Read One is Come (Five in Circle) Online
Authors: C. H. MacLean
One is Come (Five in Circle) (21 page)
Two Empty Thrones
Chapter 1
Haylwen, Cadarn, the twins, and Nacia sat in a circle in the open grassy area where they usually met for martial arts practice. They used it for everything now. Today they were practicing sign language. The quiet was only occasionally broken by a few words if Cadarn asked a question. Haylwen took a break and leaned back against the large oak behind her. Surrounded by the trees, the magical trees that somehow kept them safe from the monsters that chased them, she relaxed, hearing the birds and breeze through the leaves above her. Without trying, almost by reflex, she felt the energy of magic. She had been reading and practicing so much, the light leaped to her inner sight without effort. She could see clearly the light surrounding her, and her own bright and strong inner ball of light sitting in her chest. She let her ball of internal energy grow, and felt a tug. For the first time, she felt there were other places in her body where energy would form! She excitedly wondered if they might let her do more with magic.
Did Cadarn or my father know? Maybe in one of the books?
She didn’t wait to ask.
She found one at her throat touching another really big one at her head. Maybe it was more than one? She focused.
Ok, there was the first one in my chest, one in my belly, and at least another one below that
. She compared them and felt lines, strings maybe, connecting them. Haylwen realized they weren’t balls, but were more like pools of energy, with streams flowing back and forth between the pools. She looked at their pulsing movement, growing and shrinking. In another exciting realization, she saw them as tide pools being fed by the ocean of light all around her.
They were all connected!
Then she felt another one, a bigger one, just out of reach beyond her head. She imagined her top pool sending a little stream toward where she felt this other pool. She strained, but it slipped away. She relaxed, and it came closer. She let the stream wander its own way, which just happened to be toward the bigger pool. They touched.
Suddenly, she was swept along in a river. Her little stream grew in an instant, swallowing her in a flash flood. Terror twisted her stomach, but before she could even open her eyes, she stopped. She blinked. Or, at least, she thought she did.
Am I awake or dreaming? Or finally gone completely crazy?
She stood on a small island, surrounded by a stream. The stream's giggles whispered around her as it danced along its rocky bed. Other islands surrounded hers, with swift streams making their way along them, a network of water and earth. Each island had a single tree on it. Her island had a tall oak, and she could swear it was the same one she had been leaning against. She took the several steps to the water's edge, and looked into the rapidly moving water. Though it was running quickly, the water was so clear she could see sparkling stones on the bottom.
“Welcome!” a voice said from behind her. She spun, and saw an old man standing there, his arms crossed, smiling through his beard. His hair was long, dark brown, and snarled, but in such a pattern as to seem intentional. He wore a long robe of coarse fabric, shaded in browns. His eyes were amazingly bright green, and shone in contrast against his brown skin. He stood right where the oak had been, the great tree that was now gone.
“Again we felt. You come.” He spoke so slowly, Haylwen initially thought of saying something in the pauses. “Welcome. Haylwen. Quickling child.” She eventually figured out his sentences were all one.
Haylwen didn’t mind waiting, as there was so much going on in her, what she felt coming in from around her. She felt like she was immersed in energy, in magic. Everything had a background shimmer, like she could see the energy of the air reflecting and bouncing off the energy of the land and water. The energy carried a chorus of music, perfectly harmonious together though each was a full symphony by itself. Haylwen caught a part of the tune, a catchy, simple melody that sounded familiar. She was barely aware of a tiny note of wrongness that was somewhere close, but Haylwen lost it in the wonder.
When the old man had not spoken for some time, Haylwen replied. “Where am I?”
He gave a breezy laugh. “You are. Where you were. And still are.”
“Huh? Um, let’s start over. How do you know my name?”
The old man blinked, shook his head slowly. Haylwen felt herself slow down, or everything else speed up as the old man muttered something about time and quicklings. Either way, suddenly his speech didn’t seem slow.
He said, “You told me your name.” He didn't seem to be kidding.
Haylwen tried again. “Who are you?”
“I am who I was.” He looked briefly confused, then brightened. “But of course, for you-now this is the first.” He made an odd sort of bow, a swaying from the waist. “I am Barandarus, the youngest of the elders, the speaker for the grove.”
A flash made Haylwen look around. On the other islands, where the other trees had stood, now stood men and women, wearing similarly-styled robes. They silently watched.
Haylwen tried again. “What is this place?” She tried not to think she was just hallucinating. A dream, that's all.
