Invocation

“Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done….” I will not say that this is all I can remember…I always stop short of “on earth.” I like to think that you, Blessed Mother, and Lord Jesus understand why no more of this prayer holds importance for me now. The land of Methandar is not just a kingdom, it is the only kingdom I know. It is not the kingdom the priests promised. I yet live, that is blessing enough. I try not to be afraid. I accept this place as the place where I will surely live out my days. It is a stopping place, neither Earth nor Heaven, not unlike Purgatory.

I am slave to its forces and shortcomings, like the world I was born into. The cycle of the seasons is different here under two suns. More has been described to me about this land and its natural order than I want to know. I have ritual enough to remember, even without Christian priests here to minister to me. I ask for memory, Blessed Mother, so that I can remember your calm countenance at the altar of sorrow.

The powers here outnumber the laws of the Romans. Perhaps that is why people here reject belief in the old ones; reject most beliefs that have a connection to the land, I mean. It seems to explain why the Magi-khan, like the old Druids, are outcast here as well. Blessed Mother, I ask that you seek the ignorant and change their hearts.

If I describe this land to you, will you appear? Can you find your way here, or reach past the veil to harbor my soul at its time? Methandar's vast plains are the only land I've walked since coming here seven years ago. Yet I know, from that pacing, the full compass of the land stretches many leagues further than from where I came. There is familiarity in its green land reaching out to the great green waters. I pray again in your name, Mary, savior's mother that has never walked this land, as I do -- I miss my home. No one I meet here has heard your name. And the thought of my children's graves untended with the passing of the seasons saddens me more. Two suns in the sky blind any child that is born light-eyed here. The just-born blue of my own two babes' eyes, I have long kept only in my mind. I hope that you hold them close now.

My purpose upon the morning is unclear. I have no one to feed in the castle tomorrow. There is a funeral, but no rite I know is welcome. Although I accepted my place of service as a cook-servant to the royal house of Methandar, never has my day been bereft of all the people I depend upon. For as long as the magi-khan, Falk Cordin, is lost, my fate is uncertain. He and his apprentice, Guillan, are the only ones knowing my true place. The elder, is possibly the only knowing if my return is necessary for their salvation and mine. I think he forgets that I do concern myself with my salvation more than the purpose he sees for me here. I do forget my place and grace. My prayer is not meant for me. The heir lord is dead–his body only just recovered. Falk Cordin's daughter, Danerah, is more lost today than I.

In years, I assign an equal amount of time has passed for me as for her. Since her own mother is dead, however, she seeks my comfort and wisdom, as if I have more. But of words or physical comfort, she rarely accepts either fully. The ways of her father are hers as well. Their beliefs are much like the landworshipers. Ironic that Guillan, the magician's apprentice, should have come to my "time" as he called it. Much like the struggles in faith they have here, the knowledge of the powers he sought were just as forcefully quelled in my time. Master Cordin did not give Guillan leave to capture history, in answer to his own people’s quest, yet that is how it happened. I might have been the answer to some question. Just, the answers he sought passed before my time.

My beliefs hold no purpose here, yet I am feeling that my time has come to aid these strangers who are friends now.

Blessed Mother, hear my prayer.”