Mother of Creation

By Amanda McGee

Not all that is right comes from the gods.
Sometimes, they demand much that is wrong.

Liana and her twin are an anomaly at the heart of a kingdom bound by unyielding tradition. The crown princess is the first female marked as Herkun’s heir, and her existence has unfortunate consequences. When her uncle leads a coup with the intent to kill her, Liana and her twin brother are spirited away to a place where not even the stars are the same. Lost and alone, with only her father’s pact with a foreign goddess to guide her, Liana must decide whom she can trust. Time is running short, and the will of the gods is all.

Mother of Creation is an epic fantasy that tells the story of the coming of age of a royal heir, a brother’s quest to save his sister, the machinations of the son of a god, a blind oracle’s dreams, and the struggles of an ordinary soldier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda McGee
• Release date: Jul 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310269530

Amanda McGee

Amanda J. McGee lives in Southwest Virginia with her partner and as many plants as she can keep alive. Her passions include traveling, languages, reading, gardening, and making desserts.

Book preview

For those who lose their way.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

PROLOGUE

The mist rose up from the dim valleys that evening like a ghostly veil, a lens through which one might see another world. It was an unsettling sight to the soldiers, Prince Alexander knew, and it was impractical to continue riding in the twilight. He gave the order to set up camp. The men did so quietly, sounds muffled strangely by the damp air.

They were in the northern reaches of the Rib, a mountain range which curved along the northern border of Herkunsland, of which he was crown prince and heir to the throne. It was uninhabited country, harsh and impassible in all but high summer, but on the other side of these mountains laid the homeland of his bride-to-be. They returned now from a year spent in her father’s court, as was custom in the kingdom of Perlen. The fragile Liora, third daughter of that country’s king, was still prominent in Alexander’s thoughts. Time and again, as he groomed his horse or helped to set the tents in the rapidly vanishing light, his mind returned to her. Her pale, translucent skin had smelled of high mountain flowers, and her hair had cascaded around her in a long, white-blond curtain. They had barely touched, it was true. Only that last night had he been allowed close to her, though her exotic, ephemeral beauty had attracted him to her since they had first met. Over and over, he saw the way she had looked when at last their kiss had ended. Bright roses of color had bloomed in her cheeks, and her breath had come just a little quicker.

It had been ten days since they had left the capital city, and three since they had crossed the border between the kingdoms. In that time, the young prince had had plenty of spare moments to dream of his princess, and of their wedding night. The soldiers, his guard, who numbered at fifty well-armed and highly trained men, cajoled him during the beginning of their journey, but soon tired of it. He was, after all, impervious to their critiques. Alexander was a man of formidable passion.

It was a passion that would soon be his downfall.

He went to sleep that night cold, despite the seasonable weather and the heavy blanket draped over his cot. It was the dampness that made it so difficult to sleep, he decided. The mist had crawled into their camp and draped itself over everything, growing thicker as the night went on. He could taste it with every inhaled breath, even within the closed confines of his tent. His discomfort even drove away any but the vaguest thoughts of Liora. By the entrance to his tent, two men kept watch, their quiet voices eventually lulling him into the restless darkness of sleep.

Outside, the full moon emerged from behind a tattered cloak of clouds. The mist shone eerily white, and the guards’ voices trailed off as they were dazzled by visions playing in their minds’ eye. Visions convinced their moon-dazed thoughts of the safety of just a moment’s nap, and they sank to the ground in slumber. And visions roused the prince from his restless sleep to wander, in a reality disconnected by the moon and damp air.

He left the circled camp behind, the sleeping soldiers and the restless horses, left them to be swallowed in the glowing obscurity of the night.

Alexander became consciously aware of his situation slowly. As thin clouds passed over the moon, casting the world in shadow, a sense of unease returned to him, each time a little stronger. But it could not stop his hurried march, nor release him from the webs which entrapped his mind. Even the earth seemed to push him forward in his daze, and he only rarely stumbled as he climbed higher into the mountain reaches. Time seemed to stretch slowly. He could not tell what was real and what was dream. Moments pressed into hours, and hours became something as fleeting as an exhaled breath on a cold morning. His muscles burned distantly, and above him the moon moved towards its zenith.

He found himself by a lake.

