#nihten

[talesofealdancynedom]

Asada Fauxbit, in fairy robes with familiar; riding a “giraffe, but with malice”

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 7.1 - Has Yet to Pass 7/10) part 4. Stories of Old

Maps

Harsh Language

Upon the western mountains of the Far East, lies the Sinoian wall of fire. The mountains between the great desert, and the temperate lush kingdom. Due south of that, where the climate is soft by the sea, lies a very unlucky fishing town. To the south west, in Indonia of the Central South, lies the Monkey Gate within the heart of a cursed jungle.

           Five aligned nations, out of ten, only created half a circle around Francia; Meriam needed more alliances to make the world get along. But Francia was between Anglia and the rest of the world. The North Central kingdom, was like the hole of a donut. A donut that was bribing allies in Indonia to it’s south, and Sinionia to it’s East. Meriam would need the favor of the sultan of the South Central to guarantee a safe passage to eastern lands. She took her men with her, to meet this powerful man in his jungle palace. They traveled safely through the Westlands of Dania, to get to the South Central. Once in the ivory, pearl, marble and oak home, the sultan spoke down to her. He sat on a silk pillow, surrounded by sari drapes, wearing bangles and slippers. The sultan was quick to insult Meriam, by tasking her with an impossible quest. He did not care that she was a mage or a queen. If she wanted the trust of Indonia, Meriam must understand that people in this country are cheats, and that the secret to Indonia’s heart, lies in an alliance with Sinonia first.

“Appease the emperor on the other side of the desert, with a grand gesture, and I will mark your papers; Mage Queen. Offer me something greater than our northern neighbors do.” Th sultan said, playing with his silver beard. “You will find guides outside the cursed jungle of Veya.” He chuckled. Meriam felt frustrated; She was asked to do an unspecified favor, for an unknown man, after crossing Ealden Cyendom’s central desert.

“Fuck.” She murmured.

           As Meriam and her company traveled to the Monkey Gate, they began to remove clothing; it was far hotter than any land they had been to thus far. The humidity made it sticky, and the rain’s slowed their passage. When Meriam and her men arrived at the small village, they began to look for someone who spoke their language, that may guide them. Their investigation was fruitless; and they paid good silver to sleep on weaved mats in and uninsulated stone shack. The doors and shutters were made of intricately carved wood, that resembled lace patterned in lotuses and peacocks. They did little to keep out the rain; but did keep back the wildlife and wind. The fruit and nuts they bought were delicious, as was the fresh rain water; but they began to miss home. This may be, the longest journey they will have to embark on.

           In the sticky, hot, humid night, while Meriam and her men struggled to sleep, they heard someone enter their room. They sounded like they were trying to be quiet, which resulted in them making even more noise. The sliding wood window creaked, and they heard the clink of bangles, and knocking over of pots and baskets; followed by very familiar Anglian cussing. Then, Meriam suddenly rose summoning fire in her palm, as her men drew swords at the intruder; Who was now in the middle of the room. To their surprise, it was an Indonian woman with pale golden eyes and hair against, her brown skin. She wore a scarf about her head that was a translucent tan, that glittered like her clothes, in pin stripes. She had her nose pierced as well as her ears, which held elaborate gold rings that matched the innumerable bracelets she wore about her wrists and feet. She was built like a knight, under the glittering fabrics of her Monkey kingdom fairy robes. Upon her shoulder, she had a marmoset. The robes hung in an ex across her shoulder and breast, and she wore gold armour to link the loose fabric. Her pants were baggy, her sash wrapped and left a fabric tail at her back, and her curled slippers matched perfectly. Meriam wanted badly to draw her; for she had never seen a mage of this kingdom.

She was stealing their fruit.

“You spoke in Anglian just now!” Meriam said. The woman was surprised, and looked Meriam up and down, with a mango in her mouth. Then she also held out a palm of fire. Magic. This must be the mage of the Monkey Gate.

In order to share magic, and teach it, mages use the language and letters of Anglia, as few other peoples know the language well. This meant they found a translator; but not a guide. More pressingly, they had an intruder.

