The Blessing: Chronicles of the Ordained

By Jerri Hines

Continue the Chronicles of the Ordained Saga with The Blessing!

 

The Secundus's reign comes to a fiery end. Once more, the night sky holds only one moon, but the cost of peace is high. Witheleghe has separated itself from the rest of the world, where there is no way in or out of the realm except through the mighty fortress— Nottesdone. Scarladin suffers as well. During Cyaika's attack, Yucca burns, and the cathedral crumbles. The years following are filled with an uneasy peace. But then, the whispers of Asmeodai begin again. As King Darius has feared, the evil still lingers.

 

Against the backdrop of lies and deceit, murder and betrayal, the Ordained face their greatest challenge yet. For when Asmeodai returns this time, there is no one safe from his wrath.

 

Follow the sweeping fantasy adventure entrenched in royal intrigue, powerful foes, and magical exploits. Beware—the saga contains sword & sorcery, dragons and fleogans, and witches and wizards. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerri Hines
• Release date: Aug 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781735751368

Jerri Hines

A Southern gal with a fascination for history, bestselling author Jerri Hines writes historical suspense fiction and historical romance. Jerri believes in love and the power it holds, the reason she adds romance to her stories. She has lived the last thirty years near Boston with her Yankee husband.

Book preview

The Chronicles of the Ordained

Book Three

The Blessing

By

Jerri Hines

https://jerrihines.blogspot.com/

http://twitter.com/jhines340

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Copyright @ 2023 Jerri Hines

Edited by C.J. Haynes

Cover Art by Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill

http://edhgraphics.blogspot.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

ISBN: 978-1-7357513-6-8

DEDICATION

To my son, Gary.

And, as always, to my husband, Bob.

Contents

Aligning of a Path

The Vows

The Union Declared

The Day Bleeds

Bridge Between Realms

The Sound of Silence

The Curtain Drawn

Broken Sight

Whispers in the Wind

Between Twilight

In the Stars

Who Wants Forever

Shatter the World

Beyond the Veil

Shadow Dance

THE DARKENING

CHARACTERS OF THE BLESSING

The Secundus’s reign met a fiery end during the Time of Separation. Once more, the night sky bears only one moon, but the cost of peace has been steep. Witheleghe broke from the physical plane that once connected the realm to the outside world to protect the kingdom from Asmeodai. There is no way in or out of the Witheleghe except through the mighty fortress—Nottesdone. Scarladin has suffered as well from Cyaika’s attack. Yucca burned, and the cathedral crumbled. The following years were marked by an uneasy peace secured through the alliance between Witheleghe and Scarladin.

To strengthen the fragile bond between the two kingdoms, there has been a betrothal of King Darius’s eldest daughter, Saoirse, to King Edulf’s heir, Mithelk. A marriage destined to happen for both kings have sworn a Meitfe Oath that their children would marry. The children have grown up beside each other within Nottesdone, but the tension between kings has not lessened. King Edulf has been unforgiving toward the Flandigana king, believing King Darius has deceived him once too often. Yet, King Edulf does not dare oppose the wielder of Vaellyn magic.

King Darius has his own worries, but none greater than the persistent whispers that Asmeodai still walks and threatens all in his path. King Darius has done all within his power to ensure that the line of those chosen to be the Ordained will not falter. The fate of both kingdoms depends upon those chosen few, and the trials ahead will test their resolve and unity like never before.

NOTTESDONE

SAOIRSE

Aligning of a Path

Saoirse woke. Her dreams once more disturbed her sleep. She kept hearing voices calling to her. She would be standing in a blooming lavender field where she could smell the calming aroma. The tranquil feeling would soon descend into a confusing symphony of cries. Some voices were familiar; most were strangers, but they never stopped pleading with her to listen. Her head spun with the deafening clamor, for she couldn’t understand what was said. There were too many of them.

She had learned at a young age that when they came, she must concentrate on the lone lady in the vision. The dark-skinned woman dressed like a warrior in black leather pants and a jacket but was beautiful with long midnight hair and large telling eyes. The woman never spoke, but those eyes betrayed who she was, and her presence calmed Saoirse.

