Echoes of Fae: Book One of the Divine

Echoes of Fae

Book One of the Divine

M.Doke

For Jenny,

After all of these years, you have been the only one to follow me here, and the only reason I found my way home. Thank you so much for being my sister, my best friend, and my inspiration.

I love you, dear.

Author’s Note

The first draft of this book came from me when I was fifteen. My grandma read the whole thing and told me that she did not understand a bit of it. I worked on it (and others) up to when I was nineteen when it was kind of published. Over the years as I have grown as a writer, I was disappointed to find immature errors here and there. So, I fixed them. When I finished, I bragged to my brother that I was done with it.

              “Did you not already publish that one?” my brother asked.

              “Well, yes,” I replied. I was smiling like a weirdo.

              Then why are you just now done with it?” my annoyingly inquisitive twin asked.

              “I rewrote the whole thing,” I said, losing my happy a little.

              “Do a lot of writers do this?” he asked poignantly.

              “I... don't know,” I answered. “Probably not good ones.”

              So, here it is. My revision of Echoes of Fae, the first book of the trilogy of the Divine. I look forward to writing it again someday.  As you read this, I am certain that you discovered that I made up many words. It has always been my great wish to be an inventive fantasy writer.

When
Magic turns you right

You
know the way is long

When
Magic brings you happiness

You
know it steers you wrong

But,
Magic brings not your music

You
sing your own sad song

Magic
only brings to music

T
he strength to make it strong

My Divine

              “Melody, your father wishes your presence at his Banquet this night. Will you please dress in something that will remind us all that you are the Pramacretine, or else I will have to have Gertrude dress you,” a tall, muscular woman with long, sun-lightened, auburn hair said from the doorway of the study. Her mahogany eyes shone down onto Melody with an expression of mild amusement mingled with long-suffered affection.

              Genewen was the Macretine, wife of Melody's father the Pacretine, though none of the Pacretine's children belonged to Genewen. Andover’s boys were the product of his first marriage to the original Macretine, Serendipity. Upon the first Macretine's death, her title transferred to Genewen per her written instructions. It had been a long time before Genewen wedded the Pacretine, after a soft love of friendship had blossomed between the two. Her face shined with kindness, her manners were gentle but assertive. The ideal Macretine. 

              “I would prefer to stay and read,” Melody murmured with her face buried in a large tome.

              “Pacretine’s orders, Love,” Genewen emphasized. Melody looked resigned; her desire to please her stepmother contradicted her desire to hide in the study. The study appeared to be a large library surrounding a vast wall of a fireplace. Upon stands were plants of various brightly colored blooms and the damp smell of foliage. The books were those that were available to the public, therefore included volumes of literature and maps among other scribing. 

              “Get on wit' ye, lil' Pramacretine,” Gertrude said with a jab in Melody’s shoulder. Gertrude was Melody’s nanny and house cleaner. She had a long mane of shiny white hair and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Gertrude was an old Gnome; she had served many generations of the Pacretine’s family. “Yer needing to get out of this dusty lil’ rat-hole,” Gertrude grinned at Melody. “Oy and I nearlay fergot,  'ave ye seen yer auld cloak? I canna’ find it anyplace in this palace, did ye happen to ride off wit' it an' ferget?” Gertrude’s grammar had long since eluded Melody, but since the old nanny refused to learn, Melody came to understand her.

              “Probably,” Melody mumbled, not listening to any of them, but instead picking up another book from the pile she had made in front of her and looking for information on the more obscure points of practical Ether. A dear friend and housemate of Melody and her brothers appeared in the room.  Haroah and Melody were close in age and raised in the same household. He worked as a courier for the palace and was a quick, interesting, always in time to provide his friends with smiles and warm wishes. Haroah grinned at the sight of the distracted Pramacretine. He handed Gertrude Melody's cloak with a chuckle. He had found the item on the ground near the archery range. He bowed and departed.

              Trying to regain Melody's attention, Genewen spoke, “I already spoke to your father, Melody. He would appreciate you placing more emphasis on your public relations. As you are aware, our compatriots admire and respect you. It is important for you to provide them with the hope and pride in which you inspire. When our people look at us, they first see the Pacretine and myself and are proud to have us as their Captains. When they look at our children, you in particular, and they see hope and beauty in our future. You are not just our children; you are the children of Agoura. Our people love you as they love their own children and their own families.” Gertrude excused herself as Genewen lectured Melody from the other side of her large book.

              “Can they not just love my reading?” Melody asked with a hefty sigh as she put down her reading and focused on the Macretine. Genewen’s poignant gaze locked in on Melody’s face. The Macretine stood in the doorway looking very serious. Melody reeled. “I understand, Genewen; but you know how overwhelming it is when I am treated like a savior. It weighs me down, as can occur when buried beneath the expectations of an entire civilization,” the young Pramacretine hastened to explain. Genewen’s glare softened to apparent patience and understanding.