“Who are you!” a knight demanded.

“I am Asada Fauxbit.” She said, chewing her bite of fruit. “Who the fuck are you?” She contested.

“We are the queen of Anglia’s royal guards; we need to cross the desert to Sinonia, to impress their emperor with a grand gesture of peace. We need the favor of his kingdom, to win the heart of this one. So, we are told. Anglia and other lands need as many lands as possible united, to restore balance.”

“You got so conned, miss raven mage.” Asada smirked, examining Meriam’s feather and velvet fairy robes. “Indonia don’t give a shit about other kingdoms. The Sultan is putting on a front to extort Francia’s bribes.” Asada laughed. The knights all drooped in defeat, and sheathed their weapons.

“Also, that mission sounds so awful; I pity you. I’ll make you a bargain: Find me a mage husband, so I can produce a mage daughter to protect this cursed magic forest, and I’ll come with you and provide guides to cross the fields of fire. Just to be sure, this is to help you do this thing you think will work, for this person, that is somewhere.” Asada teased. It became apparent that the sultan had actually given Meriam no information at all; his instructions were vaguer then being asked: can’t you not put that thing there maybe? Meriam rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a quitter.

“Are you conning me? You’re willing to take us across a desert in exchange for magic seed donor? That’s all?”

“Yup. Preferably Sinonian in ethnicity, with blue hair, and an aura of chaotic silliness.” Asada mused.

“But why?!” one of Meriam’s men asked.

“My bloodline is cursed by the Monkey King, because of my mom. The Monkey King is a lady who likes a matriarchy, and her children shrouded in mystery and isolation. My mom said she’d raise me to keep the gate open, and tend the monkey fey; as I was a mage. In exchange the Monkey king promised to provide a protective curse on the jungle. The Monkey King said that a line of pure-bred mage daughters, must be the ones guarding her gate. Starting with me. A cursed magic bloodline, in exchange for safety. Oh, also, If I leave the forest for any reason other then looking for a groom, I kind’a die.” Asada explained casually. While she explained the curse, Meriam racked her brain of mages she knew. And she knew of many. But, when Asada said blue hair, she membered one of Feon’s books. It was the teal journal detailing types of mages; and the illustration for the storm breaker mage, was a Sinonian man of blue ridding an Orca. Sirulius Healpenbroc; a warlock who made storm staphs, like Feon’s. And possibly joy induced natural disasters. This was a bargain Meriam could make.

“If your determined to be another dame, pigeon holed into relying on men for events in your life, I may have heard of a suitable man, south east of the desert, in Sinonia.” Meriam grumbled.

“Pigeon holed? What if I want kids and a nice guy to hold me? What if I want to protect my magic forest home and fey friends? I can do both! Cursed or not, it’s my life and choice; as a mage I have more choice than any lady in this land. And I chose a man of the Grand East who can fulfill my feminine desires.” Asada boasted. “Wait? You seem madder about me willing to abide by this curse, then going across a desert called the fields of fire. Who hurt you?” Asada inquired. Meriam glared at her; She was a queen surrounded by demanding men. Five of them were with her right now. Of course, she was rabid with envy. Happily, wed or not, Meriam would have at least of liked the choice. Her knights wisely chose not to comment.

           Coincidences can make a day. Exact change, or meeting an old friend at a market: things sliding perfectly into place is satisfying. The only trouble is that these moments are rare, and you never know when one is going to happen. If you are looking for one, it’s like watching water boil. Speaking of boiling, the desert earned its name; The Fields of Fire. Though Asada and Meriam could alchemize water, and they had all gotten loose white clothes, the desert felt eternal in it’s unrelenting discomfort; like a socially obligatory holiday gathering with collogues. The expanse of dry nothingness, resulted in there being little else to do, but talk to your road companions. The guides Asada found where merchants, who regularly crossed the desert. They did not know a word of any other language; which seemed counterintuitive for efficient trade. Meriam was on a long road of days of travel upon stinking spiteful camels with a group of knights, and Asada.

