Bound By Blood Read online

  Some talked about the loss of livestock, and how the Nosophoros attacked their farms under the dark moons. No one worried about those creatures this night though, because of the crazy lightning flashing uncontrollably. The hideous, foul things were sensitive to light, no matter how small.

  This interested Samanthŕa, but not enough to keep her focused. Normally, she would have been curious, but something else tweaked her attention . . .

  His name was Splazyk. His hair was wildly spiked in long stiffened chunks, which fell down his back, reminding her of some spiny creature. His arms were covered in scars—symbols burned there to help control the beast within. His face resembled a man who had spent too much time in the sun, even though the sun on TEŔAH was not that brutal. He was a Vaŕlok. They were the offspring of Evil. They were created by the mixing of a Pridŕyk and a Phãegen. The Pridŕyk and the Vaŕlok spawn were both mockeries of the Lycãon clans. To Samanthŕa and her kind, they were impure, unworthy, and an insult to all things of the Goddess. She would have destroyed the thing right then and there but she was on neutral ground and her presence had to remain a secret.

  Still, what spawned the breed, the Pridŕyk, were Evils' pure bloods, who could shift into wolf shape. By infecting a Phãegen with their germ, the Vaŕlok were born and became tormented creatures who were trapped between the shift from man to Pridŕyk. They ended up being something in between, whose blood was sanies, which meant their essence was corrupt, plagued, or poison. Nothing good ever came from the likes of them. TEŔAH would be better off without them.

  Despite her disgust though, she listened as the Vaŕlok named Splazyk told another that his tribe had been in hiding since the storm. They believed the storm spilt the blood of anything impure and not of the Many Lights.

  If this were the case, if the powers moving the storm are only a threat to that of Evil, then why are my father and the Elders so nervous?

  Listening, he claimed many of Evils' breed had been slaughtered this night by something unseen and unknown. He was nervous and he continually watched the door. His dirty stained hands shook when he wasn't thrusting mead down his throat.

  The one with him was a Noŕa. He, like the rest of his line, was about five feet high and bald. They looked like tiny, hairless Phãegens when they weren’t running around on all fours. They could make themselves invisible, especially when they felt threatened. They were perverse Lessers who had once been mortal but now was like the Vaŕlok--something in between. They were unfortunate enough to have been turned by an Evil Vampére or to have survived an attack by one. It was hard to know what he’d looked like before he became a mutant. His long fingers and nails scraped the edge of his pint while his large sunken eyes nervously blinked. He asked how Splazyk could fear an attack here, at the Tavern, since this was, after all, neutral ground.

  Splazyk dug at his leather vest, pulling out an herb, filled his pipe made of bone, and lit it. “This place is neutral to only those who are bound by the terms of the realms, but not whatever moves across the realms this night. Let us not forget that the neutrality pact was agreed upon by all those at the big meeting now, who cannot lay claim to an age older than the ruins underneath us."

  "You . . . you sayin' whatever makes this storm is older than that? Than the ruins?" The Nora nearly went invisible from fear.

  "I'm sayin' that whatever this is did not agree to anything, as it was not around at the time it was agreed upon. Which means, it may be older than us all. Does it feel like anything you have ever known?”

  The one with Splazyk shook his head, and now his entire body blinked visible to invisible . . . on and off. He was terrified. The energy of the storm was odd to him as well and he said so while spitting up the blood of his last victim.

  Samanthŕa curled her lip from disgust. Vial creatures.

  Still, the Nora spoke now on what little it knew. With a shaking whisper . . . “The NORSŔAH are saying that something very old and ancient has awakened. It demands the blood of anything which crosses its path. No one knows whether it is of the Many Lights or Evil. They say their seers have spoken of its coming for quite some time. They say it is prophecy.”

  “When have you laid eyes on or spoken to a NORSŔAH?” Splazyk demanded to know. Samanthŕa wondered the same. “Not even I have laid eyes on them!”

  “I fed from a Phãegen this night. One who travels here to do trade with Syŕos , oldest Phãegen breathing. My prey's memories became mine and I know what he knows."

  "Which is? You holding out on me Lesser? Are you foolish enough to do so?" Splazyk sneered.

  "No! But I needed to be sure you had open- enough- mind to hear this for no one, not even of my own ilk will listen."

  "Speak it then!"

  "They, the NORSŔAH, have started to come from their Arctic Realm and--"

  "You lie!"

  "No, I swear. Just ask Syŕos, for he is doing business with them now and again. It was him I seen speaking to them through my prey's mind” the Nora answered. "Him I heard them tell."

