Resurrection of an Empire: The Magic Within (The Magic Within Series Book 2)

by Sharon Gibbs

  ‘Yes, go.’

  He watched her scan the pages by the fire light until she looked up.

  ‘I said go.’ Foreman left his mistress to her fire and her book.

  Back through the passages to the kitchen Foreman rushed, and it wasn’t his chores that spurred him on. It was the ink upon the page that had evoked fear into his heart, and he hurried through the kitchen and sped outside. Catrain glanced up as he dashed by. It wasn’t like Foreman to rush through as he had. Opening the back door, she peered through the darkness. A light flickered to life out by the barn and she waited for a while but as he didn’t return she went back to scrubbing the pots. The others would be here soon to eat and then she would have to prepare Athena for Doran’s late night visit.

  Foreman rushed towards the barn. The animals were in their stalls and the groom had already left. He removed the lantern from the wall by the door and lit the wick with the flint, and shutting the door behind him, he hurried to the rear of the barn where the Mistress’ horse was stabled.

  ‘It’s alright, Grun,’ he said to the stallion as he entered his stall, and moving past the animal, made his way over to the back corner where the water trough stood. Hanging the lantern up high on a nail, he used both hands to grip the heavy tub and heave it aside. In the muck he scratched in search of the small parcel he’d hidden. Flicking away the damp straw and scrounging in the mud, his fingers touched the small canvas package. Foreman picked up the parcel and fumbled with the wrapping until he held the sodden pouch in his hands. Carefully he undid the sash which held the mildewy material closed and tipped the object inside into his palm. Rubbing the disc on his vest to remove the accumulated filth he held it up and kissed its surface. ‘I didn’t tell her,’ he whispered. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ Then he slipped the talisman, the Tree of Life, back into the pouch and tucked it into his pocket.

  Foreman sat silent as he ate with the others. Their number had increased significantly with Athena’s outings, and now she had enough workforce to run her home adequately. Not as many as she used to have when her bewitched army walked the lands, but there were enough of them to see to all the chores required.

  The cold wind whipped through the kitchen as Doran entered the door. He’d been out hunting and had managed to bag some rabbits and a couple of pheasants as he’d trekked through the woodlands. Striding into the kitchen as if he were Lord of the Dome, he slung his kill on the counter.

  ‘That should be enough for tomorrow,’ he said as he walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. Resting his foot on the seat he leant forward to speak with Brom. ‘I need you to come with me tomorrow. I found deer tracks down by the river heading towards the hills. We’ll take the wagon and ride out at first light.’

  Brom grunted. He was fed up with taking Doran’s orders; most of them were.

  ‘I’ll go with ya, Doran,’ Terrin said, eager to get away from the backbreaking work in the yard.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Brom and Merek will accompany me. And besides you need to help Foreman in the barn with the animals. It won’t be long before we’re snowed in for a time and there’s work to be done.’

  ‘Work seems to be alright for some of us,’ Catrain said tartly as she slopped the rest of the stew into a crock for tomorrow.

  Doran glared at the girl. ‘What are you saying? That I don’t contribute around here? Who provides the meat that feeds us all? I do! Isn’t that enough? Besides I have other needs to attend to.’

  ‘Yes, well, we all know what those other needs are. We’re not stupid you know,’ the girl said as she leant on the counter and goaded him. ‘We’ve all heard you with the Mistress at night. We know what you get up to. Did you think we don’t notice the goings on around here? The new clothes and the golden trinkets she lets you wear. You’re just like a little puppy she plays with—’

  Doran picked up the cleaver and slammed it into the wooden counter in front of her. ‘And what would the Mistress say if her playmate was unhappy?’ His wicked smile taunted the girl.

