Bound By Blood Read online

  “You practice restraint enough for all of us.” Dezarãe sounded edgy now.

  “What?” Samanthŕa turned, brow raised.

  “Oh please, sister, we all know you are against your own Awakening, which is why we refuse to allow you to counsel us concerning ours,” Dezarãe confessed without tact.

  Samanthŕa played the tune they expected of her as she proceeded to mix candor with lies. "Anyone having power over you can only mean your doom." Samanthŕa acted as if it were a matter of nothing more than pride. It was better than having Dezarãe’s sharp instincts hone in on her true reasons. She moved back towards the balcony windows, staring out beyond the castle into the terrain of night.

  The trail of fire was brighter. The flames were feeding off the fury of the storm and its winds. Dezarãe moved behind her and put her arms around her sister. Samanthŕa felt Dezarãe’s energy tangle gently into her own to the level where her thoughts poured off in waves, concerning the things she worked very hard to convince herself of, false reasons concerning all of this. Her sisters were Empaths and would pick up immediately the dreadful truth if Samanthŕa allowed it to linger in her psyche too long. She forced herself to believe in her phony reasons while her energy acted to deceive Dezarãe’s gifts.

  The deception changed Dezarãe’s understanding of what Samanthŕa felt. "I believe Dĩas has put these things in your mind, dear sister," she whispered into Samanthŕa’s ear. She waved a hand in midair, clockwise and called upon a power to block Dĩas in some ancient tongue. “I do not envy you where our father is concerned.” Dezarãe was able to enjoy the same normal affections of their father, which their other five sisters enjoyed. They did not have to worry about him constantly stalking them or trying to control their every move. They received constant pampering and spoiling, yet they were able to run freely and do just about anything they desired.

  Once long, long ago . . . Dĩas treated Samanthŕa the same, until a dark cloud of intent moved across his eyes when he looked at her . . . and the moods moving his intensions even more bleak. Again, having no stomach to ponder all of that . . . .

  “We should leave if we are going.” Samanthŕa changed the subject. The ominous gloom from Dezarãe’s vision still clung to her body. Yet something was calling her curiosity out into the night. Some sort of energy was pulling her onward. “I sense Sameŕald and the others waiting for us at the stables.” Her timbre was suffused with the need for haste.

  "So be it." Dezarãe followed quietly.

  The two of them whipped their cloaks around their bodies and dashed into the secret passageway. Whatever lay in store for them was a question for the Oracles to answer. But now there was no time to consult Oracles or untangle the riddles of visions. Now was no time to crawl unwillingly through the past or through the plagued darkness long haunting them.

  Great change was coming and Samanthŕa would not sit in the dark and not know what it was. Danger or dread, it did not matter; she would find out for herself one way or another.

  ~Chapter 4~

  Moth to a Flame

  ***

  Come dance with me, mischievous one,

  Tempted the flame of the Mystic.

  Come and enchant with me, curious one.

  So cried the pyre with promises tempted.

  Dancing there within swirls of light,

  Powers I give to thee, oh magical one,

  I'll offer these secrets under the folds of night,

  All revelations the Gods have spun.

  Shadows cast forth and of divination.

  Frolic through doors of mystical stimulation.

  Drawn is she by fire untamed.

  Curious set free, Moth to Flame.

  ***

  Horses approached from the crimson and violet darkness as if through a veil--thinned and wavering against night. Samanthŕa saw the outline of Dǒntáe Theŕéan and others of his bloodline join them at the forest’s edge where the Lampiŕ realm met the edges of the Lycãon borders. Ahead of them lay the signs of the Drągýn’s tail. The torches licking against the air, like furious tongues gulping with unruly thirst.

  Dǒntáe’s golden locks whipped wildly in the wind, which was picking up great speed from beyond the mountains. It moved so quickly and forcefully that their keen senses could smell the salt from the Sea of Abyss, which was still clinging to it. Whatever power was behind it used the element of water to feed the eye of the storm. By the look of the flames from the torches, it was using fire as well.

