Intro: Mystica

This is an excerpt from a story that has been swimming in my head for years now. The people, places, and most events are already plotted. This is an attempt to get part of it down and gauge reception.

Elysian skies.  If there ever could be such a term coined, it would be for such grandeur as he saw tonight, for the stars twinkled without so much as a distraction from any pollution be it clouds, a full moon, or city light.  Instead there was an ambiance of a late twilight’s shroud dotted with speckles of glitter from horizon to horizon, fettered only by a dim-yet-still-radiant sliver of the waxing crescent moon.

 

“Perhaps the All-Maker is counting His diamonds,” the old man muttered aloud, but whether to anyone at all remained a mystery, for a young and polite voice asked, “Sorry?”

 

“Wha?”  The old man jumped, twisting his head toward the direction of his visitor.  “Ah, Teagan. You gave me quite a start.  Is it your turn to watch over a decrepit old fart?”  His grin broadened defying the self-deprecating remark.

 

The young maiden Teagan seemed to almost float over the tile deck toward him, lightly bussing a cart laden with warm and steaming breads, kettles, and spreads.  “Aye,” she replied with a hesitant, almost dubious curtsey and a rich accent.  “Eric has gone to call for the evening.”  She halted the cart next to the old man, placing a tray before him.  Dutifully she began to set warmed plates and cutlery on it, followed by a saucer and mug in which she poured steaming tea and milk.  “One lump or two?”

 

“Make it three,” the old man said, grinning wider.  “It’s a grand night, and a sweeter tea would settle my mind enough to fully appreciate it.”  She flashed him a doubting glance, and then dropped a third cube of sugar in his mug, stirring it as she held the sleeve of her peasant blouse with her free hand.  “Doctor says you should watch yer sweets, Grandfather.”

 

“Pish,” the old man snorted.  “And the young doctor also predicted I would not see another winter, and yet here I am.  Five winters I’ve seen since.”  He leaned forward to sip his tea, deftly sneaking a sweet bun from its wrapping with his free hand.  She batted at it, but sighed as she resigned to simply pouring her own tea and sitting to his left.  “Th’ Good Creator hasn’t seen fit to call me back, y’see.  Means there’s still business left to take care of, I think.”  After another sip, he set his saucer down and leaned back turning his gaze back to the stars above, just in time to witness a meteor streak across the sky.  “And I’ve no intention on arguing that.”

 

“What business would that be?”

 

“I haven’t the foggiest.  Fer now, it’s wake up and face a new day until I know.”  This time he sighed, his eyes lazily tracing the familiar forms of constellations.  “You never came much when you were little, did you?  I don’t recall teaching you about the heavens.”

 

“No.  I stayed in Skotzrund.  Only the boys were allowed to summer here.  Why d’you ask?”

 

“That set of stars, there.  You see it?”  He pointed high in the sky, her eyes following.  “Ever hear of the Gardens of Neviah?”

 

She shook her head.  “I’m afraid not, Grandfather.”

 

“That set of stars there is the water maiden,” he continued.  “It is said that the god of words, Elistrat, had taken a fancy to her, much to the dismay of his wife, Mempta, who so happens to be the goddess of sensibility.  Strange pairing there, but anyway the legend says that he cavorted with the water maiden of their gardens, a nymph by the name of Neviah who tended the flowers, trees, bushes, and the like.

 

“One day Mempta had grown privy to their clandestine romance and fell ill with jealousy.  She schemed and connived sullenly for years, it is said, until finally her plot against Neviah took to fruition by way of the elven Alsonis.  Entreating him to do her bidding he finally agreed and murdered the fair Neviah as she bathed in the stream.”

 

“That’s awful!”

 

“Aye.  The proof was for Alsonis to cut into her breast and remove the source of Elistrat’s love, her still-beating heart, to have it delivered to Mempta as a token of revenge on both the doe-like Neviah and Mempta’s adulterant husband.

 

“The maiden’s heart was delivered to Mempta as the main course of the evening meal while her husband sat at her side.  Alsonis himself lifted the cover to reveal it, and instantly Elistrat knew.  Unable to contain his sorrow he wept openly, covering his face as Mempta sliced the heart open and savored the first bite.  It was then that the heart stopped beating.  She cut another slice and offered it to him, but refusing it he bid his excusal and fled to confine himself in the bedchamber to weep bitterly.

 

“The gardens wilted and died, and the harshest winter Arcturian would ever know befell the entire continent, from New Moors Port way east in Clemens to Koranna in the Cardiv Archipelago in the west; from Asterpoole of Chasney in the north to Bela’al of Laeyna in the south.  Even HargotCity way down in the southeastern marshes saw snow.