  Shocked, she stared at the blade and as she glanced at him his evil grin sent shivers along her spine to raise the hair on her neck. Pulling her hand back from his reach, she picked up the crock and scuttled off. In the cellar she placed the heavy crock on the shelf. Her hands trembled as she unfolded a piece of linen and placed it over the top. She pushed back her tears. To be honest she had provoked him, and deserved the rebuke, but his violent outbursts were becoming more frequent of late and Catrain wondered how much longer it would be before he gained enough power to actually do any of them real harm. When she returned to the kitchen he was gone, and she gathered the pails to fill them with water from the large pot over the fire.

  ‘Krane, can you carry the water up to the Mistress’ chamber? She will want to bathe before she retires for the night.’

  Krane nodded and as he took the pails from her he said, ‘You need to watch what you say to Doran. It is not our business to know what the Mistress does, and for your own safety you need to mind your tongue.’

  Catrain knew her Mistress could be fickle and wouldn’t hesitate to punish her, but she did know what Athena and Doran did in Athena’s chamber. It wasn’t that long ago when she had been running behind with her chores and hadn’t quite finished weaving the intricate design of ribbons into Athena’s hair. Doran had arrived and reclined on the couch. When she had finished her Mistress’ up style, Athena dismissed her, but as Catrain stood in the hall ready to close the door, Athena flicked her hand and the candles dimmed to cast the room in a subdued glow. She peered through the slit and watched as Athena removed her white silken robe. Her mistress stood naked in front of Doran. She noticed the string of jewels around her waist twinkle in the fire light.

  Catrain stood mesmerised, continuing to watch and that was when she witnessed something unexpected. Athena began to serve Doran. She brought him a glass of wine and knelt before him, reaching down to rub his feet. All the while Athena cooed to him, and while Catrain could see Athena’s lips move she couldn’t quite catch what she said. In the dark hallway she spied on Athena as the mistress massaged his strong muscular thighs and her hands roamed over his chest to toy with the soft hair she’d found there. Athena then placed a knee in between his legs and climbed on to the couch to straddle his lap. Catrain’s view into the room had become limited as the candles lowered and the fire died down to hide the two on the couch until Athena invoked her magic. Hidden, she watched the ruby red sparks dance from her mistress’ hands and as Athena played with Doran’s hair, the girl heard her mistress gasp with the pleasure she found. The door creaked, and alerted, Athena lifted her head to see the girl peering into the room. Their eyes met for a brief instant, before Catrain felt her mistress’ power burn into her soul. Her heart leapt and her pulse raced as she stood glued to the spot, and Athena flashed her a smile before the door slammed closed.

  Catrain shook off the memories of that night and filled the second pail. Lifting the buckets, she made her way to Athena’s chamber. Doran would be there soon and Catrain wanted to be finished before he arrived. She entered the chamber and placed the pails near the tub. Athena, already undressed, lazed in the tub. Krane had tempered the water and the mistress had sent him back down to the kitchen for more. Now as he returned to the room, the tub was covered with a linen sheet, and he left the two buckets by the edge of the tub to return to his chores.

  Catrain attended her mistress. She washed her hair, and once Athena stepped out of the tub she helped dry her before she rubbed scented oil on her skin. As they sat in front of the fire’s warmth, Catrain sat behind her on the couch and brushed her hair while it dried.

  ‘What bothers you, Catrain?’

  ‘Nothing, Mistress.’

  ‘That’s not so. I can tell you are jealous.’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘I know of the arguments you and Doran have.’

  Catrain remained silent, concentrating as she stroked the brush through Athena’s hair.
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  ‘I want it to stop!’

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she whispered.

  Athena turned to face her. Catrain’s eyes widened and she slid further back onto the couch. Her heart raced as she readied herself to be punished.

  ‘I need him at the moment. You will stop this silly game you play.’ Athena moved forward towards the girl. Catrain nodded, tears trickling down her cheeks. Athena reached out and cupped her hand firmly on the back of the girl’s neck to pull her forward. ‘Don’t cry, my precious one,’ she said and wiped the tears from the girl’s face. She leant and pressed a gentle kiss upon the girl’s lips.

