The Prince Within

By R. Le. Koshak

Darren Marcus is a young man preparing for a life as a dedicated monk of Andraste, when a revelation about his true origins is revealed to him. He must travel back to his homeland, fight the evil that has taken over, and fulfill his destiny. Through his journey, he will make enemies and friends, experience joys and loss, and find his prince within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716906008

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Koshak

Copyright © 2020 R. Le. Koshak.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-7169-0602-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7169-0600-8 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 06/12/2020

Dear Reader,

For 18 years, over half my life, I have carried Tiernan with me. I saw that boy, miserable and sitting on a beach, watching his friends screw around in the water. I wanted to know why he was upset.

Cue 18 years of detective work.

He’s no longer sitting on a beach on Earth (the Earthside first half version got tossed about a decade ago.) I am still finding things out about that boy I didn’t know (hint: that defiant little speech with his uncle was not in the plans. I stood up and cheered when T stood his ground.)

Of course, this has taken so long that I was a teenager when I started and I am now in my 30’s, so there are a lot of people to thank.

To Neil Gaiman: Sir, I finished the book.

To Barry (RIP) and Lonie: I miss both of you every day. Your encouragement and love was always welcome and appreciated.

To Sharon: I am so sorry I inflicted the first draft on you. This one’s a lot better.

To Mum and Dad: The people who listened to me complain about talking wormholes (don’t ask,) whether I should take three days to kill the character or two, and hauled me around with my notes close behind all this time, thank you.

To all those who listened to me kvetch about Einin and Tiernan: It was worse being the one who had to try to write anything about these two, who looked at me and said, What? when I tried to get them to care about one another. This went on for over 15 years. The day I got them to have a conversation that wasn’t awkward was a banner day.

To my feline sons: All of you have walked across my notes (Othello,) knocked stuff down (Mercury,) or stopped me from writing by plonking your furry butts on my lap (Loki, my sweet orange boy who went to the angels.) I love you all. If we make it, boys, I promise you a brand-new cat tower with lots of platforms and hiding places.

Sincerely,

Bec

Title page:

For the opening and closing of story poems: https://exemplore.com/wicca-witchcraft/Wicca-Rituals-A-Standard-Ritual-Opening-and-Closing-for-Begining-Wiccans

For the handfasting ritual: https://www.officianteric.com/hand

fasting-ceremony/

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

INTRODUCTION

Lady of the Moon, of fertile Móraí and rolling seas,

Of the ravens and hares, of the warriors and heroes,

Andraste, you are warrior and mother

The beginning and end of us all

Pronounce your blessing over this tale.

Their hut had withstood the first few hours of the storm, but it was now in danger of collapse. Bree and Darren decided to risk the weather.

Bree had her son’s hand as they dove out into the screaming winds. She turned to him; the boy looked terrified. She said something, a word of comfort to him, but it was lost to the howl of the gale. She put a hand on his sodden dark head in comfort, a motherly gesture she had done a thousand times.

They progressed slowly, hand in hand, bent forward from the wind, tripping over debris in the half-dark. They had made it maybe a hundred feet from the remains of their house, when a big palm tree, having been ripped back and forth in the storm winds, finally started to fall.

Darren looked up at the descending palm, unable to move as his sure demise approached.

Bree didn’t think about what she was doing, didn’t consider for a moment that the boy in front of her was not her own son. She launched herself at Darren; knocking him clear of the trunk of the tree and taking the full weight of the tree to her back.

Darren picked himself up out of the sand and through the sheets of rain clouding his vision, was still able to see the only mother he’d ever known, crushed beneath the tree. She had died the death that had been meant for him.

He knelt, called out to her, but his voice was carried away, lost in the shrieking of the storm. She didn’t move, despite Darren shouting her name.

It started to dawn on Darren that she had gone to Andraste, that she would never rise again. He began to scream, an unearthly howling that rose over the noise of driving rain and wind. He never noticed that the force of his wails had lifted the fallen tree several inches off the sodden beach.

When his lungs tired, when all the grief inside him rose like the flood and choked off his voice, Darren collapsed into the sand, his hand outstretched towards his mother. He was found unconscious a few hours later, as the remaining islanders emerged into the bright new morning to find their island life obliterated.

PART 1

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CHAPTER

1.1

I T HAD BEEN a year since his mother’s death.

Darren marked the day off with a knife-nick to the pole just inside the door of his hut. One year had passed since the winds had screamed over Rua, transforming it from a tropical paradise into a endless night of storm, wind, and rain. Over half the islanders had been washed into the ocean that night, never to be seen again.