 

“At the same time, it is believed that we were all plunged into a period of darkness, but not necessarily because of the cold weather.  No, I speak of darkness of the mind.  With the god of words in mourning all that he was responsible for—education, diplomacy, and understanding—was all suspended while the goddess of sensibility was far too consumed with her gloating to impart her wisdom on the people, and war was rampant.  From the silliest petty complaint to retaliations against Alsonic assassinations… Actually, it’s from that very Elven Faery Alsonis that the term ‘Alsonic’ came to be used for ‘conspirator’.”

 

Teagan’s brown eyes were wide with curiosity.  “Then what happened?”

 

“Well, eventually Mempta’s glee was spent, and she began to feel the first pangs of remorse for her still-mourning husband mottled with a twinge of dejection at the fact that he mourned Neviah so.  She had the gardens restored, and erected a statuette of the water maiden in its courtyard under an open sky.  Then she returned to her duties and restored sense to the warring nations below.

 

“Meanwhile, Elistrat found the garden by chance as he strolled the summit of their mountaintop home.  Pixies and butterflies and other such fantastic inhabitants flitted to and fro, but in the courtyard he found the weeping statue; weeping, for Mempta had made it so the eyes of the water maiden were a fountain, and the clearest spring water did trickle down her cheeks to the pool she bathed in.  And it was here that Elistrat knelt and wept again.

 

“The legend says that the All-Creator saw His son weeping, and couldn’t bear to see him in such pain.  He cast the weeping figure of Elistrat into stone, and together both statues rose into the heavens to be among the stars, forever in love.”  He sighed then, and his gaze returned to the constellations above.  “You can see them there.  That’s Neviah… and that’s Elistrat.  Between the trees.”

 

Teagan squinted as she struggled to make out the forms her grandfather was pointing at.  “I can’t make them out.”

 

“You’ve got to use a little imagination.  If you look long enough, you can see it.”

 

“I can’t, Grandfather,” she pleaded.

 

Lowering his gaze to her finally, he said “You’ve become a very lovely young lady.  Is it possible that even so you have not known love?”

 

“I know love,” she stammered, blushing.  “I love my father, and my brothers and sisters.  And I love you, Grandfather.”

 

“Ah yes,” the old man nodded, “but the love I speak of is different.  It is a fire in your groin; a longing in your chest.  Has not any young man struck you so?”

 

Blushing even deeper which was magnified by her fair features she didn’t reply.

 

“So then, it is said that there are only two ways you can see the true forms of Elistrat and his maiden Neviah.  One is to understand love… the other is to stand in the Gardens of Neviah yourself and gaze at them from the courtyard there.”

 

“Where is the garden?”

 

The old man shrugged.  “It is legend,” he replied in a dismissing voice.  “Just a story to stir the emotions of young ladies such as yourself… and perhaps to warn young men like Eric.”  He chuckled at that.

 

“But you speak as if you believe in legends,” Teagan rebutted.  She was leaning forward intently, grasping her mug tightly as she compulsively smoothed the folds of her skirt with her free hand.

 

“Aye, but I do, lass.  I do.”  The old man leaned forward, taking his tea and sipping it.  “It is legends like that one as well as those of warriors and kings and wizards that I would recount for your brothers when they would summer here.”

 

She frowned.  “Such grand tales,” she whimpered.  “And I missed them because I was stuck in school learning things I’ll probably never need.”

 

“Every girl needs to learn etiquette,” the old man retorted lightly.  “As well as those other things you would learn at Skotzrund.”

 

“Yes, but with all that what good will it do me?  I don’t plan to make a convent, or a Lady’s House.  And it’s doubtful any such noble would find me presentable next to all the buxom blonde virgins of Evanore, or the exotic princesses of Laeyna.  Nor would the Institute of Saventh accept me into their curriculum, nor the Institute of Iaea in Eyra.  I’ve not the constitution to be a trader or pirate in Hargot or a cultivator in Millian, and certainly not the charisma for the politics and dramas of the Western Archipelago, nor the masculinity to be any kind of warrior for the barracks at Sherinne or even the experience or wisdom needed to sit on the council in Eliat.”  Her shoulder drooped, and she slumped into her chair absentmindedly twirling her tawny hair.  “I am just a domestic Chasnian girl with no future.”

 

The old man simply stared at her a moment, then sipped his tea and relaxed in his seat again.  Not saying a word they both held vigil under the brilliant diamond-studded sky, which really was a rarity for the Chasney countryside, for this far north and this close to the shore an almost ubiquitous fog would usually blanket the hills by dusk.

 

After the spell the old man spoke up.  “Teagan,” he said softly, “there is one legend that I do believe in, if not in any others.  It is one that’s exlusive; not even your brothers have heard it.  Would you like to hear it?”

 

Sullenly she shrugged.  “If you care to tell it, I suppose.”