Meriam admired how unbothered Asada was. Her men wouldn’t stop complaining about how they feared the desert would consume them before they could ravish a Sinonian maidens, and drink rice wine till uncoordinated. Meriam was too sober to talk to human males, and was forced to talk to Asada.

“What are these animals?” Meriam asked looking over her camel.

“Giraffes; but unkindly.” She laughed smugly. Meriam was confused; she didn’t know what a giraffe was either.

“Do you hawk? You have tiny falcon on your shoulder? Also, didn’t catch your name.”

“My name Queen Meriam Craweleoth. I do not hawk, this is my familiar Nihten; she is a kestrel. You have been seeing me send her off to see where we are. I meld with her to use her eyes. As well as make her big enough to ride if I have to.”

“Neat. So, where are we? According to Nithen?”

“Nowhere.” Nihten said. Gave everyone a good chuckle. To distract from their discomfort, Meriam’s entourage listened in on the two mages conversation; and then began butting in.

“Are there fey in the desert? If magic is less frail then men?” one asked.

“Oh yes. There are many basilisks and drakes in the sand. I heard once of one who was disowned by the dragon king for breaking a sphere at a banquet. If we convince him to let us cross a river, he might accompany us on our journey to the west.” Asada said. Meriam looked confused; she was lost in the second half. They were going to the east. Asada’s smiles faded into bitterness.

“That was a joke. The dragon king would never disown a child nor make one capable of guiding people.”

“We rode dragons once!” another knight said. “You must have spent too long in your forest, monkey girl; I’m not sure you even know what magic this desert holds.”

“Ah, but I do. It holds desert magic; obviously. Now stop complaining, and telling me I’m wrong, or I’ll summon my Iron staph to knock some sense into you. It matches the Monkey King’s; who is also a woman not opposed to striking things. Your men are idiots Merriam! No wonder your sexist. Are all Anglian men this daft?” Asada exclaimed.

“Actually, their very loyal, talented, and make sure my husband’s mind is sound whilst I quest. They are made of the finest fibre Anglia can provide, by order of my King husband.” Meriam said proudly. “Intelligence is not a factor in determining their value as people.” She added. Her knights smiled proudly upon their grumbling ‘steads’.

“So, you hate being controlled by people, sorry men, but you still accepted your betrothal to the king? then gave him a child, and take his men, sorry your men, with you, just to make him happy? You knew you were a mage and could have used magic to evade them, right? Your ungrateful; I would love to live in a palace and have someone who takes care of me, supports me, and loves me for being myself! And you judge me for wanting that!”

“Shut up, I love him! And love is powerful,” Meriam snapped. “and no; I don’t judge you for wanting a romanticized version of reality you use to cope with being cursed into heteronormativity. I judge you for talking like a drunk, and pulling my leg. It is about respect and freedom. I am equal, if not above, the men I meet.” Merriam snapped.

Asada looked off into the desert. She was nodding quietly while refraining from laughter. Meriam wondered what was worse; Asada, questioning the motivations of all her life choices, the desert, the malicious giraffe, or how she had complimented Tiberias’s architecture. She felt a little faint. Meriam began to hate Asada for ripping apart the meaning in her life. Meriam looked away in distaste.

“Must be nice to love someone so much, you throw away your philosophy to kiss them goodnight… Before I knew I was cursed, as only a child, when I saw the people in the village, all I lusted for was to hold even one of their hands. I want that Meriam; I want someone to be with, that makes me feel like nothing else matters.” Asada said into the sands. The morale went down as they clomped across the bright dune. Meriam never wanted to be in this arid wasteland again.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

[talesofealdancynedom]

Meriam Craweleoth, with familiar Nihten, In Fairy robes.

Story 19: Mage Queen Merriam, Beta read.

In my beta adventures, I’ve found modern audiences struggle to interact with my writing. It’s written like fantasy from the 80′s and oral traditions, and is intended to be silly and meandering.

But most people are used to political undertones, high-stakes, epic battles, and anti-heroes. Not fluff written to be mindlessly enjoyed in under an hour.

However, story 19 being a high-fantasy novella, and not a mixed fantasy story collection, means readers will have some expectations met. Thus, it might be a better candidate for garnering interest in my work.

