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  "Who says I am in a hurry?" He grinned.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re as grounded to this place as I. I am sure Dĩas has written it in stone somewhere. Thou shall not leave thy realm.” She sarcastically mocked their father.

  Staphãyn laughed, leaning against the wall. “Silly Vii.” He rolled his eyes at her, knowing she hated his little nickname. “Why would I listen to Dĩas? Maybe I would if I were sober; then again, probably not.” He pulled out a golden flask from his waist. It had his name engraved on it along with symbols of power that Samanthŕa placed there long ago to keep anyone from slipping any poison inside. When he drank, he ended up in the strangest of places. She did not want him losing his wits and falling in harm’s way.

  He opened it leisurely and took a drink, winking boldly at her with mischief dancing in the dark glow of his eyes. “Would you like some?”

  "You know better." Samanthŕa frowned and hissed softly at the thought of it.

  "Suit yourself." He raised the flask as if toasting her decision, and then took the bitter brew to his lips.

  Staphãyn took to drinking when Evil murdered his mother. Drinking was not a weakness that their kind was victim to, yet he was dedicated to trying. It seemed that, spending all his time with the Phãegens, and constantly clashing with their father, Dĩas, were his only habits anymore.

  "So you are braving this strange storm then? You are leaving our realm?" She poked him for truth. "You will defy--"

  “I’ll tell you what" He cut her off. "You, silly Vii, do your Priestess duty and listen to dear ol’ Pavŕa,” the Phãegen word for father.

  She took the flask abruptly from his hand and smelt it. She wanted to know how strong his brew was. It was pure, harsh Vlachŕa Liquor, completely undiluted. It was so potent, it could eat through stone. Phãegens couldn’t even drink it without having their insides dissolved and the only reason her kind could was because they had the ability to heal themselves. She hated to see the drink abused. It was only created to be drunk in small amounts--to induce visions or open the mind. When their kind abused it though, they did things that they would not normally do-- such as Dĩas attempting to lay claim over her or forcing her to dwell in his sleeping and private chambers. Disgusted by such thoughts, she threw it back at him, causing him to express even more amusement.

  "Yes, silly Vii, I am about to carry out the very thing I planned to do the moment I awoke this night. Neither storm nor roar of Dĩas shall stop me.” He winked again.

  “Which is?” she questioned him coldly.

  "Must you truly ask?" He toyed with her as always. "Am I so unpredictable?"

  “No, you, unfortunately, are not. Even a fool would know you’re going into the village to keep company with Phãegens, just as I assumed before. There is no need to act as though you are not.” By his expression she could tell that, she’d guessed right, not that she had doubted herself.

  "Do you object?"

  “Yes . . . and not because I fear Dĩas' anger towards you, or that you are trying to self destruct. I am more concerned with what is happening out there. Not with everything that’s going on, Staphãyn.” She crossed her arms and gave him a bald look of disappointment.

  "Oh my silly Vii, if all of the worlds are coming to its end, there is nothing you nor I can do about it. All we can do is face that end in the company we favor the most." It was clear by his over exaggerations and twisting expressions that he wasn't take any of this seriously.

  “You never cease to amaze me, choosing to be with mortals in times of threat.” As much as she loved him, she felt a bit insulted that he cared nothing for her welfare. "I realize you would see our father and the rest of our bloodlines turn to dust . . . but me as well, Stephãyn? Would you see my end as well?"

  “Are you any different than me, my silly little Vii?” He tucked his flask back into his waistband, chuckling lightly at her. "You know I speak the truth before you really dive you’re your adorable dramatics and deny anything. Why, as Priestess, you almost spend as much time as I do with the Phãegens in their villages. Maybe not in times of danger, but how long would it be before you do?" He often made her wonder about that and she could read those thoughts simmering in his mind now.

  “I am different, Staphãyn. I know what I am, I know what they are, and I know I can do them more good as High Priestess that I would as a drinking mate. Sometimes I think you would renounce who you are and become mortal if you could.” She scolded him from habit. “Would you prefer to live only 600 or so years and then die? Would you prefer to live each night with only the strength of one of them? Would you prefer to be a Moppãe, helpless towards the evils of TEŔAH . . . unable to exist and survive without the help of our kind? Just renounce your bloodline if that’s the case and save us all the trouble of watching you self destruct.” Her tone reeked of cynicism.

