Welcome to the page for The Dark God’s Path, a novella in the Lost Royals series. After millennia asleep, an ethereal creature called the MELLIFLUENT finds itself alone in the Abyss, the never-place of lost souls. When a decrepit creature offers to help the Mellifluent discover a forgotten need for vengeance, they are forced onto a path that puts them in the shadow of their master, an eternal being who wants to destroy the universe.
This novella expands on events briefly featured in TILDY SILVERLEAF AND THE STARFALL OMEN. It will be the next book published in the LOST ROYALS series.
More info coming soon!
The Prophecy
“Of course, there’s a prophecy,” the child groused, rolling their eyes at the golden narrator. “My grandmother says those are just fancy poems that writers make up to drive a story forward. They’re never actually real in the tales that include them.”
“I’m sure your grandmother is very wise,” the golden narrator replied with just enough respectful softness in its sardonic tone.
“What’s the point of this one?”
“Ahhh, now that is an interesting question. This prophecy sets the entire story in motion. It is the reason Delosh,” the child hissed at the forbidden name, “targeted the royal children in the first place. As is often the case with prophecies, the villain believes there is a chosen one who could thwart their grand designs. Or in our stories of the Lost Royals, two chosen ones.”
“Adamantin and Tildy.”
“Amethestra was her name at the time.”
“I prefer Tildy.”
The golden narrator did not respond, unhappy for having lost control of the story so quickly.
“You skipped over a lot of that in Tildy’s book,” the child admonished. “Don’t you think it’s interesting? Because I do.” They finished with the tone of someone who’s accustomed to never being contradicted.
The golden narrator, having known the child for longer years, and their grandmother even longer, knew better than to argue, and yet, some things can’t be helped. “I seem to remember a fair amount of impatience when I began that tale. And yet, now you wish it had been longer. Is that what you wish?”
“I wish you told more story and pontificated less.”
“Ah, now there’s a word learned from your grandmother.”
“So what else did you leave out?”
“Did I speak about it being the darkest day of Winter, that people called the Long Night?” the golden narrator asked, knowing it had used those exact words.
“Yes, and the ‘Hundred Hands of Huggingforth’. I already said I know everything about those events.”
“Haggerfore,” the golden narrator corrected.
“You care too much about the ancient names and such. Have you tried telling an entertaining story and skipping the history lesson?”
“This is more your history than mine. Though I suppose,” the golden narrator paused, pretending to contemplate something,” that much of that is covered in Preceptor Sinonimous’s class.”
“It is!”
“Where should I begin? I suppose it should be with the Dark God’s arrival in the concave tower known as the Children’s Hourglass.” The shadows in the child’s chamber sunk into deeper blacks, like ink puddles flowing upwards along the walls. Frigids winds rattled the shutters and whistled through the cracks, though Winter herself was months away. Breath smoked in the air, and the child snuggled into deep blankets. The golden narrator’s words spun into form as the story began.
“‘Bahruhk,’ the Shape of Delosh whispered. Come.”
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© Michael Wallevand, August 2024
The Lost Royals 