It was a strangely circular lake, the surface smooth and black beneath the light of the moon, whose reflection was now in its center. Prince Alexander shook his head slightly, trying to also shake away some of the lingering confusion in his mind. He supposed he had sleep-walked here. It was not something he had ever been given to do, but he had heard tales of sleepwalkers waking up in places distant from where they had lain themselves in repose and they had always made his skin crawl with unease. Now, he found himself a victim of the same strange condition, his dreams fragmented and unclear, the lake before him eerily still, the night around him silent. That silence was too deep, and the mist danced around the edges of the water unnaturally. Alexander began to wonder if he had woken up at all. Time hung in place for a moment.

Gradually, he became aware of a growing brightness. The waters of the lake, like the mist around him, began to glow. He did not feel fear, though his chest tightened and his heart pounded distantly. There was, indeed, nothing inside him. Simply the mist, now rushing over the water and rising to take an almost familiar form. A woman made of pale light and refracting droplets moved towards him, her feet causing the black water to ripple outward with each step. For a moment, she looked otherworldly, strange and unreal. The young prince blinked, rubbed his eyes into focus. It was Liora. Liora walked across the water to greet him, and her too pale hand stretched to meet his. He took a step forward, taking it in his own. They sank into the lake together.

The prince woke to warm light on his face and frantic voices amidst the trees. At first, he could not remember where he was. The forest wrapped in mid-morning fog, the trees limned in the golden light of dawn, they were distant from him. It took a moment for the memories of the night to return. The moon, high in the sky, the vague ache of burning muscles as he climbed through the dark-choked forest, trickled back into his mind slowly, memories gathering force and culminating in one moon-bright moment. He gasped, and sat up straight. A shout sounded behind him, and a few moments later he found himself surrounded by the men of his guard. He hardly noticed. Alexander was trying to untangle the knotted skeins of his memory.

They made it back to camp a half hour later. The sun was already high in the sky, but the prince was oblivious. Most of the camp was broken down by the time they reached it, and so the only thing left for Alexander to do was to strap on his saddle and mount. The guard fell in around him, and the party continued its journey south. A few of the men tried to ask him what had happened. He mumbled something, the words falling from his lips and reached for the talisman now hanging around his neck.

It had not been Liora who had embraced him in the black water. Those glowing arms had wrapped him with a strength far beyond mortal ken, and her whispered words, soundless, still echoed in his mind.

When your daughter is born, give her this.

1 THE PRINCESS

Running through the halls of the castle should have been below the crown princess and her twin brother. But, Liana thought as she leapt past a startled servant, tiny dark braids swinging to block her vision before she swept them aside, should was a rather pesky word. She could hear Liander’s footsteps gaining on her, echoing despite the carpeted corridors. It was just a few more turns until she reached her goal. Her heart pounded in exhilaration as she wondered whether she would manage it before he caught up to her.

Liana, quit being such a child! Liander called from behind her. She hugged his daggers, a gift from their mother’s father, to her body, and fought the urge to turn around and stick her tongue out at him. It would only slow her down, after all. Instead, she gathered her skirts and threw all of her effort into the stairs which had suddenly appeared before her.

The twins spiraled upwards into the drafty heights of the southwestern tower, Liander gaining on her rapidly as her strength flagged. He trained more often than she, being unburdened with having to learn the womanly arts on top of everything else. It wasn’t fair, none of it. She summoned her anger and let it lend her one last burst of speed. The door to the tower chamber came into view. Liana let out a shout of triumph, even as it swung open.

She was running so fast that she almost couldn’t keep from colliding with Master Wrothfurt. The princess skidded to a stop, slippered feet sliding across the stone floor. The tall, thin man before her folded his arms behind his back and looked down at her, his eyes severe beneath his master’s cap. Liana kept his gaze defiantly as her breath burned in her lungs, color flooding her cheeks with rose. She heard Liander slow to a stop behind her. The thin man’s eyes ran over both of them consideringly, ignoring the challenge in her gaze. With a derisive snort, he turned and reentered the tower chamber.

Liander came to stand beside her at the head of the stairs. She held the daggers out wordlessly, and he took them. When his hand touched hers, she knew, in the way she sometimes did with him, that he was sorry. She glared at him and stalked wordlessly into the chamber to take her seat. Her brother followed a moment later.

