My magic does not belong here.
She thrived on open spaces and forested hills. Confined to the stone fortress of Vortingen, she would grow weak and confused. She would cease to be a maga. She would turn into a woman of ordinary ways, a person Akmael could no longer love.
“Have you met her?” Though she kept her eyes fixed upon the stone towers, she felt the intensity of Corey’s gaze, and she could imagine his unspoken rebuke. All these days we’ve spent together, and you wait until now to ask.
“Yes,” he said.
“What is she like?”
“Beautiful. Cold. A princess in every sense of the word, prepared to serve her duty and proud of it.”
Eolyn nodded and urged her horse forward, though in truth, she wanted to turn back. She did not trust her resolve to hold upon seeing Akmael bound to another. Yet to refuse the wedding invitation would be interpreted as an insult. Not by him, perhaps. Perhaps he would have understood, but everyone else would have noted her absence. She could not risk the disapproval of the noble families of Moisehén.
In the days that followed, Corey’s assessment of Princess Taesara proved correct. Though Eolyn did not have a private audience with her, she saw enough of the royal bride at banquets and festivities to gain some sense of the queen to be.
The girl’s bearing was regal, her white hand delicate upon Akmael’s arm, her smile timid and her gaze sharp. She gave measured attention to each noble who appeared at court, and already knew half the houses and banners of Moisehén. While unfamiliar with the classes of mages, she had an instinct for what questions to ask. She received Eolyn politely, though they interacted only when protocol dictated. And she was beautiful, with no more than sixteen summers, hair the color of ripe wheat, and eyes as blue as a summer sky.
Her aura, however, was dim. It carried little flame or color.
“She’ll be a boring take, don’t you think? Now that he’s tasted the passion of a true maga.” Corey’s remark, made one evening as they walked toward Eolyn’s apartments after yet another tedious banquet, hit her with the sting of cold water.
The stone walls wavered. Eolyn paused in her stride. After a moment, she drew a steady breath and resumed her walk.
“Princess Taesara is everything a true King could want,” she said.
That night, frost settled on the city, killing numerous blossoms meant to adorn the ceremony. The unseasonal chill did not dampen the spirits of the people, however. As the sun rose, they gathered to attend the wedding and receive their new Queen.
A host of mages processed first into the central square. Eolyn walked among them in her burgundy robes. Renate took a place beside her, wearing the sapphire gown of a Middle Maga. Opposite them stood noble families of the four provinces.
The King arrived on horseback, surrounded by his personal guard and the members of his Council. When at last everyone was assembled, Akmael stood in the middle of the square to receive his princess, who appeared with her ladies in waiting and men-at-arms, a fur drawn about her shoulders to ward off the chill.
Her sterling gown sparkled in the sun. She held her head high and bore the stately smile of her class. Akmael greeted her with an expressionless face, though his eyes were warm. As High Mage Tzetobar invoked the blessing of Dragon, the King sustained Taesara’s hand in his. When the mage finished, Akmael bent to kiss Taesara’s lips.
Eolyn closed her eyes against the sting of tears.
This was my choice, she reminded herself. This is my path.
She focused on the image of her new Aekelahr, a circle of humble buildings nestled in the rolling hills of Moehn. She heard the enthusiastic laughter of her students: Sirena, Melanie, and—as fate would have it—the lively young girl bearing the name of her own tutor, Ghemena.
Already they loved Maga Eolyn, depended on her, and looked to her to help them fulfill their dreams of magic. This year only three had come, but next year there would be more, and the year after that even more.
When Eolyn opened her eyes, the kiss had ended. She felt Renate’s hand wrap around hers in warmth, and was grateful for the expression of friendship and support.
High Mage Tzetobar presented the new Queen to her people. They shouted and sang and threw showers of lilies. The surge of joy was unlike anything Eolyn had felt from the citizens of Moisehén, and it filled her heart with gladness. Fear no longer held back their voices. Akmael would build his reign on a very different foundation from that of his father.
The festivities that followed were bright and boisterous, with generous servings of roasted venison, stuffed goose, and wild pig, followed by sweetbreads and dried fruits and honey-drenched cakes. Wine and ale spilled from overflowing cups. Musicians played and sang, acrobats danced on the tables. Laughter rose and fell over a constant din of chatter.
Nobles who had not yet spoken with Eolyn made a point of greeting her now, and Lords Baramon of Selen and Felton of Moehn even invited her to dance. Several former members of the Circle were there to provide entertainment, including Adiana.
Upon recognizing Eolyn, Adiana wrapped her arms around the maga in a tight hug, tears wetting her cheeks as she cried out in delight. Soon Renate joined their happy reunion. They conversed late into the night, sharing news of their lives since the rebellion and recounting fond memories of Corey’s Circle.
Only when the King and his bride retired from the feast did Eolyn notice the dull ache behind her eyes. When another cup of wine only intensified the pain, she decided to say good night to her friends.
Dawn was but a few hours away as she returned to her quarters, alone and exhausted.
