Bearer of the Rubyarc -- Prologue

Prologue

Tacitus backed into a darkened doorway upon the roof of a local building, cloaking himself in shadows. In his position, he could observe the goings on in Market Square without being noticed. He swept his eyes over the various stalls, seeking the aura of the Bearer.

When no sign of the Rubyarc met his sights, he reached into the bag at his side. The leather strap badly needed repairing, however he hadn’t the time, nor the means to have it fixed. Besides, with a muttered spell, the bag could be good as new. Upon slipping his broad hand into the sack, he groped in its recesses.

Carefully, he pulled out a small sack covered in runes written in the blood of the Bearer and their ground Rubyarc. Only he—with the exceptions of the other Emrillance— could read it; but he’d seen it so many times that the phrases were permanently implanted in his memory. Within the sack lay a gathering of dark dust; midnight powder. He extracted a pinch and placed it into the palm of his left hand. With a practiced breath he blew the dust in his hand into the air.

For the span of a blink of an eye, the world went pitch black. But he had seen what he needed to see, and he smiled to himself in satisfaction. The Bearer was on its way. Needing only to wait for ten minutes, Tacitus soon noticed the red smudge upon the horizon. The smudge traveled from east to west, moving north through the labyrinth of streets and alleys of the small, unnamed village.

Within the hour, the smudge had completed its journey to the main street, and Tacitus was anticipating the afternoon to come. He smoothed back his hair—long and unruly—and turned his back on the street, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. Today was the day he would become full-fledged Emirllance, and he was determined to finish his mission swiftly and, if at all possible, silently. The Rubyarc would loose another, and the Emrillance would gain more power still. He was confident that the Emrillance would win the war of good and evil; for he had been taught that evil always won.

Emerging into the bustling Square from the door of a small tavern, Tacitus narrowed his eyes to allow the village to melt away and the Bearer to become visible. Moving fast so as to keep up, Tacitus seemingly streamed like water through the various village dwellers. Even if he had not been so skilled, the villagers had seen him before and knew better than to question his means.

While trailing the Bearer, Tacitus made a single, crucial mistake: he let his guard down and became over confident; therefore, when the Bearer disappeared from sight, he had no answer as to why he had let it escape his attention. For a few moments, he stopped, looking around to sense the hot feeling of the Rubyarc; he stayed still for a moment too long; for suddenly he lost control of his body. Unable to move, he swallowed in defeat; Tacitus knew that his mission was over, and that he had failed.

“What a nice surprise.” A liquid voice floated through the air; had he been able to stand on his own, Tacitus’ knees would have went watery. “A fresh, not-so-innocent Emrillance. How delightful.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tacitus glimpsed the speaker of the voice. Her beauty alone made his mouth dry. She stepped in front of him, eyeing him up and down. An easy, predatory smile split her face. Despite his fear, he was falling ever in love with the pretty woman with every passing moment.

She was wearing a green dress the color of jade with a gold-colored belt that glistened with the light of the sun around her waist. A silver dagger was sheathed at one side, and a pouch hung from leather strings on the other. The neck of her dress was square cut, and the tops of her breasts curved from under the fabric. The Rubyarc glittered at her pale throat; all blood and tears and amazing power. Upon her wrists, silver bangles chimed against each other; she wore no rings.

Tacitus raised his eyes to her face, trying to take everything in at once. The first thing he noticed was her eyes; electric blue flecked with gold. All Bearers had the same eyes; but to him, hers were the most beautiful. She had high cheekbones and a smile that radiated like the sun— which, Tacitus noted, fitted her well for being a Daughter of the Dawn.

She shook her head, tossing her black curls out of her face. Her hair was drizzled with diamond drops of dew, and he wondered if she had laid them there herself, or if a significant other had; for reasons unbeknownst to him, hot jealousy flooded his blood. He wanted to be the one to sprinkle the night with stars; to sprinkle her night with stars.

“What,” she asked softly, putting a finger upon the bottom of her full, red lips, “is an Emrillance doing all by his lonesome? I wonder if he has no common sense, or if maybe he is just stupid.”

Tacitus swallowed again, taking her verbal blows like a professional; however, he couldn’t help feeling hurt.

She suddenly stepped close to him; carefully, she lifted a slim finger and drew it across his face. His flesh heated at her touch, and then burned when she pulled away. She frowned, her lower lip jutting out into a pout. With slow, careful precision, she tugged the hood of his cloak back, revealing his face. Her frown deepened.

“Such a shame. You’re a handsome fellow.” The lovely lady reached down the front of his shirt, alighting his flesh like a brush fire. She pulled the slide out of the front of his robes, yanking it towards her; the chain nearly snapped, but she knew what she was doing. Tacitus could see that. She sighed and reached into the pouch at her side. Sunstones glittered in her palm, and she looked carefully at the slide about his neck before choosing one of the gold stones.

Finally finding his voice, Tacitus bid her wait. She shifted her weight impatiently, eyeing him without trust.

