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    Eternal Magic
    Eternal Magic
    Eternal Magic
    Ebook154 pages2 hours

    Eternal Magic

    By Meyari McFarland

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Tindiere. A world wracked by war, controlled by secret conflicts between hugely powerful mages, filled with the tiny joys found in the quiet moments of life. Eternal Magic collects six short stories from various ages in Tindiere, showing the spread and majesty of this war-torn world.

    Explore the ancient past, near history and present events of a world that never was in this intriguing collection of stories by Meyari McFarland.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMDR Publishing
    Release dateJun 5, 2015
    ISBN9781311444196
    Eternal Magic
    Author

    Meyari McFarland

    Meyari McFarland has been telling stories since she was a small child. Her stories range from SF and Fantasy adventures to Romances but they always feature strong characters who do what they think is right no matter what gets in their way. Her series range from Space Opera Romance in the Drath series to Epic Fantasy in the Mages of Tindiere world. Other series include Matriarchies of Muirin, the Clockwork Rift Steampunk mysteries, and the Tales of Unification urban fantasy stories, plus many more. You can find all of her work on MDR Publishing's website at www.MDR-Publishing.com.

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      Book preview

      Eternal Magic - Meyari McFarland

      Table of Contents

      Title Page

      Other Books by Meyari McFarland

      Copyright Page

      Dedication

      Tending the Temple

      Threads of Hope

      Inina's Blessings of Joy

      Threads of Hate

      A Lone Red Tree

      Threads of Birthing

      Author Bio

      Artifacts of Awareness

      Afterword

      Eternal Magic

      By Meyari McFarland

      Other Books by Meyari McFarland:

      Matriarchies of Muirin:

      Tales from the Dana Clanhouse

      Repair and Rebuild

      Storm Over Archaelaos

      Coming Together

      Facing the Storm

      Fitting In

      Mages of Tindiere:

      Artifacts of Awareness

      Transplant of War

      Debts to Recover:

      The Nature of Beasts

      The Manor Verse:

      A New Path

      Following the Trail

      Crafting Home

      Copyright ©2015 by Mary Raichle

      Cover Image © Roys | Dreamstime.com - Islamic Photo

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be emailed to me_ya_ri@yahoo.com

      This book is also available in TPB format from all major retailers.

      This story is dedicated to my father for giving me a love of reading and learning, my mother for keeping TV's out of the house when I was young, and to all the other writers out there who continue to create stories that make my imagination take flight.

      Tending the Temple

      Barirah lifted her basket of paints onto her head. Its weight settled against Barirah's turban, the narrow base of the basket slotting into crevices between the wrapped layers of fabric. She breathed deep, through her nose, and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. Only once she had exhaled fully did she allow her hands to slide down the ridged sides of the basket. Her hands crossed over her breasts, folded in prayer to the Father, before settling to her sides.

      She smiled, breathed in and began to walk. Right foot, heel slowly shifting down to toes, her big toe digging in and the others settling one by one to the cool marble slabs of the Palace floor. Left foot and there were the sounds of the others at last.

      Lubayd sang from the tower, his voice deep as the night sky when the moon set, calling on the Father to protect them from the Unspoken who still hunted their lives. Closer, Fellah hummed as she called magic to light the cook fire that would make everyone's meals. Little Hessa laughed, their voice high and sweet, as they helped their mother. Or pretended to. The child was not yet old enough to be much help, no matter the joy they brought to all of their lives.

      As Barirah stepped out into the sun, her mind and heart focused on the work she had to do today, Jabirah was there with their skid. Her dark skin glistened in the early sunlight, brown as the earth brick walls around the temple and just as beautiful. She'd chosen a simple wrap today, pure white, and allowed her hair to puff around her head without binding it back and down as most Priestesses did.

      You look beautiful, Jabirah murmured as she maneuvered the skid so that Barirah's next step settled onto the flat back of the skid.

      Barirah smiled, managed not to duck her head, and then stood still and tall on the back of the humming skid. Today was not a day where Barirah should speak. Tending to the Temple was more important than Barirah's embarrassment at her wife's open love.

      Apparently, Jabirah expected no answer because she turned to the front of the skid and set her hands on the glowing stones that controlled its flight. They lifted upwards by several hands-lengths, away from the marble paving stones, and then skimmed forward like a gull swooping low across the water of the palace ponds.

      The Palace's great limestone blocks lay tumbled along the path, pure white marble cladding long gone to serve as floors, tables, tools. Barirah watched them slide past despite her efforts to clear her mind. There was the path to the Warrior's House, lined with spears and shields that had never been used, not in Barirah's life. Next was the path to the Garden House where the Stewards of Life grew plants, raised animals and sired babies for those of the Palace who wished them.

      Jabirah glanced that way, face sad, before facing front again. They'd tried and tried to have a baby but none of the Stewards had given Jabirah a child. The last time the Stewards had said that it was the Father's will that they were childless, that Jabirah's marriage to Barirah, a Priestess of the Temple, had ensured that their focus should not be split by the addition of a baby.