Eolyn had not spoken with Akmael since her arrival, but she had noticed his hand behind every detail of her stay. She had been assigned a well-furnished apartment on the southern flank of the castle, with a clear view toward the province of Moehn. The servants left no need unattended. Her room was always supplied with fresh fruit and drink.
She poured herself a cup of water now, and dressed it with herbs to subdue her headache. Holding the mug steady between her fingers, she recited the first spell Ghemena had taught her.
Ehekaht, naeom tzefur. Ehukae.
Steam rose off the water. For a moment, Eolyn felt the spirit of her beloved mentor pass through the room.
Laughter and song rose from the streets below. Eolyn drifted to the window to view the city. Inhaling the soothing aroma of her herbal infusion, she watched people dance beneath the distant torches, like bright coals on a dying fire. Last night’s frost had dissipated, and the air blew warm against her cheeks.
The essence of the room shifted, and Eolyn felt a presence behind her. She set her tea on the window sill, fingers trembling, and kept her eyes on the rooftops below.
“Why have you come?” she asked.
“To see you once more,” Akmael replied. “Why did you not request an audience with me during these days?”
“Because I knew better.” She turned to face him, her emotions a churning cauldron of sadness and relief, annoyance and desire. “Your bride is waiting, my Lord King.”
“The Queen sleeps under a spell. She will not awaken until I return.”
“You cannot stay here.”
“I do not intend to.”
His words cut deep, and she averted her eyes so he might not notice the pain. He drew close then. Eolyn held still, though she knew she should step away. It was all she wanted in that moment, to feel the intensity of his aura, to remember the intimacy of his touch.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, uncertainty breaking through her resolve. “Akmael, please…I can’t…”
He studied her in silence, as if registering every detail. Then he lifted his hands to the silver chain around his neck and removed the jewel woven by his mother. He placed it carefully over Eolyn’s head, letting the fine medallion come to rest upon her bosom. He withdrew before their lips could touch.
“Mage Corey is very impressed by the work you are doing in Moehn.”
It seemed a
cold thing to say, so very formal.
“The Gods have sent me worthy students, talented and dedicated to the craft,” she replied.
“I am pleased to hear it. The Queen and I will undertake a progress next spring, and we will visit your new Aekelahr in Moehn.”
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”
“It is necessary. Your endeavor is supported by the Crown.”
“Surely you could send a representative, Mage Corey or Thelyn—”
“We cannot avoid seeing each other, Eolyn. You are the only High Maga of Moisehén, and I am the King.”
“But we could put it off, until your marriage solidifies and this…this force that draws us to each other fades.”
He let out a slow exhale. “How long do you think that will be?”
Eolyn bit her lip, unwilling to give voice to the response.
He rested his hand against her cheek, bringing her gaze back to his. His fingers traced the line of her neck before descending to the silver web that rested over her heart. “This jewel binds us to each other and to the forest in which we met. I leave it in your power. Use it to find me, should you ever be in need.”
Eolyn nodded, her throat tight with pain. The hidden tears of all these days escaped and rolled down her cheeks without restraint.
Then his lips were upon hers, tender and full of desire. She drew him close, unable to resist the flame of his touch.
The embrace proved all too brief. Without warning, Akmael pulled away and stepped past her to the window, where he stood with clenched fists, a brooding look upon his face.
The silence was thick, and Eolyn dared not break it. When at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “You said you wanted to restore magic to our people. You said this was the only way.”
“It is, Akmael. I can’t hope to fulfill my promise to Dragon if I—”
He raised a hand to silence her. In that moment, Eolyn realized Akmael had assumed his father’s place, once and for all. Whatever the prince had suffered, wanted, needed or loved was now hidden forever behind the stony mask of Vortingen.
A shimmer passed through him, followed by a flash of white light as he assumed the shape of Owl. In a hush of wings, the Mage King settled on the sill, pausing but a moment before slipping into the night.
Eolyn’s heart leapt after him, but she subdued its impulse, halting at the window and watching Akmael’s shadow against the starry sky.
“I love you,” she whispered as he faded from sight.
Eolyn turned back to her room. It felt barren in the wake of his departure, a vacant space enclosed by stone, a meaningless display of lifeless furniture.
She stood, listening to the silence.
Then she changed out of her dress and into her nightshift, and slipped into her empty bed. She pulled a large pillow into her embrace, inhaling its aroma of stone and earth and timeless magic.
Of him.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would pack early to begin the journey home. She longed to see the girls again, to feel the sun shining on the fields of Moehn and to hear the whisper of the forest. To press her bare feet against the grass and breathe the aroma of warm earth and wildflowers.
Perhaps she would invite Renate or Adiana to travel with her.
She paused at this thought, and her aching heart brightened.
Of course!
Why had she not considered it before? Renate could teach Middle Magic, and Adiana music, which was Primitive Magic, after all. And who knew music better than Adiana?
Eolyn drew a breath of excitement.
We will weave magic back into this land, united as sisters, like Magas of Old.
Nestling beneath the warmth of her covers, Eolyn closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, they would ride south together.
Acknowledgements
The threads of all my stories begin and end with my family, who inspired me long before I understood what inspiration meant. Thank you for your unending support. I couldn’t have done this without you.