 

Chuckling lightly, he said, “Perhaps it wouldn’t interest you after all.  I once knew a young woman who felt as you did, and she held a station quite like the one you do; and like you, she was largely unaware of its gravity.  But she went on to be the greatest princess these lands have known.  And her legacy…”  He trailed off.  “Bah, but you don’t care, so I’ll just enjoy another cup of tea.”

 

But Teagan stirred, sitting up a little.  “How could a princess hold a station like mine?”

 

“Bah.  I’m out of sugar cubes.”

 

“Grandfather…”

 

“Are any of these buns sweetmeat?”

 

“Grandfather!”

 

“What?”

 

“Tell me the legend.  I wish to hear the tale.”

 

The old man reached for a bun and took a bite.  Chewing it, he turned to his granddaughter and smiled.  “I could use more sugarcubes, dear lass.”

 

Sighing she rose and went into the kitchen.  She returned several seconds later with a new cup of lumps, and plopping three more into his refreshed mug she sat impatiently next to him again.  “Please continue.”

 

 “Pardon?”

 

“Your legend?  With the princess?”

 

“Ah yes, that one.  It’s a grand tale, but a long one.  Full of mischief, romance, and other such intrigues.  Have you heart to sit for such a long time?”

 

“Grandfather, you’re just teasing me now.”

 

“Aye, perhaps so.  Very well.”  He licked his lips and gazed once more at the constellation that drew Neviah’s Garden.  After sipping his tea again he began.  “Well, she was only a couple of years older than you; about sixteen, I believe.  In that time, the land was pretty much divided the way it is today, with the exception of the land surrounding Nexi belonging to the Sa’amites, for this was before it was annexed by the Nords.

 

“There were kings in each province; the Council of Eliat had not yet been established, and the province of Eyra was still just a territory behind the mountains above Clemens.  It is still believed that the tundra there was uninhabited before the Eyrans were displaced there.  So of course the Institute of Iaea that you mentioned before was not yet established, and the only Institute was the one in Saventh, way down on the southern plains of Millian.  At that time it was simply called the Institute of Learning; it would not be known as the Institute of Life Sciences until Iaea would erect their own Institute of Life Arts.

 

“Anyway, there were kings and respective queens in each of the main capitals of each province: King Tonall of Clemens in Validia; King Erjames of Hargot in Calisse;  King Syotte of Millian at Saventh; King Trelyu of Sa’am in Nexi, the King Rordrick of Laenya in Bela’al, originally from Nor; King Angheim of Nor in Evanore, and King Camaranth of Cardiv in Koranna.  You may hear of any one of those kings during this tale, but for now the story will center on Rordrick’s lineage, a Nordic family displaced to Exotic Laenya to ‘rule the savages’ in tropical Bela’al.

 

“Rordrick’s queen was also Nordic, Queen Svanna, who bore a few sons and many daughters to Rordrick.  Erdrick, the eldest, was revered as the reigning prince and primary heir to the throne, followed by his brothers Tomsson and Vren.  His daughters were from eldest to youngest: Caryn, Venus, Alana, Deidre, Kameron, and Brianna.”

 

At the mention of the last name Teagan’s eyes lit up.  “Brianna.  My mother’s name.”

 

Smiling but not remarking on her comment he continued.  “Shortly after giving birth to Brianna, Svanna took ill with a fever that would eventually claim her life as well as render three of her daughters crippled.  In addition, the fever claimed the lives of many of the people in the tropics stretching from Sanamargo which lies on the westernmost coast near the Archipelago to the Ivian Delta which separates Laeyna from Millian.  The Nordic settlers were affected the worst, and eventually the majority of Nords in Laeyna were either crippled or dead.

 

“Luckily, the Laeynites were hardy against the fever, and most recovered, so the crops were still tended and famine did not immediately strike the land.  But in the wake of so many deaths among the ruling Nords a vacuum resulted wherever there were political and enforcement offices.  Evanore was loathe to send reinforcement because unlike the Laeynites Nords were particularly susceptible to the fever, being a people used to a much colder and dryer climate.  It was then that systemic disruption spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom, and the Laeynites rose in revolution.”

 

Teagan was mesmerized.  “Then what happened?”

 

The old man took a final sip of his current cup of tea, and then refilled it.  “That is where this tale officially begins.  The young Princess Brianna was away at University, and she was nearing her culmination.  A messenger was sent to deliver the news to her, but never made it.  It appears someone didn’t want her to return to Bela’al, and in retrospect it’s probably in History’s best interest that she didn’t right away.  And so begins her tale…”

 

To Be Continued...

Author's Note

This is an introduction to what will perhaps be a new book after My Midnight Bride is done. Critique as you deem necessary.

Reviews

[Here No More]

I am captivated! I love the history you've marbled into the quality time the pair are spending together. This is a great start and I'd be very interested in reading more of it.