Bones Of Contention: The McKinnon Legends - The American Men Book 3

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“No, Lysander, no! I’ve changed my mind!” Melitta scrambled off the divan as another tremor rocked the villa, sending plaster falling and shattering as it hit the polished mosaic floor. “You will not take him!” She stood firm against the white-cloaked trio invading her most private chambers. “You cannot have my baby! Lysander, for the love of the goddess, please, do something!” Melitta cried frantically, looking to her husband and fighting the hands reaching for her child.

The boy, only hours old, still pink from the difficult birth, matched her cries piercing the blackness of the Mediterranean night. “You cannot take him from me!” she screamed as they pulled him from her embrace.

“We can. We will. As it is written, so it shall be done.”

The disembodied voices of the masked wizards ran cold through her veins. Melitta knew these figures were more than just flesh and bone; the wizards' mystique was deeply embedded into the Minoan culture and psyche. They were mystic creatures from Atlantis who were rarely seen and only ventured out on extraordinary occasions. Their presence in her chambers confirmed how monumental this birth was to the Brotherhood of the Wizards' Warriors.

Melitta wept as she collapsed back on the lush fabric of the pillows. She had prayed this day would never come as she felt the life grow within her. She had spent nine months in denial. She could deny it no more, and all the wealth they possessed would never change the present or the future.

Lysander stroked his beloved’s head, comforting his wife as she clung weakly to the front of his tunic.

He felt deep guilt for his part in his wife’s sorrow. It was all because of him the boy was now out of their reach.

Helplessly they watched the child, created out of the love they felt for each other, disappear past the curtain of the sleeping chamber, each understanding they would never see their son again.

“Damn you to the bowels of Tartarus!” she yelled after the hooded priestesses, damning them to hell. “May you rot with that bastard Kronos!”

“Not likely,” the self-righteous reply faded into the distance.

They were simply faceless, heartless thieves in her mind, white clad specters stealing into the night coming for the hearts and souls of the innocent, and all could be justified in the name of keeping mankind safe.

“It is fated, Wife. He is my firstborn.” Lysander knew it was hollow comfort.

The boy would be their only child, making this even more painful. It was doubtful Lysander would walk again from the injuries he sustained. He was lucky just to be alive from the falling debris that almost killed him during the last earthquake. Those quakes, coming with greater frequency and ferocity, were a warning he gladly would have heeded weeks past if Melitta’s condition had allowed them to travel. Now, he felt his own vigor weakening just as the volcano on Thera was strengthening. He was dying, and he knew it. Without the child Melitta would be alone once he was gone.

Lysander petitioned the Brotherhood to make an exception allowing the child to remain. The Wizards' Council of Nine sympathized, but was unrelenting, understanding, but unmoving. This child would carry on the destiny meant for the line of the Brotherhood.

The child belonged to the wizards from this point forward. In truth, the boy was theirs from the moment of conception.

“Melitta, the boy is safer with the wizards, away from the sea,” he said with conviction.

The volcano was reawakening, angry at the waste and decadence the Minoans displayed. The vast and superior knowledge bestowed upon them was being squandered for their own decadent, self-indulgent pleasures, going unused for the betterment of all mankind.

This was a condition in the Treaty of the Sidhe Fae, a magic and mystical people. This treaty, mediated by the wizards on behalf of the human race and the Sidhe, was brokered more than a dozen millennium past.

The Sidhe Fae people, led by the Titan Kronos, wanted two things the wizards could give them: First was immortality.

The exchanged conditions were very clear.

The Sidhe, in exchange for this long life, granted the Minoan ancestors untold wealth and superior talents, surrendering to them superior knowledge in science and engineering with abilities in music, math, and art greater than the world had ever seen before or since.

The wizards believing great knowledge and wealth demanded great responsibility required the Minoan ancestors, as part of the bargain, to use the wealth and talents to better the world not just themselves. In exchange for these talents and worldly riches, the wizards granted the Sidhe and their king long life, almost to the point of immortality.

In spite of the fact the king wanted what was best for his people, they, the Sidhe Fae, wanted something else in addition to a long life. They did not ask for an eternal soul, or the ability to feel joy or love as the king encouraged, for they saw no gain in such things.

They wanted magic.

So grave was this request that the wizards had to ponder this point for one thousand years before they finally agreed. However, there were strict conditions levied on the Sidhe, for a great talent required great responsibility.

The Sidhe Fae people were never to use this magic in the light of day nor were they to ever harm or mislead a human.

They were never to use it to rob anyone of his free will.

They were never to present themselves in any form other than who they were.

In addition, the Sidhe had to relinquish their dominion of the upper world where they had reigned supreme for a million years. They took as their own the territory of the uncharted lands west of the Prime Meridian in the lands beyond the Pillars of Hercules, far to the west.

The king agreed on behalf of the Sidhe Fae and retreated into the under world by day and was rarely seen even at night.

For the wizards' part in the treaty negotiations, being singularly unmoved by the martial wealth and knowledge offered by King Kronos, they demanded only a single thing as payment for their efforts: to zealously guard and defend the treaty should the Sidhe Fae ever think to break it.

So out of this treaty with the Sidhe Fae, the Brotherhood of the Wizards' Warriors was born. His son would be one of the warriors and no hope or wish would change the destiny or path of his child.

All Brothers were pure of heart, keeping their souls clean abhorring injustice and evildoers. The Protectors were not simply warriors, but the true pinnacle of goodness and heroic standard. In order to have this
pure of heart
vessel, the child must be trained from birth, free of all distractions. Training was the total focus for these children, and for some it was a higher calling, a destiny going beyond just their birth order.

Even after twenty years of training, Lysander was just a page having never even reached full warrior status before his accident. Of those who would reach full warrior status, only a chosen few would ever transcend to the next level of Protector. Surpassing the status of warrior, they gained an even higher level of perfection of heart, mind, and soul. These chosen few gained the personal favor of the wizards.

It was alleged that any warrior born with the mark of the Protector was anointed with a mantel of magic to keep him safe in times of war and hardship. It gave him the ability to see through the Sidhe magic to level the field. It gave him superhuman strength to help those in need.

Lysander’s heart swelled with pride even as his eyes filled with tears. His son would be one of the elite thrust to the front lines as the first wall of protection and last line of defense. He hoped his son never had to go to war with the beings who now ruled in the lands beyond the Pillars.