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From the author…I was born in Kalgoorlie to an Australian mother and
a Latvian war refugee father who later became a miner. ……Irene Attwood CHAPTER ONE Magician was locked in an unfathomable insight. Huddled into himself, he overlooked his kingdom, below and beyond, through his mountaintop castle entrance doors, now open. Honey dripped from his fingertips that barely peeped from the long sleeves, of his hooded black monk’s robe he always wore, wrapped close to his glowing body. Rarely speaking out loud, he preferred to pierce commands using his endless sky blue eyes, that once you connected with drew you into a maze there was no way out of. An aura of ice, which no fire could melt, blew about him. However a wisp of lost innocence, threaded with an unapproachable longing, leaked out ever now and then, leaving you guessing as to if he was dreaming in another time and place. The Kingdom was one he despised. For its passing victory was soon to be dissolved by fire and brimstone. Snatched out of his grasp. Worse than this, his princes and serfs were to be destroyed too. Yes, he shuddered at the thought; even he too would evaporate from time and space to be no more. To be judged, found guilty, and executed before all he had command of, seemed too preposterous after all these eons of years. How could he loose all at this stage of his evolving? But it was beginning to happen. Already the winds were licking whirlpools across his mountaintop home. Shadows of deep darkness crept in spasms through the craggy rocks surrounding his castle. No longer did the sun sweep warm across the face of his mountain, preferring to blow freezing breezes before its rays. Even the foundations of his castle that was built into the side of the solid rock had begun to crumble. Its colour now had sunk into a green and black rather than its original red and gold. “A sign”, he shivered, “ Yes.” Colour even refused to reflect for him anymore. A vision of his past glory sheared into his heart like an arrow flying through. ‘No” he screamed within. ‘I cannot dare remember my regrets, my past glory. Or worse think upon the glory of the One, the all Shining One.’ Then he saw her… the girl, a spider orchard hidden among the wild weeds. The flower! Musical fragments of an ethereal past welled up, swelling into a pain strange and forbidden within. It poured forth into a song that made the princes freeze in great horror of before. Treasure supposedly buried forever exploded tearing memories into the present. A present that they all were desperately trying to exist in, as the future catastrophe of the end stole ominously nearer. Their master often burst into cascades of music that kept them forever in the power of his grip. But this! This was too poignant, sacral sweet, scented in a past long forgotten, and best not remembered. Not here. Not now. It made them ache with a longing for something, for someone they could no longer discern. They gazed at him with amazement. Magician’s honey usually like the colour of white gold now dripped blood. His eyes usually hidden by the shadow hood now glowed luminous jewels, radiating a rainbow swirl, that flew off beyond the horizon. His huge body trembled, throwing off shivers of gold dust, as an ocean tide going in to shore. Chime, the only one who could enter close to Magician, rushed out of his office, feeling a drawing that stirred embers of long lost feast days as he echoed inside the song his master had just created that seemed to blossom almost on madness. Did not his master realize where he was, in what time and space they now occupied? But Magician was not with them. He was connected across the mountain to another sphere. “The flower. It was time.” He was not dreaming. This was real. He almost caught a prayer in his throat, but he desperately fought it off. The power of disappointment and failure would destroy him. It would break open the ice. Who knew what would lurk within? He shook and grabbed his cloak closer, as he fastened on the rainbow swirl disappearing beyond into the sky, down into the chasm of earth below. To whirl its way to a girl. The girl he would call flower. For if the unique delicate exquisiteness of her soul could give off both the fragrances and heaven and earth fallen, to the Shining One, then who knows what mercy may give birth to. Magician fashioned himself inwards where no one could find him, what his thoughts, his intents and his dreams were.
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