Liana wasn’t mad at her twin, not really. He was her best friend and closest confidant, someone she couldn’t imagine living without. That, though, was precisely the problem. In just a few months, they would reach their majority. As the treaty signed upon the day of her royal parents’ marriage dictated, the second-born child of their union would return to her mother’s country, Perlen, upon reaching sixteen years of age, there to serve as an important advisor, friend, and protector to the future king, her cousin. That second child was Liander, and, as she was constantly reminded by members of the court, it shouldn’t have been.

It seems that we are in need of a history lesson today, to remind us of what, exactly, it means to be heir to the throne, Master Wrothfurt proclaimed cuttingly as Liander took his seat beside her. Liana sighed before she could stop herself, and the master turned his sharp gaze warningly in her direction. She straightened and tried to look like she was interested, though history was something she rarely found interesting. Much more intriguing were the machinations of the court, or studies of planning and architecture, or swinging her sword. All things, it turned out, that she was discouraged from involving herself in. The master seemed somewhat mollified, at least. He turned and began pacing before them, as was his habit during lectures.

The kings of Herkunsland are descended from the heroic Sermund, the warrior who sprang from the heart of Herkun, Father of All Things, in its final beat. The rightful heir of Sermund is the firstborn child of the current king, and bears a golden gaze as of twin suns. These are common and, most likely, boring aspects of the story. Wouldn’t you agree, Liander?

Her twin, called out, jerked his own vivid blue eyes to the master and stammered a tentative affirmative. Liana snuck a glance out the window, wondering what had caught his attention. A bird fluttered on the ledge, then settled back into sleep. She didn’t know what it was, but it was likely Liander did. He loved the outdoors.

Your Highness, if you are the direct descendant of First King Sermund, what does that mean? Her brother swallowed.

Um…that I’m a prince, I suppose, he replied at last, looking like he knew it was a stupid answer but was unable to come up with anything else. Master Wrothfurt snorted.

Princess Liana, do you have any other obvious answers to add? Liana glared at the scrawny man, wracking her brain. It was obvious, indeed, of that she had no doubt. Master Wrothfurt was trying to confuse her with his derision, and she refused to fall for the trick.

That the line of my forefather has ruled this land for generations, since the dawn of the world, she answered a moment later. The thin man blinked once and smiled slowly.

Very good. The simple compliment surprised her, and she narrowed her eyes.

Not once in all of those generations has a woman been firstborn, as I’m sure you are both aware, the master continued, resuming his pacing. Liana and Liander both tensed slightly, eyes following him, waiting. Liana’s eventual ascension to the throne was an almost taboo topic at court, but that didn’t keep people from talking about it. Though in the past that talk had been mostly whispers, recently it had become more pronounced. The princess snuck a glance at her brother. His face was unreadable.

Because of the circumstances surrounding your births, your father King Alexander was left with relatively few options. Can you explain to me those circumstances? His gaze took in both of them, leaving it up to the twins who would answer. Liana carefully didn’t look at her brother, giving him the cue to begin.

The demise of our royal mother and witnesses to our birth were the two most important aspects of the situation. The master nodded his encouragement, and Liander continued, his voice considering. The amount of witnesses made it impossible to claim that I had been first born, even ignoring the prospect of the sun’s mark, which I lack. In addition, with Mother’s death, no new heirs could be made which might give Father a chance to effectively work around the treaty.

And how might he have done that? the master asked quietly. Liana spoke up then, aware of the logical conclusion, or at least the one Wrothfurt was steering them towards.

By killing me. If I could be gotten rid of, perhaps the mark would fall on another. Her simple proclamation was too loud in the quiet room. Liander clenched his fists beside her.

He wouldn’t have - her twin began, but Liana stopped him.

We’ll never know, will we? she said quietly. Master Wrothfurt must have seen something in her face, because his look softened for a moment.

Princess, your father has never been a bloodthirsty king. While it may be his downfall as a ruler, it is his virtue as a man. He resumed his pacing, and the moment passed. Still, he continued, you are correct in observing, Liander, that the death of your mother complicated the situation. To some parties, your sister’s death – and yours – may still be the obvious conclusion, however. Liana felt her astonishment at the bland words mirrored in the sudden rigidity of Liander’s body, as if he might leap from his seat.

