TELEMON: The Immortals

By T.E. Mark

Their destinies have been intertwined since birth.
To reach Tanis and save their world from a cunning king and the ruling Patricians, Aramus and Procopia will need the help of the immortal Gods. Along the way, they will face many trials, a fierce battle, and for Aramus, his worst fear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.E. Mark
• Release date: Mar 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310834189

T.E. Mark

T. E. Mark is an Anglo-American Science Writer, Screenwriter and Editor. He has studied Architecture, Music and Literature in the UK and in the US and has been penning stories since childhood. His first novel, Fractured Horizons, set in the wonderful of Bath England, was written at the age of 12.Mark has written novels for young and adult readers and a selection of science articles for national and international magazines. He also writes and edits academic papers on a variety of subjects for universities, governmental and non-governmental organisations.Follow T. E. Mark at:temarkauthor.wordpress.commthomasmark.wordpress.comtemarkurbanscratch.wordpress.comContact T. E. Mark at: [e-mail].

Book preview

(I)

The Day of Dysnomia

With careful eyes the Gods watched. With supreme patience they waited. The boy was strong, mindful and ideally defiant. The maid, gifted, persuasive and adequately trained.

Are they ready?

Indeed, Menares.

Then let it begin.

The day was quiet behind a ceiling of nimble clouds. A chocolate red band grew from the noble horizon. The air was severe and tense and excited. It was coronation day. A nimble-fingered spectacle of luxury and excess. The King’s brother Torus, an ill-tempered Duke, was being crowned the King of Aegea, the mighty kingdom of godlike men and enchanting women. A fresh-scented peace would cool the winds of the angered lands with one dynasty claiming the largest kingdoms of Telemon.

Mindful Aramus, the boy of many charms, was little motivated to attend the coronation, knowing well the possibility of happening upon his parents. He decided, with little reserve, to skiv off to Lycias, the majestic crater of artful winds and honeyed sands for an evening of frivolity with his trusted friends.

This was entertainment for Telemon’s youth. It privileged them with the opportunity to mingle outside of their restrictive societal groups, and allowed them to speak freely in a manner deemed unacceptable by the lofty Patricians.

Though a Silver, a distinction bestowed upon him by his prominent parents, who were highly auspicious, idly wealthy and industriously connected, many of his best friends were Blues. Many, in fact, were of the dutiful but mistrusted Greens.

This was the day of Dysnomia, the 18th day of the honoured week. Privately, Aramus, the noble and resourceful boy, held a special reason for choosing Lycias over the coronation. Her name was Ecalea – a clever girl of incomparable beauty, fiery eyes and night-black hair.

As he walked the broad-sand path leading from the Royal Crescent, the inquisitive boy counted the increasing number of soldiers lining the road to the very rim of the high-ridged crater. More again today, he thought. He pondered the issue. Perhaps I’ll pose this to Caeton.

Lycias was the closest to the splendid capital – the city where he was born and lived until three days shy of one week earlier. On that addled day, with little notice, nay, scarcely a murmur or hint, he was cast out of his grey granite home for falling to the evil clutches of the vile, and highly contagious wit.

Having come on quite suddenly, actually overnight, Aramus, the mindful, keen-eyed, sandy-brown haired son of Neleos and Elissa, received notice to vacate his room by the day of Hecuba. The whispering day of calm devotion.

A sensible lad, the brown-haired boy held no ill feelings towards his parents. Their decision was just. The wit had claimed many of Telemon’s youth over the years, including a fair number of his closest friends. He simply packed a satchel with his ordered possessions, bid his family a pleasant and precarious evening and dropped into Orlo, the local youth Postelo, where he was furnished with an idle bed and a spice-brown trunk for his possessions.

