Echoes of Fae: Book One of the Divine

by Monica Doke

  Echoes of Fae

  Book One of the Divine

  M.Doke

  For Jenny,

  After all of these years, you have been the only one to follow me here, and the only reason I found my way home. Thank you so much for being my sister, my best friend, and my inspiration.

  I love you, dear.

  Author’s Note

  The first draft of this book came from me when I was fifteen. My grandma read the whole thing and told me that she did not understand a bit of it. I worked on it (and others) up to when I was nineteen when it was kind of published. Over the years as I have grown as a writer, I was disappointed to find immature errors here and there. So, I fixed them. When I finished, I bragged to my brother that I was done with it.

  “Did you not already publish that one?” my brother asked.

  “Well, yes,” I replied. I was smiling like a weirdo.

  Then why are you just now done with it?” my annoyingly inquisitive twin asked.

  “I rewrote the whole thing,” I said, losing my happy a little.

  “Do a lot of writers do this?” he asked poignantly.

  “I... don't know,” I answered. “Probably not good ones.”

  So, here it is. My revision of Echoes of Fae, the first book of the trilogy of the Divine. I look forward to writing it again someday. As you read this, I am certain that you discovered that I made up many words. It has always been my great wish to be an inventive fantasy writer.

  When Magic turns you right

  You know the way is long

  When Magic brings you happiness

  You know it steers you wrong

  But, Magic brings not your music

  You sing your own sad song

  Magic only brings to music

  The strength to make it strong

  My Divine

  “Melody, your father wishes your presence at his Banquet this night. Will you please dress in something that will remind us all that you are the Pramacretine, or else I will have to have Gertrude dress you,” a tall, muscular woman with long, sun-lightened, auburn hair said from the doorway of the study. Her mahogany eyes shone down onto Melody with an expression of mild amusement mingled with long-suffered affection.

  Genewen was the Macretine, wife of Melody's father the Pacretine, though none of the Pacretine's children belonged to Genewen. Andover’s boys were the product of his first marriage to the original Macretine, Serendipity. Upon the first Macretine's death, her title transferred to Genewen per her written instructions. It had been a long time before Genewen wedded the Pacretine, after a soft love of friendship had blossomed between the two. Her face shined with kindness, her manners were gentle but assertive. The ideal Macretine.

  “I would prefer to stay and read,” Melody murmured with her face buried in a large tome.

  “Pacretine’s orders, Love,” Genewen emphasized. Melody looked resigned; her desire to please her stepmother contradicted her desire to hide in the study. The study appeared to be a large library surrounding a vast wall of a fireplace. Upon stands were plants of various brightly colored blooms and the damp smell of foliage. The books were those that were available to the public, therefore included volumes of literature and maps among other scribing.

  “Get on wit' ye, lil' Pramacretine,” Gertrude said with a jab in Melody’s shoulder. Gertrude was Melody’s nanny and house cleaner. She had a long mane of shiny white hair and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Gertrude was an old Gnome; she had served many generations of the Pacretine’s family. “Yer needing to get out of this dusty lil’ rat-hole,” Gertrude grinned at Melody. “Oy and I nearlay fergot, 'ave ye seen yer auld cloak? I canna’ find it anyplace in this palace, did ye happen to ride off wit' it an' ferget?” Gertrude’s grammar had long since eluded Melody, but since the old nanny refused to learn, Melody came to understand her.

  “Probably,” Melody mumbled, not listening to any of them, but instead picking up another book from the pile she had made in front of her and looking for information on the more obscure points of practical Ether. A dear friend and housemate of Melody and her brothers appeared in the room. Haroah and Melody were close in age and raised in the same household. He worked as a courier for the palace and was a quick, interesting, always in time to provide his friends with smiles and warm wishes. Haroah grinned at the sight of the distracted Pramacretine. He handed Gertrude Melody's cloak with a chuckle. He had found the item on the ground near the archery range. He bowed and departed.