“If I were to do your bidding; if I pledged myself to your power, what would become of me?” She ran her tongue over her teeth thoughtfully.

“If I were to trust in you, what would become of me? I would end up dead, most likely, for one does not trust only in pledge. If I were not to kill you—if I were not to place this stone upon your necklace to let it burn you within until you are nothing but a shriveled grape—you would certainly become a slave; bound in sunchains and kept within light chambers. Is that honestly what you want, or does death sound pretty sweet compared?”

Tacitus cleared his throat. Of course, in time, he would come to bare the pains of light. Slavery was a petty price to pay for failure compared to what he would have to pay within the confines of the Afterworld. He would much rather pick slavery over death.

The young lady seemed to read his thoughts—and perhaps she had—for her eyes were sympathetic.

“You would be a fine slave, Tacitus,” she whispered. How she knew his name, he did not know, nor did he care. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew that he would not be spared; that he would be hollowed out from the inside by the scorching rays of the sun.

“Wait!” he pleaded once more. She narrowed her eyes, glaring reproachfully. “Please! Won’t you just consider—”

“No. I will not— cannot,” she corrected herself, “allow for you to walk away from this. It is against my ruling; my teachings. Death is not something I take lightly to; nor do I allow for stalking. If you had behaved yourself, then perhaps.

“However, that is not the case, and I will get my vengeance, Tacitus. You murdered my father; nearly killed my sister. I cannot condone your sins. It is against my way, and against the Rubyarc.

“Now, before I end your life, do you have any last words?” Her words were cruel and bit at his heart. Of course, he had plenty to say. But nothing would make a difference.

“One thing.” She rolled her eyes, impatient again. “Might I know your name? Might I know one pleasure, before I feel nothing again?”

Her smile was voracious. There was no sympathy; no empathy. Just greedy, feline instinct. In response to the dangerous purr that rumbled from her throat, he swallowed thickly; adrenalin rushing through his body.

“Oh, Tacitus!” She giggled, humming in his ear. She stepped away, then, curtsying like a noble woman. “How rude of me! I, my dear friend—” had he had the courage, he would have snorted in disgust— “am Lady Felicia of Venice. But for the few moments that you have left to live, you may call me Cia. I prefer it to Felicia; it is not quite as ugly. Don’t you agree?” She giggled at his expression. “Of course you wouldn’t agree. You believe everything about me is beautiful. My face… my hair… my eyes… my body… even my voice.” She laughed; full and rich. A violent shudder streaked down his spine.

Suddenly her eyes hardened; went from liquid to solid in half a second.

“What about my temper, Tacitus? Do you think that is beautiful?” She stepped close to him once more, leaning close to him. “Do you think that my strength is beautiful?” With little more than a split second warning, he was suddenly in her arms.

With surprise rendering his every pore, he found it strange that he could move; and that his first instinct was to wrap her tightly in an embrace. He was pleased, when her mouth found his, and he responded to her lips with full intensity.

And then there was no more. He was frozen again, stuck in the circle of her arms, his lip trapped firmly between her teeth. Her sapphire eyes were level with his; dancing with the gleaming sun. She began to bite down; hard. He winced with the pain, and then the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

She grinned in satisfaction, stepping away from him once more, dragging the back of her hand over her perfect lips— lips stained with his blood.

“Mmmm.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “You taste good, Emrillance.” She grinned; a brilliant streak of white. “Did you think that was beautiful, Tacitus? That I could control you so easily? Hurt you, without you even knowing my intentions?” She chuckled darkly. “Of course you did. You could never be repulsed by me; by my actions. Except for one, which I will fulfill quite quickly.” She reached out again, taking the silver slide in her pale fingers. “You will be fine, Emrillance. I promise. I’ll do this as fast as I can, and spare you the suffering. You won’t feel much more than the stinging. Good bye, Tacitus.”

He raised his eyes to the beautiful woman before him.

“Good bye, Cia; Lady of Venice.” She smiled tentatively, then placed the star-shaped sunstone into the silver slide round his neck.

*~*Break*~*

He died quicker than the rest. Felicia was almost sad to see him disappear into the air. But she had done what was intended of her; she had been strong, and had finally controlled her powers. She smiled softly to herself. How delightful.

Of course, she shouldn’t have left herself unprotected. She shouldn’t have skipped back towards the rural village, Tacitus’s bag swinging from her shoulder.

She should have left immediately.

But she didn’t. She was blissfully free— for less than a moment.

She didn’t last more than ten minutes in the city.

By the time the leader of the Rubyarc, and respectively her fiancée, found her, she was dead; strangled and dumped on the side of the road. Her necklace— blood, tears, sunlight, the lot of it—gone.

*~*Break*~*EndPrologue*~*

**So, there it is. I spent two months on this alone; I can honestly say that this is probably the best part of this story; I need help on the rest, but I wanted to get this out there to see if it's something people would be interested in.**