Myths And Fables Novels & Stories

“Do you like fantasy?” “Like dragons and Lord of the Rings stuff? No. I don’t think of the Greek gods as fantasy. I think of them as history.” He looked surprised. “So, you believe in it all?” I shrugged. “I don’t know that I don’t believe in it. I think you have to wonder where the stories came from. Every myth stems from something. What sparked the stories? And it is so elaborate. It would have taken a mastermind to just make up this whole world of people and give them each a story.”

Luciana asked. "Lycans? There should be few here, I guess. I have not seen any one in particular, but I know you can get books on almost everything on this library. Every creatures that ever existed were written about. Some are true stories, some are just myths and legends. I believe you have the wisdom to know the difference." Luciana and Freya looked at each other. They didn't know anything about lycans. How would they be able to differentiate between real stories and myths.

I spoke those words with sincerity. He heaved a heavy sigh, and I could tell that he was contemplating his next words. “For a very long time there have been things that have happened throughout history that humans have not always been able to understand. Thus, the invention of fairy tales came about, but with every story told throughout time there is a bit of truth in every single one.” I could see that Tobias was struggling with what he was trying to tell me, and honestly, I was a bit confused. What did fairy tales have anything to do with reality? Tobias glanced in my direction and must have seen my confusion. “I am making a mess of this huh” he said with a chuckle. I assured him that I wa

But now, I was glad I did, because one way or the other, there was always an atom of truth in myths. “You are talking about…myths?” A scoff left my lips, as I gazed down to stare at my open palms. “They're not myths.” “Come on Arias. Gryms are midnight stories told to young wolvens to scare the crap out of them.” The vein on the side of my neck bulged, and my teeth gritted against each other. It took everything I had to not fling something dangerous at his head. Although, I was sure he'd sidestep it, it was worth a try.

Golden doors that never opened from the inside. The stories came from Freya. Every night before bed, her mother would tell her about the world before King Valir. About streams that sang through ancient trees. About fairies who slept beneath mushrooms. About wolves that watched from a distance but never harmed the Ronas. About Ronas who grew flowers because they loved beauty—not because people paid fortunes to own it. Maya used to beg for the stories over and over again. She wanted details. What color were the houses? How tall were the trees?

My mother left me a secret for us always to share. I started out just reading the stories. They were about Fairy Princesses and the Fae World, magic portals, princes in disguise, and a whole world that existed outside my own. I believed and read it as history instead of a children’s storybook. I learned so much. I knew magic that I shouldn’t, and that shouldn’t be done by my kind. Wolves could shift, we had heightened senses and reflexes, we could find our Mate and erase human memories, but that was it. Either I was special, or I had grown up being told more lies about my kind and our limits.

Aurora's words dropped off as she thought. "Water comes up often in myths, Your Majesty. I read earlier about a River of Life." Birger rummaged around and pulled out two books. He opened the first and found the correct page. "Here!" Then the councilman opened the second book. "And this one speaks of a waterfall that renews the earth." "We all need water to live," Aurora reasoned. "It would make sense that people would make up stories about such a necessity." Birger frowned, "But every myth grew out of a grain of truth, or at least what someone believed to be true. What if the fountain, the waterfall and the river… what if these places of healing really exist?"

In the evenings, around the hearths of home, we teach the rules by which we share this world with the brethren through story. Tales of lovers separated by misfortune, the vain punished with disfigurement, of knights enchanted into forever sleep, and of princesses locked into towers. We seek out Seers to foretell the future, and mages to bespell swords, but are wary of the Fae with their costly altruism and deceptive beauty, the mischief of household imps, and sirens who sing ship to wreckage.

Talk of ‘spirits separated from their bodies’ reminded him of Ashkan and the ruined remains of the other men. “All myth starts as story,” said the driver. “Sometimes we call the story history, sometimes religion, eventually it all becomes myth. Beneath every myth is an ancient tale, a hidden belief that gives shape and form to every god that’s ever received a prayer on a dark and lonely night.” “Okay, now you’re getting wa-ay deep. Does this ‘ancient belief’ have a name then?” “It’s had many names, in every language ever spoken. Some call it ‘the Oldest Truth,’ others—the ‘Faith that Came before Man.’”

Gabriel would kill me if he knew. “Well there are a lot of myths and stories told for so many generations and cultures I’d like to believe those kinds of things are true. There are dragon stories from Chinese mythology and then you have the medieval knights fighting dragons. Sometimes I wish I was there to witness for myself what these people were actually seeing for those kinds of myths to told for so long. It’s very interesting.”