  Trying to regain Melody's attention, Genewen spoke, “I already spoke to your father, Melody. He would appreciate you placing more emphasis on your public relations. As you are aware, our compatriots admire and respect you. It is important for you to provide them with the hope and pride in which you inspire. When our people look at us, they first see the Pacretine and myself and are proud to have us as their Captains. When they look at our children, you in particular, and they see hope and beauty in our future. You are not just our children; you are the children of Agoura. Our people love you as they love their own children and their own families.” Gertrude excused herself as Genewen lectured Melody from the other side of her large book.

  “Can they not just love my reading?” Melody asked with a hefty sigh as she put down her reading and focused on the Macretine. Genewen’s poignant gaze locked in on Melody’s face. The Macretine stood in the doorway looking very serious. Melody reeled. “I understand, Genewen; but you know how overwhelming it is when I am treated like a savior. It weighs me down, as can occur when buried beneath the expectations of an entire civilization,” the young Pramacretine hastened to explain. Genewen’s glare softened to apparent patience and understanding.

  “Oh, Melody,” Genewen said as lowered herself into a chair beside the young Pramacretine. “The title thrust upon you is exactly as heavy as heavy as it feels. I know that this proves a difficult burden to carry on one so young - on anyone, even. I sympathize with the sudden responsibility. My child, you are an intelligent, beautiful and talented young woman. As the Pramacretine, you are the only daughter of the Pacretine. You are special for more than only the legends that shroud your name. We praise you for all of these things. However, you must remember you are a voice for all the people who rely on our family. You must do all of the things you know that you can do before you will be able to face a destiny that seems to have absconded with your adolescence,” the Macretine told her, with the regard and confidence that Melody always aimed for when her father made her speak.

  Melody lowered her face as she flushed. “I am being childish again,” the Pramacretine said, softly.

  “Of course you are, Melody. You are a child. But you are a child of the Pacretine, which means you must sometimes behave as a wizened old crone like me,” Genewen teased.

  Self-deprecation had never been a common quality of the Macretine, as Genewen was a proud woman that measured every word she spoke meticulously before they left her lips. Melody smiled at Genewen and they both laughed. The Macretine stood and left Melody without another word.

  She sat silently contemplating which song she should sing for the evening. She really did not want to sing anything.

  A sudden, thundering knock sounded at the big door of the study. Startled, Melody hopped out of her seated position and nearly pounced on the doorknob. The study was a very public place, which nearly always meant that no one would knock before entry, particularly not so determinedly. The Pramacretine peered out of the doorway in order to see who had knocked with such force. Immediately, she stood beneath a very wide set of nostrils.

  Isaac, her father’s Assistant, waited for her. Melody grinned uncomfortably. Isaac made her skin crawl, but she sus
pected him of being a fine fellow. The discomfort was likely due to Isaac being Frogaern. It was a common rumor that Frogaern were walkers of the night and preferred to stay within four walls. The creepiness that shrouded the creature arose from their origination in Sinnistirie, a land just before the mountains. Sinnistirie was largely swamps and marshes that supplied homes to many odd and somewhat unbecoming creatures. In fact, Frogaern are nocturnal in nature, their vision unable to penetrate the rays of the sun. Since they travel through trees, their upper bodies are long and thin while their lower bodies short.

  Melody had been fascinated by Isaac, as well as involuntarily repulsed. He reeked of dead fish, must, and had very long, waxy gray hair. His thin, crinkled skin stretched like unwashed muslin over his narrow face. His eyes, when she could see them over his long nose, contained a fine slit of a pupil inside reflective gray iris. He resembled a dried out short man rendered entirely in gray scale. The Frogaern lurched as he walked, but managed to keep his face as high as possible. To her dismay, he cordially thrust his crooked elbow out to her to ensure that she be escorted properly. Reluctantly, she stuck her small wrist into the area between his elbow and rib cage. He sneered down at Melody.