The forests of the Talamanca Mountain Range in Costa Rica provided fertile ground in which the seeds of Eolyn took root and grew. To all the creatures that inhabit those ridges: the great oaks and pumas, the bumble bees and mushrooms, the quetzals, the ferns, the blueberry bushes and mosses. To the duendes who never showed their faces to me, but whose magical presence was always felt, and to all the lush expressions of life in Talamanca: Thank you. I hope I have managed to capture something of your magnificence in these pages.
The greater part of the journey of this second edition was completed when we published the first edition in 2011. All the voices that helped me reach that moment still resonate here. Eric T. Reynolds was the first editor to believe in this novel, and I will forever be indebted to him for giving me an opportunity with Hadley Rille Books. Rafael Aguilar, Suzanne Hunt, Terri-Lynne DeFino, David Hunter, and Carlyle Clark contributed much magic and polish to these pages.
Two writers groups have stuck with me through the years, and continue to help me hone my craft: The Dead Horse Society and The Next Big Writer (tNBW). I’m also fortunate to belong to a wonderful sisterhood of writers, the Dollbabies, who keep me confident and sane.
Most of all, I am grateful to you, the reader, for picking up this book and giving me a chance. Eolyn’s story was written for you. May your journey in magic continue well beyond these pages.
About the Author
Karin Rita Gastreich lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where she is part of the biology faculty at Avila University. An ecologist by vocation, she has wandered forests and wildlands all over the planet, but most often in the tropics. Her past times include camping, hiking, music, and flamenco dance. In addition to The Silver Web trilogy, Karin has published short stories in World Jumping, Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman, and 69 Flavors of Paranoia. She is a recipient of the Spring 2011 Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency. You can visit Karin at krgastreich.com.
Preview
The Sword of Shadows
Book Two of The Silver Web
Karin Rita Gastreich
Sisters in magic, Eolyn and Adiana seek to revive a millennial tradition once forbidden to women. When war strikes, their fledgling community of magas is destroyed; its members killed, captured or scattered.
In hopes of defending their people, Eolyn tries to escape the occupied province and deliver to King Akmael a weapon that might secure his victory. Trapped by the invading army, Adiana is taken prisoner and placed at the mercy of the ruthless Prince Mechnes.
Even as their world is torn asunder, Eolyn and Adiana cling to a common dream. Courage and perseverance guide them toward a future where the Daughters of Aithne will flourish in a world set free from the violence of men.
“War propels the book forward, and the characters are at their best when the events engulfing them are at their worst.” –Publishers Weekly
Coming Fall 2016
ORB WEAVER PRESS
Sisters in Magic
“I speak in earnest, Renate.” Adiana’s words were slurred by drink. “Borten would be an excellent suitor for Eolyn. He’s good man and a considerate lover.”
Wine escaped Renate’s lips in a sputtering laugh. “How would you know Borten’s a considerate lover?”
Adiana shrugged. “I can see it in his face.”
“See it in his face?” Renate let go a high pitched cackle. “I’ll wager you’ve seen more than his face. You’ve been restless as a lynx in heat since Eostar.”
Adiana gave a mock cry of protest and struck Renate playfully on the shoulder. “How dare you! One does not have to be a maga to see into the hearts of men. I learned a few things working the taverns in Selkynsen, you know. I can read a man as surely as Eolyn reads her books.”
“As surely as Eolyn reads her books in bed,” Renate replied in crisp tones.
Adiana flopped back on the blanket with an indignant harrumph. They had settled in the courtyard for an evening of wine and companionship, after having t
ucked the girls into bed. Days had passed since Eolyn departed for the South Woods, and the week would likely see its end before she returned.
“And you accuse me of inventing stories and gossip!” Adiana complained. “Even if I had ‘read Borten in bed’, what would it matter? The magas always had untamed teachings with respect to that sort of thing. Isn’t aen-lasati the source of a woman’s greatest magic? I swear to the Gods, Renate, sometimes you seem too much of a prude to be a maga.”
A prude.
Renate rolled the word over her tongue as she swirled her wine. Yes, that’s what she was. Tight inside, dry as autumn leaves underfoot. Forever bound by the failures and disillusions of her past.
“The Magas of the Old Orders were disciplined women,” Renate said, “not harlots at a summer festival. To lay claim to their understanding of aen-lasati while ignoring all their other teachings does their memory a disservice. It’s precisely that sort of myth that led us to the pyres in the first place.”
“Oh, Renate.” Adiana groaned and reached for the wine skin. “Why must you take everything so seriously? It’s finished, remember? The war, the purges, the rebellion, the prohibition. We’re free now. The magas have been restored to their rightful place in Moisehén. We’ve got a proper Aekelahr, aspiring young magas, the protection of the Mage King, and a nice little regiment of handsome guards. Even you could have some fun, you know.”
The thought of her tired old body wrapped around one of the King’s men made Renate giggle until the giddiness shook her ribs and broke upon her lips.
“That’s the spirit!” Adiana said. “Here, have some more wine. And tell me, which of the guards do you like the most?”
“Oh, for the love of the Gods, Adiana!” Renate was laughing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am an old woman.”
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