The Crown of Glory

This is a work in the making. I have not completed this chapter, not just yet, but feel free to comment any time. Note: all italic words are Gaelic. I found this to be an intriguing language. -Jaera

Prologue

“Attack, attack, we’re being attacked!”

The cry rang out, clear and sharp. Immediately Prothrea, a little village along the coast, became a flurry of activity. Women and children were hurriedly ushered to the town square as the men took up pitchforks, knives, and just about anything that could serve as a weapon. Bowstrings were drawn taut from the sentry tower as hooves thundered against stone, and homes went up in flames. There was a loud, wild call, and the barbarians clashed against the townsmen. Being mounted, the barbarians had the advantage, hacking at the men before they could get a blow in.

They broke through the ranks of the townsmen, grabbing at the women and children. “Find it! Search for the Crown!” Called a rough voice, clearly heard over the din. There were cries and screams as the men were cut down while valiantly trying to protect their wives and offspring. Riders were everywhere. They sieved through the ashes of the burnt buildings, searching the bodies of dead men.
“Nothing! They have nothing!” There was a murderous glint in their eyes. The Crown was nowhere to be found. The chief barbarian cursed loudly.
“Take the children! They shall serve us as slaves.”
“The women, what shall be done about them?” Another gruff voice called out, his tone making his intentions clear. The leader of the barbarians cast a bored look at the women.
“Do what you wish to them.” He directed his mount closer to the huddled group. “But you, you shall be mine.” He gripped the chin of a young woman painfully, until she yipped. The barbarians howled with laughter as he pulled the woman to her feet, hauling her atop his mount. “Tie them all up and bring them back to camp.”

One of the women fell, tripping over her torn dress. Her stomach was heavy with child, and she cried out as arrows of pain shot from her abdomen up her spine. The leader glared bad-temperedly at her as the woman behind him made to get off the mount. He knocked her back, laughing cruelly. “We shall leave her here; she is of no use to us.” The others sniggered as the woman sobbed painfully. The barbarians left her for dead.

~*~*~*~

That was how the patrol found her, laying on the ground, unconscious, the dust soaked in her blood. The knight heading the patrol – Berthan – dismounted immediately, rushing to her side. “Elein, Elein!” He cried. “My cousin!” There was the troubled cry of an infant clinging to the air. Elein opened her eyes exhaustedly. “Elein!” Berthan cried, holding his cousin to his chest. “It’s all right now, we’ll get you back to Athera safely.”
Elein shook her head, slowly. “Here… My child… Armas’ child…”
“Child?” Berthan asked confusedly, before noticing the day-old infant that lay beside his cousin, covered in rags that once were a dress. “Elein… Your child?”
“Yes…” Elein covered Berthan’s rough hands with her small, slender ones. “Take him… Back to Armas… His name… Is Luthien.” Elein smiled sorrowfully. Giving the child beside her one last kiss, her eyes closed to bring her eternal sleep. Berthan gathered his nephew in his arms, glaring at the burnt town. His men were among the wreckage, seeking out survivors. In his heart, Berthan knew that there were none.
“Damn those barbarians!”

The wisps were beginning to gather. A myriad of lights, they danced a dance of sleep for the departed. Berthan broke down and wept.

Chapter 1

Cadal nis, cadalach beag clachan. Sleep now, sleepy little village.

It was already dark. The candles in village homes were going out one by one, and silence blanketed the sleepy town. Like a small spot of light, Janiria Shadowsong floated along the path, humming softly to herself. Without a sound, the wisp did a little pirouette in the air, dancing along her way. She glowed with an aquamarine aura, her sharp pixie-like face making her look mischievous. Her wings fluttered effortlessly as she landed upon the leaf of a flower, slender arms stroking the petals gently. Her voice was like the sighing of the wind in the trees, as she sang a song once taught to her in wisp-tongue by her ancestors.

Anmoch bheir càch, treoraich a nuadh ath-lath. Night brings rest, leading to a new day.

She danced off the leaf into the air, neatly dodging the swipe of a human hand, that alone being many times her size. “Ah, you naughty boy.” She fluttered up to the night sky easily, giving the young man below her a wink. “Couldn’t catch me, could you. Ah, Luthien!” Janiria took a nosedive, landing neatly on Luthien’s nose, wingtips tapping his nose bridge softly. “Ah, but a human will never land his hands on a wisp!” Luthien raised his hand again, but the wisp had floated off, and was now hovering next to his ear. “Bad, bad boy, Luthien.”