  “Do you think the storm has breached the Lycãon Realm? Do you think it will rain?” Trynaté Theŕéan, Dǒntáe’s twin, asked.

  The brother and sister held the spirits of large cats living within their souls. They could shift, if Awakened, with true ease. Trynaté was inexperrectus, though, like Samanthŕa and her sisters, so she had not shifted into her own beast yet. Dǒntáe, like most warriors, was not plagued with such limitations.

  "I do not like rain." Trynaté frowned, pulling the edges of her cloak as if shielding her from unwanted wetness.

  “It appears to be only electrical. I am sure what is happening now will be the extent of what we will see,” Dǒntáe assured her, and then focused on Samanthŕa. His long mane hung down his muscular back; his golden eyes flickered with reflections of the flashing scarlet lights above them. “Of course if you are frightened, Priestess, my beast will carry two.” He flirted while patting her horse’s neck.

  She heard his words, barely, but as always, paid them little attention. She reined her beast in a half circle, looking up at the storm swirling above. Her mind raced, trying to sort out her thoughts and presentiments. Her dream’s words . . . It is time-- A storm is coming . . . made her dizzy with anticipation.

  "I do not like the chill, either." Trynaté's voice snagged Samanthŕa's eyes, as the Theŕéan Vii seemed to be shivering while the wind picked up speed. Her small body tightened, causing her horse to sense and rear slightly. This drew Samanthŕa’s attention to all of the beasts. Were they sensing something she had yet to put her finger on? Could they calm down enough so that she could touch their minds and thoughts? No, they would not.

  "Dǒntáe, your eyes continue to fill with a weird longing," Dezarãe teased for some reason. "Wonder why? Do you know Samanthŕa?" What were Dezarãe and Sameŕald giggling about now?

  "I've no time for riddles, sister." Samanthŕa hissed. Her senses were grabbing everything from everywhere. Her heart was pounding beneath her chest. Her thoughts were a tornado, unable to touch down on any one place. “Any trouble sneaking away?” Samanthŕa finally said something, annoyed by the snickers and laughing that stirred up too much noise. Her horse moved into the darkness of the forest where Dǒntáe was, beyond her sisters. Despite their games, would a warrior offer a little bit of seriousness during such a sporadic time? "Do your Elders sense your absence? It is important that we go forth unseen."

  “Not at all,” he admitted, waving his hand above the flame of a torch. He seemed lighthearted as always, but at least focused on her concerns, which was more than she could say for her own sisters. “Our Elders are not as strict with us as Dĩas seems to be with you."

  "Consider yourself lucky, then." Samanthŕa nearly groaned.

  "At one time they seemed concerned," he still spoke of the Theŕéan Elders. "But over the last few months not so much. They stay away mostly, which is better for us.” He winked.

  She ignored his gestures the same way she ignored Staphãyn's, even if the two males and how they acted around her was as different as night and day. This, itself, gave her enough reason to ignore Dǒntáe. Within their bloodlines, warriors were becoming dangerous to a Vii unclaimed. Never thinking Dǒntáe would ever act as though Dĩas had . . . it was still wise not to give him reason. Not that Samanthŕa truly expected Dǒntáe held such interests. Still, to be safe . . . .

  “Your horse looks nervous." He noted. "Are you sure you don’t wish to ride with me?” His offering again caused Samanthŕa’s sisters to choke a little more. They had
to fight back their laughter, squinting, hiding their lips with their hands, as their beasts joined theirs in the forest.

  “While this is truly fun, we should be going.” Jezaŕah Disìr pulled her hood over her multi-colored curls. Her reminder was a kindness. It would be better for them all if they distracted their horses with travel as the restless storm unnerved them.

  They started up the trail when Samanthŕa yelled from behind, “Go on ahead. I am going to the tavern first."Even though the safety of the Lycãon borders were in reach, she could not bring herself to go. Not yet. Something urged her in another direction. "I’ll be along shortly.”

