Mythical

By Laurie Bowler

In the captivating fantasy novel "Mythical," the forbidden love between a human named Ezekiel and a mythical being named Jenilia defies the laws of their world. In the Elflands, where contact between humans and mythical beings is strictly prohibited, Ezekiel finds himself running for his life after being discovered. Desperate to survive, he fabricates his true intentions, hoping to convince the mythical beings to spare him.

 

Jenilia, sceptical of Ezekiel's deceitful ways, reluctantly decides to spare his life and takes on the daunting task of teaching him the Elvish language. As their journey unfolds, Ezekiel and Jenilia discover an undeniable connection between them, yet their relationship is bound by the very laws that seek to keep them apart. However, when Ezekiel stumbles upon a malevolent scheme that threatens the Elflands and its mythical inhabitants, he realises that he alone holds the key to their salvation.

 

As he grapples with the weight of his decisions, Ezekiel must decide if he is willing to risk everything he knows to protect a race that despises his kind.

 

In the fast-paced and thrilling pages of "Mythical," readers will be swept away into a world of forbidden love, dangerous secrets, and the power of sacrifice. Will Ezekiel sacrifice his own life to save a race that has condemned him, or will he choose to protect what he has always known?

 

Journey alongside these captivating characters and discover the fate of the Elflands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurie Bowler
• Release date: Feb 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215042717

Laurie Bowler

Laurie Bowler is a bestselling fantasy author residing in Hampshire, a county in the United Kingdom, where she started writing fantasy fiction in late November 2009.    After reading hundreds of fantasy novels, Laurie knew she wanted to write within that genre. She set her mind to writing her first novel, 'Vanquished', which was then quickly followed by the award-winning Moon Rising series.  Laurie attended college and has gained qualifications in Creative Writing, Music and Health and Social Care. She is still undertaking as many academic courses as possible to improve her knowledge.  Laurie lives with her daughter, fiance and a houseful of pets, including eight cats and three dogs, to name just a few. Her new novel Mythical and its sequel, The Battle of Evov, have both been an immense adventure and creativity of her mind. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Ezekiel wasn't prepared to face death, yet he harboured no fear of his demise.

Standing tall and muscular, he was a formidable figure who had dedicated himself to imparting his skills to others, whether in combat or during hunting expeditions. Ezekiel was no stranger to battles, often emerging victorious. Some claimed his prowess stemmed from divine intervention, attributing his skill and strength to the favour of the gods whenever he wielded a blade. However, Ezekiel remained sceptical. If the divine honestly watched over him, he mused, he wouldn't find himself ensnared in a bear trap, his foot engulfed in searing agony.

It was evident that the bear he pursued was protecting her young, a fact Ezekiel recognised from the signs. Though he typically avoided hunting nursing mothers, desperation and exhaustion had driven him to pursue her. Yet, there was no solace in his actions. He felt remorse for targeting the bear, and the snap of the trap only served to agitate her further. His blade, intended for survival, instead wounded her, narrowly missing her throat. Ezekiel's hand trembled with pain and fear, his actions driven by a frantic desire to live.

As Ezekiel grappled with his fate, he couldn't help but find irony in the situation. Perhaps this was the gods' way of offering him a swift end rather than subjecting him to a slow, agonizing demise. He chuckled softly, only to be silenced by a surge of excruciating pain coursing through his body. His fingers dug into the earth, seeking refuge from the relentless torment. His gaze shifted to the steel jaws of the trap, piercing through his boot and flesh, rendering him immobile with anguish.

Suddenly, the bear rose, blood staining her fur. Through a haze of pain, Ezekiel watched, struggling to maintain consciousness. He entertained the notion of succumbing to unconsciousness, welcoming the respite from suffering. In that state, he wouldn't have to confront the choices that led him to this moment nor endure the agony that accompanied them.

Memories flooded Ezekiel's mind, a relentless stream of recollections. The Narrows, where his childhood unfolded, where his mother resided, and the sea with its distinctive scent. Later in life, he was exiled to the Banks, a rugged mountain range with harsh caverns and relentless winds. On the brink of death, he pondered whether a life of banishment was worth living. Yet, there was no one courageous enough to choose this alternative, and no one cared whether he lived or died. Choosing life over death was an act of bravery, but his banishment remained his punishment. Throughout his exile, he fought fiercely for survival, employing any means necessary.

