Trinian

by Elizabeth Russell

  Elizabeth Russell

  Trinian

  An Epic Fantasy

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Russell

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Elizabeth Russell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Dedication:

  To the girl that I was - this story would not exist without you.

  And to Becca and Anna, and all the young,

  and young at heart, who love epic fantasy.

  “And certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we are so fond of it.”

  ~ George Eliot, Middlemarch

  Contents

  The Council of the Gods

  I. FATE

  Groundbreaking Discovery

  Only a Common Soldier

  Deep into the Border Wood

  Once a Healer, Always a Wizard

  II. POWER

  Power and Passion Collude

  Hazy Confrontation

  Confused Identity

  Prophecies Fulfilled

  Spirit of the Wood

  III. CHARITY

  The Nian Family

  A Domestic Dinner

  Royal Revelation

  Displaced in Luxury

  The White Witch of the Black Palace

  Garrity, Soldier of Drian

  The Green Dragon of Kelta

  The Littlest Princess

  IV. RESOLVE

  Rumblings of War

  Princess Lavendier

  How to Be a Good King

  Gorgans in Mestraff

  Blind, Oblivious Old Men

  Spirit of Humanity

  Riding to War

  Bottleneck at Ringwold

  How to Be a Good Husband

  How to Be Truly, Wholly, and Completely Loved

  V. RORDAN

  The Monsters Approach Drian

  The First Battle for Drian

  The Pain of the King Turns to Desperate Resolution

  The Nian Family Journeys Up the River to Kelta

  But the God of the River Intercepts Their Journey

  And They Land on the Opposite Bank

  VI. SOLITUDE

  The Second Battle for Drian

  Solitude in Victory

  Solitude in South Drian

  Trinian Confronts the God of Drian

  Adrea and Afias in the Valley of Death

  Adrea Deepens Her Resolve to Control the Prince

  The Invisible Water Pot Path

  Temptation from the Strange Man with Oily Locks

  The Council of Karaka

  Etchta

  Fear, Fire, and Darkness

  Freedom For and Freedom From

  Power Descends Upon South Drian

  Goddesses

  VII. DESPAIR

  How to Light the Fire

  Fragile Balance

  Trinian Secures an Ally in Drian

  VIII. KNOWLEDGE

  Knowledge of High Gods, Natural Gods, and Mortals

  To Know Is to Act

  A Woman’s Depths of Despair

  As She Buries the Uncountable Dead

  Garden of Knowledge and Tears

  Intimacy at Last

  Knowledge Questions

  To Build Up

  And Not Tear Apart

  IX. PASSION

  The Demi-God Is Smothered by the Princess

  Lavendier Questions

  The Princess Feels Something Right

  Crafted from the Clay of Demons

  Whether Conviction Is Necessary?

  Women, Pipes, and Organized Attacks

  The Noose Tightens...

  And Death Feasts Unsatisfied

  X. MERCY

  Bandits in the Wild

  The Squire of Leghorn

  Tarfan’s Bandits

  Approaching the Kara Mountains

  In the House of Mercy

  XI. DEATH

  The Poison of Passion

  On the Edge of Conviction

  Across Karaka

  Power Unhinged

  A Thousand Years a Healer

  Of the Wood and Humanity

  Conviction

  XII. JUSTICE

  Bandit and King

  In the House of Justice

  Trinian Accepts His Death

  XIII. HOPE

  Habas Holds the Fort

  Cracks in the Heart

  Perseverance

  Paradise

  XIV. PEACE

  A Party

  Perfection

  Who Is the Golden King?

  Proposal

  Panormama

  XV. THE SILVER LADY

  Lavendier Hears Tidings from Karaka

  A New Princess

  To Love Is to Belong

  Melcant

  They Ride with the Wind on their Heels

  A Divine Coup

  A New Mother

  The Red Walls of Drian

  In the Grace of the Monarch

  Princess Makopola Lavendier of Drian

  XVI. TERROR

  The Third Battle for Drian

  The Choice of Heaven

  The Rise of South Drian

  The Return of the King

  The Final Crisis of Man Versus Man

  Demi-God and Dryad in Karaka

  Fear of Prophecies

  The Road of In-between, and the Keeper of the Dead

  Garrity Loses a Battle

  Only a Man

  XVII. THE GOLDEN KING

  The Advent of the Golden King

  Of the Creation of Minecerva and the New Battle

  It Is Enough

  A Family Portrait

  Future Happiness

  Epilogue

  Character Index and Pronunciation Guide

  Mortals

  Gods

  Places

  About the Author

  Also by Elizabeth Russell

  The Council of the Gods

  “The gods, meanwhile, were gathered with Zeus on the golden council-floor, drinking toasts of nectar from gleaming cups… while they gazed down on Troy.” Homer, The Iliad

  Fate, the master of the heavens, watched his round glass watch as it ticked eleven, and with its final, fateful chime, the last age of the mortal world began. He already stood in center of the throne room of the heavenly palace, and now he tucked the watch into his royal robes and took up his seat at the head of the chamber.

