Look, sorry for such a long chapter. I wish I were able to shorten it, but there's no where that really suits the ending of a chapter. But anyways, this is just a random idea, and if i ever decide to publish, I'll fix it up some more. But, here's some pronunciations.
Terramond-- (Terr- ah- mon- de)
Kinshill-- (K- in- shill)
Desoulas-- (Deh- soo- lass)
Nostariel-- (Noh- star- ee- el)
Fainauriel-- (Fye-now-ree-ell)
Suiadan-- (soo- ee- ay- don)
Beriadan-- (Bear- ee- ah- dahn)
Mister Cecris-- (Se- chris)
Rhea-- (Ray- ah)
NOTE: no copyright!
Seasons-- 1 year= 4 seasons. (Get it?)
Plot: Every story has a problem, and what if you were the problem?
[b]SCREAM-- CHAPTER ONE
"Do not wait for my arrival, for I will come to you," a voice whispered, as soft as drifting snow. "And while you ready yourself for the day I come, prepare for all the power in the world to rest on your shoulders once I arrive. Be prepared for the world to orbit the other way, prepare for the sun to glow an eerie white, prepare for your enemies to become allies, and your allies to become enemies. Prepare for your heart to stop beating, and prepare for the dead to walk upon the earth with us. For as I say this, you shall sit in Terramond, and prepare your mind, your body, and your soul to me. I will not come weak, I will come as a full-impact force. My light is dark and my doings are sinister, but you can change the way things are done if only you know how. You will stay in Terramond until I tell you further."
And so I sat in the City of Stone, Terramond, and prepared myself. The throne in which I sat on was still spattered with the dried, centuries old, blood from the pudgy king who once ruled this town. The ruins were jagged and covered in mould and clay, and the sun had not warmed this piece of land since the day the king had gone under. I saw the slumped over skeletons of his servants sitting in the four positions: North, South, East, and West.
His chair had been placed in the centre,s o that he would be the one to use the power from this ritual. I knew that he'd been trying the Soul Ritual. He had been, like the others, unsuccessful. Only one force in this world could hold the power, and that was the Banshee Queen.
I closed my eyes, and I felt the vision of the event in my head. I saw the faces of the nervous servants surrounding the chubby king. His crown looked like it cut off circulation to his head, and his hair was shaved clean.
His stomach hung over his belt like a melting snowman in the spring season. One man, standing at the East, raised his cloaked arms, letting his hood drop back. His pointed ears were the first that brought my attention to him. Elves, though they had the abilities to manipulate and condense forces, this was one force that he’d not be able to control. Across from him stood his Alter-Ego, transparent as a ghost, but the features so alike I felt like this Ego had not been created by giving away half of his soul, but it had been born alongside him at birth.
The East represented the beginning of things. Hence the reason why the sun rose to that side. The West represented the end, the sun’s setting. The Elf clasped his hands tightly together above his head, weaving his fingers together tightly. The letters and words beneath their feet lit with an ominous red glow. The first ring, the Ring of Birth, lit like a match burning a candle. The next, the Ring of Memories lit, and then the Ring of Death lit.
The Enchanter’s words lit up one by one as the Elf spoke the words with a fluent and soft tongue. He knew what he was doing, but he did not yet understand what Immortality meant. Once the words “Life, Sacrifice, Beginning, Trust, and Promise” came to life, rising to the sky like balloons, the ritual was complete.
The Elf’s hands shook as the red words rose and twisted into the air in front of them, as the red power shot up his arms and through his body. He disintegrated, and as the king yelled “Let me live on forever!” the words twisted in a tight, weaving circle, and finally, when all was a blur of red, it all burst. When the light cleared, I knew that there would be the scream, the scream of the Banshee, the ear-piercing squeal that could tear apart a human’s ears simply by hearing it. And when all had calmed, only the tattered burgundy curtains flowed in the soft wind. Only the spatters of blood were any clue as to the previous event. And the skeletons of the servants, that had been helping the king.
The only body missing was the one of the King. He would be immortal, and live forever... in the Underworld, where he was banished for eternity for summoning such an awful ritual. At least I wasn’t that stupid.
I closed my eyes. A soft breeze gusted through the area, and I heard the clink of a small piece of rubble falling. I rested my hands on the stone armrests and counted to one-hundred. I felt lonely. Most kids my age had their Alter-Ego to hang around with, while my iris-less eyes had banished me from my own village.