Unfortunately, my trope/style choices were made to indulge in the genre, and might mislead readers. People don’t think “it takes a lifetime to learn to accept,” when they hear “Woman forced into royal marriage, goes on adventure to end war.”

That said, Merriam’s story is both a good after-thought and prequel to my writing. It has the folk-tale inspiration, and upbeat feel of all my writing. It is also better constructed, being the last thing I wrote.

So here’s to being unlucky, and never published. To making art no one will see, just to prevent suicide. Cheers to me trying, working, and failing, being unable to give up on that 0.1% chance of success. 

[talesofealdancynedom]

BONUS ILLUSTRATION:

Meriam Craweleoth, in fairy robes, with familiar Nihten.

Even though the current story is about Meriam, none of the chapters have an illustration of her....

[talesofealdancynedom]

Felin Haracwen, after going dark, in the prairies of The North Central.

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 1 -  Once Upon a Time 1/10) part 4. Stories of Old

death

Once upon a time, there was a girl born to the magic house of Ravensong. Her long wavy hair was a shining ochre, and her eyes the colour of grass. She was slight and fair with many freckles. A perfect noble lady of Anglia; the Grand West. Her name was Meriam Craweleoth. She was the daughter of a wealthy diplomat between The Grand West and The Central North of Francia. In fact, she was born in high standing, in the pale prairies of Francia. Meriam was friends with the Ealdorman’s daughter, Felin; a perfect noble lady of Francia. The two girls wore fine clothes of red and green, and learned many languages together. Sewing, reading, and riding horses. Merriam and Felin were like sisters. Their fathers like brothers.

One day Merriam and Felin rode into the thin woods along the edge their father’s land. Felin said she wanted to introduce Meriam to her uncle; the forest’s mage. A genuine wielder of magic, born with an affinity for the wonderous. He asked to be left alone, but sent word he would allow visitors again, after hearing about Meriam in more detail. The girls stopped by a poorly made cabin, and cautiously knocked on the door. It was opened by a Francian man, who was even fairer than the average folk of the land. He wore lavender Rat Kingdom robes, which matched his hair and eyes. His unnatural floral colours sparking something in Meriam; The awe of Magic. Instead of curtesy, he immediately warned the girls to stay away from the forest.

“There are many fey here. They are scared, and need to go home. Common folk, that desperately farm, are encroaching on this precious magic area. As a mage who can craft, or a Warlock, I have made a gate, so they may return to their parents embrace. But I am scared to open it. No one knows what lies within the shadow veil; the ether of magic made by the presence of the beat kings. I have not seen you before, friend of my niece Felin. Though I have received letters of you. My name is Norminwe Musham.” He spoke, looking at Meriam. He had never seen a person from Anglia; she looked like the way summer feels.

“Pleased to meet you master Musham. However, your warning does not deter me; I am not scared of this forest or any sort of magic. I think the fey are cute. I would prefer the company of basilisk to a boy any day! We are free from our father’s, and societies, expectations. Actually, our fathers think we are riding the acreage today!” Merriam laughed. “I dare say we reap the most of our privilege mast Musham.”

“You wear that education well. Not many, particularly women, get to read and ride. But if you lust for more of the mystical, and to be in this forest, you must learn the ways of mages. You must be a mage.” Norminwe suggested. Meriam and Felin were overjoyed by the prospect of being emersed in the mystical. Each day, the two girls rode to the forest, and played in its whimsy. Each time they came, they got Norminwe’s counsel; which he warmed up to sharing even more with each visit. Each spell the two girls learned, they tried; and it soon became apparent, after only one day, Meriam was talented. Only mages use magic, and thus Merriam must be one.

A year of studying magic, and enjoying the luxury of status, Merriam and Felin found the Rat Gate Master Musham had made. A week prior, Merriam had summoned a familiar; a Kestrel named Nihten, who helped the girls find the gate. It was short, and made of smooth stone, and carved with the Table of Fours; It looked remarkably normal.

