The Tales of Myth

Ostarra had been standing for a long time gazing at herself in the giant silver and gold mirror.  She trailed her fingertips over her fine sharp jaw line, over her chin and across her lips.  Only the finest lines in her immaculate complexion could be assumed and even then it was only under intense scrutiny.  Her fingertips continued over her nose and cheekbones and under her eyes, which even in this dark room, shone like black sparkling marbles.  Her hair was piled tight on top of her head and clipped with jewels revealing a strong neck, long and elegant.  She only noticed the tear that fell from her eyes when it dripped cold from her chin onto her breast.
The thick heavy curtains were still pulled shut and only the tiniest sliver of golden morning sunlight was allowed passage and it lay across the bed like a slash.  Her eyes flicked to another section of the reflection.  The massive bulk that was her husband lay still, the large mass unmoving except for the chest rising and falling with each breath.  He was once a male of splendour and magnificence, a worthy King and lover, now only a lump in her bed.
         The lightest knock rapped on her door.  Closing her eyes, the high queen cast her sight through the thick wooden door and saw her daughter’s face pressed hard against it, listening.  On light feet she walked over and opened it a crack.  Mabon’s jet black eyes stared up at her, her lips slightly pursed.
         ‘It’s Market day.’ she whispered.  ‘Can I take a horse and go through the portals?’  Ostarra cocked her head to one side and opened the door wider.  Her daughters’ slender frame stood erect and she put her hands behind her back in mock attention pose.  Mabon’s eyes then flicked passed her mother into the room, at the lump in the bed.  A frown flashed in her expression for a moment before looking back at her mother who was still staring at her daughter suspiciously.  Mabon was trying to avoid that probing gaze.
         ‘What has happened?’ Before Ostarra had even finished, Mabon was shaking her head.
         ‘Nothing.’
         ‘Do not “nothing” me child.  You are as transparent as glass.  Tregard has denied your request to go and now you go over his head to ask me.  Why has he said no?’  For a moment Mabon’s small shoulders slumped.  How well her mother read her.
         ‘He gave no reason.  He just said, not today.’  Ostarra looked back towards her husband, closing the door over slightly so that he could not be seen.
         ‘Have you misbehaved?’
         ‘No.’ she answered quickly.  Ostarra exhaled through her nose. 
Mabon knew much for her young years.  This is not the family she thought she would grow up in.  These were not the parents she thought she had.  When she was young, her Aunt Mysteny and Uncle Halgorey would tell beautiful stories about her mother and father before they were crowned. 
They fell in love at the Harvest festival, the festival of fire and light, and when Ostarra removed her silver veil, she opened her eyes to see a warlock of such iridescence and beauty that her voice was lost to her.  His manner suggested more than strength, more than vigour and with undeniable passion, he had lifted her from the circle and swept her away to his favourite place next to the Western Hazery.  A place where the water nymphs came to the surface when the moon was full and they sang to her songs of the sea.  There was hardly a moment, Aunt Mysteny told her, that Morden, her father, would leave her mother’s side.  Their love seemed unbreakable.  Until now.
Since her mothers crowning, something drove a wedge between them.  Her father no longer attended the meetings or conferences.  They were no longer seen walking through the woods of Avalonia together.  Even at the great festivals, though they stood side by side, there was a distance between them.  Although no one spoke of it, it was as clear as the sun in the blue sky.
Her mother seemed to pause for a while simply looking at her.  What thoughts circled her head, Mabon wanted to know.  She wanted to know if perhaps she had shared the same.
         ‘I will speak to Tregard and ask his reason.  Go and play now until I call you.  Etheria is in the garden.’  Mabon nodded and slowly walked away with one final attempt to look in at her father.  Get out of bed, she thought, just get out of bed and show her.
Ostarra stepped back, closed the door behind her and pressed her back against the cold hard surface.  Her eyes rested on the blob that lay, still motionless under the layers of silken sheets.  That edge of sunlight was creeping closer to him, gliding towards his face.  That face.  That sad, cheerless, emotionless face.
She was suddenly overtaken by incredible frustration.  Her body shook.  At the back of her throat she could feel a stirring and her stomach whirled, drying her mouth.  I think I hate you!  The thought was fleeting but the drive of anger suddenly pulsed and she turned, opened the door and marched out.  Feeling that rage within her she decided not to care how loudly the door closed on her exit, but her hand still stayed the heavy door as it closed with a click.
She walked with quick steps through the long bright corridors of the palace.  The bright sunshine of the day energised her and she raised her head as she marched. 
‘Tregard!’  She almost broke into a run when she saw him.