After passing the rolling hills of Actium, where the road rambled through a grove of Amyriths, the mysterious charred remains of beings that once grew tall, he moved briskly as to avoid a possible encounter with a slithering asp, a razor-clawed hawk, or a wolf of voracious desire. For these were the creatures that claimed the grove as their own. Even the nimble-footed rodents, though more a nuisance than a danger, unnerved him. But mostly, due to a youthful encounter, it was the asps that made his skin crawl and his mouth turn dry. The stories of their size, and unseemly appetite for human flesh made him shudder. As one would expect, he kept his cautious eyes glued to the road until he emerged from the gloom of those towering, watchful Amyriths.

As he cleared the thicket of dark menace and crested the hills beyond, he could see Caeton, Aeschylus, and the sharp-tongued Ecalea already seated in their portable recliners, savouring their sun-warmed plateau.

Set on a wind-polished stone, it offered an ideal vantage point for the evening spectacle, and surrendered a comfortable warmth for when Telemon would again be draped in darkness, and the day-warmed winds from the plains would turn cool and irrational, chasing the young visitors back to their homes.

‘Aramus!’ Caeton, the godlike son of Daetor looked up. ‘An unexpected appearance, my friend.’

‘Unquestionably,’ said broad-shouldered Aeschylus.

‘I know.’ He shrugged – his eyes beaming. ‘Juggling between the coronation, with the spell-binding speeches, having to do court formal and possibly being occasioned by my parents, or spending time here with my friends was indeed a challenge.’ He placed a hand to his chest and bowed at the waist. ‘Thou must facilitate a full measure of comprehension with the circumstance of my resolution.’

The boys bounded into immoderate laughter. Sharp- tongued Ecalea eyed him coyly.

They all felt the same about the requirement of court- formal dialogue while inside the city, or when addressing a court official or one of the Patricians. Or on the days of Hecuba, Eris, Pan, Triton or Iapetus. And on national holidays, special holidays, and of course when Tondino, the Cimbian King, had had a specifically difficult night sleeping, waking or dressing.

Aramus raised his eyes enough to glimpse quick-witted Ecalea, who continued eyeing him with her fiery eyes.

‘Quite the gathering today.’ He scanned the crater. ‘Did someone of prominence die, or perhaps find fault with being prominent?’

‘It’s the day of Dysnomia.’ Ecalea seized the opportunity – her voice laced with sarcasm. ‘Memory fading since losing your throne?’

The mindful boy was pleased by the clever girl’s affront. Seeing her always made him feel… different inside. He was also comforted knowing the infirmity of wit, which claimed her two weeks earlier, was tolerated amongst the Blues. This allowed her to remain within her family’s home. ‘Quite amusing, Ecalea. No,’ the even tempered boy responded. ‘I’m well aware of the day.’ He glowered.

She smiled feeling certain her opening assault was successful in rousing his dander.

The mindful boy brushed his hair from his lavender eyes and entered the fray. ‘I see you’ve overcome your near fatal obsession with ornaments, though. I count just fifteen earrings today. Extraordinary transformation. Was this a conscious decision, or did something you eat affect your ability for basic arithmetic?’

‘Actually,’ she responded tartly, ‘I brought others, but was desperately awaiting your arrival. Here, this lavender hoop will not only match your eyes, but may even enhance your unfortunately hindered outlook.’

With a delicate hand she slipped him a softly glowing earring the diameter of a large goblet. He feigned a look of intrigue as he grasped the gentle band and began studying it. ‘Fascinating!’ His eyes grew wide. ‘And by wearing this, I would expect to extend my cleverness to the level of your impertinence?’

‘Sadly, Aramus…’ The girl of fiery eyes lingered. ‘No! I believe such a pursuit, in your case, would require much more than increased ornamentation.’

He smiled, then returned the earring looking pleased.

‘Far be it from me to spoil your fun.’ Aeschylus turned in his recliner – grinning. ‘But could the two of you toss your darts after last-light? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

The clear-minded girl of night-black hair gave Aramus a snide look before submitting to their friend’s request. Aramus, the keen-eyed, industrious son of Neleos and Elissa, took out his recliner and dropped to the ground between Caeton and Ecalea.

The nearly cloudless sky was now luscious violet above the ever-present band of crimson at the horizon. The matte black stone, their chosen perch, was radiant and soothing.