Returning to the present, Ezekiel watched as the bear charged toward him, its massive paw poised to strike. His gaze fixed on the bear's curved claws, a primal fear surging within him. He envisioned a painful demise looming. However, he witnessed the bear's swipe miss its mark as he summoned the last strength to evade it, inadvertently worsening the trap's grip on his flesh. Sensing divine intervention, he imagined the clansmen discovering his mangled body, the shame of being ensnared in a bear trap, and ultimately meeting his end at the bear's claws. The thought of those dwelling in the mountains dismissing his absence and showing no interest in searching for him stung. Regardless of his time among them, he could never be one of them. He remained a lowlander, raised in a coastal town—an aspect of his life he held dear.

Murder—the word elicited a visceral reaction from Ezekiel, stirring bile in his throat and tormented in his stomach. In that single moment, he had experienced both love and loss. The mountain dwellers never questioned Ezekiel about the crime; he would forever be an outcast in their eyes. Since the day he stumbled upon their camp seeking refuge, they tolerated his presence but would never accept him as their own. They would sooner send a search party for a missing goat than acknowledge him.

Ezekiel tensed at the sound, his senses alert to the forest's whispers. Murmurs of voices reached his ears, followed by a sharp twang. A bolt sliced through the air, piercing the bear's eye with deadly accuracy. The creature staggered and fell, life extinguished before it hit the ground.

Despite the relief that should have washed over him, Ezekiel felt a surge of guilt at the thought of the bear's orphaned cubs. He should have risen, welcomed the strangers, and offered anything in exchange for their aid. Perhaps they could free him from the trap or mend his wounds. Yet, as he inspected the bolt, he realised salvation was not their intention. It was an elven bolt, a token of divine intervention.

Six figures materialised before him, clad in ethereal attire and armed to the teeth. They resembled ghosts with their smooth skin and moon-white hair, yet their weaponry and piercing gazes belied their otherworldly nature. Ezekiel remained motionless, recognising the irony of his situation—once the hunter, now the hunted. Any sudden movement would only provoke them, leading to swift and decisive action.

But Ezekiel was not the hunter.

The Sovereign's presence in Evov signalled the resurgence of conflict among mythical beings. Hailing from the North, these creatures found themselves navigating hostile Southern territories, giving them ample reason to tread cautiously. Ezekiel sensed his potential significance to them, yet he remained acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation. They could choose to spare him temporarily, extracting whatever information he possessed before ultimately deciding his fate. With this realisation, Ezekiel's resolve strengthened, his mind racing to strategise how he could leverage this newfound knowledge to his advantage.

A female figure from the group stepped forward, prompting Ezekiel to anticipate questions about his purpose in Evov and who had sent him. However, her inquiry took a different turn, catching him off guard. How do you know about this place? she asked, her expression betraying a hint of anxiety.

Ezekiel couldn't help but find it peculiar to witness a mythical being displaying concern over internal matters before delving into external inquiries. My presence here is of utmost importance to the Sovereign, he asserted, hoping to convey confidence and determination.

The Sovereign? she echoed, her gaze sceptical.

Yes, Ezekiel affirmed, his tone unwavering.

And you expect us to simply accept your claim of importance to the Sovereign? she challenged, her suspicion palpable.

No, Ezekiel replied calmly, though he was well aware of the potential repercussions. I merely request that you refrain from ending my life. He schooled his features into a neutral expression, endeavouring to mirror their demeanour. It was incomprehensible how these mythical beings exuded such poised confidence. Even without his foot ensnared in a trap, Ezekiel doubted he could emulate even a fraction of their composure.

The female hesitated, her gaze lingering on him. Jenilia, the male interjected, you cannot take his words at face value. He may not be trustworthy.

She clicked her teeth in irritation, switching from the common tongue to Elvish. Ivisha, she retorted, unaware of how much of their conversation Ezekiel understood. Few realised the extent of his comprehension. He might possess valuable information. We won't dispose of him just yet.

He's deceiving us, and he's trespassing in our territory, the male insisted firmly.

But he's familiar with Evov, the female countered.

He'll reveal nothing once he's dead, he retorted.

Who informed him about the city? What else does he know? she snapped, her irritation evident.

The male paused, uncertainty clouding his expression. Do you think he's a covert operative for the South? he asked.

Indeed, she affirmed.