Why are you telling us this? Liander asked, anger in his voice, an anger already growing in her own breast.

Because your birthday will be here in a matter of months. Keep your eyes open, my prince. Liana didn’t have to look at her twin to feel his displeasure with that answer.

Their walk down from the tower was subdued. Liana’s thoughts ran ahead of her, down to the corridors she had been wandering that morning. She had weapons practice at the beginning of her day, unheard of for women but important for her as the heir of the kingdom. She and Liander both practiced every morning, mostly with one another, but his lessons went on longer. He was to become a warrior, after all. She didn’t know what she was supposed to become. Less breakable, maybe.

So, while Liander continued his weapons practice, she was sent to sit with the ladies of the court, among them her various handmaidens, women of noble families with whom her father wished to cultivate good connections. They gathered in the solar, which had been her mother’s years and years ago, before Liana had been born. It still had some of her things in it, chairs and a tapestry brought all the way from Perlen, down along the coast by ship. Usually, after she had wiped the sweat and grime from her skin and dressed herself up in the clothing which befitted her station, Liana was able to sit among those women and be pleasant, cultivating the relationships that, she hoped, might serve her when she became queen. But that morning, the door had been slightly ajar when she arrived, and she had overheard them talking about her. About what a blessing it would have been if she and Liander had both died in childbirth, freeing the king from the treaty and forcing him to take a new wife. Or if Liander could have been the firstborn and she the child sent to grace her cousin’s court to the north, even if he did look like a foreigner with his blond hair and ice blue eyes. Northern demons, the most conservative of the nobles called the Perlenians, remembering the long years of hate, distrust, and sometimes war that haunted the two kingdoms. Heathens who worshipped neither the sun nor the moon, but the land itself. Everyone knew that the earth was just the dead shell of the Father of All, and that his spirit had retreated to rest in the sky and light the day while Herka, his bride, lit the night.

She knew that they thought her existence a blasphemy and a curse, but she tried to be what was needed, to mitigate the circumstances of her birth and her gender as much as possible. She knew that it was unheard of and terrifying and impossible that she, a woman, might someday sit upon the Sun Throne. And it hurt, more than she could say, that all of her effort was for nothing, that no matter what she might do her very existence was tearing her kingdom apart. It hurt, and so Liana had left, and stolen Liander’s daggers as he finished up practice, Perlenian daggers given to him by his grandfather so that he could learn to protect his royal cousin in the tradition of the northern country. It didn’t make any sense, though, taking it out on Liander. He was her other half.

Liana swallowed, and he took her hand, squeezing it for a moment to remind her he was there. Without a word, they parted ways.

2 THE KING

The king of the realm was locked in his outer chamber listening to the droning voice of his minister of agriculture when his daughter arrived. A servant announced her, and the men around him fell silent as she entered, the door shutting behind her. Alexander watched his daughter cross the space between them, noting her carriage, the way she held herself. She did not step primly, as a lady might, but with the smooth, balanced gait of a warrior born. Her back was straight, head high, and golden eyes to match his own graced her fine-boned features, carrying a spark that his son’s gaze lacked. There was steel between her dainty shoulder blades, beneath her pampered skin, steel waiting to be revealed. His son would be solid as an oak, but she would be as sharp as a blade.

Father, she said gravely, curtsying. He motioned for her to come stand beside him before his advisors resumed their debriefing. They knew what could be said in front of the Crown Princess. At fifteen, she was not yet old enough to know of all of the workings of the kingdom. That time would come soon enough.

So his counselors moved on to talk of milder issues than the potential treason of his brother, Lord Drummond, and the fact that the recent famine was said to have been caused by the disfavor of the sun god. Though most of the people within a day’s ride of the city had seen Liana and thought well of her despite her gender, Drummond was gaining quiet momentum among the more conservative nobility and the wider kingdom. People without food were volatile, and if Drummond could promise them better rations in this trying time, Alexander knew, his reign might soon be over – and the lives of his children as well. It was a thought that kept him awake at night. Though his advisors had begged him to take action, the king did not yet have enough evidence to sentence his younger brother to death. They had never been close, but they were yet kin. His stomach twisted, and he forced himself to breathe evenly.