At the end of the corridor, a mountain of a warlock stopped at her call and turned.  Purposefully he began to walk towards her, his balled fist clasped at his chest.  The Keeper, a creature born for one purpose, the protection of the Ethereal world.  His blond hair and silver eyes set him apart from every other ethereal with their black eyes and red or black hair.  His powers set him apart from every warlock.  Though many have tried and experimented, no other warlock could ever master the powers that the witches held, the power of mind magick.  One thought with concentration and any witches request was truth.  Years of schooling and learning were required for such an amazing ability to be mastered, where the lesser magicks of incantation and hand sign were learned almost before birth.  But the warlocks, though still powerful in their own right, were lost to mastering those lesser magicks.  Enclosed within these were the aggressive magicks, including the thrive, a beautiful wave of kinetic energy that would drive an enemy through a brick wall if that was the request. 
The Keeper however, was from birth, competent in the powers of the mind, sometimes to even rival the powers of the witches.  Sometimes.
His hair was pulled back off his face and the long blond lock fell over his armoured shoulder.  He stopped a few feet from her and bowed low, continuing to hold his clasped fist over his chest.  He was magnificence.
‘My Queen.’  His eyes flashed as he blinked.
‘Mabon came to my room a moment ago.’  Ostarra said moistening her lips.  ‘She asked your permission to got to Market today and she was denied.’ As she spoke he was nodding his head knowingly.
‘There has been another disturbance in the West.  I did not want to disclose that information to Mabon.’  His voice was smooth, soothing and yet somehow carried an authority.  An un-shifting weight.
‘Of course, of course.  What kind of disturbance?’  Tregard waited for the meandering ethereals around them to pass before he spoke again.
‘A gnome male was found not far from Dobra on the Market side of the Hazery.  Not far from there, a nymph female was also found.  Both creatures have been severely mutilated, partially eaten.  I have my sentries scouring the area this moment but I doubt there will be any trace of the attackers.’ 
Without a word, Ostarra’s eyes dropped to the floor and closed tightly.  Within herself, she formed a white cloud.  She pushed, with her mind’s eye, this shape from her body, making it take her form.  As she pushed, more of this shape emerged, now taking on her own features. 
The Keeper watched as this spirit moved from her, for a moment it hovered in front of his face before drifting off through the wall and away.
Through her minds eye, the silver spirit of the high queen started to rise, high up into the clear morning sky, over hilltops, fields and over the rivers.  It swept over the forests of Avalonia with such fantastic speed that the ground below became a smear of deep greens and yellows.  A field could be seen up ahead and her spirit moved down, slowing, carefully weaving through the trees. 
Market.  A country almost all in itself where a world of people would gather at the fullest moon to buy and sell anything and everything you could imagine.  Dozens of paths from almost every corner of Avalonia fed into this giant circular glade and she could, from miles off, hear the organised commotion and see the outline of small creatures.  It was filled with tiny simple stalls, giant stages and crowds upon crowds of bustling shoppers, pulling wagons, carrying bundles, laughing and talking. 
She followed the Hazery’s channel and pulled herself up higher.  She then found what she was looking for.  In a clearing only a stonesthrow of the busy market, the warlock patrols swarmed.  From above, they looked like a vibrating mass of black beetles crawling on top of one another.  As she drew nearer the reality of the situation became all too clear.
The warlocks stopped what they were doing, feeling the presence of their high queen.  At once they moved to the outer ring of the small clearing, facing inwards.  In her mind she could hear Tregard speak. 
‘Both bodies have been moved to this one area of the clearing.  The nymph was initially found on the main path between Alaxor and Market Place.’
‘This was wise.’  Ostarra said aloud.  The area underfoot was covered in a black waxy cloth and a warlock sentry moved forward to remove it.  Ostarra stopped him with a single mental instruction.  ‘There is no need, I can see.’  Then thought, I can see all too well.
The slash marks on the nymph’s back were almost a full fingers depth, almost completely halving her in two.  Most of her abdomen was missing with large gory rips where the creature’s teeth had tore at her flesh.  Her lower jaw was missing, as was her left ear and her left leg was completely broken at the knee.  It bent at a severely unnatural angle.  Her right arm was ripped off at the elbow, a clear attempt at defending herself. 
A good try my darling, she thought, a good try. 
Once, this tangled bloody mess was such a beautiful creature; white dress, cool in this warm weather, and beautiful painted designs of white delicate flowers from her right hand to the right side of her face.
Not far from this broken body lay the remains of what was once a gnome.  Matted and bloodied hair was left in clumps around pieces of ripped clothing and flesh.  The face was a bloodied pulp of glistening tissues.  With her astral fingertips she felt the coarseness of the hair.  It was the thickness and wiriness of a beard.  ‘I wish to see no more.’  The circle of warlocks nodded in unison and began their busy movement over the remains.
         Ostarra opened her eyes.  Tregard was staring at her intently.  His shining pearly eyes flashed as he probed her for answers. She had none.
‘This, my lady was done very close to the main Market grounds.  These creatures are getting more adventurous.’
‘Do you even truly know what creatures you speak of?’  His sigh that followed suddenly made her feel warm inside.