Ezekiel squinted, his confidence faltering. An enemy spy? The notion unnerved him.

We can't afford to hold captives, another male interjected.

I'm not suggesting we detain him, Raffan, the female clarified.

Raffan stared at her, perplexed. An interrogation? You can't interrogate a dead man. He's as good as dead already. Look at that foot, Jenilia.

A deal, then?

Fine, as long as you're talking to me.

Jenilia clicked her teeth once more, signalling something to Ezekiel that he didn't fully grasp. Yet, he accepted her terms as she turned to address him. She didn't advance or raise her voice; her commanding presence alone demanded his attention.

Who sent you to Evov? What is your objective? she asked in the common tongue.

The Sovereign is in danger, Ezekiel improvised, seizing upon the current situation and location to his advantage. I possess information relevant to your conflict, he added, fabricating a lie.

I don't trust you, she stated plainly.

That doesn't change the reality of the situation, he countered, though he immediately regretted his impulsiveness. Mythical beings despised deception, and revealing the truth could jeopardise his precarious position. He watched as Jenilia's annoyance dissipated, sensing her agreement before she even spoke.

Attempting to mask his discomfort, he attempted a grin and recited in Elvish, Man knows no reality—and is not reliable, but it came out as a frown. Allow me to demonstrate my trustworthiness.

You can't, she replied.

In that case, leave me be. Let destiny take its course, he urged, despite his scepticism toward destiny or fate. His weakening voice added a touch of sincerity to his plea.

Destiny isn't— She hesitated, an uncommon occurrence for mythical beings. You can't prove your trustworthiness, Jenilia concluded, because you can only communicate in the language of men.

Ezekiel grasped the gravity of her words. The language of men allowed for deception, while lying in Elvish was nearly impossible. Attempting to deceive in Elvish carried severe consequences, forcing the speaker to divulge the truth. Ezekiel understood the ramifications all too well. The words would stick in his throat, causing excruciating pain and potentially suffocation if he persisted.

Ezekiel voiced his explanation aloud in the common tongue, strategically playing on their ignorance of his true capabilities and knowledge of their language and culture. If they discovered he could speak Elvish, they would undoubtedly insist he converse in it, leaving him no choice but to confess the truth: he was neither a courier nor anyone of importance. He would be forced to admit to crossing the boundary unlawfully out of desperation, driven by hunger, with Elfland being his only hope for a successful hunt and a substantial meal.

You believe I should demonstrate my abilities in your language, Ezekiel remarked.

You are incapable of speaking our language, she retorted.

No, I am not, he lied again. You could teach me, he suggested, noting her sudden recoil at the idea as if it were abhorrent.

You are a man, she objected, though her initial impression of him seemed to waver. She appeared to weigh the potential knowledge he possessed and the significance of his mission. Ezekiel seized on this flicker of trust, seeing it as his opportunity for escape. If she agreed to teach him Elvish by some stroke of luck, it would afford him time to formulate a plan for his freedom. Even if it meant revisiting a language he had mastered years ago, she would be naive to teach him solely to uncover his true identity.

Enough, Jenilia, Raffan interjected, stepping between them. He is fading, and our time is running short.

Suddenly, another disturbance rippled through the woods, accompanied by a howling that sent a shiver down Ezekiel's spine. The sound of werewolf cries heightened his awareness of the scent of blood; his own blood stained the leaves beneath him, thick and wet, pooling around his fingers as he sat slumped on the ground, lacking the strength to stand.

We must go, Raffan declared, signalling to his companions to sheath their weapons.

The trap, Ezekiel pleaded, hating the urgency in his voice. Please, help me—

We leave it to fate and destiny now. Our time here is over, Raffan cut in firmly.

As they prepared to depart, everyone except Jenilia moved to leave. She stood motionless, her gaze meeting Ezekiel's. It seemed absurd for her to delay, foolish to disobey her leader's orders. Ezekiel resigned himself to his fate—he was as good as dead. If the wolves didn't claim him, the infection in his wounded foot would. If they wouldn't grant him the mercy of setting him free, perhaps they would at least offer him a swift death. Ezekiel's eyes drifted to her crossbow bolts, the crimson currigon feathers fluttering in the breeze. She followed his gaze and understood his silent plea.

She notched a bolt and aimed it at him.