  They all jerked their beasts around with haste and dismay, while Keysãe Romãe began to protest. She was the youngest of Samanthŕa’s seven sisters fathered by Dĩas. Her porcelain face was framed with sable hair highlighted with soft blond strands that caught the light from the torch fire. “Sister, no! Do not be a moth to a flame this night! Not this night!”

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead,” Samanthŕa told them, but now Dǒntáe was throwing a fit as well.

  “Then I shall go with you,” he said.

  “No,” Samanthŕa decreed, short and cold. “I need no warrior holding my hand. I’ll be fine."

  "Why must you go there?" Keysãe said.

  "Someone has to go to the tavern to find out if there have been any unseen dangers. With this storm, one never knows. We do not want anything unexpected happening. We do not want to find ourselves in trouble. Trouble will get us caught, if not worse.” The reasons she gave were not false. They were imperative. If it had just been Samanthŕa on this adventure, then she would have felt fine proceeding without this precaution, but her sisters and bloodlines were also defying the Elders’ rule. The realms were not the safest of places anymore.

  “That’s no reason I can’t go with you. It’s not good for you to go alone,” Dǒntáe said with a warrior’s authority. His horse began to resist when a flash of blood colored lightning snapped and splintered above them.

  “Dǒntáe, no offense, but you are a warrior and very detectable. Even if you dim yourself, other warriors may sense you. You haven’t the powers to claim that I do, and I haven’t power to waste on cloaking you either. Not this night. Not with this storm and not while having to block Dĩas from knowing we are gone.” What power she’d used, she used before she left Dĩas’ land. That way if he sensed her using any, it would be traced back to her chamber. He would then see the illusion of her sleeping in her bed. She’d planned well, and covered her tracks even better.

  “Samanthŕa,” her fair sister Samaŕah Lamãe attempted to protest; Morrgãyne Sambrãe cut her off.

  “Just mist there, Samanthŕa, and then hurry back. We will wait.” Morrgãyne’s dark hair and witchy features seemed to clash with Samaŕah’s lighter ones. But her intent was harmonic.

  “No magic,” Samanthŕa reminded them. “Stay on the trail. I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “Then we shall follow regardless?” Samaŕah inquired of the others.

  “Nay,” Sameŕald Theŕéan told them as the wind gusted against her back causing the edges of her garments to whip wildly. Sameŕald had grown accustomed or a habit of taking charge ever since Dĩas separated them. Her maturity and independence flourished with each new moon. "We shall not follow."

  "What?" Dǒntáe seemed surprised that Sameŕald would agree with Samanthŕa's intensions. His mouth dropped, as if to the ground, with shock.

  “She is smarter alone. We will only distract her. Remember, Samanthŕa has a knack for doing what has been forbidden to do. Have faith.” She nudged her horse onward, all too calm, and the others followed her up the trail.

  Samanthŕa smiled, liking the fact that Sameŕald took her side for once. Since Dĩas separated them, Sameŕald had a sadness shadowing her, and when the two were together, those dark moods strained the once-close relationship. Silence, and rarely a word spoken, seemed to be the only way they could enjoy each other's company anymore. Anything else became too tense, painful.

  With one small victory, Samanthŕa spun her horse around and took off riding before anyone changed their mind and decided to stop her. She rode swiftly towards the tavern located where the Lampiŕ Realm ended and the Phãegen one began. All realms opened invisible curtains of portals along the borders of the tavern. Anywhere there was neutral ground, realms opened; otherwise, their entrances were scattered and hidden.

  The tavern was owned by a four hundred year old Phãegen named Syŕos Vrãe. He had built the establishment on top of a sacred ruin that was once a neutral haven and Templus (temple) for those in need. In fact, the underground rooms that immortals lodged in now were actually the same chambers that were underneath the original structure. The remnants and essence of the ruins were what diffused the power, which made this place unbiased. No one in any of the realms was older than the Templus and that meant no one, not even Dĩas, had power to break covenant and cause harm here. This was probably why even now, with the storm and its dangers, the tavern was filled.