  He sprang away from the wall, smiling. He never seemed to stop being entertained by her, especially when he was drinking. He made no secret of this.

  "Well?" She prepared for his uncaring reply.

  At first, it appeared that he would offer her nothing for once, as he started back on his way, but when he turned around one last time to face her, walking backwards, he proved different.

  “Now there’s an idea, my silly little Vii."

  "What is?"

  "The very thing you suggest, of course. Why don’t you run up to your little magic room and find such a spell for me. Something that would invoke a renunciation of power, eh?"

  "You jest." He could not be serious!

  "Why, imagine Dias then!” He threw his head back in hilarity as aggravation flooded her eyes. Before her temper could react, though, he misted and was gone.

  The halls were once again empty.

  Samanthŕa swallowed her acrimony and forgot about Staphãyn’s typical nonsense when she felt the storm pick up power inside the realm. Its hand was pulling against her, but she did not understand how or why. Her curiosity was piqued. A chill ran down her spine and the silence of the halls truly began to disturb her.

  Another sign-- her mind spun with the dilemma. Too many things were out of balance at once. Something was not right, but what?

  ~ChapteR 3~

  Visions Be Still, Sister

  ***

  Hush now,

  Here comes the dawn of night.

  Yes, I know the voices are calling.

  But these visions you must fight.

  Hush now,

  Quiet embers and falling snow.

  Give your mind only to me.

  I am all that you need to know.

  Hush now,

  As these things you see may fester,

  Rotting you gently away into a prophecy of sleep.

  Hush Now,

  Be still your vision, my sweet sister.

  For my spirit cradles you against the deep.

  ***

  “You’re going where?” Dezarãe, eyes forever wide, acted as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Samanthŕa had returned to her chamber, explaining everything she had found out from Dĩas. In the end, Samanthŕa was ever so predictable-- she wasn’t going to let that stop her and she was leaving regardless.

  “I have already contacted some of the other families in my mind.” Samanthŕa explained. To speak by way of telepathy took little to no effort at all, even for a Vii and especially for a High Priestess. “Not one brother or sister is going to let neither the orders of their Elder nor Dĩas, stop them. So why should we? ” Why should I? Samanthŕa gathered up her black cloak.

  She said nothing of Stephãyn. She knew it would cause Dezarãe to worry. She loved him as much as Dezarãe did, but Stephãyn had started to withdraw himself from his little Dezzy like he did everyone else, and that alone, she knew was torment enough for her sister to bear.

  "Feel free to stay or go. I leave it up to you." Samanthŕa couldn't order anyone to keep to the realm if she refused to do so.

  “I am with you sister; however, have you forgotte
n Monéaklá? She is a problem."

  That was a problem. "What do you suggest?"

  "Maybe we should bring her in on our scheme,” Dezarãe said. “It’s better than having her rat us out.” Without blinking, she caused her olive cloak to appear in her hands by snapping her fingers.

  “Not even if Evil threatened to take all of my lives would I invite her. Let her sit here in this castle with her twisted & demented twin. For you know that if we bring her, she will sooner or later get bored and then snitch on us for fun. As soon as she finds out there are no warriors there foolish or drunk enough to fall for her false charms, she will become spiteful and try to wreck our evening in whatever way she can. It happens every time,” Samanthŕa, reminded her while she went to the balcony.

  She noticed the swirling and exploding colors and power of the storm. Every time she looked at it, she felt slightly drunk. Her mind swam with questions. She thought constantly about her dream and its message. Her mind kept returning to it. If only she had time to ponder its meaning more deeply-- but she didn’t. Time was growing short.

  The Phãegens had started to light the rest of the Drągýn’s tail despite what Nature’s fury was doing around them. No Phãegen or bloodline in their right mind was going to heed Dĩas’ warning, so why should she? Despite all previous reasons, the one that drove her to attend the rituals tonight long before all trouble erupted came to mind.

