Around the Fire with your host D. V. Stone.

It's not often I have openings on my blog that I haven's scheduled way in advance. When I went to put today's issue together I was surprised. I thought I had a guest. ​Nope. What to do? What should I fill the page with? So, I puttered around the campsite considering my options. I didn't want to cheat an repost something from the past. I peeked at a few websites looking for inspiration.  Really nothing new. I looked through my pictures. I haven't taken any great ones lately. Then I spotted these I created with the input of some of my social media followers. 
If you've followed me for any amount of time you know the first book I wrote never became published. A few weeks ago I'd pulled it out attempting to see if it was salvageable. I believe it is. Does it have many problems? Oh, yeah, it does. But I love this story. It's my first book baby. 
The series will be
Kingdom at a Crossroad
Kingdom on a Precipice 
Breaking of a Bond
The Heart of a Revenant
I have a lot of work to do. Haana's story Kingdom at a Crossroad but I'm going to share the first chapter of the first book which is a draft. ​ Prologue Deep inside the Room of Knowledge, Athair startled awake. A flash of light burst across the chamber from the Living Map of Aimhirghin, illuminating the Seomra Geasa where he’d nodded off while poring over a scroll. The circlet banding his arm snapped open, and he caught it as it assumed the shape of a staff.
The map took up most of the space in his chamber of spells. Its four corners supported by woody gnarls of Guardian Oaks. Their roots penetrated deep into the ground and then spread toward the boundaries of Aimhirghin. The trunks stretched up and out through the ceiling where interwoven branches spanned to form a canopy that arced above the Caislean, the House of Sárnait, and the heart of Ath Dara, the elven family’s royal residence.
Athair leaped from his ancient wooden rocking chair and raced to the massive structure. He grasped its edge with one hand while waving his staff over it. “Nochtan.”
 The winds of change blew across the map, and it trembled beneath his hand. Villages, cities, farmland, and forests shimmered into sight. Leaves rustled on miniature trees, and dust lifted into the air from the roads.
The burst of magic was not centered on a single location. Instead, the entire map had lit up though now it faded. Seeking the source before it disappeared altogether, Athair’s gaze swiftly covered the surface as he circled the map.
“Who wields power so strong to cause such a disturbance?”
The map didn’t answer.
Before he could pinpoint the magic’s origin, the burst, which glowed like a thousand candles only moments before, went dark. But not before the significance of what had happened slammed into his mind and soul. It wasn’t a burst of magic.
It was the birth of An Tsolais.
The elven magic of old, greater than the Luisne Lar most Elves settled for in this age, and not seen in Aimhirghin since ages past. Few wizards like he now wielded An Tsolais.
Athair raced to the other side of the chamber while casting a charm to transform the granite basin of water into a scrying bowl. He needed more detail than the map could provide. The water rippled, and the image of land became clear. Now, like a golden eagle hunting its prey, the landscape passed in a flash of time. Scanning the world below, he saw nothing unusual or of note in the villages or cities.
Stretching his sight farther out, he spotted Prince Kíeran’s patrol on the hillside and circled above. Kíeran’s towering figure stood out from the rest like a beacon, Lun shone down, and his nearly white hair reflected it like an aura. Captain Aíndle stood at his side near the edge.
The captain’s aura was brighter than usual but fading to its normal dim state as he pointed out over in the direction of Alleen. Aíndle had more Luisne Lar than most elves though he suppressed it. Whatever had happened, the brightness of his aura showed he, too, felt the magic.
Seers were now few. Even rarer were Elves who could manipulate the land and the elements. Yes, his people had the Knowing, but most now called it intuition. The few stronger in Luisne Lar––the inner glow––did as Aíndle and tucked it away. Fear of judgment and censure from a King who despised magic led them to tamp down their very nature.
Prince Kíeran was the worst. He disregarded Luisne Lar’s presence, denying its uses as nothing more than old dangerous ways.
Stubborn Elf, just like his father.
The elves of Ath Dara had denied themselves and their heritage for so long the gift was nearly lost to them.
Athair forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand. By the time he’d searched the four corners of Aimhirghin, it felt like hours had passed. His temples throbbed, and his back ached from hunching over the scrying bowl. He was no closer to finding the newborn Elf than he’d been at the start.
It was time to accept he wouldn’t be able to find her unless and until she showed herself. Trying to locate a specific Elf in Aimhirghin when they didn’t want to be found was like staring into the night sky, seeking a particular distant star. They were everywhere and nowhere, blending into the background.
“Cheilt.” He waved his staff again, and the scrying bowl went dark. With one last glance at the living map, he left the Seomra Geasa and strode through the corridor. He quickened his pace with each step, his mind buzzing with anxiety. He reached the stairs leading to the main level of the House of Sárnait and leaped up them two at a time.
“Hail, Athair,” a House Guard greeted him and opened the door. “The King awaits you.”
Without breaking stride, Athair entered the room, his robes snapping around his legs.
King Sárnait stood looking out the window. He turned as Athair came into the room. “What was that?”
“The return of An Tsolais.”
Sárnait gave Athair his back to once again peer out into the night. The King’s long black hair hung straight. He’d loosened it from the more formal braid worn during the daytime. Though he wasn’t as large as Prince Kíeran, Sárnait still had the build of a Warrior. “Tell me what you know.”
