This is Part 12 of an on-going serial I’m writing called, “Lyr the Enchanter”. To read the story from the beginning, you can find the story index, here.
Arastia was quietly sobbing as she led me back to the palace. My instinct was to comfort her, but I held off, waiting to see if this was just another ploy to manipulate me.
The palace was cold, dark and devoid of people. The cavernous rooms echoed with the sound of our movements.
Suddenly my wife stopped before a statue. It was ancient and towered high into the air. A inscription read, “Ur*, The King of Kya-Shar, Lord of The Island of In-Between”. The Bull.
The figure was intimidating, even when cut from stone. I had met him on two occasions only. He was Arastia’s father.
‘His magic is failing,’ she whispered. ‘His wanes, while mine grows. He blames me. And somehow I must…fix it.’
‘What does that have to do with me?’
‘I wasn’t lying when I said I need your help. He has taken my son, Lyr…Our son.’
~ ~ ~
* “Ur” is the name of a rune in the Elder Futhark (a runic scripts) and means “aurochs”, a now extinct breed of very big cattle, or “wild ox”
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #12 – This week the story is dead on the word limit of 150…
Sammi Cox 
That’s shivered my spine. You must be hitting all the right notes. Nice one. 🙂
And I see you realised my reference to Ur. :).
It amused me to offer you this photo, set to guard the honour of the Boleyn family, even though it’s nelieved Anne Boleyn never lived here. 🙂
And so to next week ….
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Yay! Glad you liked 🙂
Yep – I got the reference. Loved it 🙂
I didn’t know Anne Boleyn never lived there. I had thought it was said she haunted the place, which makes it less likely if she never lived there…
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I checked it all out for the post last year By Blickling (https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2018/03/28/by-blickling/ )
The present hall was built in 1620. Which doesn’t rule out the possibility, but I’m inclined to think it a story inspired with a thought to publicity.
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I concur 🙂
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As I say, still possible. After all, I swear there’s a grey friar who hops in my bed every so often. I assume for my warmth. He was probably the granary-master, since my place was built around the ruins of the priory’s granary, and even includes old beams ‘mined’ frome the old granary. Jacobean merchants were a tight-fisted lot, salvage all and everything they could, including the ghosts. Though with the merchant’s family being in close cahoots with Cromwell, I’m not sure it’s right to call them Jacobean. Reformationists and puritans more like.
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Ooo…a ghost of your very own – that’s so very cool. Though I’m not entirely sure I want one… 🙂
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And I’ve never seen it. And there could be some totally ordinary explanation. It’s more a felt presence, and a coldness.
In defence of my otherworldly conclusion, it must be said that over recent years both a close relative and a very dear friend have visited me within 3 days of their death ro ask if I’d ‘any last words?;
It seems I’m one of those people who really don’t don’t want to believe, and yet see, to attract these inexplicable weirdities. 🙂
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