Again the breezy laugh, which seemed to echo as it spread among the other people. “This is no place, quickling. This is the energy of the grove. You might even call it the mind of the grove,” he said, looking around. “Your energy, my energy,” he continued, waving his hand at the others, “hers and his and hers, all of their energy, vibrating in resonance, in concert. Energy, mind, all as one.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
He shook his head, still smiling. “We do not bring. The way was there, the door to open, and you brought. Why did you bring you here?” After a pause, he continued, with a wink. “Perhaps it is guidance you seek from the grove?”
Was that a hint?
“What sort of guidance might I want?”
The old man smiled, and gave another of his wavy bows. “You told us, or will tell us, this would be the way, but still.” He smiled with a slow head shake. “Curious quicklings, so full of energy, without perspective.” He stood a bit differently. “You said to be sure I will tell you three.” He held up one finger. “One. Remember Rivenwake.”
Haylwen's eyes widened.
Remember Rivenwake?
She echoed it in her mind, memories flashing past. Her one real-life meeting with him was a blur of embarrassed stammering as she tried to seem normal in the face of his fathomless eyes and too-cute face. Or could he be talking about her dream of him, running from a horde of assassins and her first kiss, heart-pounding nightmare and romantic fantasy all in one? She couldn't forget him, despite all her trying.
A thrumming started, and Barandarus blinked. “Nothing save trouble,” he muttered. He flicked a second finger up. “Two. Find Faustas.”
Why did that name sound familiar...Oh! The mustachioed king from her book on the history of magic! Find Faustas the Traitor?
“He's dead!” Haylwen blurted.
Barandarus shook his head. “Of course not. Though, it has been a while, even for us.”
A moan interrupted. Low and quiet, like someone in the distance was injured. Barandarus winced and then grimaced in pain as more moans joined, changing voices, coming closer. He shook his head, eyes unfocused. A scream broke his look, and he fixed his gaze on her intently.
“Child, there is damage come to the grove,” he said, with energy beyond the volume of his words, “and a darkness carried in it. We feel it comes for you. We will do what we can, but they were invited, in a way. You are needed to protect yourselves, ourselves. Go, please go.”
Looking in Barandarus' eyes, Haylwen could feel his pain. For a second, she knew him, trusted him. She felt a pulling, as if someone had opened a door on a storm.
“Wait, what is the third?” she blurted, fighting the pulling sensation.
“Clearing come. Now go!” Barandarus shouted.
Haylwen let herself slide into the opening, slide back along the same way she came. She blinked, and was back in the clearing, sitting just as she had been. She jumped up, the others watching her curiously.
“What's up, Hayl?” Cadarn asked.
“There is damage and darkness come to the grove,” she shot out. She blushed slightly, trying not to notice Cadarn’s look. “We should get back to the house.” …
***
Two Empty Thrones to be released
July 1, 2014.
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To young C. H. MacLean, books were everything: mind-food, friends, and fun. They gave the shy middle child’s life color and energy. Amazingly, not everyone saw them that way. Seeing a laundry hamper full of books approach her, the librarian scolded C. H. for trying to check them all out. “You'll never read that many before they expire!” C. H. was surprised, having shown great restraint only by keeping a list of books to check out next time. Thoroughly abashed, C. H. waited three whole days after finishing that lot before going back for more.
With an internal world more vivid than the real one, C. H. was chastised for reading in the library instead of going to class. “Neurotic, needs medical help,” the teacher diagnosed. C. H.'s father, a psychologist, just laughed when he heard. “She's just upset because those books are more challenging than her class.” C. H. realized making up stories was just as fun as reading, and harder to get caught doing. So for a while, C. H. built stories and characters out of wisps and trinkets, with every toy growing an elaborate personality.
But toys were not mature, and stories weren't respectable for a family of doctors. So C. H. grew up, and learned to read serious books and study hard, shelving foolish fantasies for serious work.
Years passed in a black and white blur. Then, unpredictably falling in love all the way to a magical marriage rattled C. H.'s orderly world. A crazy idea slipped in a resulting crack and wouldn't leave. “Write the book you want to read,” it said. “Write? As in, a fantasy novel? But I'm not creative,” C. H. protested. The idea, and C. H.'s spouse, rolled their eyes.
So one day, C. H. started writing. Just to try it, not that it would go anywhere. Big mistake. Decades of pent-up passion started pouring out, making a mess of an orderly life. It only got worse. Soon, stories popped up everywhere-in dreams, while exercising, or out of spite, in the middle of a work meeting. “But it's not important work,” C. H. pleaded weakly “They are not food, or friends, or...” But it was too late. C. H. had re-discovered that like books, life should be fun too. Now, writing is a compulsion, and a calling.
C. H. lives in a Pacific Northwest forest with five cats, two kids, one spouse, and absolutely no dragons or elves, faeries or demons… that are willing to be named, at least.
Overcome Reality. Invigorate Dreams.