Yes, in my village, those with dark eyes— or even without an iris at all— were banished. The reasoning behind this was that dark eyes hold secrets, and know things that the others don’t know. They think we’d know too much about the things around us, so the King banished us to the outside world. I was only sixteen, but I lived on my own, surviving off of my rituals and using my rituals to heal people just to earn a few measly shillings that would help me buy a few pieces of meat and bread.
I reached into my rucksack and pulled out a stale slice of bread. I nibbled upon it, trying not to let the texture touch my tongue. I’d seen people’s limbs pulled apart, seen them explode, but I just could not handle the texture of stale bread touching my touch.
I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me. I jumped. I turned my head slowly, my eyes zeroing in to where I heard the noise. I saw a patch of white, then a large paw, the size of two human fists combined.
Out stepped Rhea, my pet. Rhea was a “demon cat” as most called her. She had a coat of perfect white, the white of freshly fallen snow, with black spots covering the majority of her pelt. She had long canine teeth that hung over her bottom lip, and her eyes were deep blue and intelligent. She was named a demon cat because when Rhea growled, the ground beneath her began to crumble, as if lightening had just struck there. When she was angry her eyes glowed red, and the nape of her neck spiked up like thorns.
Rhea smoothly made her way over to me, flicking her tail as she moved. Her muscles clenches and contracted, showcasing all of her strength and agility. I wished I was her at this moment. I wondered what exactly I was preparing myself for. Why was I preparing for the voice in my head to come. What if the years of rituals had finally made me go crazy? Besides, look at what I’d just seen. I saw a vision of people dying, and some overweight king looking for immortality.
I heard the deep purr rumble in the back of Rhea’s throat. I stroked her speckled fur and patted her thigh before resting my hand back on the armrests. Her ears flicked back when she heard the clink of my metal plate armour as it rattled against my sword.
I had just closed my eyes, and let my mind prepare when I heard the whispering voice: “You shall travel to your old village, and in three days’ time, ascend the tower in the town square. When you reach the town square, climb up into the tower and create the Ritual of Summoning. Sacrifice your closest possessions, things that will stab your heart in pain and make you hate. Sacrifice two of them. Use their blood to re-trace the Ritual Circle, and when it is complete, stand in the centre and call my name.”
My eyes flashed open, and I heard the scream again. But this scream was only a distant memory, a memory I’d had when I was just a young child, not even twenty-four seasons old. I saw the figure riding towards me on the heavy black horse. The coat gleamed in the pale sunlight like polished granite. The eyes, they glowed eerily red, and upon the grand horses’ back, perched a woman. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she wore a flowing green dress, the colour of moss. A gray cloak hung from her shoulders, with the hood pulled back. Her hair was long, and black, with tangles and a few twigs and leafs sticking out of them.
She halted the horse without even a single movement, and then she opened her mouth. The most blood-curdling wail burst out of her thin lips, and I scrambled to cover my ears. I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, she just sat, perched on her steed, and stared. A stolid expression had stolen over her face, as she glared. Her eyes, they seemed to bore right through me, and when I took my hands off of my ears, her horse bolted, and was nothing more than a blur.
I’d later heard that it was demonic to be able to resist the wail of a Banshee. Especially since she was not an impersonation, but the one I’d seen was truly the Banshee Queen. My parents disowned me, and cut off all contact, banishing me from their home. It was not until I was nine when the village shunned me and sent me away. I was taken in apprenticeship by a man named Hereon.
I later heard from nearer villages in which I visited to buy meats and preservatives, gossip about myself and my family. “Did you hear of the child who stopped the Banshee’s cry?” one woman said. “Why yes. She just covered her ears, and she could not hear of what the wretched creature wailed. The creature just stared at her and bolted.”
“Yes, and they banished her from her village for that, her parents disowned her. That’s amazing. They should’ve known that she may have possibly stopped one of their deaths!”
“Yes. That is true. They must not be too bright. Maybe her husband in a locksmith. Those men are never too bright. But I also heard that they’ve been saying their daughter died of the Blood Plague.”
Yes, I remembered that only too clearly. My parents disowned me, and banished me even from their thoughts, pretending I died of the Blood Plague, though I did not. When I visited my old village in three days, I would make sure to knock on their door and hang a dead rat from the frame.