  Melody noticed a ring on his smallest finger. It had a green stone in the shape of a tree. She knew it meant that he served Agoura, the united nation of Fae that had banded together after the war of Fae. Agoura was a Faerie word, meaning “For all peace, peace for all.” Agoura had been multiplying in number over the years, as many across the Divide had ventured over the mountains; the ones that survived had made their way to Agoura.

  Frogaern were honestly without prejudice to begin with, but over time, they found themselves in the company of those that refused to join the nation and decided it would be for the best to join. Agoura developed out of the necessity for survival. While there were outliers, most of whom fled to the mountain, the majority of the survivors, instigators included, had pledged their loyalty to Agoura just in order to assure that the races did not perish entirely.

  The War of Fae was a civil war between some of the more powerful of the Fae and the mortal Fae as well as a few groups of foolhardy Humans. The war began because of a deep-set prejudice in some of the races. The historians wrote that the war had been started by the Helacorn, a magnificent creature that dominated the air, when they succeeded in enslaving the entire race of Infelines and nearly slaughtering every last one of the Infeline's distant cousins; the Marimae. The gathering of creatures to the Plea for Peace represented those who wished to join and defeat the Races that had been causing so much chaos in the livelihood of the fellow citizens. Some of the younger Fae groups that had stood in defense of the Infeline and Marimae were the Decacorn, C’ghalie, Serare and some of the braver Humans. There were stragglers of the older Fae that fought against the violence of the Helacorn. Most were indifferent to the squabbles of Mortals, as they had seen many wars and many races come and go in their long lifetimes. The majority of the older Fae, such as Faerie, Gnome and Ninze all constructed a refuge deep within the forests scattered around the countryside. Many of the Fae traveled back to their higher plane that existed within the forest. The more powerful Fae could build new homes outside of present reality.

  The Helacorn had proved themselves major competitors in the war. The winged creatures were well spoken, but full of superiority. These traits led them to many like-minded allies, and many enemies. The Helacorn and the Decacorn are kin. Decacorn being half man, half horse with ten small, sharp horns creating a dramatic line all from their forehead all the way down to their shoulders.

  Helacorn had only one horn set straight in the center of their foreheads like a pointed third eye. Helacorn had vast, beautiful wings and were mighty hunters. The Helacorn were not one of the more Ethereal creatures, as they each had little to no Ether of their own. The knowledge of their lack of Ether had led the Agouran resistance to underestimate the winged creatures in the War. What they had lacked in Ether, the Helacorn made up for in vigor, persuasion and intellect.

  The one thing that had ensured the victory of Agoura had been the very basic fact that the Helacorn tolerated no one. They would use the skills of others to their advantage and destroy it when it became obsolete to ensure that no one else could use it against them. They did not keep their allies happy.

  Once, Melody asked her father why the C’ghalie served as the leaders of Agoura. Andover had explained that the C’ghalie were both very powerful and very amicable. Though that was the case, it had not been a rule that C’ghalie be the governing race, it had been a coincidence that they had organized the treaty and the respect that his father held had become the reason that people had placed him in the seat of power.

  Common knowledge suggested that pureblood C’ghalie aged nearly immeasurably, which worked in their favor, since the transferal of power would be infrequent. Though the C’ghalie lived immeasurably long lives, they were mortal. Many deaths had occurred with the wrong knowledge of a C’ghalie’s mortality. In the legends, some of the eldest of the Fae died simply by deciding not to live any longer.

  C’ghalie resembled the Faerie - a nearly undiluted Fae race that had been notorious for its mischievous power and diverting beauty. Among the Faerie's relatives were the C'ghalie, Ninze and Serare. Melody often found frustration in the faces of her family, as they were all pureblood C’ghalie. Melody was short and thick when compared to the long, lithe bodies of her brothers and Genewen. Her father was tall but had grown stout. Most C’ghalie were tall and very thin, as opposed to the short, strong Metas. C’ghalie prided in their stealth and speed while Metas for their Ether.

