The Eynan Read online

  THE EYNAN

  by

  L. S. GIBSON

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  The Eynan

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2013 by L. S. Gibson

  ISBN 978-1-61124-449-6

  Cover Art © 2013 Trace Edward Zaber

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by L. S. Gibson

  Questor

  Dedication

  Once again I must thank my friend Chris, who constantly questions everything but then throws suggestions at me. She makes me think things through better than I can on my own.

  And I want to say how much I appreciate my family for their forbearance when far too often I'm wrapped up in my writing, but they just let me get on with it.

  Prologue

  The chamber was huge, surrounded by gigantic pillars holding the roof high overhead.

  Beneath stood a gathering of people, men and women, old and young, all attempting to talk at once. Then a voice boomed out for quiet, and everyone obeyed.

  A tall man with flowing fair hair and eyes of an unusual shade of violet stepped forward into the center of the room, exuding a powerful presence as he stared at those assembled.

  Without a word, those attending moved forward as one as he went on to say, "All is set; it merely requires the final words. When they are spoken, we magi will withdraw from the eyes of man."

  He moved to a small pedestal to his right and lifted the cylinder placed there. He raised it high for all to see.

  "The Strands of Time will show the way when the need arises. They will teach the chosen of the power he will wield. Only he destined to be the Eynan will be sealed by the words of power."

  Chapter 1

  "You cannot take her to wife!" Lord Girau's voice rose in frustration. He gazed at his son for a long moment, seeming to assess him, or perhaps assessing what he should say. Quietly, he added, "You must accept it, my son."

  "Accept it?" the young man flung back, pain and frustration distorting his fine features. "You can't just forbid me to wed the girl I love without giving me a reason." He paced up and down before his father, who sat quietly in his chair, watching him. It was only when he looked closely at the seated man that he noticed neither his eyes nor his hands could keep still. "It makes no sense, Father.

  "Lords of Light! You love her almost as much as I do. You virtually brought her up. She has spent more time here with us than she ever spent with her own family." He laughed bitterly then. "Her own family? Why, I was terrified they'd object to the match, but I never dreamed you would. Why? Father, why?"

  "Jhond, I...I don't need to give a reason. The match is not approved." The words may have been a command, but the voice was almost pleading.

  Jhond stared at his father, disbelieving. "I'm sorry, Father. I have always obeyed you, but this is one time I can't. You can't just say it's not approved and expect me to simply take it. Gallia is--"

  "For all the Lords, what has brought this about? Gallia has always been like a sister to you," his father interrupted desperately.

  "No, Father. Not always," Jhond replied gently. "For a long time, it was that way to my eyes, too. But then I...woke up. It's not as a sister I love Gallia." Even as he spoke, he thought back to that very morning and the most un-brotherly sensations he had felt when he had taken her in his arms. "Most certainly not as a sister," he repeated, with a half-smile playing about his lips. "It is as the other half of my soul. I will take her to wife, Father, with or without your approval."

  "You cannot--"

  "Yes, I can," Jhond interrupted firmly. "The duke has already agreed she can marry me. If the king's own brother approves me for his daughter, no-one can naysay him."

  * * * *

  Lord Girau felt his world swim around him. He should have been proud the royal family would accept the hand of a member of his family. Instead, he felt only dizzy and wondered if the scene would ever settle before his eyes. He had hoped and prayed this day would never come; he had come firmly to believe his guilt was long past and well buried. But it had come back to haunt him, and how.

  Would they ever forgive them? Forgive him? Here he was being selfish again, thinking only of himself, only of his pain. What of his son? What of that pretty child? What had he done to them?

  He thought of the cruel fate, which had, at the time, seemed sweet, but was only really waiting, like a snake in the grass, to make him pay for his crime. When the duke had asked his friends, the Lord and Lady Girau of Reeve to take the young, newly-motherless girl under their wing together with their own large family, it had seemed fate played a kind hand to him. A kind hand!

  He glanced over to his youngest son, who stood at the wide window overlooking the gardens. They were in full bloom, the flowers and shrubs waving slightly in the afternoon breeze, and they usually helped him to relax after a busy day. This day they only helped to remind him of how lonely he felt. He brought his gaze back to Jhond, leaning both his hands and his forehead on the cool glass. His handsome son, tall and strong, with eyes of deep blue that could somehow look violet in certain lights, and light blond hair. Girau was sure his son wasn't really seeing the beautiful garden; he was seeing another vision, a vision of his lovely lady.

  What Girau had to say would only hurt his beloved son. However, it would do no one any good to delay the inevitable. He gathered his courage around him like a shield. He would need it. He swallowed and rose slowly to his feet. He moved quietly to stand a few feet behind his son.

  "Jhond," he said quietly. For a moment Girau thought perhaps his son hadn't heard.