“Come on, Janiria. Give me a break.” Luthien ran a hand through his sand-coloured hair as Janiria flickered away again. “You look like a glow-bug. Stop that.” His green eyes reflected her blue aura as she hovered in front of his face.
“The wonders of looking like a glow-bug!” Janiria giggled. “You clumsy humans.”
“Janiria! Enough of that, wisp. You know you should be at home.”
“But a wisp has no home, Luthien.” She dodged again as Luthien took another swipe at his bond-wisp, laughing her tinkling laugh. “You won’t catch a wisp, not even if you had the stealth of an Elf and the patience of a troll waiting for supper.”
“Come on, Janiria. Let’s go.” Luthien watched his wisp whiz off backwards, stumbling head over heels as she crashed none-too-gently into a signpost. The young man tut-tutted, scooping the dazed Janiria off the floor. “Now I’ve got my hands on you, you little imp. What will Uncle say when he sees the state you’re in?”

The crash had done nothing to bruise the wisp’s sense of humor. “Oh, he’ll just laugh and say what an exciting adventure I’ve had.”

~*~*~*~

That was indeed what Berthan said when the wisp waltzed into the little thatched hut they called home. He gave Janiria a sharp tap on the head as reprimand for being playful, but the twinkle in his eyes showed otherwise. In many ways, Berthan was similar to Luthien. They had the same build, tall yet muscular. Their eyes were a spectacle in themselves, a pale green colour hardly seen in humans. Berthan used to remark that this was “the fault of their Elven ancestry”.

“Where’s Da?” Luthien asked, when his uncle finally turned his attention to him.
“Armas is still working the fields, that silly old fool.” Berthan smiled at the thought of Luthien’s father, toiling away even after the sun had set. He had a fondness for his cousin’s husband, even though at times Armas could be overbearing.
“What, at this hour? Does he expect a miracle of some sort to happen, then?” Luthien said dryly, allowing Janiria to perch on his shoulder.
“He’s tending the flowerbeds. Those flowers he planted when your Ma died.”

Luthien sighed. Always it was the flowerbeds. It seemed as if Armas had nothing better to do – and indeed he didn’t for after Luthien’s Ma died Armas had resigned from his job as a Kingsmen. Berthan, however, was still in the King’s service, as a Knight in the King’s army. “I shall go persuade him to come in for dinner, shall I?” Berthan nodded as he began preparing a salad for the night’s meal. Janiria fluttered off, humming to herself again as she zipped left and right, leading the way into the back gardens.

Armas, a man with a stocky build, squatted next to his beloved flowers. He looked up in surprise when something aquamarine flashed across his vision. Silently, his hands still cradling some bulbs gently, he watched Luthien approach him. His old, wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Luthien! Come to help Da with the flowers?”

The young man could not help but smile. His Da was so passionate about his flowers. “Da, it’s time for dinner. Berthan has prepared salad for us.”
“Oh yes, wonderful food, greens,” Janiria chuckled, hovering just above Armas’ head as she waved at a purple spot that was fast nearing. “Jacinthia! You won’t believe what the delightful humans have prepared for eats!”

Jacinthia was Janiria’s sister, with quick wit and fiery temper. They chatted away in rapid wisp-tongue, performing an intricate dance of greeting. They twirled higher to the sky, like blue and purple lights, until they finally swooped down to follow Armas and Luthien into the house. Unlike Janiria, who was Luthien’s bond-wisp, Jacinthia had yet to bind with any creature. Being younger than her sister, Jacinthia’s amethyst aura seemed somewhat brighter, and more piercing to the eye. She had the same pixie-face as Janiria, and an impish glint to her lavender eyes.

Berthan smiled to see Janiria and Jacinthia land on the oak dinner table. “Hello, there. Joining us for dinner again?”
“Oh yes,” Jacinthia replied, her voice many times more high-pitched than Janiria’s that it sounded almost like a squeak. “That’s if you don’t mind having me.”
“Ah, such manners from a wisp,” Armas joked, prodding Janiria gently. “Shame be on you, Janiria!”

Janiria twirled haughtily off, smiling to herself.