And with that, it seemed the end was near. Ezekiel's hope flickered, and he struggled to summon a sense of contentment. A bolt to the heart wouldn't be the worst way to go. It would be swift, just a fleeting moment of pain. Certainly preferable to the alternative, which was now accompanied by a mournful wail echoing from nearby, much closer than before.

Turning his gaze upward into the dappled shade, Ezekiel observed the midday sunlight filtering through the canopy. The leaves shimmered in its golden glow.

Then, he heard it—the twang of a bowstring, followed by the sharp snap of a bolt being released. It struck the mechanism of the snare, causing it to spring open, releasing its jaws from around his foot. With a sense of relief, Ezekiel felt his foot come free from its entrapment.

CHAPTER TWO

They fled, but Ezekiel's progress was hindered by his injured foot. He couldn't keep up for long. The swelling in his blood-stained boot had become so severe that he feared the leather might tear. Limping after the mythical beings who hurried through the woodland, Ezekiel noticed Jenilia lingering behind with a questioning gaze, observing his stumbling steps. He saw the realisation dawn on her as she glanced back at the trail of blood he had left behind.

Go, he urged reluctantly, but she didn't heed his words.

Ezekiel felt a sense of relief when she remained by his side. Soon, a group of youthful female werewolves appeared, and Jenilia swiftly dispatched them with bolts and a short sword. Ezekiel barely registered the cries of the creatures as her weapons pierced their delicate bodies, but the silence that followed was deafening. Jenilia's troubled expression prompted a hazy recollection of different mythical beings and various encounters in the woods, but Ezekiel pushed the memories aside. His focus was solely on the mythical being tending to him now as Jenilia knelt opposite him and removed his boot.

With deft hands, Jenilia produced a needle and thread, sewing his injury together in a manner designed to minimise additional pain. Despite the lack of numbing poultices or pain relief, Ezekiel made no request for respite.

The agony intensified with each stitch, threatening to overwhelm him. He fought against the urge to succumb to unconsciousness, acutely aware of the consequences if he were to lose consciousness at this moment.

Ezekiel had already resigned himself to his fate, relinquishing his past life, his aspirations, and his relationships. He remembered the man he used to be, a fighter, a Lowlander, a son, and a decent person. But that version of himself felt like a distant memory now. Having narrowly escaped death three years prior, Ezekiel couldn't help but wonder if exile was a fate worse than death.

In the midst of his pain and reflection, Ezekiel contemplated the possibility of redemption. According to the customs of his people, those who had committed crimes could seek absolution through acts of penance. But as he thought of his mother, Ezekiel couldn't help but wonder if any penance would ever be enough to redeem him in her eyes.

Stay with me, Jenilia's voice cut through the dimness, her face appearing blurry in his vision.

But Ezekiel's mind was elsewhere, consumed by memories of falling into darkness, his muscles straining as he dangled from the precipice. He opened his eyes, still alive but battered and weary. As he surveyed his surroundings, he noticed the dying embers of the fire casting a dim glow, illuminating the tops of the trees. Beyond that lay darkness as if the world existed only within the fire's fading light.

Ezekiel shifted his position, feeling a dull ache in his chest as he coughed. He strained his ears for any sound of movement, listening for Jenilia—or rather, his guardian angel. He sensed her presence nearby, her gaze shifting between his injured foot and his face, her expression guarded. He recognised that look, and he couldn't help but wish he didn't.

I'm alive, he muttered, unsure whether he meant to reassure her or himself.

Gee, Jenilia responded tersely.

Avoiding eye contact, Ezekiel couldn't bear to see her thoughts reflected in her gaze—likely a mixture of frustration with him and concern for their situation. He glanced down at his leg, which throbbed with pain and was swollen, the makeshift bandage wrapped clumsily around it using leaves as padding. Nearby, the fire crackled, its warmth offering some semblance of comfort amidst the uncertainty of their circumstances. Ezekiel reached out to touch his injured leg, attempting to piece together the events that had led them here, but his efforts only yielded hazy recollections and a throbbing headache.

Squinting into the dense woodland, Ezekiel realised they were isolated from the others.

Where are the others? he asked, hoping for some clarity.

Jenilia remained silent, refusing to provide any answers.

What happened? he pressed, but she continued to withhold information, her silence speaking volumes.

Instead of responding, Jenilia's gaze lingered on something clenched in her hand—a silver chain. Ezekiel's heart skipped a beat as he realised it belonged to him.