If she tried hard enough, Saoirse could draw a remembrance of her mother, not, perhaps, a moment but a sense of being wrapped in a loving cocoon. The look the woman in the vision gave her evoked the same feeling.

As a child, Saoirse never doubted she was loved and, according to dear Nanny

Guilda, had been spoilt terribly. Her father surrounded her with people who cared for her, leaving her well-being to be overseen by Lady Maeve, or Mamo, as Saoirse called her.

Saoirse lay in bed, unsure of what her dreams meant but was sure they meant something. As of late, she felt the dreams almost assaulted her. They had become more prevalent, in turn, making her uneasy. She would be lying to herself if she denied she wasn’t beginning to question everything around her, except Nottesdone.

Nottesdone, the legendary fortress, was her home since her father brought her here when she was three, fourteen years ago. She wanted to be nowhere other than where the waves crashed against the cliff’s rocks, and the wind carried the fresh salt air. She would walk the beach and feel the sand between her toes and the ocean flowing over her bare feet.

Her fanciful imagination allowed her to believe that the ocean reflected her moods, or perhaps, it was she connected to its anger when a powerful storm raged with winds and waves, challenging the very earth’s foundation. Then, afterward, the morning sun would return the natural peace and serenity of the rhythmic roll of tides.

Nanny Guilda would say Saoirse gave credence to the legends surrounding Nottesdone and would chastise her for her romantic nature. Saoirse thought Nanny Guilda feared she would give into the wild fancies of the land. But why wouldn’t I?

Saoirse had been raised along the coast where stories of the devil were rife. The locals had a special name for the devil —Asmeodai. But the name was whispered as if said too loud, it would conjure the demon.

Her home sat on a high cliff overlooking an endless sea, a place of breathtaking beauty. The cliffs rose, steep and abrupt, for more than eight hundred feet. Nottesdone spanned over seven ekas along those cliffs. Surrounded by the heather moorland, the grand and noble granite castle reigned over the land and sea.

Many a day, Saoirse would ride her fleogan, Lia, through the tall grass and wildflowers of pink and white valerian mingled with the deep purple heather. She would fly high and sweep down just above the tops of the flowers and soak in the aroma of the heath.

Lia was Saoirse’s most prized possession. The fleogan was her father’s gift to her on the tenth anniversary of her adoption. Mamo had gone with her to the Garten of Arch to pick out her mount.

Mamo took great pride in the pick. She comes from a good bloodline. My first fleogan was from Lia’s grandmother. She will be a good mount for you.

Mamo’s grandnephew, Halmir of House Sexton, taught Saoirse how to ride. Mamo insisted the ability to ride a fleogan was Saoirse’s birthright.

Saoirse supposed Mamo was right. House Sexton had a close alliance with her father. Her father’s Lord Commander was Halmir’s father. That she knew. She was confused only about the family connection, but there again, she had questioned her own relationship with King Darius.

The story Nanny Guilda told was quite vague. Of her father, there were no questions. He was Witheleghe’s king. The envious Vaellyn magic flowed through his veins. When he discovered her existence in the Charmed Woods, her father adopted her and brought her back to Troms.

The king must have loved your mother greatly, Nanny Guilda said. He gave no other option but for everyone to accept you as his daughter. Princess Saoirse. A great honor.

Of course, Father would have loved my mother, Saoirse replied innocently. How would I have been otherwise?

Yes, Your Highness, you’re right. It’s the way it should have been, Nanny Guilda said. Yet, when Saoirse thought about the conversation, she concluded that her nanny may have omitted important details. Saoirse realized Nanny Guilda would give in to her when it was easier than explaining the whole truth. Saoirse was quite relentless in her pursuit of answers when she sought them.

No one else would talk of her birth mother. But being who she was, Saoirse conjured up a romantic image of the lady. Her mother looked like the woman in her dreams, beautiful, dark, and brave. Oh, ever so brave, because she had shared a forbidden love with a Flandigana. She imagined her mother would return one day and know her immediately because Saoirse had to resemble her. For she certainly didn’t look like her siblings.