  Beal-Tene was too important; it was the time of rebirth, renewal, and fertility. With her own bloodlines going extinct, Goddess knows they could use some fertility. They had seen hardly any conceptions for nearly a century and despite what Dĩas claimed, their people were being destroyed by Evil. Samanthŕa had no proof of it but she could feel it.

  "Perhaps I'll turn her to stone," Samanthŕa liked that idea, "If only for a few hours. By the time she recovers, we will have returned."

  “Then she will seek out the missing hours and why she was done so. No, no. We need something much more subtle." Dezarãe placed her finger to her lip, clearly thinking. "Let me send Sameŕald to see where Monéaklá is off to then. She just arrived with the others and they are already misting before the entrance. If they go snooping, it will not look so suspicious.” Dezarãe poured another goblet of wine. “Besides, I haven’t been able to track her imprint since you left for the Great Hall. If she has snuck off to the festival herself that could be very bad for us. We will need another plan if that’s the case.” Dezarãe had a point.

  Samanthŕa began to pace while she waited. But in her own mind, she needed no other plan if that was the case. If Monéaklá were there then she would simply create an illusion of a man to lead her away, lead Monéaklá right into an enemy's ditch if she had to.

  Silence broken, Dezarãe reported what Sameŕald relayed to her. “Alright: Sameŕald and the other sisters are going to meet us downstairs in the Library. It seems Monéaklá has latched herself to some mystery fool and is preparing some sort of feast for him in the Dining Hall. She isn’t even concerned with us.”

  “No, tell them to meet us at the stables."

  "We are traveling by horse?"

  "Yes."

  "What an odd and very Phãegen thing to do." Dezarãe crinkled her nose.

  "Not just Phãegens. Our warriors enjoy riding, yes?"

  "Not to use one's gifts when they have it is . . . well its sacrilege."

  "We cannot use magic to mist to the festival, sister. We will have to travel the same way the Phãegens do--by foot or by beast. Dĩas will be able to sense our imprint immediately if we use power to exit our realm, since his power is plugged into all within. "

  "Depressing but very clever, sister." Dezarãe praised. "And Monéaklá?"

  "Tell each sister to create an illusion of herself and place it in her chamber. We will send word to our dear Monéaklá that we are sick from the power of this storm. Make her believe we are under some sort of extrasensory attack. That should make her happy enough to stay away from our rooms.”

  “Good idea.” Dezarãe winked. "But won't our father sense that?"

  "He will believe us to be sickened by the storm's energy," since Vii's were sensitive to such things, "And our doings to be no more than spells to heal the pain. And he will find no threat if it is done within his realm. No reason to suspect us leaving. If anything, perhaps he will be less suspecting and suspicious." Samanthŕa moved her four-poster bed with a wave of her hand. Marching forward, she checked the ornate tapestry behind it. No one ever expected anything to be underneath or behind the bed, since it was big enough to sleep seven. The sides were layered with thick burgundy curtains to offer privacy, warmth, and concealment.

  The tapestry Samanthŕa peeked behind, had the image of a pale, dark haired woman, entangled in a vine of bleeding roses. It was a clever way of hiding a secret entrance Samanthŕa created not long ago with the help of her mother's power. It was a means of escape if Dĩas ever meant to enter her chamber uninvited . . . if not some other meaning to do her harm.

  Since its creation, Samanthŕa used the tunnels often to spy on Dĩas and the Elders. They also proved useful when she needed to sneak away, as was the case tonight. Dĩas had imbued the secret passageways with some sort of enchantment so that no one would use them, particularly Samanthŕa. However, Chymeŕah gave her daughter a spell so that the enchantment had no effect on her and anyone in her company. And since Dĩas had done the enchantments long before even his mind could remember, he never thought to check them, or suspect their use.

  Once again, thank you, mother. Samanthŕa smiled to herself just as she wrapped her cloak tight and started to enter . . . but another arctic sensation of wariness made her pause. She snapped herself around, hearing Dezarãe’s voice change to something dark . . . something grim.