  At the start of every century, Fate, the oldest of the gods of Minecerva, hosted a centennial convention: a time for the high gods to convene and discuss the mortal land of Minecerva, to discuss its passings and its comings, and now he sat in state for the final convention of all; the time which was coming, which had come, and which was now, at the beginning of the end of the twelve hour rotation.

  From the vast corners of Minecerva his brothers and sisters came flying, and the first to arrive was Terror, on his wings of panic, that were spread wide in darkness behind him.

  After him was sister Resolve, in her straight-laced dress, walking with dignified, regal, controlled steps to her seat in t
he circle.

  Peace, the eldest of the sisters, erupted into the chamber with a triumph of color, her gown fluttering freely. She was unrestrained, creative, and joyful; and she was wise and calm.

  Knowledge sparkled and she was pure beauty. As she entered the room, all eyes turned to her in wonder, fear, and scorn, for they condemned her as far too pretentious even as they envied her calm self-assurance.

  Famine tripped in, hand-in-hand with Plenty, both carefree and careless, both bored with the world and bored with centennial conventions.

  The triplets Despair, Destruction, and Death stumbled about, singing a rousing war cry with their arms firmly round each other’s shoulders. The other gods gave them a wide berth, their presence unpleasant, but they three did not care to notice and threw themselves upon a bench, their feet stretched forward, their heads thrown back, to drink during the proceedings with disinterest.

  No one noticed Solitude, pale and forgettable, creep into her corner, trembling with eagerness to hear tidings of the end of the world.

  Charity and Passion, even now at the end of time, carried on an age-old argument as they entered, their different beauties, the first subtle and the second overwhelming, clashing as they passed witty banter between them, debating the true nature of love.

  Hope smiled softly as she crept through a side door; she looked over all and shook her head at brother Fate. He smiled back, and made room for his favorite sister on the throne beside him.

  Joy had arrived already and had laughed and danced and whirled until everyone else was seated, then she dropped breathless and laughing into her own ornate throne.

  Power, last to arrive, dominated the room and all within as he took each shaking step, until he sat, not in a chair, but on a high ledge above Fate. From here, he who had, for centuries, scorned the world of the divinities and lived among mortals could make eye-contact with every god except his oldest brother Fate, and he smiled. Let them notice him, he thought. Let them roll their eyes at his vain seat of power here. He had a foothold in the mortal realm itself, and soon, he would control everything; soon, he would rise above Fate himself.

  When all were seated, Fate lifted his mighty gavel and called the session to order.

  “To this day,” he announced gravely, “we, the high gods, have conducted affairs on our own; we have not involved any low gods or mortals, nor have the higher beings interfered with us.” There were nods and murmurs of assent that swelled through the chamber like a mighty river, deep churning and little trickles drawing together into a great roar.

  “But we are nearing the end of our time – the end of our reign. The Golden King approaches, and to prepare for his coming, he has at last sent a messenger to me. We must heed the words, for we know that when the clock has turned to the completion of time, it is His rule we will obey, once and for all.”

  With a rumble of voices that would have opened a chasm in an ocean bed, groans and whispers behind cupped hands, boastings and braggings, music and cheering and laughter, filled the hall at the mention of the Golden King, each god reacting in his own way. Some glad, some angry, and some numbingly ambivalent.

  Hope held her hands over her ears and smiled to herself, speaking nothing but rejoicing in her heart, doing what she did best. Power also made no sound, but settled himself firmer on the ledge, and sneered. He had waited patiently, plotting a long time for this hour, and anger brewed in his heart.

  Fate let them have their reactions until, finally, he pounded his gavel once. “You will each decide how to act when the twelfth hour arrives,” he continued. “Until then, we have a little more time, and those who have not had free reign in the lives of all men, will have it now.”

  “What does that mean?” cried Knowledge. “We have had free reign over Minecerva for eleven hundred years – what do you mean we will have it now?”

  Death shook with anger. “Not all. There are those of us that have never descended to the very heart of the mortal realm.”

  “We were supposed to be able to go there,” put in Despair with a loud complaint. “But a stupid natural-god prevents it!”

  Terror and Destruction laughed loudly at that, and many gods joined in, tickled at the thought that any natural god would be powerful enough to prevent a high god access to anywhere they might want to go.

  “You would do better not to laugh,” said Death quietly. “For there is one who possesses strength beyond his natural measure.”

  Famine, too, came forward. “I thought it was only I he refused to allow access,” she said, “and I said nothing for the shame of it, but now I know he has defied so many of us! We must overthrow him! Unite against him!”

  Despair was shaking with anger. “The city of Drian, the very capitol of Minecerva, stands like a silver beacon, untouchable. It’s a low, dirty trick, and it’s unfair.”