  ‘You’re my favourite.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Athena’s hair clung in strands and perspiration beaded her brow as she fell back onto the silken sheets of her bed. Her chest heaved and her pulse raced, but as her passion subsided her mind turned to other things and she shuffled closer to the bedside chest to reach for the book she always kept near.

  ‘What are you reading?’ Doran asked as he rolled closer to rub her leg.

  ‘It’s nothing. You may leave now,’ she said as she opened the book and flicked through the pages.

  Her words seared his heart. She didn’t usually tell him to leave. But earlier that day she had been immersed in the book and her thoughts now returned to it.

  ‘What is it that consumes you so?’ he asked as Athena tried to understand the connection she needed. ‘Of late all you do is look at that book. What is it you’re searching for?’ He reached over to take the tome from her and she released her power and stopped him.

  ‘What would you know of reading?’ she said, glaring at him.

  Doran flopped back against the pillows. ‘I know much of the written word. My father was a master scribe and as a young boy I was taught to both read and write. I helped him tend the books from the past. Rewriting those that had deteriorated over time was his life’s work, and it was my duty, as his eldest son, to continue his legacy.’

  ‘So why did you stop?’

  ‘What money can one make from such things? I didn’t want to be a pauper as he. Always scratching for pennies and living off charity to buy ink. Who reads them anyway?’

  Intrigued, Athena passed him the book, pointing to the passage that currently plagued her. ‘Tell me what this means.’

  Doran read the passage and thought. He flicked back through the pages and studied the scripture. ‘Where did you get this book?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes, this book tells the tale of the wars of the Old Time. Cryptic though the words may be, it is the history of the war written by an observer. Someone who was involved, yet did not take part in all that he writes of. For example, the passage you asked me to read is different from the rest of the book. I don’t feel it was written by the same person. Here,’ Doran said as he turned to a previous page. ‘See? The style of writing is different. It’s as if this page is a clue and the rest is information on how to find the answer.’

  ‘And do you understand it?’

  ‘Most of the history written I’ve read elsewhere. I may not understand it in the heart, the way the man who wielded the scribe did, but his account of what he writes rings true to what I’ve read before.’

  ‘So what does the passage mean?’ Athena said as she tapped the page.

  ‘It’s about a tree.’

  ‘What do you mean it’s about a tree? Who would write about a tree?’

  ‘That’s an interesting question,’ Doran said. ‘Let me tell you a story.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Doran lay the book on his chest and gazed up towards the ceiling.

  ‘Many thousands of years ago, back in the time when kings ruled men and the threat of war was ever present, it was a desirable thing to unite kingdoms to protect one’s holdings and form formidable allies. Far to the north, over prairies and plains, past the lands of the endless desert sands there ruled such a man, known as King Ardeous. He had taken reign after his father’s passing but over the years he had never found a woman he desired enough to take to his side. His years of rule travelled swiftly, and reaching an age where he daren’t wait any longer, he turned his thoughts for a wife across the Black Worth Sea.

  ‘Ardeous’ negotiations led him to the small yet powerful kingdom of Saleth. There the old and noble king wished to build an allegiance which would provide his homeland with an influx of trade and lands where his people could migrate. In return, the king would swear an allegiance to defend the lands where his daughter would jointly rule. Such an ally was desirable to Ardeous, and it was a well-known fact that the women from the lands of Saleth were not only loyal to a fault, but they also were born with the touch of the gift. A mutual union was made and it wasn’t long before the two were blessed with the birth of twins, the first born a girl, the second a son.

  ‘While the two siblings had been born of the same cord, as they grew the differences between them became apparent to all. The girl, Elune, was blessed with hair as black as the night, while her brother, Meran, sprouted a crop the colour of spun gold. And while they were both born with the gift as their mother had been, Elune’s craft grew stronger than her brother’s. The siblings’ special connection was apparent to all and these two children were always there for each other, adored and loved by all.

  ‘Elune’s magic was an amazing gift and it was said that she could drive away death with a single touch. She was one with nature and wherever she went, the land around her would blossom and flourish. Meran was interested in the knowledge of men and with his gift he aided his people.