They could hear the singing in the valley, a soft melody climbing the sides of the crater. This was the first indication of the increasing winds. Soon the sand swirls would rise, glistening in the dappled sunlight, and then the statues within the crater would begin taking form.

Magical constructions would often result, offering the young observers warm visions of enchanted worlds, and imaginary dominions spiced with architectural wonders.

There was a mysterious energy released by those winds. No one fully understood it. There were fanciful tales, of course, many whimsical, many dubious. But the result was a hypnotic euphoria that drew everyone into a dreamlike state. It made their eyes glow bright and gave them an enriched sense of well-being.

Often a mini twister would dance to the crater’s broad ridge scattering people; pelting them with crystals of sand and ice. Joyous screams and frivolous laughter would resound adding an additional character to the din; enhancing the festive quality of the evening’s event.

As the day and display progressed, everyone appeared saturated with the pleasure of the dazzling performance. Some sculptures took on the lustre of polished marble, while others were coarse, more like sandstone or unworked granite.

Many were ecstatic with the entertainment and began dancing.

The singing nature of the winds began a steady, rising gliss, and as time lapsed, the melodic sounds were wonderfully embellished. It was a symphony of sculpture, a poetic performance, and an accepted command to release all inhibitions.

As Aramus watched and fancied with the others, his eyes fell to a green, luminous orb forming beneath him. The curious boy became possessed by it. The winds, the music, the dancing – everything seemed to dissolve around him. Each time he tried drawing away the image seemed to command him back.

He felt warm inside and impulsive, and was completely preoccupied when he felt a tug at his arm. This seemed to him impolite. He managed to withdraw his frozen gaze.

‘Lost in your dreams again?’ said Ecalea of the fiery eyes.

‘In a way.’ He pointed. ‘Look there.’

She followed his finger. ‘Sprites.’ She looked amused and cheerful.

‘What?’

‘When you see spherical shapes, they’re the work of Sand Spites.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘Hardly a reasonable reply.’ She pulled tight her cloak. ‘Anyway, you asked.’

‘You’re irrational. There are no Sprites. Certainly not, Sand Sprites.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say ire-rational?’

Ecalea ran her hands through her rich black hair shedding a shower of sand to the magnetic obelisk. Her eyes of garnet beamed, and her petal-soft skin reflected the diffuse light making her appear luminous beneath her loose fitting shirt. ‘Perhaps if you loosened yourself from your rigid Silver platform, you could see more clearly that existence itself is but an illusion.’

‘I’ve no intention of a debate over one’s existence,’ the keen-eyed boy responded. He turned his recliner. ‘Oh, why not.’ He eyed her more seriously. ‘Ecalea, I’m not here simply because you perceive me to be. Stating my existence is little more than your personal perception is…’

‘…I see it too.’ A honey-sweet voice carried by a fresh-moistened breeze found their ears from behind.

A dazzlingly pretty girl in formal robes had drifted behind them as they spoke. She was apparently drawn by the same spectral formation, and hadn’t realised her movement brought her into their inclusion.

‘Well, that’s impertinent.’ Snapped quick-witted Ecalea.

Aramus gazed at the shy girl and could see she was deflected by his friend’s remark. ‘Will you join us?’ He smiled a cool, inviting smile.

‘That’s simple of you.’ Ecalea sneered.

‘Don’t credit my friend,’ he said to the child-like girl. ‘She appears to have misplaced her decency again. Somewhat of a habit with her lately.’

He shot her a scalding look.

Aeschylus turned, planning yet another scolding when he caught sight of the hovering girl.

The girl of enchanting beauty, with long silky hair the colour of honeyed chocolate, had her attention stolen away again, as the large spherical shape began glowing, and growing, and pulsing. Soon it was an orb the size of the crater itself. The sight was mesmerising, but oddly attracting. It seemed to own a mystical power over them.

All around the crater the kids gazed in awe. The frivolous dancing ceased. The happy laughter and playful taunts were extinguished. An odd stillness fell upon them like a blanket of quiet air.

