Princil's Magic : Chapter 1

Remzain heard the shouts from outside as the family ate their sumptuous meal.

“What is this?” said father, plainly irritated, when at this time of the evening the streets should be calm as the people of the city went to their own homes, to communal kitchens, and gatherings for worship or pleasure. The work of the day should now be over.

“Do not allow it to spoil your meal,” said Ishtral, his first wife, and mother of some of his children, now all adult, around the table. Ishtral was always so calming, and Remzain loved her for it. They had always been so close, and Ishtral was a second mother to her, having helped to bring her up, alongside her own physical mother, the beautiful Serena, who sat on the other side of father. Serena, her mother, was father’s second wife.

“I won’t,” said the usually moderate merchant, “but it is unusual at this time of day. Listen there is more.” It was true enough. There was more shouting. Remzain could hear it clearly. It sounded like screams of panic. She felt an intuition of alarm, the same as her father suffered.

“Alos. You are nearest the door. Why don’t you go out and take a quick look,” suggested Ishtral. Alos was her oldest son, Remzain’s oldest half brother, a fine organiser, and lover of many women. He was 39 years old now, the thought of which made her feel her own advancing age.

“A good idea,” agreed father.

“Of course,” said Alos, looking sceptical, but being a dutiful man he acceded to the wishes of the household. He pushed back his chair and rose towards the door, closing it firmly behind him as he went out to investigate.

Minutes went by. Chatter returned to the household, but cries from outside could still be heard. The door opened again and Alos reentered. His face was white as a sheet, and he seemed unsteady, gripping on the back of his own chair.

“What is it Alos?” asked Ishtral, often the matriarch of the household. All around the table were silent, shocked by the appearance of their brotherson. Whatever the commotion outside it must be serious if it had so affected their brotherson.

“A foreign fleet is in the harbour, and up the river. It is immense,” uttered Alos, almost choking with the shock of it.”

“Well who are they son?” asked father, who also seemed alarmed.

“I think we can guess,” croaked Alos.

“Grumandorians, or Pelancirians?” guessed father.

“No one knows for sure. But yes, I think so. The banners of Grumandor have been seen. But it is a huge fleet, far larger than anything which has been reported before,” said Alos.

There was silence for a second as the household considered the implications of this astounding news.

“What is this fleet doing here Alos?” asked Serena, Remzain’s mother. “Do they intend to land and occupy the city?” Her words seemed foolish, for everyone knew of the threatened invasion of the Animarian kings, even if they were divided in their opinions about whether it would come to pass. None had expected it to come here to their beautiful home city of Cromilil.

“Of course they intend to occupy and conquer the city,” said a quiet and, to Remzain’s ears, deathly voice. She shuddered to hear her full brother’s voice so despairing. She was more used to his warm playfulness, his optimism and wonder. The same white pallor which had struck her half brother Alos was upon Princil, who sat opposite his sister. His despair emptied her more than Alos, because they had often felt as one, growing up closely together, both the offspring of mother Serena and father. They thought alike sometimes, and when they did not, complimented each other.

“What do you see Princil?” asked Ishtral, sensitive to the sensitive one’s developing magewisdom. She had betrayed elements of seeing ability at times, but presently she could see nothing of the future.

“I see dark men and dark creatures scowling at our arts and our free souls,” whispered Princil, as if in pain. “They come with swords to take what is not theirs. They are not preservers. They come to destroy what could be theirs if they cared. I see visions of which I cannot tell. Some of these I cannot reveal for none should have their hopes destroyed.” Remzain was shocked to observe the change which had come over her brother. Princil at 23 was normally a content young man, who took great joy in the arts and culture of civilisation. He was a gifted painter and also a prolific writer of poems and prose, but also the young man had been developing his natural gifts as a wizard.

“Enough,” cried Alos, as if in the grip of his own visions. “This will get us nowhere. If their ships are full they will surely take the city. We are all in grave danger. We must try to defend ourselves, I suppose, but we are not ready for this. It is unexpected.”

