Ambrose, his many lives …
It was a time when the greatest of warriors, wizards and immortals roamed the Earth. It was a time when Wynfor Mawr, the greatest of wizards, trained Ambrose, the immortal child seer, who would become a greater wizard than even Wynfor. This is the story of Ambrose, his first life, his mother’s sorrow and greatest love. In time we will learn more of the many lives of Ambrose the wizard.
Ambrose was born of two immortals, Aghi, the god of war who struck terror in even the mightiest of warriors; and Eir, goddess of healing and medicine. A more beautiful man child was never before seen than the babe Ambrose. He had black eyes, the sign of a seer, and black hair which tended to curl down over his forehead. All who saw the babe fell in love with him. Eir would hold Ambrose for hours, watching him sleep and nurse. She knew the babe would not be with her for long, so she rarely put him down in his cradle.
When Ambrose was three days old Wynfor Mawr appeared before Eir. “I have come for the child,” he informed her. “He will have many lives and needs many years of training.” Tears welled up in her eyes, “Yes, Wynfor, I know. Did you not tell me when he was but a seed in my womb that you would foster him and train him in the ways of a wizard?” She held the babe closer. “Give me one more hour and I will let you take him. Mind, Beloved Wizard, his nurse goes with him.” Wynfor bowed, “Of course, My Lady. I will wait in the outer chamber.”
Eir bestowed the knowledge of healing, medicine, and great love upon her precious babe. She would not see him again for five years. She dressed Ambrose herself in his finest fittings and bundled him in a white fur. After she handed him to his nurse, Eir kissed Ambrose on his forehead and hugged the nurse. “Care for him with all the love you have in your heart, dear Birta, and never let him know hunger. And Birta, let him know me through your heart.” Birta curtsied and with tears in her eyes whispered, “Yes, My Lady.”
Thus began the first of many lives for Ambrose with Wynfor Mawr.
Please see writing prompt challenge in comments and 3/23/17 newsletter.
© 2017 Phyllis Doyle Burns