Saoirse had three. Orla was younger by less than a year, then followed Rogan and Staffon. Each had blonde locks and skin as white as the clouds in the sky, like their father. She did share the blue eyes, bluer even than theirs, but her skin was darker, as was her hair. What’s more, she lived here at Nottesdone. In contrast, her siblings lived with their father and Queen Odelia at Chatamar.

At a young age, she discovered rumors about her existence through a young housemaid, Rois. No one else dared tell her that her mother was whispered to have been a Nenniusan witch. A rumor that Saoirse refused to believe.

It made no sense. Her father was the hero of the Time of Separation when Witheleghe broke from the physical plane of what had been the ancient Jornado Empire. Nenniusan witches were malevolent creatures who served Asmeodai. At least, that was the folklore the locals told.

Mind you, Your Highness, it is only hearsay, Rois said. It is told she was a seductress, very beautiful in a dark satanic way, and used magic to lure your father to her bed.

How in the world would she have done that? Saoirse questioned, refusing to believe such a tale. You are Sordarin and don’t understand that my Lord Father holds Vaellyn magic. Even if the woman that birthed me used magic, she could not have affected him.

Rois looked at Saoirse quizzically, then nodded. I don’t know nothin’ about that magic your realm has, Your Highness. No, I don’t. She leaned over for Saoirse’s ears only, even though no one else was around. But they say she wasn’t human.

Saoirse had laughed. Of course, she was human. I wouldn’t be here if she weren’t.

There are things they wouldn’t tell you, Your Highness, Rois pressed her lips together to indicate that she knew something she longed to tell Saoirse but was well aware she shouldn’t.

Come now, Rois, you have to tell me now.

It would have been foolish not to believe the legend of Nottesdone would not have spread far and wide. The sudden reappearance of the mighty fortress would have been frightening for those not used to magic. Still, Nanny Guilda said that even Withelegheans were impressed with her father’s power in raising the castle from the ruins.

For Saoirse, Nottesdone had always been. The sole entrance into Witheleghe was a center of trade. People from far and near came with their wares. There were always prominent dignitaries coming and going. But, more important to Saoirse was the fact it was her home.

They say you’re the devil’s spawn, Your Highness.

Saoirse laughed, thinking it a jest, but then saw Rois was serious. 

But it ain’t all of them, Rois said. I tell ’em, you’re a sweet thing...and they see ya and can tell ya ain’t a demon. Ma Kal in the kitchen says they got it all wrong. You’ve been a blessing to this place.

Blessing, Saoirse scoffed. That would be her sister, Orla. Despite the reverence her father afforded her, she served only as a pawn for her realm—a sacrifice for an alliance between Scarladin and Witheleghe. She was betrothed to the heir of Scarladin, Mithelk, who had been raised alongside her here at Nottesdone. It would be the first marriage between a Flandigana and an outsider.

Whereas her siblings were born with Flandigana magic, Saoirse had none. She couldn’t transport, conjure, or even mind talk. A fact that Orla would never let Saoirse forget.

But none of that mattered today. She had decided to take another path in her life. She was done with duty and circumstance. She was done with Nottesdone. She was Witheleghean and intended to remain so.

Steadfast with her purpose, Saoirse rose without calling for Rois to attend to her. She didn’t need a lecture about her plot for freedom.

The day was warm for early spring, and the golden sunlight lit the room with a glorious brilliance through the wide windows. The pale-yellow walls glistened in the light, allowing a pleasant soft warmth to fill the air.

Through the window, Saoirse could see preparations underway for the celebration. The Elfin Garden was in bloom with daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, and creeping phlox bordering the walkways. A pair of robins flew back and forth from the dogwood tree on their own mission. From the look of the twig in one of the red-breast bird’s beaks, it seemed they were making a nest. Most times, Saoirse would enjoy the view, but not today.