Who gave this to you? she inquired, holding up the necklace.

No one, he replied defensively, the weight of his words heavy with implications.

You took it? she questioned, her tone laced with accusation.

Ezekiel let out an exasperated sigh. No, I meant no one significant. No one you know. But it doesn't matter.

This is Elven silver, Jenilia remarked, her tone indicating her suspicion.

A tense silence followed her statement as Ezekiel remained still, his mind racing. He should have been more concerned about his foot and their precarious situation, but all he could focus on was the necklace in her possession and the memories it invoked.

You're a human with secrets, Jenilia declared, ignoring his outstretched hand. Whose is this? she demanded, her gaze piercing.

Gone, Ezekiel replied tersely.

Gone or dead? she pressed further.

Dead, he spat out the word bitterly, unable to contain his frustration. Jenilia raised an eyebrow, probing further.

Did you love her? she asked, her voice quiet but insistent.

Enough! Ezekiel snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Did you kill her? Jenilia continued, undeterred by his outburst.

Stop! he exclaimed, his anger boiling over. Behind the rage, memories threatened to engulf him—memories of a lost love, a hidden truth, and a tragic outcome. Ezekiel fought to push them away, refusing to divulge any more to Jenilia. With a snarl, he attempted to rise to his feet, but Jenilia intervened, pushing him back with surprising force.

You'll tear the stitches, she cautioned.

To hell with the stitches, he retorted, frustration evident in his voice.

I didn't mean to upset you, she replied softly, her demeanour shifting.

But Ezekiel knew better. Jenilia was a mythical being, skilled in the art of manipulation. She was testing him, probing for weaknesses, and he refused to play into her hands.

I've been reconsidering our agreement, she announced, gently pushing him back down to sit beside her. The flickering firelight cast eerie shadows across her face as she spoke, and Ezekiel couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He realised the fire, initially a source of comfort, now seemed like a beacon attracting unwanted attention. He glanced at Jenilia, noting the cautious expression on her face, and suddenly became aware of where her focus lay—not on the surrounding darkness, but on the jewellery in her hand. It was as though she was guarding something, something she didn't want him to see.

He peered into the darkness, unable to discern anything. Yet, he caught Jenilia’s breath hitch, and his uncertainty solidified, morphing into absolute certainty. Even if he couldn't see the other five mythical beings beyond the bright ring of firelight, he knew they were there.

So, they were scrutinising him.

You claim you have information for our sovereign, Jenilia stated.

Yes, he replied evenly, anticipating the course of the conversation.

In Elvish, he would confess that he didn’t actually possess information for their sovereign. He knew nothing about their conflict. They would prod him for information and torment him when they grew impatient. And then, they would execute him for trespassing and deceiving them, as was customary between mythical beings and humans.

Since I can't trust anything you say in Mainlander, Jenilia continued, focusing on his necklace, I could teach you Elvish. In return, I'll ensure you're rewarded if your information proves genuine.

Yes.

Do you already speak Elvish?

Ezekiel masked his rising irritation with a scowl.

You know I don't.

I can't be certain about anything. The chain glimmered softly in the light. What was the name of the mythical being who gave this to you?

She was from the South. You wouldn't know her.

If that's true, tell me about her.

Ezekiel could have lied to her, and he would have if he hadn’t felt profound sadness and heartbreak just at the mention of her name. He didn't owe Jenilia anything, but some inexplicable impulse urged him to disclose.

Lorana, he said, and this time, saying her name didn’t torment him enough to diminish his voice.

Common name.

Yes.

I know many Loranas.

Do you know anyone who killed one of their own kind?

Jenilia fell silent for a moment. We mythical beings don't kill our own.

I hadn’t thought you did until I witnessed it firsthand.

You are a liar, human.

Am I?

Now, there was anger in her gaze, which she didn’t bother to conceal. Her expression shifted to contemplative as Ezekiel deciphered her emotions—vulnerability, concern, and finally, it was as though she were weighing all her options. No, she needed him, which infuriated her; she needed him and almost had him if it weren’t for his injured foot, his fatigue, and his peculiar insight into mythical beings. He understood them better than most.

I will teach you, Jenilia declared at last.

Ezekiel blinked. What?

We are travelling to Tarrith-Mour. I will teach you Elvish along the way.

I don't—

"You have until we reach the city to learn and then divulge everything