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  The Legend

  By L. Powers

  Copyright 2014 L Powers

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  Table of Contents

  The Legend page 4

  About L. Powers page 8

  Evening descended on the small sea port slowly. The last light of the day clung desperately to the horizon as the stars started to shine. The cool breeze announced that summer’s close was drawing ever closer and fall was on her tail. The bonfire kept the nip of the evening away from the night’s watchmen, all of whom were still clothed in their summer uniforms of light weight material, unprepared for the sudden changing of the seasons. The children had all gathered around the fire, the chilly air bring an abrupt end to the most recent game they had been enjoying.

  A cry to the full moon from beyond the wall had the group of children huddling together closely, their eyes – wide with fear and uncertainty – searching the distance in vain for the source of the howling. The children’s quiet whispers filled the silence of the night, each child trying to scare the rest with their whispered possibilities of what might have made such a frightful howls.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of children,” the elderly man known as the Story teller chuckled. “It’s just the Myrsae.” The guards groaned loudly and long, having heard the tale many times from the aging man when he washed ashore a few months back as they tried to figure out whom the strange elder was and to whom he belonged. A few of the guards tried to get the children to leave the Story Teller before he could start the legend again. As for the children, they leaned closer to the bearded wrinkled face old man, ever excited to hear the unheard legend.

  “The Myrsae?” One of the children asked, fear, and fascination danced in the child’s enthusiastic gaze. His fellow companions huddled closer together before they wiggled towards the Story Teller. Eyes wide and ears open, waiting for the story to begin.

  “Oh please tell us about the Myrsae, please Sir Story Teller,” the daughter of one of the guards requested. The children nodded eagerly. The Story Teller smiled; his eyes bright with delight at the simple request and nodded his head. A murmur of happiness run through the children as they waited with baited breaths. Lighting his pipe, the Story Teller took a quick puff before scratching at his thick salt and pepper beard absent mindedly as he tried to recall the story’s start. The children all shushed one another, trying to get everyone quiet so that he would start. As all grew silent, the Story Teller spoke. His words drew the children in, the scene painting before them.

  ‘The bright orange and red flames of the bonfire danced high under the moon, reaching for her beauty while beings with pointed ears celebrated the start of spring. All men of age keenly readied themselves for the ritualistic hunt, in hopes of earning the honor of lying with the beautiful masked lady that sat with the esteemed Levananiar priestesses. The pointed ear beings feasted together, honoring their deities, male and female alike, singing, and dancing as they finished the last of the strong and bitter winter wines. As the feast came to a close, the children were gathered up by a few of the sworn priestess, who would watch them as the rest of the community let the magic of the evening take hold.’

  “Story Teller,” one child bravely interrupted the man. “What are deities?” The Story Teller smiled, reassuring the child that he wasn’t mad at the question.

  “A deity is a God or Goddess,” the Story Teller answered, his eyes never leaving the children even as the guards scoffed at his reply.

  ‘The fire festival was well under way when the Spring Lady was escorted to the cave’s mouth under the watchful gaze of the full moon. Her white gown shared tender caresses with the soft lush grass as she swept across the greenery and entered the hidden hillside haven. Two of the order’s maidens froze, blushes brightly stealing across their cheeks as the Lady’s gentle voice echoed around the barren room. Her two escorts, sworn to their deity under oaths of eternal silence, chased them out. The light haired priestess removed the Lady’s veil replacing it with a white swan feathered mask. The dark haired priestess slowly downturned the ceremonial bed before carefully removing the silver-white gown from her lady’s body. Both mute priestesses ensured that their Lady was prepared for her consort, the Lord of the Hunt, before leaving the cave to wait for the Lord’s arrival.

  Back at the festival, the men rushed past the bonfire and towards the forest’s edge. The race to be the first to slay the king stag was on. Branches broke and twigs snapped as the mass of rushing bodies entered the forest, the king stag sensed the movement and darted deeper into the thick undergrowth. Startled birds squawked their displeasure as they took flight in a mass of flapping wings, distracting many of the hunters as they blocked the moon’s light. The rest of the celebrators waited with baited breath for the new Lord of the Hunt to emerge victoriously.’