She turned and made straightway to her wardrobe. She knew exactly what she needed. A sky-blue-watered silk gown hung alone on the right side. She ignored it. If she were successful, she would not need the wedding dress fashioned for the princess of Nottesdone.

Instead, she opened the left side and removed her scarlet riding habit with gold trim and buttons. The tailored, short jacket had a matching long skirt with pantlings underneath to straddle the fleogan.

Saoirse wasted no time putting on the habit, then hesitated, catching her reflection in the mirror. Usually, she never thought about how she looked, but today, she wanted to look perfect.

She twisted one way to get a view and then another. She was quite pleased with the results. The riding outfit set off her figure to perfection. Then she frowned. She couldn’t leave her hair loose. She wished she could have Rois braid her unruly hair. That was an impossibility.

Taking in a deep breath, she would have to do it herself. She took her long dark strands and braided them herself.

Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at the reflection. I may not have the blonde locks of Orla, but I am no shrinking violet. The thought of her sister caused her envy to emerge again.

Orla was not beautiful, but no one seemed to notice that her nose was a tad too large or her face too sharp. Nevertheless, even Eireann called her sister arresting. Orla commands a room when she enters with her charm. Heads turn because she believes she is the most attractive woman there, but she can’t hold a candle to you.

Saoirse took satisfaction in that declaration. Exotic, she had heard many times. Her eyes were a brilliant blue with bristly, long black lashes curled at the ends. Her thick dark eyebrows slanted upward against her smooth bronze skin.

Moreover, people could not help but notice Saoirse when she was with her sister. She stood half a foot taller than Orla.

Eireann often told Saoirse she was foolish in comparing herself to her sister. Your paths aren’t the same.

Dear sweet Eireann, Saoirse thought. Her beloved friend was content with her lot in life and wanted Saoirse to be the same.

Saoirse supposed she was closer to Eireann than Orla because Eireann had been her constant companion since she was four. Eireann’s father, Lord Rufus from House Asherde, had served as Witheleghe’s ambassador at Nottesdone.

Eireann was the youngest child of seven but was the only one brought with Lord Rufus when he came to serve King Darius here at Nottesdone. Lady Olive had accompanied her husband for the first few years, then retired to their home, Castle Sainte.

A slight wave of guilt surfaced in Saoirse about deceiving Eireann, but if she had told Eireann, she held no doubt her friend would have informed Mamo, not out of spite but concern.

Eireann worried for everyone else except herself. She embodied the lady Mamo wished Saoirse was instead of the defiant, wild child Mamo called Saoirse more than once.

Her friend was a delicate, frail creature and thin as a water reed. She was plain-faced, never spoke louder than a whisper, and never disobeyed Mamo unless Saoirse directed her to do so, and only then, to ensure Saoirse didn’t get into more trouble than she was already.

Snapping out of her thoughts of Eireann, Saoirse returned to her mission. It was going to be a wonderful day. With one more glance in the mirror, Saoirse rushed out of her chamber, down the corridor to the back stairs, and then another turn to a seldom-used passage to the stables.

As she suspected, everyone’s attention was on the day’s activities. No one took a second glance in her direction when she ducked under the rail of Lia’s gate. Her fleogan nudged her when she entered.

Patience, Saoirse whispered as she kissed Lia’s muzzle. Allow me to saddle you, and we will be on our way.

And that would be where exactly?

Abruptly, Saoirse turned to see a figure emerge from the shadow. The man had dressed formally for the day’s celebration in a black waistcoat and a white ruffled shirt. She had never seen him in anything except black, matching his hair, eyes, and, she was sure, his heart.

She grimaced to see Lord Lucan of House Wardle, her sister’s husband and, more importantly to Saoirse at this moment, cousin to Ser Deagal. The man’s eyes gleamed like shards of obsidian, filled with a spark of the supercilious that Saoirse hated. He had a sharp, angular face etched with deep lines that told he enjoyed being belligerent to her, his way of challenging her to defy him.

It is not your concern, she said, feeling fresh anger grip her toward the man.