  Then Jhond turned around. There was an odd look in his eye, as if he suspected his father had more to tell him. Girau swallowed again and straightened his shoulders. "I'm sorry, but you can't marry Gallia. She is...she is." His courage failed him, until he saw the look of consternation in his son's eyes. He took a deep breath and began again. "It's forbidden by the laws of the secular and the religious for any man to marry his blood."

  "What?" Whatever Jhond had expected, it had obviously not been that. "My blood?" he asked, looking utterly perplexed.

  "Gallia is the daughter of the duchess, but she is also my daughter. You can't marry your own half-sister," Girau finished, his voice husky and breaking.

  For a second, it looked as if Jhond hadn't understood, then his face went whiter than the thrice-bleached curtains draping the window behind him.

  * * * *

  Jhond could feel the blood pounding through his temples, pounding as if it would break free. His hands shook as he raised them accusingly toward his father. "Your...your daughter? You...you're her father? But that can't-- No, oh dear Lords, no." His voice was a groan. No, oh no! Sister? No there has to be some mistake. Sister?

  "I knew. Damn, damn, damn, I knew there was something. I convinced myself I was just being stupid. All my life I've known things before they happened, but you, Mother, everyone has always managed to convince me it was all my imagination." Jhond's voice had taken on a strange tone, wistful and lost. "I should never have listened to any of you. I did
know. Even as I held her, I couldn't believe I'd be able to keep her in my arms. When I spoke to the duke, I was sure he would refuse. When he didn't, I was overjoyed, but there was always this voice whispering, whispering." His voice faded away.

  He looked up, as if seeing his father for the first time. Jhond moved swiftly toward him, rage clawing inside him, demanding to be let out.

  Girau didn't move, except to straighten his shoulders, as though he expected Jhond might wish to do him violence, but Jhond just brushed past him; he couldn't bear to be near his father.

  Jhond's mind was in turmoil. Part of him did indeed want to strike at his father for destroying his dreams, but his lifelong love and respect for the man kept him moving before he could do such a thing. He broke into a run, throwing wide the door and hardly even hearing as it slammed into the corridor wall. He raced through the halls, hearing someone calling his name, but he knew not who, nor did he care. He kept running, out of the house, into the gardens, into the park beyond, seeing nothing, only knowing he must keep going or he would go mad. He ran and ran, only stopping when he fell, exhausted, by the stream of Listis as it fell to the weir.

  He felt like he was surfacing from a deep well when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. "Jhond! Jhond, where are you?"

  Gallia, it was Gallia. Oh, dear Lords of Light, what could he do? What could he say? How could he face her now? How could he ever face her again? He got up, trying to think where on earth he could hide. But even as he rose, he realized it was too late. She was there on the edge of the clearing. His back was to the water; he had nowhere to go. No chance to hide. She would take one look at him and know. Not the details, of course, but that something had happened, something serious. She knew him far too well for him ever to be able to hide anything from her.

  Unless, he jumped into the stream, though how it had ever gotten the name stream escaped him. It had always been more a river than a stream, but he had never seen it as it appeared today, boiling and swirling over the rocks in a torrent. He wondered idly how it was possible he could think of such trivialities at such a traumatic time. A way of avoiding the reality of life? But reality could never really be avoided, could it? The Listis was a raging river as it fell to the weir. It would be one way out, a permanent way. However, it wasn't his way.

  He'd never been a coward and wasn't about to start now. He stood and waited, not knowing what he could say.

  "Didn't you hear my call? You ran past me as if the hounds of the hells were chasing you. Whatever is the matter?" she called to him as she approached. He realized she was smiling; perhaps half-smiling would be nearer the truth. There was a definite question in her eyes. And what eyes--the deepest blue he had ever seen. He'd remarked once that while he had eyes like his mother, an unusual shade of blue which in some lights was said to be almost violet, Gallia had her father's eyes, the deep blue of a stormy sea. Lord Girau, however, had always insisted they were even more like those of her long dead mother. Jhond understood for the first time why Girau had always clung to that belief. Gallia obviously did have her mother's eyes; they really were much darker those of her father.

  "I'm sorry. No, I didn't hear you call," he said, wondering that his voice sounded so normal. "I...I had words with my father. "

  "Words? I think that's rather a polite way of putting it. I've never seen you so upset. In fact, I don't think I ever remember you having an argument with your father that would result in you...er, leaving like that." She cocked her head to one side, waiting for an answer. An answer which did not come. "Jhond, what is it?"

  He looked at her. He drank her in as though for the final time; those wonderful eyes, that delightful face, about which he had once joked with her that everything was just in the right place, not an iota out of proportion. And not forgetting her hair, that rich dark cloud, which was always hard to pin down, or pin up she would say, laughing. Pin down because it was difficult to say exactly what color it was, so dark brown to be almost black, so rich that brown just didn't do it justice; difficult to pin up because it was so rich and full she often went against tradition and left it loose instead. That hair he had learned felt so very soft against his lips. He loved her so much and only a few hours ago he'd believed he was the happiest man alive.