              “Oh, Melody,” Genewen said as lowered herself into a chair beside the young Pramacretine. “The title thrust upon you is exactly as heavy as heavy as it feels. I know that this proves a difficult burden to carry on one so young - on anyone, even. I sympathize with the sudden responsibility. My child, you are an intelligent, beautiful and talented young woman. As the Pramacretine, you are the only daughter of the Pacretine. You are special for more than only the legends that shroud your name. We praise you for all of these things. However, you must remember you are a voice for all the people who rely on our family. You must do all of the things you know that you can do before you will be able to face a destiny that seems to have absconded with your adolescence,” the Macretine told her, with the regard and confidence that Melody always aimed for when her father made her speak.

                Melody lowered her face as she flushed. “I am being childish again,” the Pramacretine said, softly.

              “Of course you are, Melody. You are a child. But you are a child of the Pacretine, which means you must sometimes behave as a wizened old crone like me,” Genewen teased.

              Self-deprecation had never been a common quality of the Macretine, as Genewen was a proud woman that measured every word she spoke meticulously before they left her lips. Melody smiled at Genewen and they both laughed. The Macretine stood and left Melody without another word.

              She sat silently contemplating which song she should sing for the evening. She really did not want to sing anything.

              A sudden, thundering knock sounded at the big door of the study. Startled, Melody hopped out of her seated position and nearly pounced on the doorknob. The study was a very public place, which nearly always meant that no one would knock before entry, particularly not so determinedly. The Pramacretine peered out of the doorway in order to see who had knocked with such force. Immediately, she stood beneath a very wide set of nostrils.

              Isaac, her father’s Assistant, waited for her. Melody grinned uncomfortably. Isaac made her skin crawl, but she suspected him of being a fine fellow. The discomfort was likely due to Isaac being Frogaern. It was a common rumor that Frogaern were walkers of the night and preferred to stay within four walls. The creepiness that shrouded the creature arose from their origination in Sinnistirie, a land just before the mountains. Sinnistirie was largely swamps and marshes that supplied homes to many odd and somewhat unbecoming creatures. In fact, Frogaern are nocturnal in nature, their vision unable to penetrate the rays of the sun. Since they travel through trees, their upper bodies are long and thin while their lower bodies short.

              Melody had been fascinated by Isaac, as well as involuntarily repulsed. He reeked of dead fish, must, and had very long, waxy gray hair. His thin, crinkled skin stretched like unwashed muslin over his narrow face. His eyes, when she could see them over his long nose, contained a fine slit of a pupil inside reflective gray iris. He resembled a dried out short man rendered entirely in gray scale. The Frogaern lurched as he walked, but managed to keep his face as high as possible. To her dismay, he cordially thrust his crooked elbow out to her to ensure that she be escorted properly. Reluctantly, she stuck her small wrist into the area between his elbow and rib cage. He sneered down at Melody.

              Melody noticed a ring on his smallest finger. It had a green stone in the shape of a tree. She knew it meant that he served Agoura, the united nation of Fae that had banded together after the war of Fae. Agoura was a Faerie word, meaning “For all peace, peace for all.” Agoura had been multiplying in number over the years, as many across the Divide had ventured over the mountains; the ones that survived had made their way to Agoura.

              Frogaern were honestly without prejudice to begin with, but over time, they found themselves in the company of those that refused to join the nation and decided it would be for the best to join. Agoura developed out of the necessity for survival. While there were outliers, most of whom fled to the mountain, the majority of the survivors, instigators included, had pledged their loyalty to Agoura just in order to assure that the races did not perish entirely.

              The War of Fae was a civil war between some of the more powerful of the Fae and the mortal Fae as well as a few groups of foolhardy Humans. The war began because of a deep-set prejudice in some of the races. The historians wrote that the war had been started by the Helacorn, a magnificent creature that dominated the air, when they succeeded in enslaving the entire race of Infelines and nearly slaughtering every last one of the Infeline's distant cousins; the Marimae. The gathering of creatures to the Plea for Peace represented those who wished to join and defeat the Races that had been causing so much chaos in the livelihood of the fellow citizens. Some of the younger Fae groups that had stood in defense of the Infeline and Marimae were the Decacorn, C’ghalie, Serare and some of the braver Humans. There were stragglers of the older Fae that fought against the violence of the Helacorn. Most were indifferent to the squabbles of Mortals, as they had seen many wars and many races come and go in their long lifetimes. The majority of the older Fae, such as Faerie, Gnome and Ninze all constructed a refuge deep within the forests scattered around the countryside. Many of the Fae traveled back to their higher plane that existed within the forest. The more powerful Fae could build new homes outside of present reality.