Darren had no memory of her passing, no memory of her pushing him out of the way of the falling palm. His teacher Bede had told him only that his screams had been heard over the sound of the wind.

Bede had treated him differently since that night, pushing him harder on his studies and expecting more out of him. Darren assumed it was because Bede was trying to help him deal with his grief.

Sorrow welled up again as the islanders gathered on the beach that morning to lay flowers in the surf. Darren had chosen a pink hibiscus, his mother’s favorite.

Rita Gaur, the unofficial leader of their small group, stood in the shallow surf with her long, dark hair tied back in a knot, wrapped in a dress of scarlet. She raised both burn-scarred arms to the east and wailed as the mourners knelt around her, watching the flowers wash away in the tide.

Darren sat back, closed his eyes, and let the sound of Rita’s voice bring the pain to the surface again. His mother and the others were at peace. They were with Andraste. For them, there was no more pain and grief, no more reason for him to be upset.

The ceremony ended. As Rita and the other islanders made their way back up the beach to their huts, Bede stumped towards him, his cane sinking into the sand as he limped along.

We have lessons, young man, he growled, pointing his cane almost accusingly at Darren.

I thought we had taken today off, said Darren tiredly.

Bede chuckled. Never. The dead are dead. He gestured with his cane towards the flowers floating farther and farther offshore. We are alive. We learn while we yet draw breath.

Darren nodded.

Then come, said Bede, beckoning with a gnarled finger, and without waiting for Darren he took off for his hut, just inside the treeline, his ponytail blowing in the ocean breeze.

Darren took one last look at the pink hibiscus, now just a dot on the vast ocean.

Time to move on.

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Bede pushed open the door to his hut and limped painfully to the stool that sat next to his bed. Darren grabbed the jar of salve that resided by their cups and bowls; he opened the jar and began massaging the salve into Bede’s twisted and badly scarred left leg.

One slash by a dirty pirate 50 years ago and I’m still paying for it, Bede said through gritted teeth.

Should I stop, sir, and give you a minute? asked Darren.

You’re doing fine, son. Just an old man, griping about every ache he’s got when he should wear them with pride.

Yes, sir, said Darren, feeling the knotted muscle finally give way beneath his hands. Bede put his leg down experimentally and sighed.

Better. Thank you, he said.

Darren nodded, stood, and capped the salve jar again, putting it back on the table.

Today’s lesson is about Alexander Camyeis, the father of the current king. Bede began, the lines on his weathered face relaxing as his pain eased. Alexander was by all accounts a harsh and bitter man, known for his cruelty to criminals and victims alike. He died in battle with a wild mountain troll in the Tremain Mountains.

But he almost erased slavery in Caiomhe, right? asked Darren.

He did, which proves that every man has his good points and bad points, said Bede. Alexander is not remembered for his hard ways; he is remembered for nearly wiping out slavery.

But Carden was next, and brought it back, right? asked Darren.

You forget Rowan, my boy - Carden’s older brother?

Darren sighed. He always forgot Rowan. How did he always leave out the only king in Caiomhe’s thousand-year history that had been killed by his own brother?

Bede smiled and patted Darren’s knee. Mistakes are to be expected, Darren. A monk knows more than most that people are flawed.

I just don’t know if I’m going to be able to remember it all, said Darren.

Bede smiled wider. You’ll remember them all in time very well, I am sure of it. Start at the beginning again. First king of Caiomhe?

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Darren held out his stick in the correct position for attack. John, however, was busy staring over his shoulder at Aure strolling by, headed towards the shoreline, basket slung over her arm.

Darren whacked John on the left arm with the stick and resisted looking where John’s eyes were heading.

Pay attention!

John rubbed the red spot forming on his forearm with his right hand and glared at Darren.

Bede nodded.

Awareness, John. Looking over your shoulder at the pretty girl will get you killed.

Darren grinned.

Not going to live a long life of adventure, eh, John?

John whacked Darren with the stick. Darren snorted and attacked back. The two danced across the sand, Bede criticizing Darren over the clack of the sticks for his poor footwork.

John tried to hit Darren low, but missed and left his right side wide open. Darren saw his opening, and with two hits – one to the ribs and one to the elbow – Darren knocked John’s stick out of his hand. Bede nodded approvingly as he came over.

Darren, well done, but watch your feet, lad. John, good defense on that parry.

He was too busy breaking my ribs to worry about his feet, John moaned, rubbing his side.