      Barirah had cried that night, cried until she fell asleep. If she could have changed herself, gotten rid of the magic that thrummed through her veins, she would have for the right to raise a child with Jabirah. But that was foolishness and Barirah knew better than to think such things when she had to tend to the Temple today.

      She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, starting anew on the prayers that should cleanse the mind. Red for blood, the life in their veins. Blue for the precious rain water that fell from the sky. Green for growing things that blessed the temple grounds. And white, perfect white like Jabirah's wrap, for the Father's love that protected them all. The long silent chant finally stilled Barirah's mind as the skiff sailed out of the Palace and into the City beyond.

      Be ready, Jabirah murmured as the limestone and marble gave way to red bricks and tumbled buildings painted with the sacred vines of the Father.

      There was no response that Barirah could give, not without breaking her vows and intentions for this day. No time for it, anyway. Already the people were there, watching and wailing as soon as they spotted Jabirah and Barirah's skiff. Twelve hundred years and still they wailed, begging to be forgiven for their ancestor's failures of so long ago.

      I'm sorry! a woman with long black hair painted blood red at the scalp called as she threw flowers at Barirah.

      Forgive me! a man shouted as he knelt and beat his head against the red brick road.

      A tiny child, not old enough to have chosen a name or gender, threw a flower at Barirah with a puzzled expression. It fell by their feet so they scooped it up and threw again, just to have the flower hit Barirah's shields and bounce off.

      The baby cried, hopeless, heartbroken even though they didn't know why. Perhaps they never would. Barirah was not sure why, either. She never had been. The Father had protected them all. The Stewards said so. Barirah's mother had said so as well, telling Barirah all the stories of the Father's efforts to protect them all against the threat of the Unspoken, looming terrors who had no bodies so they stole other people's bodies to wear.

      They slipped past the crowd of mourners, the penitent, and out into the greater streets. More people were there, a lot for this early in the day. Perhaps a solid hundred stood watching from a distant, eyes sad, food offerings in their hands that did not come Barirah's way. Perhaps they would be left at the Palace gates for the Warriors to collect. Perhaps not. Mother had said that many times food offerings were taken back home and eaten, blessed by the presence of a Priestess on this special day that happened only once every ten years.

      She could feel more people in the buildings that surrounded the Palace. Sleeping, eating, steadfastly ignoring the ceremony of the day. Once every ten years a Priestess went to tend to the Temple. Every five years the Warriors went and made sure that the Temple walls were intact. Four times a year the Stewards made the trek down to trim the vines so that the Temple walls and their beautiful paintings were not obscured by trailing grape vine. And of course many people made the trek down to Between the Walls to worship the Father at his Temple but that was person, not ceremony.

      A lot this time, Jabirah murmured once they'd passed the inhabited zone of the city and moved into the areas that had once been homes and now were simply empty parts of the Father's grand spell.

      Barirah opened her mouth, shut it again. It wasn't a lot. There were so few of them left anymore. Less than a thousand souls living in a city that had once held one hundred thousand. Their task remained, of course. Even when they'd all died, when no more children were born, when only children with twisted limbs and deformed bodies came from their wombs, the task would remain. Just as it had for the last twelve hundred years.

      We're here, Jabirah whispered, quiet out of respect for Barirah's duties this day.

      She pressed down on the controls. Their skid, old as the hills but still solid enough that it only needed respelling once a year or so, settled to the cracked and heaved red bricks of the courtyard. As many times as Jabirah had been here, both for prayers and to escort Barirah on her devotions, Jabirah never got over the weight of the spells Between the Walls.

      So much magic. It sweltered around them as if it was summertime and the heat had risen until the air pumped and waved as it baked the sweat out of your skin. Jabirah always sweated here, always, more from awe than from heat.

      'Safe' the spells whispered, 'keep them safe.'

      The cobbles under the skid murmured of the Unspoken, soul-eating ghosts that made puppets of women. The wall, adorned by a great red 'x' shouted 'none may pass' at the world even though no puppet had been here since the Task descended on them all.

      Jabirah turned, smiled helplessly as Barirah pressed her lips together as if fighting the need to speak. She probably was. The last few months had been sad ones for Barirah. As relieved as Jabirah was not to have to face another round with the Stewards' spells, potions and pricks, Barirah was heartbroken that they wouldn't have a child together.

      It didn't show right now, not with Barirah standing tall, dark basket full of paints balanced on top of her wide black turban. That lovely slim body that Jabirah knew so well was hidden underneath layers of black wraps. One for the legs, another around the torso to support Barirah's breasts. On top of that a long, long wrap that was three times the Barirah's body lay draped gracefully over her shoulders and around her hips, hiding her inside a cocoon of fabric.

      Barirah blinked her eyes solemnly and then breathed in, out, slowly, before stepping off the skid. Her foot hit exactly on the Stone of Victory with the first version of The Spell of Freedom, just as it should. Then she slowly paced onwards through the empty courtyard with its trailing vines. Jabirah waited until Barirah had disappeared into the narrow path to the Temple to sigh and crouch down on the skid.

      I should suggest it, Jabirah whispered as she ran her fingers over the painted runes that held the spells to lift and control the skid. "The

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