  While Splazyk called him a liar, Samanthŕa could tell he was not. Now, her curiosity was raised even higher, for the NORSŔAH were the master bloodlines of the Phãegens, only they left their Moppães centuries ago, confining themselves to their Chrystalis Realm where no one had access but them. At one time, they used to trade their crystals, the ones that glowed; they could only be found in the Chrystalis Realm. No one knew why they stopped coming and trading but Samanthŕa was determined to find out, especially if Syŕos was speaking to them now. Plus, she wanted to know more about this prophecy immediately.

  She stood and began to search for the owner when the doors to the Tavern flew open. Cold wind rushed inside, knocking lanterns and candles over, nearly blowing out the fires inside their pits. Even the glowing crystals struggled to keep light, as if the presence of those standing now in the doorway were draining their energy.

  The crystals alone were cause enough for Samanthŕa to become wary.

  All eyes quickly turned to the seven intimidating figures who’d entered. Their powers were extremely dimmed and the hoods of their black cloaks hid their faces. Samanthŕa became even more nervous. She couldn’t tap into their energy to see past the dimness they had cast. She could not tell if they were Evil or of the Lights.

  Frozen, she watched them look about the room as though they were searching. Warning chills turned the hairs on the back of her neck into bristling razors. Her heart nearly stopped.

  Slowly, she moved against the back wall, hovering to the shadows, thinking it best that she move closer to the back door. She was curious, but needed to be so at a safer distance.

  The figures, she decided, had to be male. This was obvious from how large they were. And they were large, larger than any she had ever seen. What was even more amazing was that one of them seemed to be even more of a giant than the rest. He bothered her senses the most. Her instincts were screaming for her to get far away from this place, all because of him. And yet she stayed . . . her feet did not move.

  Time sped up to twice its speed, as the large one leaped across furniture and space to the Vaŕlok. Without warning, he lifted Splazyk up by his neck, throwing him over the table with unbelievable power. The Vaŕlok struggled to shift into were-wolf form but the renewed grip of the stranger’s hand seemed to freeze the creature's metamorphosis. All the other various spawn in the Tavern quickly drew their swords or attempted to shift, but a strange power flew through the room, an invisible tidal wave of sorts, throwing them all down to the floor.

  Samanthŕa lost the wind in her lungs as the force reached out to her too, throwing her body hard against the wall she was working her way towards. She slid down to the floor, breath lost, trying to regain her wits. She watched the strangers in cloaks move through the trembling masses, lifting beings up with mighty arms, and then letting them fall like unwanted but broken toys.

  She was dazed, watching, immobilized.

  The superior one reached his hand into the mouth of Splazyk.
He ripped open his head by the jaws. Blood splattered everywhere. He held up his large arm, the sleeve of the black cloak slid down revealing strange black symbols. But that was not all. Bite marks from Splazyk's teeth had punctured the large one's palm. The venom spread up his arm turning his veins a dark unnatural green. He let out an ear-shattering roar before his own blood seemed to vanquish the poison. As if this wasn't unbelievable enough, by his roar, the crystals used for light literally exploded throughout the room.

  Samanthŕa’s mouth dropped open. She had never witnessed power like that, ever.

  Tables broke and buckled as bodies were tossed and or slammed into them. She heard growls escape the foreigners’ throats. The bar wenches screamed in terror, fainted or perhaps died from fright. Samanthŕa didn't know. There wasn't time to properly understand anything. The storm outside was raging even more than before. In fact, it was right on top of them. It sounded as if the roof might be torn off.

  But that stopped nothing. No, one by one, these beings of horror searched the warriors and species that they’d knocked to the ground with their power, tossing some away merely unconscious, while others they viciously ripped to pieces and destroyed.

  They were sorting them out, Samanthŕa, feeling her frozen limbs begin to shake, attempted to form some sort of thought, opinion, anything amidst such mayhem. They were not out to slaughter one and all, only certain creatures-- but which ones?

  She was tempted to mist back home, despite Dĩas’ rage, but she couldn’t. She knew better than to leave a trail of power behind for these monsters to track her down. That would be the worst of all her crimes, to set her family up for unforeseen slaughter. For the same reason, she did not mist to the Lycãons either. She needed her horse so she could ride far enough away and then mist from there.

  Now is no time to be foolish! Pull your wits together and move!

  She ducked as tables and chairs were tossed through the air. Her pulse rose to new heights as some managed to lift themselves from the floor and fight back. Her stomach collapsed with failed hope. The bodies fell as quick as they rose. It was useless trying to battle them. If these strangers had them marked, then they were already chosen to die no matter how they tried to evade it.