Without another thought, I picked up my helmet, and stuffed it over my fair hair. I swung the waist-length braid over my shoulder, and secured my sword into place on it’s belt. I bandaged up my hands and wrists, then pulled on my jagged plate gloves. Then, I departed. The voice told me what I wanted to hear. It was now time to prepare the Ritual of Summoning. I did not want to mistake this ritual, for it could cost my life, instead of those I was willing to sacrifice instead of myself.
Rhea jumped up and ran before me, pouncing on the nearest Mosgull. Rhea carried it’s limp body in her mouth, and stopped a few metres ahead of me. There, she dropped the Mosgull at my feet. She was thanking me, and showing me that she loved me. “Keep it, Rhea. You’ve worked harder than I have in the past little while. Besides, I’m not really in the mood to eat. Not right now...”
Rhea picked up the Mosgull again and walked at my side, a slow pace for her. I knew that she longed for me to throw the reins over her head and jump onto her back so that we could get to our ideal destination quicker, but I wanted to stretch my limbs. And the fact was, she’d ruined my tack a few days before.
When we reached the small town of Kinshill. I bought a new bridle to use for Rhea. After all, the last one she’d broken when she’d decided that she wanted to take me down into a gully. It’d snapped when I was thrown to the side and tumbled down into the river.
This bridle was navy blue like my armour, with a few glowing Sapphires embedded in the brass plating. The man offered to tailor me a saddle for half-price. I knew he feared me because of my eyes. I took the offer, and asked him to stitch “Fortitude” in Ritual writing. He agreed just as long as I wrote it out for him. I waited for a day until the saddle was finished, then left the gloomy, sunless town behind. Rhea darted through the forest and over the sun-bleached plains with ease, until we reached my old town of Desoulas.
Ragged beggars were slumped against the wall with old bottles of rum, one with a rusted copper helmet, asking me for money. I pulled out a gold shilling and dropped it into the awake man’s helmet. I’d known him as a teacher of mine, many, many years ago. Though back then he wasn’t a drunk, and his hair was silvery-blond. But now his hair was a dingy gray with a scraggly beard, a scathed face with dried blood, and torn clothes.
He smiled gratefully, but when he saw my eyes, his expression dropped. I jumped off Rhea and covered his mouth with my hands. “Say one more thing old man and you’ll be the one I sacrifice for the next ritual!”
He just nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, yes, I will, I will!” he agreed eagerly. I pulled out a copper shilling and dropped it into his hat in promise that he was to keep his mouth shut. “When I leave again, I will give you another gold shilling if you’ve kept your promise, Mister Cecris.”
He seemed surprised that I knew his name. I pulled out a pair of tin goggles from my rucksack and pulled them on. This way the blue tinge would make my eyes look lighter, maybe even brown or hazel. I hope they’d look hazel. I shoved the navy helmet back onto my head. The jagged pieces that stuck out of it made me look like an old Greek God, with the small wings at the sides, and the gold trim.
Desoulas may be desolate, but the humongous trees that loomed above let sunlight peek through their canopy of leaves like yellow fingers reaching into the clearing. Desoulas was wealthy enough to afford small huts and cobblestones. The smell of burning metal rose to nostrils as I passed by a Smith’s hut. Vines crawled up the side and over his roof with small purple flowers lighting up the gray stone, and making it look more inviting.
People stared in awe when they saw my mount and the armour I wore. The Smith was even marvelling at the craftsmanship of the shield that hung off my back and the sword that swayed at my hip.
Once I reached the keep, I noticed that the iron gate was closed, but the guards seemed eager to inspect me, and speak with me. They probably wanted a closer look at my new-aged armour and swords, and the mount I’d tamed, and just find out who I was and what I was here for.
One young guard’s eyes glowed when he saw my face. Ah, yes, it was Suiadan. He was an old friend from school, years ago. I had doubted that he’d be able to be king, but he was a guard, even if the helmet dropped over his face loosely, and the armour was too thick for his skinny build.
He stepped out of line from his perch at the side of the gatehouse’s entrance and came towards me. Rhea lunged forward, but I yanked at the reins to hold her back. “He’s an ally, girl, no worries. Besides, with our power we could rip him to shreds,” I managed to murmur to her before Suiadan reached us.
“Nostariel, is t-that really you?” he peered at me, from under the shadows of his silver helmet, and gazed at me from every possible angle he could without getting into Rhea’s personal space. “Suiadan! Get back here!” his partnering guard called at him. The other guard stood stiff as a board against the wall, standing his full height of six-foot-one. He was my age, I knew, because there was only a bit of stubble on his lip. He was sizing me up, and I knew it. He didn’t want to show any interest in me or my mount or my armour at all. I did see, though, his anxious glances to my sword every now and again.