And yet I’ll defend myself and you in a fight, said Darren.

Shut up, John said, handing his sticks to Bede as he and Darren walked away.

Wonder why he’s teaching us defense, anyway? asked John. I doubt the poor and destitute are going to need ministering in the form of bruises from a fighting stick.

Darren shrugged. I assume we’re being taught so we can defend the poor and destitute, not beat them black and blue.

Sinéad came up to them as they were about to split up for their respective houses.

Do you boys want to head out to Corcra? Aure says the gua-gua trees are full over there.

Sure, said John. I’ll get the boat ready for you. Meet me there at noon? he said.

Sinéad smiled, her brown eyes alight. Certainly. Darren?

Darren nodded.

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They sailed out to Corcra in Sinéad’s sailboat, the warm southern sea air whipping their faces. Darren let his mind wander as John steered them expertly toward the uninhabited speck of rock that shone almost purple in the tropical sun. He was gazing at the back of Aure’s dark head, watching her brunette braids flutter in the breeze. They arrived at the island in just a few minutes. The gua-guas hadn’t been touched here, and the twelve trees the island sported hung heavy with the fruit.

Darren and Aure stayed on the ground to catch the fruit, while John and Sinéad shimmied up the trunks so they could pick off the gua-guas and throw them down. The green and yellow fruit came hurtling down from above. Darren almost missed a half-dozen because he was looking at Aure again; she was so focused on catching fruit that she didn’t notice his gaze kept being pulled over towards her. Her movements were like a dancer’s; fluid and with no hesitation. Her bare brown feet carried her this way and that, and her blue dress swayed with her movements. Darren tried not to look, he really did, but Aure’s lithe form drew his eyes again and again.

Monks of Andraste were discouraged from relationships. It was expected that they would work for the common good at their own expense, bringing healing, peace, and goodwill to all who needed it. Adding a family created liability and an extra weight on a soul already committed to the Goddess.

But how Darren wished that particular rule didn’t apply when he looked at Aure.

Darren? Are you awake? Gua-gua coming down! said John as he lobbed a fruit at the side of Darren’s head. Darren just barely caught it, and flushing red with embarrassment, he focused on fruit-catching and less on the woman just to the right of him.

When the boat was packed full, the quartet took a short break in the water, wading around in the shallows, splashing one another, or in John’s case, getting jumped by Sinéad and Aure and getting his legs taken out from under him as he stood on the bottom.

Darren almost laughed himself sick at a bedraggled John emerging from the water, his face a picture of mock fury as he shook water out of his eyes and his blonde curls. Aure and Sinéad stood back, arms crossed and grinning widely at a job well done.

I’m coming for you next, ladies, John growled.

Aure and Sinéad chuckled and looked at each other.

That’s got me scared, said Aure.

Oh, me, too. Whatever will we do? said Sinéad, smiling sweetly and flipping her long black hair as she turned to Darren. Darren, protect us. For effect, she batted her eyelashes at him and folded her hands as if in supplication.

Darren shook his head, snorted, and said, Sinéad, you may be able to get everyone else to do what you want with that smile and the eyelashes, but your wiles won’t work on me, and he batted his eyelashes back at her. Sinéad stuck her tongue out at him in response.

John went for both girls and they shrieked as he dove at them both, all three of them ending up in the ocean.

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CHAPTER

1.2

L ATER, DARREN AND Aure crashed next to each other on the beach as John and Sinéad searched for clams in the shallow water.

Don’t you want to be out there with them? Aure asked, turning on her hip to talk to Darren.

Darren shook his head. No. I’m just fine here.

Aure flipped on her back again and sighed. I know why you were distracted while we were getting the gua-guas earlier, Darren.

Hm? Darren was half-thrilled she’d noticed, but the other half was curling up in shame.

Don’t play dumb, Dar, Aure said. Doesn’t suit you.

Aure...

Aure sat up, her eyes locked on his. Darren couldn’t look away.

I understand that you made the commitment and want to follow through on your promise to Bede, because you don’t want to let him down. I’m telling you, if you want, there’s another choice, she said, as her hand reached out to touch his cheek.

Darren almost, almost leaned into it...almost. He almost forgot about being a monk, being marked with the hare that made him Andraste’s forever, shut down any thought of helping others and doing good. He could do it. He could walk away and marry her and be happy. For a moment, he envisioned Aure holding their child, her voice in the dark, singing a song into the night.