“Not completely unexpected,” said father. “We knew the Grumandorians and the Pelancirians were coming to Shalirion. There has been much talk of it. We only did not know where they intended to attack first. They were seen hundreds of miles away, in the northwest, a short week ago. I wish to know how they could have come to our shores so quick.”

“By magic. They have a strong magic behind them, dark and evil,” said dark Princil bitterly. “I can feel it. I have never felt the like before!”

Chanceleord, their father, sighed and bowed his head. “All is lost. How can we hope to beat them off. Our standing armies are in the North. If they have the vast fleet you say Alos and a dark and evil magic also, as you say Prancil, then there appears to be little we can do. We must hope they will accept a surrender.”

“Surely you do not propose to surrender the city to those barbarians without a fight?” said Alos, angrily. He respected his father highly, and they had worked closely together in recent years as he had come into his years of responsibility, but he did feel able to question his father’s judgement. The suggestion of cowardly surrender appalled him. Shalirion was a prosperous and powerful land, its culture better developed than any land in the world. A thousand years, and more of peace and tolerance, the appreciation of beauty and the satisfaction of its peoples, the prosperity of balanced and positive trades of many descriptions; these were the achievements of the Empire of Peace. The Empire had survived the awful threat of the greedy barbarians who lapped around it only by the active defence of its armies on many occasions in the past, and when necessary by the weaving of great magic.

“If we wish to save our lives and the lives of our citizens then surrender of the city may be the sensible course,” said Chanceleord rationally. “Our armies are not here Alos. We have no time to organise our defence. If we resist violently we will invite their savagery.”

“We cannot do any good sat here,” declared Alos impatiently. “If we do not organise a defence the city will fall easily. Father what is the best course? Surely we must raise what defence we can.”

“An organised and prepared defence may give the city some bargaining power,” nodded Chanceleord solemnly. “We could negotiate terms of surrender then. But we are not ready. Our men are not in the best places for resistance, nor are they equipped. We cannot hope to resist them. While we speak the Animarians may be disembarking and beginning to occupy the city.

“I must go to find other Councillors, and leading citizens who may negotiate a surrender,” declared Chanceleord. “There is not much time. There is no time for tears or soul searching. I must act.”

Father took the hands of his two wives Ishtral and Serena, very briefly, scouring them with distraught eyes. All knew that these were suddenly dangerous times, that it was possible they would not see him again, that their own lives and patterns of existence were about to change. Even Remzain and the younger sons and daughters sensed the sad loss of the moment. Still each hoped for a way for the family to survive this misfortune.

“Enough, there is little time,” said Chanceleord, pulling himself away from his loved ones. “I am going to find councillors or leaders who live nearby. We will form a delegation to speak to the invaders. By all means Alos round up some men, but there is insufficient time to be organised. They may aid our negotiation. But hear me! There must be no violent resistance. That can only bring disaster upon us. The Grumandorians particularly would only punish us.”

“Father!” protested Alos. “We should seek to resist in some way. We cannot meekly hand them all they wish to possess.”

Chanceleord fixed his eldest son with a stare which invited no argument, “No son. Do not argue, there is no time for that. Follow my words. Observe the surrender. There will be another day for fighting. Will you son?”

“Yes of course father.”

Chanceleord bowed to his son, having no time to grasp his hand, and said, “I go,” as he opened the door, and went out to discover his destiny.

Alos went outside again. The household was in chaos, but nothing useful was being done. He felt the need to assess the best course of action. If the city could create any realistic defence then it must be organised. He was one who could assist in this. Perhaps he could raise the warehousemen and dockworkers, and any employees of the family merchant House into some kind of fighting force to help the soldiers in the defence of the city. If the numbers of the invaders were too great then perhaps it would be better to get away, escape and assist the rest of the Empire in the coming struggle.

While there was chaos in the streets of the city, and the defenders fell before the power of the invaders Princil tried, in the only way he could, to stem the tide of the savage invaders. He was no fighter. The lessons others had learned he had shied away from. He could barely wield a sword, but it had long been evident to all who knew about these things that his gifts were in the gentler matters of life, and in sorcery. In the latter his talents were precocious and badly controlled, but there was no doubting he could see and could effect spells.