Many gaped. Others made childish oohing and aahing sounds. Then, without a whisper or hint, the orb, which had grown prodigiously, imploded in upon itself falling like a massive cloud of glowing ash.

For moments a hushed silence fell upon them. Cool air drifted up from the floor of the crater; not harsh, but refreshing. The smell was fragrant and smooth like summer berries.

As they peered into the crater, they could see the floor strewn with green, translucent wisps, each attached to a luminous bulb.

With the departing sun of gold and orange shafts, casting crisp, cool shadows from the peaks of Dado, the surroundings took on a surreal glow. Everyone appeared paralysed. Chatter of some divine phenomenon began to circulate. Hesitantly, then more casually, people resumed talking.

‘Aramus,’ whispered Ecalea.

‘What?’

‘Why so bright?’ She smirked.

‘Clearly overwhelmed by your charm, Ecalea. Hey.’ He registered his seriousness. ‘I need to see what fell into the crater.’

‘They look like Priams.’ The enchanting girl’s voice, a shy whisper was soft like whipped butter.

‘And just who and why are you?’ said Ecalea in a peevish tone.

The girl looked affronted. ‘Oh, I’m quite sorry for intruding, I’ll just…’

‘…No – don’t. Not an intrusion at all.’ Mindful Aramus glared at the quick-witted daughter of Iris then returned his eyes to the girl ‘What’s your name?’

‘Nephra,’ offered the maid. ‘I’m from Astragal.’

Broad-shouldered Aeschylus, who was listening brightened. ‘Astragal!’ He appeared startled. ‘But surely not.’

‘Quite surely so,’ declared the girl.

‘You were cast out then?’

She looked despondent. ‘Nay, a much longer and more complicated narrative.’

‘Feature deflection!’ Ecalea chuckled. ‘I favour this girl.’

Keen-eyed Aramus stared sharply at his friend. ‘Ecalea, please!’ He turned to fair maid. ‘I’m Aramus of Cimbia. Son of Neleos and Elissa.’

‘It’s my pleasure.’ The girl’s response was mannered and dignified. She was obviously high-born.

‘You called them Priams.’ The analytical boy appeared intrigued. ‘What exactly are they?’

Caeton, the godlike son of Daetor and Euadne moved his recliner in order to listen more closely. The flaming haired maid considered him with a polite smile.

Caeton, who was already a Phase Three, was considered extremely handsome and of unrivalled intelligence. He was a great source of knowledge and wisdom. ‘They’re mythical gifts of the Gods,’ he said, sounding authoritative. ‘They’re rumoured to grow prodigiously if nurtured. The Goddess Despina was supposedly cast out of Tanis for using them to produce wine fruit and sharing the knowledge with man.’

‘But scarcely are they mythical,’ protested Nephra.

‘Well…’ Caeton sounded sceptical.

‘Mythical or not.’ Sandy-haired Aramus rose. ‘I’m going down into the crater to collect one. Who’s interested in a hike?’

‘I will!’ the girl offered. She appeared brightened by the prospect. ‘I mean, if my offer pleases.’

‘Absolutely!’

Manly Aeschylus grunted as he rose to his feet. ‘Oh, I could why as well as I could why not I guess. But it’ll be dark soon. If we’re to succeed in this venture, or ill- adventure, I suggest we attend it rather quickly.’

‘Are you a poet?’ asked Nephra.

Everyone laughed. ‘It depends when you ask him,’ remarked godlike Caeton.

They all laughed again, including Aeschylus himself.

Ecalea eyed Aramus who was peering like a Phase One down into the crater. She then took notice of the delicate girl from blue-tiled Astragal, who was eying him enthusiastically. She felt a wave of jealousy.

Though she and the Aramus were always contesting in aggressive banter, well-accepted as a courting ritual for Phase Twos, in her heart she knew well her feelings for the sandy brown-haired boy with eyes of lavender, and an absorbing enthusiasm. She rose from her recliner. ‘Yes, why not? If not that then it would have to be something else, I guess.’

