3/28/08 08:23 am - Writing Challenge #3
Sci's Writing Challange #3
Fandom: Black Jewels Trilogy
Word Count:
Warning: I have never actually looked at any of the Black Jewels fandom so I'm sorry if this violates any of the reqs for this challenge. This one has had me stumped and even though I did have some ideas for Pretear and Chrno Crusade the plot bunnies for this one have been screaming at me. Probably will do a short one shot of the Chrno Crusade one though. Some of the names and stuff probably aren't spelt right which I blame solely on the fact that I am writing this at work and do not have the book with me.
Summary: After 500 years Daemonar finally returns home to Kaeleer...
Jewel Rank (from lightest to darkest):
Remnants of the Heart
Daemonar had to lift his hand up to block the bright sunlight as he emerged from the Dark Gate and onto the soft soil of his birth. It had been centuries since he had last gone through the Dark Gate to Terreille, to escape from a life that had become suffocating. Feeling the cool wind against his tanned skin felt so good, that he almost wondered why he had ever left Kaeleer. Everything here was so much sweeter, the stale psychic scent of decay of Terreille was completely absent from here. There were still people that were trying to get into Kaeleer, trying to escape the taint of Dorothea and Hekatah that still stained the land.
When he had first gone to Terreille, despite his mother's warning, the ravaged that had been the result of the greed of those two red- jewelled priestesses had horrified him. The fearful looks that many witches had given him had hurt. He had also finally understood why his mother would never talk about her family and why he was never shown to his maternal grandfather.
Protect and Serve. The duties of the Blood males that had been ingrained into him were nothing but mockeries in Terreille. The scent of fear that came from the light-jewelled females-- and there were so many, too many-- honed the temper that he had inherited from his father, the great Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, and had been the reason that he had defied his parents and spent the last five centuries in the land that they had been so desperate to get away from.
He didn't remember much on the day that Aunt Janelle had unleashed the full power of her Ebony jewells on all of the Blood of the three Realms. He had been young, barely old enough to start attending the Eyrien hunting camp that Hallevar had started in Ebon Rih. What he did remember was the fear when the Eyrien warrior had come to their eyrie with a glazed look in his eyes and had taken him and his mother to Dorothea. While in Kaeleer he had never fully understood the consequences of the witchstorm that had encased the Realms. Only those who had come in contact with the taint from Little Terreille had been destroyed. It hadn't affected anyone that he knew.
Terreille had been utterly devistated.
Entire cities had been turned into ghost towns. Some of the populations of the island Territories, like Challiot, had been reduced to only a handfull, all of them unable to do much besides basic Craft. Those were the lucky territories. They were some, especially the ones close to Dragea, Hayll's capitol, were the only Blood that existed were the half-breeds and the kindred. It was a testament to just how far the corruption of Hayll's High Priestess had spread.
By the time Daemonar had been old enough to travel through the gates, the short lived races that had existed in Terreille when Aunt Jaenelle was growing up no longer existed. New races had taken their place, and the long-lived race of Hayllians were endangered. The devastion of the land and the fear that lurked in the survivors had gnawed at his heart until he couldn't stand it anymore. Taking the few items that were precious to him, the young Eyrien warrior left behind all that he loved so that he could help the less fortunate rebuild their lives. Any contact that he had with his family came through messages that he would retrieve during the yearly visits to the Keep. Not once did he write back. The only time he returned to Kaeleer was for Aunt Jaenelle and Uncle Daemon's funeral. His favorite aunt had lived to a ripe old age, 130 years, unheard of for her people. She died in comfort and among loved ones, her husband following shortly after.
His father was the only only one who had been unsurprised that Daemon had died much earlier then was expected of the Hayllians. After all, Lucivar said, Daemon always said that he was born to be Witch's lover. When she died, so did his reason for living. After the small ceremony that consisted only of what had once been the First Circle of the Dark Court and their families Daemonar had kissed his mother goodbye, nodded to his father and stepped through the Dark Gate once more.
Now, he was finally home. He had done what he could in Terreille, given the people hope and protected the dark-jewelled Queens that were born and helped them take their places in the Provincal and Territorial Courts. It was up to those women to heal the land and help their people find the strength to restore Terreille to the glory and wealth it had known before Hekatah and Dorothea.
Now it was his turn to find his way. It was his turn to mend the broken bonds of family and discover how much this Kaeleer had changed from the one that he remembered.
Unfurling his dark membranous wings, he caught the Green Wind and headed towards the Hall.
*****
Daemonar could only stare in disbelief. Panic along with a tiny slice of fear welled up in him as he stared at the crumbled and rotten remains of SaDiablo Hall. He had to bite his check to stop himself from turning toward Ebon Askavi. What happened if he went to Ebon Rih? Would find nothing but dusty remains of the eyrie that he had grown up in? Where his mother and father....
No, he couldn't afford to think these thoughts. The Hall hadn't been abandoned there was still life here. He could detect the psychic scents of the kindred. The Scelts, the unicorns, wolves, and tigers. He was quite positive that there was even an Arcerian cat or two prowling behing the crumbling wall of what had been the Hall's kitchen. Taking a deep breath, observant for any type of traps that the kindred would lay for unwelcome guests Daemonar walked closer to the Hall, trying to see it through the haze of panic.
*Prince.* A soft, hesitant voice brushed against his mind. Uncertain, but not scared or alarmed.
He clung to the concentration that was required to make that mental side step to speak to the kindred. He had always had a harder time then others doing it, and the scant amount of contact that he had with the kindred in Terreille had made him rusty. It was easy to push back the panic if he concentrated on it.
*Lady.* He kept his tone respectful, falling back on Protocol to help hide his fear. A fear that was completely unwarrented. After all he had been in contact with Grandpa Saetan since the Guardian had declared the Keep as his home. Since his yearly visits had always been fairly routine he usually ended up spending some time with his grandfather over a glass of yarbarah. Wouldn't he have mentioned it if something had gone terribly wrong?
Unless, he wanted to teach Daemonar a lesson for abandoning everyone...
*Prince Daemonar?* The clip, clop of delicate hooves crunching over the ruined gravel of the Hall's path, helped to dull the fine edge of panic, and the way the voice was sounding less hesitant and more like a Queen demanding attention helped keep the storm of emotions at bay just a bit longer. *You are Prince Daemonar, kin to the High Lord, yes?*
*Prince Lucivar is my fath--sire, Lady...* He trailed off hopping she would supply a name-- after all names was something that were more common for humans, unless this Queen had been bequethed one by a kindred Priestess-- and hoping that he looked respectful enough. His experienced with the kindred had never moved beyond the lower ranked females and males. Despite Protocol and having spent the past centuries around high ranking witches, he wasn't quite sure how to deal with her.
*I am Luna. My great, great grandsire was a foal to Lady Moonshadow.*
Despite himself Daemonar's throat tightened.
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