  "Something’s been unleashed--” Dezarãe’s eyes became sallow while the tone of her bray was somewhat appalling. “It’s awakened from its cursed sleep. From a distant realm it travels to us now . . . one” --she began to spin around the room like a mad woman-- “two-- I feel many, but not certain of the number of them . . . I see eyes, summoning me… beckoning …. I--" Dezarãe froze abruptly.

  Samanthŕa grabbed and shook her, yanking her back to her senses. Anxiety swallowed her up for a moment.

  "Be still your visions, sister, especially when the moment of your Awakening is so near!" Samanthŕa worried that Dezarãe was connecting to something that would change her life completely. It was possibly the one who would Awaken her, drawing him to her like air to flame. Or it could have been the enchantment of something even more dangerous, especially when a storm like this one threatened the real. Who knew whether this was Dezarãe’s Awakener or the hand that wielded the storm? Anything could be meddling with her-- and since she was speaking of cursed sleep, Samanthŕa wasn’t taking any chances

  "What…what happened?" Her sister staggered and fell onto the bed. Her eyes returned to their normal color. Visions sometimes made her black out. They sometimes took her body over, possessing her, controlling her.

  "You were speaking strangely,” Samanthŕa warned. "About those eyes again. Something is coming, has awakened and so on." Dezarãe was always speaking of eyes, but not the same ones that haunted Samanthŕa's dreams. The eyes, which haunted Dezarãe’s, were green. A strange pair haunted each of her six sisters. This dreaming of eyes was common for most Awakening Viis, even if Samanthŕa's didn't promise such a successful conclusion. “Tonight is not a good time for visions.”

  With those words, a dispiriting coldness passed through the room and up their backs. It seemed to be the repetitive flavor of the night. It lingered for a moment against their flesh, so Samanthŕa waved, giving energy to the fire. It burst from the embers inside the hearth until dying down to a much heartier glow. "Too many foreboding chills." And she had, had her fill. "I don’t know about you but I could use a different sign of sorts.” She knew this one was confirming Dezarãe’s vision. Again, nothing to celebrate, as far as she was concerned.

  "You sh
ould not have stopped me. It’s time we made sense of the dreams we share. I want my Awakening, Samanthŕa. I do not fear it as you do." Dezarãe, frowning with unhappiness, touched her cheek softly.

  Samanthŕa pulled and turned away sharply.

  No one understood why Samanthŕa wished to avoid something so mystical and natural. To Dezarãe and the others it was only Samanthŕa’s pride. They knew nothing of the prophecies that Dĩas and Samanthŕa feared. Samanthŕa wanted it this way. She did not want her sisters fearing their Awakenings or worrying for her. Her reasons were her own. This was one bond they did not share, thankfully, and she was determined to make sure of it. She even worked hard to hide the sickness that Dĩas’ potion caused her, and the pain, which grew worse with each dose.

  She also tried to find ways to prevent this impending doom from befalling her sisters in case she failed at preventing the Awakening. She had consulted the Oracles and the Vestibule of Scrolls many times in the upper realms. Like clockwork, she reread her sisters’ scrolls--written prophecies concerning their lives-- searching for any secret that might hint of any harmful doom concerning them after their time of Awakening. The only thing she traced was her own cursed fate, which would affect her sisters in its closing stages. It all seemed like one big frightening domino effect beginning with Samanthŕa. Therefore, the beginning must never be allowed to begin . . .

  “Bring him to me, Goddess. Bring me my Awakener. I am ready and so weary of waiting.” Dezarãe sighed and swooned, clutching and holding herself while staring into the fire burning feverishly and even more so from her emotion and words.

  Quickly Samanthŕa waved a hand of magic and silent spell to block any prying ears. If Dĩas knew Dezarãe was trying to call forth her Awakener then she would be gone by dawn for sure.

  “Enough Dezarãe. Who’s to say the vision was a part of your Awakening? With this storm, who can tell? Practice some restraint until the realms have calmed, shall we?” Samanthŕa was nervously blunt.