“Not scared, are you?” I mocked.
Suiadan jumped when Rhea pinned her ears back. “No, I’m not scared of a woman,” the guard snarled.
“I guess I’m not used to the whole ‘woman-are-still-beneath-us’ society. I guess I have a right not to be used to it though,” I sighed sarcastically, “Hereon always treated me like he would treat anyone. He understands that we all live, breathe, and die.”
Suiadan turned on his heel. “Beriadan, shut your gob! She has skills like you wouldn’t believe!”
Beriadan grinned. “I’d like to see that.”
“Okay,” I jumped off Rhea. “Go ahead Rhea, I don’t want to waste my time on a skinny little rat like this one.”
The guards holding crossbows on the top of the tower’s keep mumbled excitedly to one another. Rhea growled, the fur at the nape of her neck spiking like thorns. She leaped towards Beriadan, and when she landed, she let out a loud hiss, and the land beneath Beriadan crumbled. He stumbled to his knees, and just as Rhea was about to finish off the fight with a strike of her massive paw, I whistled.
“That’s enough Rhea.”
Rhea trotted, proudly, back over to me, flicking her tail. I mounted back onto Rhea, and stretched. “Let’s say that was a demonstration. Just imagine my sword plunging through your armour and striking you with lightening.”
Beriadan got up, and spit a wad of blood in my general direction. I glared at him from beneath my goggles. “You will regret that choice,” I growled, but Suiadan grabbed my arm. “Leave him be,” he said. “He is just a stuck-up, pig-nosed snob!”
Beriadan glowered at Suiadan, but he just stood taller, and titled his spear so that it barred my way to the gatehouse. As if I could get in with the iron bars. I flicked my braid behind my shoulder before speaking to Suiadan in a low whisper. “Look, just make sure you don’t tell anyone my name. I’m going by Fainauriel right now, okay?”
“Yes, that is fine.”
“Good.” Suiadan and I stood in awkward silence for a few moments, before one of the guards whistled. “Is this your girl, Suiadan?” he called down, cupping his hand around his mouth. He held a crossbow in one hand, and a quiver was hung over one shoulder loosely.
Suiadan blushed. He shook his head vagariously. “N-no,” his voice squeaked in a few places an octave higher. “This is Fainauriel. She is my cousin.”
I half-grinned. Though me and Suiadan were only old classmates, a cousin was a good cover. Suiadan had silvery hair like mine, except his hair was loosely curled and carried to his shoulder.
As I was busy thinking to myself, not really paying attention to what was going on, I heard the protest of metal, as the gate rolled open. Suiadan ran to his position, his helmet bobbling on his head. It was tilted sideways when he stood in his spot, about half a head shorter than Beriadan.
I yanked Rhea’s reins to the side to move out of the cobblestone path. A grand party of soldiers came out, led by a lavishly dressed king. His red cape flowed over the horse’s rump, lined with Mountain Lion’s fur. He wore a pair of Dragon’s hide chaps, as did I. His plate armour had the picture of a sword, facing downward, engraved into the red plate.
He did not tear his eyes away from the path in which he led the garrison of soldiers, his nose held high in the air. His white steed was the colour of Rhea’s coat, without the black spots, and the mane was a perfect silver.
Only once did his eyes move from the path ahead when Rhea made a low-sounding growl. “Shut it!” I hissed at Rhea, silencing her. Rhea spat, but stood still until the soldiers had moved by. I kicked Rhea’s sides once the path was cleared. She burst into a run, and I wheeled her towards the gatehouse. We darted underneath the closing gate, and slid to a stop once safely inside. Beriadan yelled after me, and I heard Suiadan’s low chuckle. “Thank you, Suiadan!” I cupped my hand around my mouth. Suiadan yelled something back, but I did not quite catch it.
My gaze had swept across the ward, until I found the town square. It was bustling with merchants and strolling players alike, each hoping to earn a good wage that day to pay taxes and buy food for their families. How sorry I felt for them. I’m sure that Master Hereon could just conjure more money for me later on if I ran out.
And then there was the centre tower. I looked to the top of it, and grinned. I’d forgotten to ask Suiadan how my parents were. I hoped they were still alive. I did not want to have to use Suiadan.
.