As Liana stood behind him, the king heard reports instead on the economic states of each separate province, brought to him by his counselor of interior states, as well as current political developments observed by ambassadors and spies from across his country and surrounding regions. Once or twice he paused to let Liana ask questions, noting the holes in the reports she found that even he had not, letting her make predictions about how a situation might develop further, or checking those she had made during previous meetings. More often than not she was right. She had a head for politics and the management of a kingdom that he did not, though she still had much to learn. He thought bitterly of those who feared her coming and what it might mean, who believed her incompetent because of her sex. They jeopardized the stability of the Allfather’s kingdom based on senseless fears and mortal ambition.

Father? Liana asked tentatively, standing before him once more. The last of his advisors had packed their papers and left the audience chamber, leaving him and his daughter alone. Alexander knew the undiscussed briefings would find their way to his desk shortly. They could wait until then.

Liana, he replied after a moment’s pause. I have heard you caused some trouble this morning. She bowed her head, long, dark brown braids, a shade darker than his own, swinging to hide suddenly red cheeks. He grunted in amusement, smiling wryly. It is unwise for a princess to terrorize her servants. Even more so when she misses her womanly work to do it. Liana’s head jerked up, face caught between anguish and defiance.

My lord father, please, she said, then paused, composing herself. It does no good for me to continue learning such things. I was born to rule, not to sew, paint or sing. I have learned enough of the women’s arts. It is time for me to truly begin acting as the heir to your kingdom, father. Allow me to fulfill my rightful role at your side, if not now at least when I reach my majority. Her breath came quick with the depth of her emotions, the movement jostling the charm held on a golden chain around her neck. His eyes fastened on it for a moment. Liana reached up, and her hand blocked it from King Alexander’s gaze. A chain of gold, because no scion of Herkun should wear the talisman of His bride without honoring Him as well. For a moment, the king found himself once more beneath the waters as Herka’s cool fire enveloped him – for surely the vision of loveliness that had found him that full moon’s night had been the goddess Herself, a fact he had explained to neither priest nor soldier, not even to his royal father, may his soul rest in Herkun’s warm embrace. He had most certainly never explained it to his daughter, who thought the necklace merely a token from her mother’s land. He blinked his eyes, returning his gaze to his daughter’s face. She watched him expectantly.

Perhaps it is as you say, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A shadow or premonition tightened his heart with unnamed dread. Upon gaining your majority, you may begin a tour of the kingdom. Until then, I will increase your time in the House of Swords. Liana grinned fiercely at him, happy with her conquest. He could not help but smile back.

Now, daughter, you must leave me. I have other matters to which I must attend. He made a dismissive motion with his hand and she bobbed a curtsy before hurrying out the door, almost bowling over an entering manservant in the process. The king smiled wider, feeling his heart lighten slightly. How he wished his Liora could see her children now.

The manservant brought a luncheon of bread, meats, fruit and ale. It was casual fare for a king, but Alexander preferred this when he was alone. Once his taster had sampled everything, the king began to eat. His servants and the Shadows, his silent guards, left without being asked, though the latter only went as far as the door to his inner chambers. They knew that their king preferred to eat his noonday meal alone, and to meditate on the day’s events sometimes for hours afterwards. They would not bother him until he summoned them.

When Alexander had finished his meal, he stood and made his way to the back corner of the chamber. Behind the edge of his favorite tapestry, a hunt scene beneath the full moon, he found a stone out of place just slightly. Placing all of his weight on it, the king shoved inwards. A click, faint after the grating of stone on stone, reached his ears, and a portion of the wall swung away from him, revealing the entrance to the dark maze beyond. He started down the winding, mostly unlit passage with little hesitation, his feet guiding him with the strength of memory. It was a long way down, always seeming to take longer in the dark. His hand trailed along the dusty wall, feeling the groove where so many had passed before him, echoes of that same journey down through the darkness. After all, there had always been a seer in the depths of the Halls of Sun and Stone. As he passed at last beneath the earth, humidity gathered on the smooth walls, the air cooled, and a dim light showed his starving eyes the edges of the world around him.

The king rounded a corner and found himself at the head of