“Ishtral!” he cried. “I need to make a magic. Of protection, to hide us, or turn them away from our door.”

“You cannot save us,” she cried desperately. “We are at their mercy. Hopefully we will be safe when the fighting stops.”

“You forget, half mother, one truth!”

“And what might that be, young one?” said Ishtral, unused to being told, somewhat resentful of that.

“I can see what can be, what will be. It is not pretty.”

“You know don’t you?” she cried, horrified. “What can you see? Do you see our downfall?” Ishtral had knowledge, she could sense his vision, knew something of what such knowledge might entail. “Tell me. I wish to know what you see.”

“No. I cannot tell you. The truth might affect you badly. I do not wish any of you to lose hope. All I can say is the truth is not carved in stone. The future can always be changed, potentially. If we are to stand any chance we must make magic. The alternative is not good.”

“Tell me what becomes of us in your visions,” asked Ishtral again, not wishing to hear the answer, but believing that she must. “I have some knowledge. They say the truth cannot hurt. I am told I am a strong woman.”

“I know you are strong, and wise. That is partly why I wish to make a request of you. But believe me. You do not want to know what happens in my seeing. Trust that I direct you on the best possible path, to avoid the worst.”

She looked at him again, tears in her eyes. The truth must indeed be bad if he could not reveal it even to her. “Alright then. If you must keep your knowledge secret, so be it. What is it then that you request of me?” Other members of the family, Serena, Princil’s own mother, and Remzain, his full sister, listened to Princil’s words with bated breath, conscious of the urgency and danger of their situation, and amazed by the desperate vigour of Princil’s demeanor. Ishtral’s two daughters and two other sons had gone to their rooms before to prepare themselves for whatever they might need in the coming crisis.

“We need to make a strong magic. One of the surest ways is for the magic maker to make sexual energy. This can be strongest with a person who would normally be forbidden to him.”

“You mean me?” she gulped, surprised.

“I do.”

“But we are not forbidden, we just never have because …” She left the half sentence hanging in the heavy air.

“I know. Partner’s offspring may not be encouraged, but there is no ban. We are not of the same flesh.”

“Serena has had my son, Alos, many times. It is not forbidden.”

“But in our minds it has been. We have never before, together. It is not because I have not wanted to,” he revealed.

“You should have asked. I might not have said no.”

“You are the female head of the household. We are different generations.”

“Not enough different for you not to have thought it,” she said.

“That will make our union more powerful now,” he said, “that I would have liked one day to ask, but that I could never quite pluck up the courage. In my mind you were forbidden to me.”

“I would that this revelation could be made under different circumstances. Then we might have enjoyed what we did. But today, if I do this thing, we cannot enjoy it,” she said.

“We must enjoy it, there is no other way. The magic requires passion, enjoyment, or even desperation!”

Princil waited as Ishtral took in his strange request at this time of desperation. As he surveyed her time slowed, perhaps a mage’s privilege. She possessed golden hair, cut tidily, but not short, as befitted a powerful matriarch well into her middle age. Even as a twelve year old in her household he had admired and wanted her, before he could understand what wanting really meant, or what sexual companionship felt like. She had actually been his first crush, as far as he could recall, or perhaps his strongest. Then her hair had been long and flowing, a much sought after beauty, still in the prime of her vigour, although a mature woman even then. Her maturity had been the aspect which made her so perfect. She had been mature, therefore not silly and childish like the females he knew so well in the household and at school. She was very much forbidden to him at that time. To have been sexual with her at that time would have broken nearly every rule in the sexual rulebook. Athough Ishtral was a half mother to him, she had been like a mother, helping him to read and learn about life from the early years, always approachable, although demanding respect and politeness, never straying into the overfamiliarity which children could have in their chatter.