  Melody suddenly bumped into Isaac. He smelled of stale water and he seemed to keep his nose in the air from fear of his own height; she thought jokingly. The blue-eyed Pramacretine hoped that Isaac could not read her mind. He sneered at her. Melody quickly wiped the expression from her face.

  “I do not like staring,” Isaac wheezed. Melody smiled apologetically before replying.

  “I am very sorry, Isaac. I am tactless inside and out. Staring is one of my many flaws. I am quite sure I smell like old linen and dishwater. Plus, I’m extremely clumsy and I look terrible in C’ghalie clothing,” Melody teased. At Isaac’s softening glare, Melody leaned forward confidentially. “I also have it under good authority that I talk far too much,” Melody said with a smirk. The Pramacretine watched as the corners of his mouth slowly upturned and a smile bloomed on his gray, wrinkly face, making him look like an old disheveled blanket with pinched red eyes and sharp yellow teeth.

  “All is forgiven, my lady,” Isaac said patting her shoulder. Melody smiled brightly. Isaac showed her into her father’s personal study. Andover turned and feigned a smile.

  “You are dismissed, Isaac, thank you,” Andover said. The Frogaern bowed and left the room. Andover looked at Melody and smiled genuinely. She stood before him for a while before he sobered and invited her to sit. “Now, I have brought you here to ask for your song in my banquet this night. I request you do not argue this time. We have many special guests that deserve a chance to hear your voice.” Andover stated his request as a command. Melody shuddered. She did not enjoy the attention.

  “Yes, Father,” Melody replied, obediently.

  Andover gave a respectful and appreciative nod before continuing, “Well, then. Now that your performance is settled, I think it is time you learned about your mother. It has taken me much thought and preparation to decide when would be the right time, as instructed. I think you are grown enough to learn your own past.” Melody noticed her father looked unusually tired. Unsure what she should say, Melody nodded to urge him to continue. Andover cleared his throat and sat down before he went on, “I must admit, my dear one, I have lived somewhat in fear of your power. I believe you have not fully discovered what you can do with your Ether. That said; we do not actually have a way to know how powerful you are. It has only happened once before.” The Pacretine's pause invited Melody to speak.

 
“Father?” the Pramacretine asked. She felt unsettled and shy. Andover looked up and smiled. The lines in his face exposed his old age.

  A moment of hesitation revealed the Pacretine's difficulty in his continued confession, “Your mother was a Meta who I met at an Inn and dined with when I had spent time across the Divide.” Andover could not finish before Melody’s eyes went wide.

  “You were unfaithful with a woman you did not even know?” Melody gasped. The lines in Andover’s face deepened.

  “Melody, please do not interrupt,” Andover requested. Melody sank into a chair, deflated. “No, I do not believe I was unfaithful to Genewen. I met your mother twice at the Inn and we were amicable. The second time we crossed paths she invited me to dinner. We spoke well and agreed on many things. I must admit, I found myself very fascinated by meeting a Meta in person. I had not before.

  “Her name was Pandora. We had enjoyed too much cider and found ourselves speaking more freely than we had planned, so the memory of our dinner is hazy. I remember when I walked her back to her room she embraced me. I could tell after a moment that it had been more than an average friendly gesture. She lingered too long but it did not seem romantic. She took something from me. I did not stop her and to this day, I have no idea why. I think I felt it necessary to give her whatever she needed. I was swimming in the drink, but I remember the unexpected and overwhelming amount of power pouring through me. I remember well the sensation; like a tide rushing in and pulling back out. It took something from me, as the ocean takes sand and debris, but it was nothing I could not spare. I left the next day on the long journey home across the Divide. It is truly a horrible journey by ship, I must say. I was as sick as a dog the whole time...” Andover trailed off, and then smiled at his own distraction.

  “You speak of her only in past tense,” Melody whispered, she felt her stomach bottom out as tears burned her eyes.