  And now...now.

  Inside, he was screaming, but he tried to smile. He always felt like smiling when he looked at her; at least, he always used to feel like smiling. She was so beautiful, every part of her--eyes, nose, mouth. Even that lopsided smile which seemed to say, Oh please! The mouth he so longed to kiss. A sudden knife twisted in his gut when he thought of that lost joy.

  "Jhond, please, you're frightening me. Why are you staring at me like that? I've never seen you like this." She put her hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. "You were going to see Uncle Girau to tell him about my Father agreeing to our marriage. I thought it would have been a time of joy for all. Whatever has happened?" She hesitated, then looked at him sharply. "Uncle is not ill, is he?"

  Uncle? he thought. Uncle Girau. She had called him that from the day Jhond's mother had taken her in. His mother...Lords, he had forgotten his mother! Did she even know? He couldn't follow that train of thought just now. "No, Father isn't sick. He is...upset."

  "Upset? Why ever would he be upset?" Gallia asked him, looking completely at a loss.

  "Because he ruined everything!" The words came out in a rush before he could stop them. He regretted them at once, more so when he saw the expression on her face. He sighed and buried his face in his hands. Why stop now? There was no easy way to say this, and say it he must. Get it over with. "Oh, Gallia, he has ruined everything. I'm sure he didn't mean to, nor she for that matter."

  "Lords, what are you talking about? Who do you mean?" Confusion with a tinge of fear lit her face.

  "My father, your mother." He laughed, totally devoid of humor. It sounded more like sandpaper on stone. "Your father," he added coldly.

  "For the Lords' sake, explain!" she demanded.

  "Your mother, my father," he sighed and continued as gently as he could. "My father is your father. We can't be together, my love." Now it was there, out, said. Forever. He believed what was left of his heart died then.

  She stared at him, not comprehending at first. Then her mouth dropped open and closed quickly; just like a fish out of water as the common saying went. The thought came unbidden to Jhond's confused senses. She swallowed, mouthed something, but no sound issued.

  He saw her pain and knew he couldn't stay. There was nothing he could say to help. He wanted only to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was impossible now. He kissed her swiftly on the left temple, took one last fleeting look at his love, and ran back the way he had come.

  * * * *

  Girau still stood by the window. He hadn't moved since the moment he'd seen Lady Gallia run after his son. Jhond obviously hadn't heard her; he was so oblivious to everything but his own pain. Girau had hoped, at first, that she would catch him up and then Jhond would probably tell her and save him the trouble. Then he had silently berated himself for such an unworthy thought. That duty should be his, not his poor son's. He almost followed, but did not. He couldn't face his son again just yet.

  He doubted if Gallia would catch Jhond, so fast had he run off. He debated calling his advisor Theos, who always proved to offer sound advice, mostly because he said he always looked to the Lords of Light for guidance, while holding onto his runes for casting. Not many people still believed in the power of the runes, but the house of Reeve had long had evidence of its efficacy. Girau was a firm believer in the many powers of the magi, though not many others still believed in them, calling them nothing but old legends. But not Girau. He had even been warned of trouble on the horizon, but he'd failed to recognize to which horizon to look.

  In the end, he saw no reason to trouble Theos. Girau had no need of the runes to know what action to take. He'd had no choice in telling Jhond or any in telling Gallia. What happened after that wa
s out of his control. What either of them would do was in the hands of the Lords of Light.

  It was then he saw Jhond returning. He was still running, though considerably slower now. There was no sign of Gallia, and Girau somehow knew Jhond had told her. He watched as his son slowly and purposely turned away to one of the side entrances. He had no desire to see his father, obviously.

  A chime sounded somewhere in the house beyond. A chill went through Girau at its sound, the reminder of what time it must be. It meant the rest of the family would be back soon. They'd all left earlier in the day to join a fishing party out on the lake with other members of the court. Gallia had been there, too, so she must have left early. She knew Jhond would be speaking to him about their plans. Oh, Lords, what if Gallia had told Narissa? How would he ever explain to his wife why the marriage wouldn't take place now? The fates really were coming to exact their price.

  He decided it might be wise to visit Theos after all. He turned from the window and headed for the stairs. He hurried to avoid any of his family on their way back. It was sometimes a relief to know someone in the world knew all of your secrets; then you could truly be yourself with at least one person. Knowledge did not bring forgiveness, however.

  Chapter 2

  Jhond's exhaustion finally made him slow his pace as he reached the border of the parkland and the gardens of his home. As he crossed the gardens, he saw the shadow he knew represented his father in the garden room window. There was no way he could face him yet, so he altered his trajectory and headed for the kitchen passage entrance instead. He opened the door cautiously and peeked in. He had no desire to speak to anyone just now, not even any of the servants. He had a good rapport with the household staff and it was almost a certainty that anyone he met would have a cheerful word for him. He couldn't imagine having a cheery conversation ever again.