The mindful son of Neleos recognised her purpose in setting herself up for a taunt, and successfully rejected the offer.

The group dredged a meandering path through the throngs of onlookers who were losing interest in the event. They were again dancing, kissing, and taking pleasure in antagonistic engagement.

As they reached a promontory at the south end of the crater, Aramus took the lead and they slowly made their way to the floor of the Lycias basin. The sight was astounding. The entire base, and all of the sand sculptures, were covered with the small, gently glowing pods. Each pod, attached to translucent wisp, seemed to be pulsing – almost in rhythm with the music from above.

‘Priams, eh?’ said Ecalea – her arms crossed. ‘Vague, or to the point, as this may sound, ‘what exactly do they do? Mythically speaking, I mean.’

They were all examining specimens like a group of amateur geologists on a field trip.

Nephra, the girl of the flashing eyes and flame-red hair had dropped to her knees. She was fashioning a necklace from a handful of the larger samplings. She also created a ringlet of the delicate curios which she placed in her hair. A playful look seemed to wash away her insecurities. In many respects she was a child. ‘They change.’ She sounded ethereal. ‘They become magical beings that pierce the heavens, produce delicious fruits, and wave their majestic arms in the cool winds.’

‘Right,’ said Ecalea, in a condescending drawl. She looked at the others – a questioning expression.

Everyone else was transfixed on the mythical fragments.

As the light seeped deeper into the horizon, and the lavender sky-dome began diffusing towards indigo, they climbed the pathway to the crater’s rim and began their way back towards the Cimbian capital.

They were still perplexing the spherical formation, the mysterious power it seemed to command over them, but mostly they were puzzled by the gently glowing Priams they had collected.

(II)

The Return from Lycias

The road into the city was crowded with young people frolicking along happily; taunting and laughing; joyous and carefree. It was a beautiful evening. The clouds had cleared and the sky was rich and dark and split with streaks of amber and vermillion.

A cheerful boy was playing lyrical melodies on a cyma. Others in his group were singing, dancing and being frivolous.

They began passing widely-spaced cottages as they neared the city. People, mainly parents and unmatched Phase Fours, hearing the noise from the nightly vigil, pulled tight their doors and drained the liquid from their walls. Their facades were made opaque to the scene and mute to the festive sounds of the passing crowd.

‘When did you arrive in Cimbia?’ Aramus had sidled up to the fragile girl.

‘I haven’t actually, that is, shortly I guess.’

‘So you’re not leaving for Astragal tonight?’

‘Nay, I cannot. An adventure such as that would be ill- advised.’

‘There’s more to this story I believe.’

‘Decidedly so, but…’

‘…No-No, you needn’t elaborate.’ He was virtually swept into the vulnerable sweetness of the girl.

A gust of wind, soiled with loose grit sand from the road pelted them, causing them all to turn back and away. The eerie sounds of the creatures who claimed the grove of despondent Amyriths as their own, unnerved even learned Caeton. They walked hurriedly over the hills towards the city’s tall, bronze gates.

‘There’s a tent village,’ continued Aramus, ‘a postelo for cast-outs and travellers called Orlo. It’s behind the stalls in central Cimbia. There’s always food, and…’ he considered her attire. ‘You’ll be given a real bed.’

‘Is that your destination?’ Her manner was again soft and child-like.

Her question brought on an unexpected shyness. ‘Yes, I was cast out almost a week ago.’

‘Are you violent?’

‘Of course not! Why would you…? Do I look violent?’

‘Hardly, but I felt it necessary to ask?’

‘You’re indiscreet, aren’t you?’

‘Sadly yes, or, mostly yes, I guess. That would be a better answer.’

He shook his head, scrunching his face, feeling as though he’d been absorbed into a crudely written play. ‘Well, spending the night in the city can be dangerous. I think you should come with me. You’ll at least be safe there, and fed. I’ll look after you.’

‘Okay.’ Her initial