‘I believe it to be the wolf creatures that have been sighted.  But I make such assumptions only from the wounds on these victims, and honestly, a gut feeling.  Have your witches got any further through divination?’  Ostarra shook her head and bit her lip. 
‘No more has been shown to us.  I have scryed night and day.  There is only a dark cloud in our visions.’ 
‘I will be accompanying the sentries to the Barricade of Sorceron for an emergency meeting later today.  Shall I notify King Morden, or shall you see him first?’  The strength that it took to stop herself from erupting into a fit of snarls and spits at the mention of his name was great indeed, and to save herself she looked back towards her room. 
I think I hate you.
Tregard’s voice broke through the coldness of her thoughts.  She dragged her eyes back across the floor, suddenly filled with emptiness, feeling the tears start to burn.  She could not make eye contact with the Keeper.  He would know everything, he would read her as his training and powers allowed him.  This warlock would know her.  This One.
‘I shall be seeing him directly,’ she blurted out quickly, ‘he will be told.’  The Keeper nodded before placing his fist over his heart.
‘Will that be all my queen?’  For the longest moment Ostarra stared at her own feet.  Tregard waited patiently as she leaned back heavily on one foot.  This One.
‘How is your young wife Keeper, I understand that she is with child.’  As she spoke, her gaze floated upwards, picking out the details and engravings on his armour, lingering on the silver pendant around his neck, before stopping at his face.  She seemed to peer at him through half closed eyes.
Tregard could feel his patience stretch.  His core was tightening like a rubber band.  He had things to do, urgent matters to attend to and always she, his queen, kept him talking idly of matters of no concern of State.  He breathed slowly urging calmness within himself.
         ‘Indeed she is my lady.  How quickly news gets around.’
         ‘You are our Keeper, the One born to protect us, the One born with the power.  Of course news of you and your fine wife’s joy would circulate quickly.’
As he stood before his Queen, a feeling suddenly rose within him.  Her look, no, her stare, seemed to penetrate him.  In this moment there was sudden change, a new atmosphere, like walking into a dark cave all hot and humid, and the powers within him knew her thoughts, knew their nature.  With each in breath, he could feel her almost within him, sensing her thoughts, so bitter and yet so sweet.  He dared no longer remain in her presence.  He pulled his mind back from her and placed his hands behind his back.  For a moment he fought to remember her last words, to carry on un-faltered.
         ‘And we are indeed grateful for this child.  My wife and I have been unlucky so far, but finally our time has come.’ His voice trailed off as the queen let out a long sigh.  She sucked in her cheeks and pulled a pouting smile to her lips.
         ‘Of course, give my regards to your wife and my blessings upon your child.  Do you know what it shall be?  Son?  Daughter?’  Tregard suddenly felt his mouth dry.
         ‘We are hoping for a son.’
         ‘Ah, you are hoping for one to follow in your footsteps.’
         ‘The bloodline runs to the first-born son your majesty.  I hope to bring another keeper into your service.’
         ‘And does your good wife not know the sex of your child?  Has she not yet mastered her ways?’  Such  bitterness.  Tregard again calmed his spirit.
         ‘My wife, Answilla, knows well her magicks my queen, but we wish to be surprised.  Surprise, she says, is a rare thing experienced by a witch.  I too, as you will be aware, understand the frustrations that such a life holds.  Sometimes you do not wish to know everything.’
         ‘And do you go to her now?’ 
         Tregard nodded.  I must leave this.  I must get away! I have told her where I go!  I told her I am due at Sorceron.  He pulled his satchel from around his back. 
‘The elfelm have made her a concoction that will help her pains, help her rest.  I have also been given a balm to help her sleep.’  He pulled the small tub out of his satchel and held it up for his queen to see.  ‘I have to rub it onto her back and swell before bed.’ He read the label to himself written in small scrawlish writing before placing it back into his bag.  Ostarra seemed to be in a dream state, staring into the space beside him.
         ‘You must be very happy, Lord Tregard.’  Slowly she stepped backwards away from him and turned towards her bedroom door.
         ‘Yes my queen, thank you.’
         ‘Go now and attend to your wife.  Do not forget to give her my blessings.  I will see you in the morning.’
For a moment she watched him walk away.  He was so eager, so attentive, so inspired and dedicated.  But jealousy shook her.  I wage his fair wife will never feel such disappointment, and then be worn down by it!
The Keeper had moved only a few steps from his high queen when he felt the air go cold.  He could feel her watching him, feel her eyes, a cold iciness.  A look of favour entwined with a look of gut wrenching contempt.  Through the wall, in his minds eye, he could see his King move away from the door, his head in his hands.  He backed away until he came to the bed and he sat down heavily, his head to his chest.  His thoughts returned to his high queen and as he did, he felt a sharp pang as his mind and his guts warned him.  Something was slipping, and this world would fall with it.

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