  The Story Teller paused, accepting the cup of hot tea from one of the few new guards to wet his parched throat. The children moaned, fearful that the Story Teller was done. He smiled and chuckled, shaking his head. “We aren’t done yet.”

  ‘A mighty cry danced from the forest up to the moon high in the twilight sky announcing the king stag’s demise. The Lord of the Hunt emerged minutes later, wearing the beast’s brown pelt and large antlers. He was met by a small group of Levananiar priests at the forest’s edge. Celebrators cheered him as he passed them, following the priests to the hidden hillside haven to join with his Spring Lady.

  Queen Delfina rubbed her swollen belly absent mindedly as the child within kicked her. Her mid-wife dutifully braided her long silken black hair before tying it back behind elegantly pointed ears. Five months had passed since the fire had burned long and bright, four months had passed since she had dutifully married Ravine and Delfina hoped that the king would still believe the child she would mother was his when it was born three weeks before their night. Not yet knowing that the magic of the celebration would make the child unique.

  “Your pendant Queen Delfina,” the mid-wife’s voice pulled the young queen from her inner musings. Delfina accepted the pendant with a hesitant smile. The pendant, a sapphire septagram, was a gift from the King. Dutifully, she slipped it around her neck, the mid-wife pulling her hair from under the silver chain. The young queen gazed back at the middle aged Eternal and was over come by great gratitude that she was apart of the order and not a servant of the king, it meant the continuous safety of her unborn child.

  The sixth month rolled in and the time for the birthing drew ever closer, Delfina grew more frightful and paranoid of anyone of the servant tending to her under the King. The mid-wife tried to get her Lady moved to an order protected place, citing that the stress of duty could lead the queen to miscarry her first child. Finally, after a deadly fainting spell, King Ravine allowed the mid-wife to move his queen into one of the temple’s birthing rooms where only those sworn to deity and wore the mark of the Levananiar Order were allowed to tend to their High Priestess and queen.

  As snow covered the frozen winter ground, the full moon gazed down at the temple as Delfina went into labor with the sapphire septagram glowing softly, unnoticed. Priest Kael, the festival’s Lord of the Hunt stood by his mysterious Spring Lady as their child was brought into the world by the mid-wife while King Ravine slept peacefully and unknowing in the castle. The mid-wife passed the child on to her mentor before returning to her Lady’s side to clean up the after birth and mess the birthing had created. The elderly mentor cleaned the
babe and swaddled the child in fresh linen before handing the child to the Queen’s mid-wife.

  “Your son,” the mid-wife’s voice was filled with awe as she handed the child to the High Priestess. The boy’s dark honey eyes gazed back at his mother, scales rippling over his fair skin as the babe laughed joyously at the sight of Delfina.

  “Ambers,” Delfina spoke the boy’s name proudly, receiving a fanged grin. The gathered priests and priestesses stared at the child with uncertainty. Never before had any witnessed such a sight before. “Conceived with the festival’s magic and bore to the Levananiar Order.”

  High Priestess Delfina, Queen of Isles bore the first child of the Myrsae to the Levananiar Order.’

  “But Story Teller, that child had scales, wolves don’t have scales,” a young girl pointed out. The Story Teller laughed and the children shared mild looks of annoyance and curiosity.

  “The First Myrsae was, indeed, a serpent, Child,” the Story Teller confirmed with a gentle smile. “But the legend says that whenever the festival’s bonfire burned bright that a new Myrsae was born from the magic of that night to the Lady and the Order.”

  “Its time for you younglings to get home, way past the bed time for many of you,” the rough voice of an elderly guarded end the tales as the children prepared to leave.

  “What did they tell the King?” A boy no older than seven years stopped to ask the Story Teller.

  “Good question,” the Story Teller paused and thought. “Well, I assume that they would have told him that the child didn’t make it past his first few minutes. Such a thing was common during the cold winter days.” The boy frowned but reluctantly nodded and continued on his way home with the rest of the children, leaving the Story Teller alone with the guards in the dancing light of the slowly dying bonfire.

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  About the Author

  L Powers is a creative writer with a passion for fantasy for all ages. Currently working on a degree in creative writing from Full Sail University, L Powers is working on an urban fantasy novel.