“It is not dark magic, of that I am certain.” Athair approached his King and looked out as well. “It was strong, although it faded quickly.”
“All magic is dark,” Sárnait mumbled under his breath, then yanked the curtain closed and went to his chair. “Maybe it was nothing or from the Outerland.”
 “You can’t block An Tsolais by pulling a curtain over it.” Athair jerked the curtain back open, and scents of the Queen’s garden floated in. Lavender and roses tickled his nose. It refreshed and calmed him. “Magic this strong has not been seen in Aimhirghin for a long time.”
Sárnait ignored him and pushed papers around on his desk.
 He walked over and placed a hand on them, waiting until the king looked up. “An Tsolais is here, in Aimhirghin. Since I cannot locate it and know not what form it will take, we will wait. The Ælf will eventually find her way here. You must be prepared.”
Sárnait’s angry, bitter eyes stared into Athair’s. “You remember what happened the last time I embraced its power. I will not allow magic back into my house.”
“Sárnait, it is not the same.
“So, you say.”
The two elves faced off. Athair could almost see the memories of the past skittering across Sárnait’s eyes. Memories that haunted Athair as well.
When the King returned his attention to the present, he released a deep sigh of resignation. “That such a creature now exists does not bring comfort. It is as the Oracles say. They come only in times of trouble, Mender a Chroi ––Healer of Hearts.” Sárnait shoved the papers away. “Or destroyer of them.”
Athair rubbed his face. “The burst was different with Athas. This one shook everything, not simply my magic.”
“Don’t say her name.” Sárnait slammed his hands on the desk, and papers floated to the floor.
Athair didn’t want to argue with his King. Both males struggled with past issues. One’s which may still affect future decisions. No sense in riling him since the more Athair pushed, the more stubborn Sárnait could be. Left to stew on his own, the King usually came to do the right thing. Usually.
“At least we have time. If it is Mender a Chroi, she must grow and come into her gift.”
“And if it’s not Mender but other?”
Athair looked past Sárnait and out into the night. “I don’t know.”
 “So, we wait.”
 Athair nodded, bowed, and left the King’s study.
                                                                                 ****
Athair continued to scour Aimhirghin over the next twenty-three years but was always drawn back to Alleen. The simple folk in the villages told him stories of Fairies, witches, and even a wild girl who lived in the woods.
“There,” said the farmer while he pointed to the woods. “I saw her there picking some greenery from the stone wall.”
Athair handed the man a copper.
“Thank ye, sir.” The man tipped his well-worn straw hat.
“Tis nothing.” Athair waved a hand of dismissal. “I thank you.”
Sheep scattered as he trekked across their pen. Peering over the wall into the woods, he saw nothing unusual. With a shrug, he sat on the wall, swung his legs over, and then stood gazing at the ground. Tiny footprints, which appeared decidedly feminine, tracked into the forest.
“Nochtan.” He waved his hand over the ground. No magical signature was revealed. He pressed. “Nochtan ordú i.”
He huffed and shrugged. A trip into the woods it was. He loved the trees and creatures who dwelled there. Their presence gave him comfort while he considered the differences between the previous years and now. Prior to the burst, he had been nagged by a pre-apprehension that some essential knowledge eluded him. The mystery over Aimhirghin compounded his feelings of trepidation in the years since the birthing.
The circlet he wore wound around his wrist and up his forearm, whispered dark portents to his mind. More than a vain adornment, his staff was nearly a part of his body. It gave impressions of coming danger. Treachery. Death. War. But something new happened.
After that night, the warnings remained, but they’d changed. As he traveled on his quest, often the darkness would abate, and a trembling of anticipation and excitement replaced it. Love. Goodness. Honor.
 It gave Athair hope.
The essence of magic suddenly brushed against his consciousness. He refocused his attention on the here and now. The circlet warmed and then sprang to staff form of its own volition. It pulsated with energy and light, making his hand glow while it shimmered with power.
Though a wizard, he was also an Ath Darian Elf. He crouched into a warrior’s stance, ready to defend himself. Sensitive ears picked up the sound of a gasp, and he turned to scan the area. Athair reached out with his senses, and a bare tickle rippled over him. Then, in the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a small brown figure.
Realizing she was found out, the creature scrambled under a nearby Wild Privet shrub. He spun and hurried in the direction of the figure. “Wait, I only wish to talk to you.”
But whoever it was disappeared, evaporated like a dream, leaving behind a familiar presence like a faint aroma of the past. Something that tantalized your senses, but he was unable to identify.
He searched long and grew tired and frustrated. Even the trees wouldn’t help him. They kept catching his robes as though trying to thwart him. So, finding no further magical signatures, he dismissed the idea the being was still here. With his staff wrapped and quiet around his arm once more, Athair gave up. There were no elven campsites in the areas, and no Elves, to his knowledge, lived in Alleen. The magic must only have been passing through. But what was she?
I hope you enjoyed this peek behind the curtain. If you like to leave a comment go for it. And until next time, I'll leave you with a bit of prose Kieran the main character penned. The song goes on as does the story. Kieran searching and finding love.
For so ever long
Adrift on the waters
Like a leaf on the currents
Like the foam on a wave