For a moment, he had Aure, and everything was perfect, everything was exactly what he wanted. But the moment passed. Darren knew that the love between them was real, and would have worked. In the end, his commitment to the Goddess was deeper than pleasing Bede. His commitment to Andraste had been absolute when Bede had asked him two years ago if that’s what he wanted, and it still was. The monk life fit him like a glove. He wanted to help others and care for them, and so for him, there was nothing but Andraste, forever. Not even Aure could change that.

Darren touched Aure’s cheek. I want to. I do. But Aure, you deserve better than me, and when she protested, he laid a finger on her lips. You do. I am becoming a monk, soon, by Bede’s reckoning. I will be dead to all but Andraste’s service, and you need someone who can give over their whole heart and soul to you. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.

Are you sure? she whispered, her lips inches from his, her tears matching the ones on his own face.

It killed him to say it. Yes. I’m sure.

She pulled away from him then, ripping her face from his, and all but ran to the other side of the little island. Darren let her go. He had to.

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The trip back to Rua was quiet. John and Sinéad sensed that something had happened on the beach while they’d been out in the water, and when either one of them tried to discuss it with Darren or Aure, neither of them wanted to talk about it. Darren felt like he’d been scraped raw on the inside, and he almost spoke up a dozen times to say it had been a mistake, but he knew he had been right and he hated himself for it.

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After a sleepless night, Darren joined John, Aure, and Sinéad the next morning in sorting and hanging fruit for the islanders (a group that now numbered just below twenty.)

So, Dar, you’re still going through with the monk thing? asked Sinéad as she worked with Aure to string kishki fruit pieces for drying. Aure pointedly avoided Darren’s eyes.

Darren nodded. Bede says I’m nearly ready.

John shook his head. I still say you’re crazy. What’s a life of prayer and safety when you could be beating up slavers and rescuing beautiful women?

Aure snorted with laughter. Only living to a ripe old age, John. Having your guts all spilled over the deck of some pirate ship doesn’t sound like fun to me.

Me, either, said Sinéad.

John put a finger in the air to stop the two of them. Without having actually lived, Aure, a long life wouldn’t do me very much good, now will it?

When you’re done thinking monks have it nice and safe, could you help me get this rope up on that roofbeam? said Darren.

John grabbed the end of the rope and heaved it over the end of the beam with ease, as he was bigger and taller than any of the other three.

Sinéad pulled the rope taut and together the four of them tied it tight so that the fruit wouldn’t fall on the ground and be spoiled.

Done, said Sinéad as she admired their handiwork.

Rita won’t be pleased, anyway, said Aure in a low voice.

Shh! Do you want someone to hear? Sinéad hissed back.

Oh, honestly, said John, picking up the next basket, this one full of kishki fruit, beginning to sort through it and handing the damaged ones to Darren. Rita’s not going to do what she’s threatened. There aren’t enough of us able enough to do the work as it is.

Sinéad shook her head as she hopped down from the makeshift ladder.

And Curinir was what, a mistake Rita happened to make? asked Darren.

You know as well as I do, said John, pointing at Darren with a kishki in his hand, that Curinir has always been the first to shoot off his mouth whenever he thinks it necessary.

Rita nearly killed him, said Aure, her voice shaking as she remembered the incident.

Well, Rita will nearly kill us if we don’t haul this stuff to Andraste by sundown, said Sinéad, picking up a heavy basket and walking off.

John snorted. I love it. I really do. We’re practically starving, and half the fruit on this island is being piled on that altar.

Hush, John, or Rita will whip you next, said Darren.

Oh, please, John retorted. She’d have to catch me first.

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Rita Gaur had taken hold as Rua’s leader the day after the hurricane. She had seen to it that shelters were built, work parceled out to those who were physically capable of handling it, and that food was rationed accordingly.

Recently, the rules had tightened. Rita had increased the amount of food required to appease Andraste every day. Many of the islanders grumbled that they had enough to do trying to survive without giving most of their hard-earned food to an altar.

Curinir had always been outspoken. He had protested by holding back his food and giving nothing to the Andraste altar for several days. Rita had called him out at morning prayers a few weeks ago, had had all the food removed from his hut and dumped on the altar, and had had him whipped bloody before all of them. Curinir hadn’t been seen at prayer since. Darren and Bede were treating him with teas and tinctures, but Curinir appeared to be permanently broken.

Rita had stated that Curinir, by his withholding of Andraste’s tribute, had been putting them all at risk of another storm like last year’s. Most of the islanders thought Rita had gone too far, but were afraid of what she might do to them