But it is, Lucan said. I’m head of House Wardle. Members of my House are my responsibility. You can well imagine my shock to learn of my cousin’s ill-advised attempt to run off with my wife’s sister on the day of her own wedding.

Saoirse’s heart shadowed as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. Each word he spoke dripped in nastiness, leaving a lingering chill. Oh, lord above, he knew her plan. How? Deagal would have never betrayed her. Would he? She swallowed hard but refused to give into his attempt at intimidation.

Where is Ser Deagal?

Back at Castle Tine paying for his indiscretion.

Lucan said nothing else. Yet, Saoirse had a sudden vision of Lucan conjuring up a fireball and felt a sudden wave of pain—sharp agonizing pain with a faint smell of burning flesh. She gripped her stomach, fighting back the urge to throw up.

What have you done to him? Saoirse demanded. He has done nothing.

Then where are you going?

Saoirse snapped her head back. Her father had arrived. 

King Darius had come without ceremony but often appeared without announcement to ride with her. This day, though, there was no trace of the usual warmth in his voice toward her.

Father, do something, Saoirse pleaded. Ser Deagal was only going to escort me on a short ride. I felt the need for an escape before the celebration.

Her father said nothing to her, but his eyes said he did not believe her lies. Abruptly, he turned his anger to Lord Lucan.

"I believe I instructed you I would handle my daughter."

Lord Lucan bowed his head in reverence. I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness. I meant only to help by taking care of my end of the situation.

As you said, Ser Deagal is back at Castle Tine. We will talk later. King Darius had no patience for his son-in-law. With a wave of his hand, Lord Lucan was gone.

Saoirse rushed to her father’s side and gripped his hand. Father, you must stop him. He is torturing Ser Deagal.

Her father stared at her with searching eyes. She thought he would relent for a moment, but then he seemed to come out of his trance.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? he said sharply. To try to elope with a guard on your wedding day?"

Father, you don’t...

He raised his hand to silence her. She could see the anger swelling in him. His face reddened; his mouth tightened. He looked lost for words. Then, with a wave of his hand, they were gone.

Her father had transported her to the moor along the cliffs. The beauty around her was breathtaking. She ignored it. Her ire stirred. She hated being swept away without even a thought of her wishes. Though, it was perhaps the fact that she wasn’t able to do so like her siblings.

Refusing to look at him, she looked around her surroundings. Strangely, she didn’t recognize the place. Over the cliffs, she saw a small cove that was unfamiliar. Where has Father taken me?

Over her shoulder, she saw a womanly figure sauntering toward them. As the woman came closer, Saoirse could see it was Seilda the Tvopac.

"Why have you brought me to her?" Saoirse turned back to her father.

You will understand soon enough, he said. His face did not change, emotionless and cold.

For the first time in her life, she was nervous in the presence of her father. She felt the power within him directed at her, and she trembled. She was afraid to speak, afraid to move.

A part of her wanted to flee, far away from her father, but she realized there was another’s fate that needed to be addressed. Ser Deagal, she began, swallowing hard. You won’t let Lucan continue his torture...you know...

His fate is his own, her father stated with ice in his tone. You are a child. He is a man. Elohim’s wrath, girl! He’s at least twelve years older and swore an oath to serve at Nottesdone. One that he broke.

She rushed to him and fell to her knees. Taking his hand, she could feel tears stream down her cheeks. Please, Father, at least tell me who betrayed me?

Her father hesitated, then said, It was you.

NOTTESDONE

SAOIRSE

The Vows

Saoirse stared at an empty space where her father had been. He had left her with that woman. She had known Seilda for as long as she could remember and was well aware of the whispers that called her strange, not that she had ever paid much mind to the rumors.

Seilda was Eireann’s grandmother and had shown Saoirse only kindness in her presence. Still, Saoirse understood the uneasiness the woman caused.

A chill wind swirled around Saoirse. She shivered. Whether from the cold or her circumstances, she didn’t know.

Follow me, you silly, foolish girl. The tall woman spoke with a