  Plenty was incensed. “I have been allowed to go everywhere – I had no idea this was happening! Who is it who decides the actions of high gods? We will destroy him!”

  Fate had allowed their discussion, but now he leaned forward to tell them the words of the Golden King’s Messenger. “He will not be destroyed till he has stood before us and given a reckoning of himself, for so says the Messenger.”

  “What?” cried many of the gods, deeply disconcerted.

  “Are we about to host a lesser being in our divine palace?” cried Resolve, voicing the fears of all.

  Fate stood. “For the first time, we will convene with a lower power, for he has proven himself a force to be reckoned with, and has earned our ear. Rordan, natural god of the river, I call you to the presence of the high gods!”

  There was a breathless silence, and then a colossal man entered the throne room of the gods and strode forward until he stood before Fate. Rordan, who would have stood as a giant before men, here seemed diminutive in stature, yet showed no embarrassment in this conclave of divine presences, though this was his first time ever away from the river. There gathered, in his shoulders a rippling as of waves, a cresting of sheer force. His hair flowed down his back almost to his knees, clear and green, blue, and silver, depending on how it caught the light, shimmering like a waterfall. In his hand he held a stick the width of a fifty-year-old tree, gnarled, knotted, and ringed, and twice as tall as himself.

  Despair, who was all too familiar with this weapon’s reach and solidity, backed up and hid behind Charity.

  While all eyes were on the river god, Power, angry and bitter at standing in the presence of a natural god, slipped from the chamber. He knew they were about to speak more of the Golden King, and he could not bear to hear their polite, adoring speech. But though he withdrew, did not leave the palace. His curiosity was strong and he listened still from the shadows of the outer hall, silent and fuming.

  “You have been called here, Rordan,” said Fate, “because, as the self-appointed natural god of Drian, you have set yourself as its protector and defended it from misfortune for over a thousand years. You have done well and the Golden King thanks you.” Some of the gods scoffed, but the river giant bowed, his flowing hair cascading over his shoulders and brushing the floor. “But the completion of time nears, and even Drian must have its time of trial. You are not allowed to block out Death, Famine, and Despair from the mortals forever. Those gods have a right over the mortals as much as any other, and men and women must learn to deal with these gods as they have all the rest. You are to step aside and give the gods who have not ruled Minecerva free reign. This is the command of the messenger of the Golden King.”

  The river god tensed and held his breath a moment, as if attempting to reign in an overflowing temper.

  “He will never consent,” sneered Despair. “Let me at him to end his paltry life! I will dry up his bed!”

  “Patience,” said Death, nodding, “you will have your chance.”

  At last, Rordan nodded curtly. “I will do as the Golden King commands,” he rumbled.

  Despair grinned from ear to ear and turned in triumph to share
his joy of conquest with Famine and Death, but they both sat with their arms folded and their lips pursed. They took no pleasure in making a deal with a lower being.

  Fate bowed in thanks, and the river bowed back. He turned to leave, and Despair, who was cavorting gleefully, stilled in place when he caught sight of the giant log, and waited to rejoice until the Giant had stooped through the doorway and his long hair had followed him out.

  “At last!” he cried. “We will reap the hearts of men!”

  “Their lives will crumble before us,” said Famine softly, “and the mortals will once again fear the high gods.”

  Terror leered a grin of a god who loves chaos. “I have had my turn in Drian, but I think I will revisit it again! We will stir up those tired corporeals.”

  Fate sighed heavily, his heart stirring sympathetically for the lives of the many innocents below, but he could only sit in his palace and abide the command of the Golden King.

  Just before descending to the mortal realm, Rordan stopped still in the outer hall. Power, a thin, murky shadow, was lurking behind a pillar, watching him. The river god clenched his fists when he saw the leer of triumph on the other’s half-physical, half-ethereal face, a face distorted by greed and over-ambition.

  With a flex of his strong arms, Rordan planted his gnarled staff upon the stones. “You vile beast, you have already ruled Drian!” he cried, and Power slithered out from his enclosure, trembling with triumphant rage over Fate’s decree, for he hated the river god from the very depths of his being.

  “I will allow the others through,” said Rordan, “but you will never have free reign again. You will rot in your murk and grime until the twelfth hour, when the Golden King casts His light upon your buried crimes.” Power’s face twisted in a grimace and Rordan continued. “Fate may not know or care how you spend your time, but I do. If you attempt to enter Drian, you will know my wrath!” With that, he lifted his staff, and Power cringed and growled, but then abruptly turned and flew away.

  Power descended to his corner of the world, desolate as it was, and plotted evil for Rordan and Drian. Meanwhile, Famine, Death, and Despair greedily leveled themselves against Drian, spreading their gifts in a massive overdose to make up for lost time. In the process of enjoying themselves, they forgot all about the coming of the Golden King.