  Some would stop only to take refuge until they could reach their homes safely. Others came hoping to pick off the weaker of the species as they left. Some would be here even if the end of the worlds had come, thinking there could be no better place to see the end than at a table inside with a pint of something pleasant. Then there were ones like her, who came only to hear their drunken whisperings and hopefully, useful gossip.

  A blood moon, Samanthŕa thought, looking upward at the dark stormy skies. The voice in her dream had said, Watch the signs. There was no doubt that a blood moon was a sign. It meant blood would spill this night but by who? By what?

  The winds turned strangely icy and raged with a relentless beating against anything in their path. They were not helping the arctic shivers running up and down her spine, which had refused to leave, ever since she heard Dezarãe’s vision.

  Fear not the unknown. She remembered that as well; still, she could not help but feel some fear and even hesitation.

  She stood outside for a moment, studying the tavern and feeling the energy inside. Her hand hovered just an inch over the walls, which were smooth and beige, built with mortar and stone. It was a large building, a warm building, but that might have had something to do with the hundreds of crystals hanging from the roof trim and nearby trees, glowing and suffusing their energy into the atmosphere.

  After a moment or so, Samanthŕa felt no harm from within, so she carefully invoked the powers to dim herself upon entering. Why did she dim? For one, she did not want anyone picking up the scent of her power, nor did she want to stand out in a crowd.

  Immortals felt different from other immortals, as well as from Phãegens. Not only were there differences in energy, but there were also differences in appearance. For instance, Samanthŕa’s eyes glowed because her body contained more energy compared to that of a Phãegen. Her skin had a supple radiance. The warriors of her bloodline were also larger than the Phãegens, which meant Samanthŕa and other immortal females were taller than most of the Phãegen women.

  There were other reasons for her to dim, but these were the main ones. It took little power to do this. So little in fact, that she doubted Dĩas would notice it with his mind preoccupied with the meeting and the storm. As always though, she planned to take extra precautions.

  She took out a black stone, which was in her pocket. It was one of the things she habitually brought with her. It would absorb her imprint so that it could not be sensed or traced, another trick she learned from her mother. The stone she had in particular, could not handle powerful magic, but a small dimming spell was easy absorption. Once it turned a soft glow of transparent white, almost like a crystal, she knew it had worked. The energy from her invocation was within and not released into the atmosphere around her.

  With the hood of her cloak hiding her face, the doors eased open. Her dim dulled her so much, no one stopped to notice. Easily, she found a table vacant near the back of the common room. Here, the light was faintest
. Samanthŕa often chose this table as it was away from the main facilities where beings seemed to flock the most. It was also near a back door, just in case she had to leave quickly. With no need to be alarmed . . . just yet . . . she secretly studied the room and its crowd.

  Larger crystals hung throughout, burning bright with light, while six fire pits added their own orange glow. Different types of fleshy carcasses hung over a few of them, roasting while a Phãegen wench or two basted the outer crusts with sauces--sweet or spicy.

  There were very few half-breeds this night. Pureblooded Evil was also scarce. There were no Lessers of Evil present, either. There were none from her own bloodlines, which eased Samanthŕa’s mind greatly and even though she sensed the faded essence of Staphãyn, she had no reason to believe he still lingered in the room before her or the darkened corridors below. She did sense the faded imprint of a Lycãon, though, a Vlachŕa in fact, which was very curious, but it had been gone for quite a while. Perhaps they were sent by the great Kaléé, sister to Samanthŕa's mother Chymeŕah, and highest Vlachŕa of the Lycãon, to do as the Priestess was doing now . . . .

  What did that Lycãon find of interest? Anything?

  Wondering, her eyes traced the straw strewn floors until she found the boots of those who were there. She checked for hidden weapons. She found a few blades, pouches of warrior's dust and a couple of binding sacks. She made a special note of them to herself. Most of their owners were drowning in mead and posed no threat to her; still, she memorized who had what anyway.

  Not even detected by the Tavern wenches as they passed a few times without offering her refreshment--content with the strength of such a dim--she focused her extrasensory hearing upon the many voices filling the room. She hoped to catch some conversation concerning anything odd happening this night.