“It’s still closed Merriam. Uncle Norminwe seemed so eager to make it, yet it doesn’t serve it’s purpose… Someone needs to go dark to open it, I want to try!” Felin said, hoping onto the platform. Merriam was examining it; she was becoming a seer, able to observe and memorize any magic she came across. The gate was wonderful; Merriam wanted to make one too some day. But then Felin went dark from excitement, and the magic rushing through her opened the gate. Her mousy hair turned the colour of sunshine, and her stormy eyes the colour of hot ambers. Felin collapsed in Merriam’s arms; and was swiftly carried by horse back to their home. Merriam used healing magic to cure her fever and bleeding; commoners are not made to withstand so much magic, rushing in from the shadow veil.

Feline, ill in bed, confessed she opened the gate, as she was a bit jealous of Meriam. She loved magic and fey too, and wished she could use spells as well. She thought the gate was the perfect opportunity to do anything of the sort. Felin would be well soon, and their fathers were very impressed. Of both Meriam’s talent with magic, Felin’s courage and honesty. Felin only want to be a bit closer to the world of fey, and help out the world of magic. But she was not that type of strong; she was not a mage.

The Central North was a prairie; harsh, dry and baren. The people had unpredictable crops, and often starved and begged for their king’s aid in finding land. They needed to grow food, build warm houses, or mine ore and gems for trade. The people were poor, and the politicians stressed. The King of Francia decided to break the peace; he would take the wealthier land from the blessed nations around him. The most desirable was Anglia to west. As the king began to intrude on foreign land, by annexing farms, he sent Master Norminwe with the troops. A mage to wield magic against the simple swords of common men, which others kings sent to defend their peasants. So much of an initial advantage by this decision, That Francia began to gather land and wealth. Soon every court had a mage; to even the playing field, and wield the power of magic. It gave these rare mages no pleasure to do the malicious bidding of lesser men; magic was neutral, and peaceful. Fey are not meant to do their bidding, and no one wins in war.

A year after Norminwe was conscripted, a messenger arrived to the village. Meriam was in Norminwe’s post as mage of the magic forest of the Rat Gate; living a happy life with her father, Felin, and fey. The messenger’s words were not that of comfort to their small family. The Court of Meriam’s home land, in the west, requested her. She was just a girl only now becoming a woman; she was noble, but not of consequence to politics. She was mistaken. A pure-bred noble lady of Anglia, who was educated, knew Francian, and was a mage. Meriam was the perfect candidate for an important job. Merriam was to be wed to the new king of the Grand West. immediately. In seconds, she went from a young lady with the freedom of choice in her life, to a pawn for men of status. Meriam loved this magic forest, family and Felin, and had no desire to be something so extravagant as a queen. She was a peaceful person, not a tool of war.

Felin accompanied Merriam to the boarder the next day. The flat grassy fields and bluffs were endless, as they extended into the skyline. The silence becoming dry as they trotted down the countryside. There were men in tough hide and arms along the way; And peasants who were dirty, worn and thin. There was a tension in the air, that not even these two young ladies could smile over. Felin said Merriam could visit at the boarder, but Merriam argued she’d be too busy baring heirs. Felin said she wanted to marry a sweet man out of love and three children; thus she’d be even more busy as she wouldn’t have as many servants. It was a brief chuckle as they were about to cross the boarder. In the no man’s land, Felin smiled as she exited the cart and onto one of her father’s horse. Then an arrow was shot. And went right through Felin, knocking her off her horse and too the ground.

Blood seeping through felin’s favourite white and vermillion dress. Merriam screamed to see her childhood friend fall like a sack of flour. She tried to jump from the cart to heal her friend, but was held back by three men. Out of the trees in the bluff, soldiers yelled for Meriam’s, while the knights holding her back were told not to be rough; like she was delicate goods. Overcome with grief, Merriam went dark, causing a shadow to envelope her; her hair went from shimmering tawny, to a pale copper, and her eyes from a true green to a light yellow. As Merriam screamed for her friend, time froze around her, and Merriam escaped the grasp of the knights, and went to her friend’s side. Felin was not frozen in time like everything else.

