Qell could remember living in ancient Elanen. He paused on occasion, Efren trying to read the words he had written. Usan and Hadrad spoke softly to each other, and argued at times, about the placement and proposed building of each structure Aolane would need to become the glorious capital city of the Lords of Magic once again. Frina kept careful watch on her stew and mended what tattered clothing they had, hoping there would be wool come spring that she could spin and weave into cloth for new tunics and breeches.
The quiet respite was shattered when Tynan and Iashain returned with a buck thrown across Tynan's mighty shoulders. Markel and Efren rushed from their seats near the fireplace, causing Hadrad to utter a curse as they ran across part of his drawings, and cast themselves into their lovers' arms.
"A good, clean kill," Frina said as she examined the carcass. "The skin has little damage."
"Done of a purpose, Mistress," Iashain told her. "The hide will make all of us new soft boots."
Hadrad took the deer carcass outside and began the process of preparing the meat and hide. A suitable portion was given to Frina for her stew and the rest of the carcass was hung in the smoke-house he had recently built.
Setting Efren to watch the stew, Frina took wood ashes from the fireplace and used them to scrub the hair away from the deer skin. When that was finished she brushed it gently with a soft rag to be sure no hair remained before she began the long task of chewing the hide to soften it. Iashain sent Markel to help her and between the two of them, with time only to eat a bowl of stew, the two had the hide ready for the next step before sunrise of the next day.
"The Qell could have aided us with a little of their magic," Markel groaned when Frina told him his task was finished and he could sleep.
"What takes time to do is best done with time," she told him. "Craft is not craft if not done right. This buckskin will make strong boots, and you will remember this when you wear them. It will teach you to take a care with the things made by hard sweat and tears."
Iashain and Hadrad joined her when Markel stumbled into the one room they all shared and collapsed on his cot to sleep. Man and Qell stretched the hide on the tanning rack Usan had made during the winter when Frina tanned the skin of the rabbits used in her stews to make warm gloves. When the deer hide had been laced into place, Frina used the deer's brain Usan had prepared for her and covered the hide with it. When finished, the buckskin would indeed be strong and supple.
Frina finally sighed as she surveyed the handiwork. She had done the work well and promised herself that the first pair of boots she made would be for Markel. Her own would be last for she was accustomed to going bare of foot in good weather and the soles of her feet had developed a leathery toughness of their own. She also knew that as spring turned to summer and then fall that there would be sufficient deer for her to make buckskin clothing if no wool became available. Smiling to herself as she went to her own pile of blankets and drifted off to sleep, she knew she had assured herself a place in the household of the Kings. Her next task was to find a husband who would share her life and give her children to raise in the service of the Qell.
. . .
Spring finally threw off the heavy mantle of winter. The trees began to leaf and were quickly filled with the sound of baby birds calling endlessly to their parents for food. Young rabbits left the safety of the warrens with their mothers in search of clover, guarded by fierce hares. Fawns stood on wobbly legs, their spots helping to hide them in the forests. Ewes and nannys gave birth in meadows and on mountain crags. Shonnera dropped a foal as black as her mate while the rest of Perinel's harem, free on open range, gave birth to his other sons and daughters. Bees hurried back and forth as they took nectar from the spring wildflowers and carried it back to their hives in the rotted trunks of fallen trees.
"Come with me," Tynan said to Efren one day when the sun shone high and offered the promise of gentle warmth.
Efren followed the Qell and was surprised to see Perinel standing quietly outside, a soft blanket across his back.
"Today we go for a ride," Tynan told him.
"I cannot ride," Efren shyly replied.
"You will sit before me," Tynan said. "You will need do nothing but lean against me. I will guide him to a place I would like you to see."
He led the giant horse to a stand of steady stones and helped Efren make his way to the top of them. The arm had healed but was still weak and Tynan wanted to make it as easy as possible for the young man to mount Perinel. Under Tynan's gentle urging, Efren eased his right leg across the back of the mighty black and settled into place, grasping the mane to help steady himself. Tynan was soon in place behind him and he felt reassured by a gentle strength.
They rode for perhaps an hour when Tynan turned Perinel from the open path and into the forest. Dismounting, he urged the massive beast to follow him carefully for Efren was still mounted. They walked in silence for a time, until Tynan stopped at the edge of a small clearing surrounded by tall trees.
Efren forgot how to breathe at the beauty before him. Shafts of sunlight filtered down, breaking through the dense treetops like water cascading over a waterfall. The clearing was covered with woodland wildflowers ranging from the lightest of blue to purple so dark it was nearly black. Butterbirds of deep gold and red flitted from one flower to the next, pausing only long enough at each to sip sweet nectar.
Tynan removed his cloak and laid it across a patch of flowers, releasing their sweet aroma. Returning to Efren, he spoke softly to Perinel and Efren was surprised when the horse went down on his knees. Efren was able to dismount easily. Still unable to speak at the wonder of this quiet glade, Efren took the hand the Qell offered him and followed.
The silence of the hidden clearing was interrupted as Efren finally knew the love he had so long desired.
. . .
In Aolane Markel was once again busy writing words Iashain gave him when a thought hit him so hard that he dropped his quill and pressed both of his hands to his face. Iashain also felt the impact of the thought and quickly wrapped his arms around his beloved. In less than the blink of an eye they were in the simple cottage where Tynan had found succor during his first hours in the world of man.
The fire in the fireplace had burned low and two women, almost as old as time, covered themselves in ashes as they prepared to mourn the passing of a sister.
"Go to her," Iashain urged Markel, and pushed his love toward the cot upon which lay Belthanan.
As old as she had always seemed to her many times grandson, she now appeared older than time itself. Her skin was stretched tightly across her face and her eyes seemed larger than he had ever seen them. Her hands, always wrinkled and covered with dark spots, now looked like bird's claws ... shrunken and withered. But she had raised him and he loved her so he did not shrink away when she took his face in her hands and urged him toward her for a kiss.
It struck him like lightning, that final kiss, and he closed his eyes at the pain. When he opened them again she was gone ... literally gone. There was nothing left of her at all. A blinding headache consumed him and he managed to gasp to Iashain before he collapsed, "She has given me all of her knowledge."
To be continued...