Elizabeth Russell [Russell - Trinian

Elizabeth Russell

Trinian

An Epic Fantasy

Copyright 2019 by Elizabeth Russell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Elizabeth Russell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Dedication:

To the girl that I was - this story would not exist without you.

And to Becca and Anna, and all the young,

and young at heart, who love epic fantasy.

The gods, meanwhile, were gathered with Zeus on the golden council-floor, drinking toasts of nectar from gleaming cups while they gazed down on Troy. Homer, The Iliad

Fate, the master of the heavens, watched his round glass watch as it ticked eleven, and with its final, fateful chime, the last age of the mortal world began. He already stood in center of the throne room of the heavenly palace, and now he tucked the watch into his royal robes and took up his seat at the head of the chamber.

At the start of every century, Fate, the oldest of the gods of Minecerva, hosted a centennial convention: a time for the high gods to convene and discuss the mortal land of Minecerva, to discuss its passings and its comings, and now he sat in state for the final convention of all; the time which was coming, which had come, and which was now, at the beginning of the end of the twelve hour rotation.

From the vast corners of Minecerva his brothers and sisters came flying, and the first to arrive was Terror, on his wings of panic, that were spread wide in darkness behind him.

After him was sister Resolve, in her straight-laced dress, walking with dignified, regal, controlled steps to her seat in the circle.

Peace, the eldest of the sisters, erupted into the chamber with a triumph of color, her gown fluttering freely. She was unrestrained, creative, and joyful; and she was wise and calm.

Knowledge sparkled and she was pure beauty. As she entered the room, all eyes turned to her in wonder, fear, and scorn, for they condemned her as far too pretentious even as they envied her calm self-assurance.

Famine tripped in, hand-in-hand with Plenty, both carefree and careless, both bored with the world and bored with centennial conventions.

The triplets Despair, Destruction, and Death stumbled about, singing a rousing war cry with their arms firmly round each others shoulders. The other gods gave them a wide berth, their presence unpleasant, but they three did not care to notice and threw themselves upon a bench, their feet stretched forward, their heads thrown back, to drink during the proceedings with disinterest.

No one noticed Solitude, pale and forgettable, creep into her corner, trembling with eagerness to hear tidings of the end of the world.

Charity and Passion, even now at the end of time, carried on an age-old argument as they entered, their different beauties, the first subtle and the second overwhelming, clashing as they passed witty banter between them, debating the true nature of love.

Hope smiled softly as she crept through a side door; she looked over all and shook her head at brother Fate. He smiled back, and made room for his favorite sister on the throne beside him.

Joy had arrived already and had laughed and danced and whirled until everyone else was seated, then she dropped breathless and laughing into her own ornate throne.

Power, last to arrive, dominated the room and all within as he took each shaking step, until he sat, not in a chair, but on a high ledge above Fate. From here, he who had, for centuries, scorned the world of the divinities and lived among mortals could make eye-contact with every god except his oldest brother Fate, and he smiled. Let them notice him, he thought. Let them roll their eyes at his vain seat of power here. He had a foothold in the mortal realm itself, and soon, he would control everything; soon, he would rise above Fate himself.

When all were seated, Fate lifted his mighty gavel and called the session to order.

To this day, he announced gravely, we, the high gods, have conducted affairs on our own; we have not involved any low gods or mortals, nor have the higher beings interfered with us. There were nods and murmurs of assent that swelled through the chamber like a mighty river, deep churning and little trickles drawing together into a great roar.

But we are nearing the end of our time the end of our reign. The Golden King approaches, and to prepare for his coming, he has at last sent a messenger to me. We must heed the words, for we know that when the clock has turned to the completion of time, it is His rule we will obey, once and for all.

With a rumble of voices that would have opened a chasm in an ocean bed, groans and whispers behind cupped hands, boastings and braggings, music and cheering and laughter, filled the hall at the mention of the Golden King, each god reacting in his own way. Some glad, some angry, and some numbingly ambivalent.

Hope held her hands over her ears and smiled to herself, speaking nothing but rejoicing in her heart, doing what she did best. Power also made no sound, but settled himself firmer on the ledge, and sneered. He had waited patiently, plotting a long time for this hour, and anger brewed in his heart.

Fate let them have their reactions until, finally, he pounded his gavel once. You will each decide how to act when the twelfth hour arrives, he continued. Until then, we have a little more time, and those who have not had free reign in the lives of all men, will have it now.

What does that mean? cried Knowledge. We have had free reign over Minecerva for eleven hundred years what do you mean we will have it now?

Death shook with anger. Not all. There are those of us that have never descended to the very heart of the mortal realm.

We were supposed to be able to go there, put in Despair with a loud complaint. But a stupid natural-god prevents it!

Terror and Destruction laughed loudly at that, and many gods joined in, tickled at the thought that any natural god would be powerful enough to prevent a high god access to anywhere they might want to go.

You would do better not to laugh, said Death quietly. For there is one who possesses strength beyond his natural measure.

Famine, too, came forward. I thought it was only I he refused to allow access, she said, and I said nothing for the shame of it, but now I know he has defied so many of us! We must overthrow him! Unite against him!

Despair was shaking with anger. The city of Drian, the very capitol of Minecerva, stands like a silver beacon, untouchable. Its a low, dirty trick, and its unfair.

Plenty was incensed. I have been allowed to go everywhere I had no idea this was happening! Who is it who decides the actions of high gods? We will destroy him!

Fate had allowed their discussion, but now he leaned forward to tell them the words of the Golden Kings Messenger. He will not be destroyed till he has stood before us and given a reckoning of himself, for so says the Messenger.