“Meriam, you stopped time. That is something I didn’t think even magic could do. Please don’t heal me this time; you need to get away, everyone needs to see this. Distraction or otherwise. If you heal me, or use time to reverse this, you will not be able to help our homelands. You have the power to do that now; you need to live, even if it is not in the way your heart wishes. I need to lye here, so you know what Francia will do to the world. I wish I could use magic, but I am happy my sister can. If you will not survive for the people, or peace, or magic; get on that cart and live for me.” Felin said. Meriam, in tears, ran back into the cart, and unfroze time. They knights made haste, hoping Meriam would not die from going dark. As a mage, she would be able to heal and survive the flow of magic. While the men around her panicked, all Merriam could think was what time magic would do to her; she would live on, unageing, in a fluid state, and see all the people around her die. In cart, then boat, then cart, Meriam wrote in the journal, that Norminwe gave her. That all mages have and use journals to record the legends they witness. The Capitol was in sight, Meriam recorded the name of what she wanted mages who control time to be called. She chose words of her sister’s people: Memoire le mort. The memories of death.

           When she arrived at the palace of the Grand West, Meriam was cleaned and given the best medicine to help her recover even faster. In one week, she was dressed in velvet, crystal, and embroidery beyond her wildest dreams. The young king was courteous and kind; he appeared to not treat her like the political pawn she was. The day they wed, they both felt a sort of comfort and joy in each others company. Almost bonded over the fact neither of them chose this. They were married by the state, and then by magic; to honour Meriam being a mage. When she cried about her dead sister, and how she didn’t want war, her new husband would listen to her. He would comfort Meriam, and invite her to his courtly meetings. Even if it was frowned upon for a woman to attend such events. While everyone wilted in fear at her black raven kingdom robes, familiar, rumored time ability, and yellow eyes, her husband, and friend, would see through it. He saw the Meriam was an adventurous spirit, lusting for peace and love. It was his favourite part about her. Many royal betrothals don’t turn out well, but they found themselves happy. However, she was also angered by the politics of men, and was not eager to produce and heir. Meriam was utterly surprised to find her king husband was ok respecting that; in fact, he kind of agreed.

           One day, the king returned from a battle, with news that his brother had died at the border with Francia. The ealdorman of Anglia went rabid, while he hid in grief. Meriam comforted him, she now cared deeply for him. To see him sad, or for him to see her sad, felt like a tragedy.

“I am sorry your brother is lost. We will send him off valiantly no doubt. Don’t let this darkness take you; let it help you realize that battle hurts everyone. The people of Francia are hungry and tiered, unlike ours. They don’t deserve death for that. If we keep strong, this may pass. Do not send me to those lines, and use my magic against them. Don’t let me see battle, as I don’t wish to see death again.” Meriam said. “I too, know what it is like to lose a sibling.”

“What of my nephew?” the king asked. “Where is Eatheltwein. He needs to know about his father, and be kept safe here, as next in line.”

“He is in the court yard, talking to the birds.” Meriam said. Eatheltwein was a sweet soul, and ray of sunshine. Even though he was still only a toddler. She didn’t want to break him with bad news. The only bad thing about Ethel, what that he reminded her of her obligations to the state as a woman, and how much she never wanted to have a child. Her calmness had curdled into a grimace. The King knew what she was thinking.

“Merry, don’t worry about giving me an heir; Eathel is a son enough to me. Perhaps son enough for you. Don’t go off pleasing other people, when we all know a man may storm in any day for my head, or usurp for status. I am not immune to blades, and my blood does not determine my ability to rule. Thus, it will not determine my heirs either.” He sighed. “I need to keep my people strong in Anglia. I will not leave for war again, so you do not have to burry another loved one. If you can go out and make sure the Grand West has no wars at our other boarders, we may take refuge in good relations. Your velvet robes, and magic, make you resilient in this task. Your thirst for adventure and freedom makes you willing. You are not a fragile object used for anyone’s bidding. I will lend you some men, so you can go and speak of peace, on my behalf, to the lords of other lands. Before long, I believe magic will show us peace.”

NEXT--->