  ‘Elune eventually fell in love and married. Her husband, Joran, was from the forests of Ulwin Grove, and like she, he was at one with nature. It was said theirs was a love unlike any other and many children were born from their union. Most of them carried the gift, but not to the same extent as their mother.

  ‘Meran also married. His wife, Hellene, came from the Mountains of LeHorne. She was born in a land where women were abstained from rule and she aspired to change her position in life. She too carried the gift, but hers was a magic of the night. A black, dark magic. One born from sacrifice as was in her culture. When her father wished her to marry, she objected to the matches he offered and because she was his only daughter he let her have her way. So when she heard that Elune was to marry she made plans to attend the wedding and spent several months hoping to capture the attention of Meran. Her plans came to fruition and the two were wed.

  ‘Hellene was at last happy her husband would one day rule the land and she would be at his side. Meran adored his wife and gave her everything she desired. They eventually moved south where Meran had vision to build a new empire with ports to expand trade to other lands. Hellene was pleased as they would act as regent for Ardeous and rule the way they saw fit. Hellene had her own plans on how to shape the south, and along with her husband’s gift she knew they would prosper.

  ‘When Ardeous abdicated, he handed over his title and reign to his first born, his daughter. Her gift was stronger than Meran’s but he declared his son would still act as regent in the south. Hellene was furious. She’d always been jealous of Elune, but now she despised the woman as she had stolen Hellene’s dream, and she plotted against her.

  ‘Hellene’s rage continued to grow against her husband’s sister. So when she received word that the queen was to travel south for a family visit, she hid the news from her husband and travelled west with two of her sons. They were also followers of her occult magic and she had twisted their thoughts to that of her own. Along a dusty and deserted road not far from the desert sands, Elune’s banner men stopped when they saw the insignia of the regent approach. Elune greeted her brother’s wife, and Hellene accompanied her sister-in-law in the coach for the journey. Hellene’s sons hid further down the road with their men. Crouched behind tall pillars of stone that soared from the earth, they waited for the party’s approach. Elune sat in the carriage, arms linked with her sister-in-law and revelled in
their reunion. Upon hearing the party called to a halt, Hellene withdrew her dagger and stabbed Elune in the heart. When all Elune’s men were slaughtered, Hellene had the queen dragged from the coach and there upon the rocky landscape she finished her sister and let her blood drench the soil. She left her body where she had bled her, and all involved in the conspiracy returned home.

  ‘When Elune’s body was discovered, the land descended into despair at the violent act which had be fallen their beloved queen. As they mourned her loss her husband, devastated, travelled to be by her side. With him he brought that which was dear to them both, a tree his father had given them upon their wedding day. The small tree had been planted in a pot, especially made so that Elune could keep it upon the stones in the courtyard where she liked to sit in the mornings. The gift had been one which she’d cherished and so her husband had brought it to her final resting place. As was tradition in his homeland, her body needed to remain at the site where she’d died. But he couldn’t bear to leave her alone out in the wilderness and so he had brought the tree with him that they’d both so loved. The tree from his homeland.

  ‘Her body wasn’t burnt as was custom in this land. Her husband wished to bury her and plant the tree upon her as a reminder of their love to all. Joran and his sons shovelled the stained stones and blackened earth from where her body had been butchered. When the grave was deep enough he lined the earth with a layer of the softest grass, which had been carefully dug from their garden back home and carted with them across the land. He then lay his wife’s animal-ravaged corpse upon the bed of green and as the earth and stone, mixed with her blood, was shovelled upon her remains, Joran planted the tree. It is said that his heart broke the moment he removed the tree from its pot, and he shed the tears of a thousand mourners which watered and nourished the tree. As the moisture soaked through the mixture of blood, stone and soil, it filtered its way down to her decomposed corpse and once the liquid soaked into what was left of her flesh it connected her body with that of the tree and the tree grew before their eyes. From its base grass sprouted and spread at an alarming pace and it was then that Joran knew his wife lived on inside of the tree. The Tree of Life.’