My favorite tales are the ones about Mages. Particularly the heirs of the sun goddess, Agryna—Lightweavers who saved the realm from destruction by the evil enchantress. It would be so bloody incredible to be a Mage.
I begin reading the well-known tale of “The Enchantress Queen.”
Enidwen was a lesser Mage who envied the magical prowess of her siblings. She spent her days mixing potions and tending to fevers in her village, while her siblings flaunted their magical healing abilities, curing diseases and fatal wounds.
One day, Enidwen was bathing in the River Daehan, her golden hair like the very sun that shone upon the waters, when a man rose from its depths to gaze upon her beauty. He was clearly not of this world, but he was immediately smitten with the mortal woman. The Otherworlder, Caedmon, dazzled Enidwen with his display of powers and his captivating physique. He doted on her and treated her like royalty. Enidwen very quickly became enthralled with Caedmon, and he fell deeper in love.
Caedmon told Enidwen tales of the Otherworld, where there was no sickness and no death. Enidwen beseeched him to take her back to his paradise, and he agreed with one condition.
She could never return to the mortal realm again.
Good riddance, Enidwen thought, and she departed the mortal realm with Caedmon to begin life anew in the Otherworld.
TheOtherworld was just as Caedmon had described. The land was breathtaking. Gentle beasts of the air and land roamed the realm in peace. Vivid foliage and flowers adorned the terrain without effort. Otherworlders of all tribes lived in harmony with one another, drawing their raw power from the very essence of their land—from the lush forests and shining rivers, the lightning that split the skies, and the gems that bloomed within the caverns.
Gifts from the ancient gods who begat them.
One day, Enidwen asked Caedmon, “Are there no evil beings here?”
Caedmon replied, “In ancient times, there were corrupt beings among us. They were banished hundreds of mortal years ago to the Underworld where they forged their kingdom within Lugda’s domain. The leader of the fallen ones, the Underling Prince, is imprisoned within Lugda’s hells, never to see the light of day again.”
The knowledge tantalized Enidwen. “Aside from the Underling Prince, are the Underlings able to infiltrate the mortal realm as Otherworlders occasionally do?” she asked Caedmon.
“Only when the Veil between our worlds is thin enough.”
Enidwen thought back to her life in the mortal realm. She craved imperfection. Cravedmore. She could manipulate fire and light, but had no one to flaunt her newfound powers to. Her siblings would be so jealous. They would finally respect her.
Another day came and Enidwen asked Caedmon, “What about the monsters that dwelled in the Otherworld? I grew up with tales of such creatures.”
“They have been dormant since the banishment of the Underlings,” Caedmon replied. “They have slept forhundreds of years. Their powers are too great; they would restore corruption to our paradise.”
“Are you afraid they may awaken someday?”
“They can only be awoken by an irreversible sacrifice,” Caedmon replied.
More time passed and curiosity gnawed at Enidwen’s immortal soul. She once again approached Caedmon and asked, “What would happen if something is taken from the Otherworld to the mortal realm?”
Caedmon grew angry and refused to respond.
It was all the answer that Enidwen needed.
I stop reading as my mother’s eyelids grow heavier. Sooner than I’d like, her breathing deepens and she gives up the fight to remain awake. I softly close the book and consider her ailing face. A pang settles in my chest, but I have to focus on the reality that she’s still here. She’s still holding on to life despite the grip Lugda has on her.
But how much longer can she fight?
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I whisper as I lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. With a sigh, I stand and head for the door. Once again, I nod to her guards and set off with Tiernan.
As we return to my bedchamber, he diligently takes his place beside my door, and I walk into the silence of solitude.
Left alone, I’m consumed with desolation and excess—contradiction at its finest. My mind buzzes with hundreds of thoughts, overlapping, refusing to be silenced. My Feast dress, suitors, archery and grounding lessons, council meetings, Audience, and other responsibilities that I constantly shirk. Yet, it all feels meaningless. I move to my side table and set the tome down with gentle precision to keep myself from flinging it off the balcony.
What’s the point of fairytales when reality is so much louder?
My hand moves to the amulet around my neck, and I press it against my chest, allowing the warmth to envelope me, trying to focus on the grounding techniques that Alys has taught me. I plop down onto my bed and remove my shoes and stockings, pressing my feet against the floor and embracing the cool sensation.
With forced focus, I track the rays of sunlight that filter in through my window and across the floor. I close my eyes and listen to the howl of the wind outside. Slowly, the rampage of thoughts fades away, until my hand finds my amulet again, and memories come eddying back to the tempest that is my mind.
I still remember the day my mother gave me this necklace.