No adult was permitted to have sexual relations with a child, so Princil had never expected that he could touch Ishtral in a sexual way while still in the years of his minority. He had had to be content with the occasional hug and the pleasure of her presence in the household, but there had of course been others closer to his own age to concern himself with. He remembered well thinking, at the age of sixteen, that he was of an age where he could be free in his choices, sexual among many other matters. He used his new found freedom sparingly at first, sharing only with those young women who made a connection to his artistic sensibilities. He wanted Ishtral, as every man in the neighbourhood must have, or so he thought, but he had not the confidence to ask, and she seemed not to consider it. He was too young he told himself. They were an age apart. As he gained in experience he put the thoughts of Ishtral from his mind mostly. There were enough sexual diversions for a young and handsome man in the prime of life, and Ishtral, ageing, was beginning to lose her magnetism.

In this hour of need and panic it came to him that the magic they could produce by their bonding would be powerful indeed. The thought of such a union awoke his childhood fascination, her maturity and assured presence opened the floodgate of a hidden passion within him. His penis was aflame with passion already, and he felt the power of what it could produce. He had to have faith that he might succeed in protecting this house. His despair lifted somewhat already as he felt the power of his own passion. If it were matched by Ishtral it would be powerful indeed. He had to believe it was possible to succeed, to hide this building and all inside it from the invaders, an act of faith.

“Can we Ishtral?” he asked, even as he realised in his own mind, that if his magic was to have any chance of success at all he must let out his own passions on this woman. What would he do if she said no? Could he oblige, or even force his own half mother, not of his own flesh, but of the household which raised him, to succumb to his passion? Such was the danger of the hour that a higher need drove him, the need to save himself and as many of his household as possible, including Ishtral. Even if she were to say no, he understood that he might have to attempt to take her in some way, even if it were by force, unless perhaps there was some other source or means to create sufficient magic. It would not come to that. He felt sure that Ishtral would understand the danger they were all in. She had some knowledge of magic, basic but enough to understand what was required.

It came to him that there were others here with whom he could produce magic. He had already considered some of them; Ishtral’s adult daughters Samatha and Felyst. Both were in their rooms, but he knew them too well to produce much magic. Both had been frequent bedfellows, although no conception would be allowed, because they were blood half sisters. Perhaps he could use them in some supporting role. The thought occurred to him that if he could involve them with their own mother in womanly embrace, while he plundered all three a powerful magic could be wrought. To breach the taboos which held their society in place was a way to produce powerful feelings, strong emotions and forbidden passion. He doubted he would be able to persuade either the daughters or the mother to join him in such unusual and forbidden acts in the small time they had now. The magic produced would be great, if it were possible, because of the effects it would have on him. But to induce daughters to behave sexually with their mother, or the mother to lie with her own offspring would be quite impossible, he knew it, even in these dire circumstances. To be observed in lustful combination with their beautifully sculptured mother, by the two daughters, would however raise magic of a high intensity. To plunder the daughters under the observation of their mother would likewise induce magic of much strength.

He thought again of beautiful Remzain, his full sister. He would need her too, perhaps, afterwards, to complete the magic required. They had shown strong feelings towards each other, in spirit, temperament, as well as sexual, but they had always obeyed the rules regarding brothersisters. Brothers were forbidden from penetrating their sisters. The offspring of such unions must strictly be aborted. Ancient prophesiers taught that whenever such unions created human life, such offspring would be bitter and evil, making war or treachery on their own people.

So be it. He would ride his sister, if time allowed, because he had wanted to since before adulthood, and held back. There would be powerful magic here too. He would have his sister after Ishtral, if the house were not adequately hidden by then, and if the savage invaders had not reached them and put an end to their magic. If he did so and any conception occurred abortion could be carried out at a later stage, if they survived themselves. If he did so and there was time, he was sure enough magic would be created to hide the inhabitants who were still here. He wished he could hide the whole city, but that could not be. The invaders were already abroad, and there was not time to build higher magic than he would now attempt.

If they were to succeed the sexual communion must begin as soon as possible, immediately. He waited for Ishtral’s answer. He felt that much time had passed since he had asked, but time had stilled for him while his thoughts filled him. Whatever may occur the magic must be begun as soon as possible or it would be too late!

To be continued in Princil’s Magic Chapter 2