  Shuffling through muck and corpse, trembling beyond control, finally, Samanthŕa reached the door, though she wasn’t sure how she managed to move. She struggled to open it, yanking while her knees burrowed to the floor. Its rusted pieces were stuck, although that wasn’t the reason why it wouldn’t open now. The bodies in all their piles and pieces had the route to escape wedged shut! She tried to pull part of a corpse out of the way with one hand while the other still struggled with the stubborn door.

  Curses! Her mind raged in her desperation.

  She’d taken her attention off of the large one for only a moment when her heart completely slammed to a halt. Her joints locked into unmoving statues. A new winter stormed across her senses. Without breath, she heard the most hellish roar erupt from behind her. It even flushed out the storm nearly ripping the Tavern off its foundations. Throughout all the noise, it was loud enough to reach down into her very soul and twist it into agonizing pieces.

  Nothing moved. Either everything stopped dead like her, or . . . or . . . there was nothing left to destroy . . . nothing left but Samanthŕa . . . .

  Slowly her head turned, glancing ever cautiously over her shoulder, only to find him staring directly at her. Her entire torso twisted. Time locked as the corpse he held fell to the bloody piles below like a feather from the sky. His hidden face seemed interlaced to hers. From underneath the blackened hood, she saw fierce red glowing eyes. Drawn into them, she saw the violet twists of night, the crimson flashing of lightning, and the unyielding force of the storm! He had her gaze trapped to his! He had her almost hypnotized. Samanthŕa was completely aware of everything around them except she lacked the emotions to care or the will to move . . . if she could move.

  And in that moment, that one moment, his eyes faded to something equally bright, something much calmer yet too intense for her to withstand. Her body trembled from the power exploding from the feel and color of cobalt fire and ice. Their radiance moved into her very soul like electricity. It connected her to something surreal and very much alive. Instead of uncontrolled chaos and turbulence, she felt the lightning outside and all the energy from the storm move within and around her as she were now a part of it and its power. It was as if everything in existence moved through the eyes, his eyes, which held her prisoner.

  Her body began to shake now, not tremble, as if she might begin to have seizures from this bizarre power.

  In that moment, everything else around them faded away. All turned to the shades of black except for what locked her up. She was unable to free herself from him and then, in that moment, everything became hazy . . . as if in a dream.

  Dear Goddess, it's all right . . . I am simply dreaming. But another bolt of power rippling through her every limb screamed brutally, No, you are not!

  Then, another wicked truth . . . dreams!

  Panic turned her upside down, as this revelation slapped her back into reality. It took what was left of her breath, if much was left at all, while her body fought relentlessly against his hold.

  Fight him! Fight this!

  Her soul attacked him with all its might until she found the hidden strength that gave her the jolt of will she needed. She jerked herself away from the control of those eyes and their power. She kicked the corpse back blocking the door until she was able to thrust the thing open, throwing herself forth and falling through. She wasted no time crawling, but scrambled to her feet and ran.

  She didn’t even try to find her own horse. Most of the beasts had run off anyway. The intensity of the storm and the smell of danger and blood spooked them. So taking a replacement for her own, she grabbed the nearest and rode like the wind. She never once looked back to see if she had been followed. She never once stopped to catch her breath.

  ~Chapter 5~

  The Lycãons

  ***

  I am he, who roams the night,

  Of fur and teeth, magic and might.

  With the moon, I shift and change,

  For part my nature remains untamed.

  By two or four, I move about,

  Silent and deadly, smooth and stout.

  My blood, it quickens and begins to change.

  Before your false genesis, it has been this way.

  And it will always be . . . .

  Whether or not you mortals see.

  So,

  Remember this, for when I stand,

  I may be wolf, god, or man.

  And in this form, my enemy will kneel . . .

  Either by my jaws or beneath my heel.

  ***

  She did not stop riding until she saw the forest marking the glistening edges of the mountainous realm ruled by the Lycãons. She probably would not have stopped then, either, knowing she still had half a mile to go before reaching its portal, if it had not been for the high pitched screams coming from somewhere in the darkness breeching much louder than the noise caused by the brutal currents of air. The horse bucked as thunder pounded against the blood sodden skies. The wind became damp and burned against her skin. Something in its clamminess became acidic.

  A bad sign . . . a shift in the storm . . . a new page turned . . . .

  Dear Goddess!

  She jerked the stone from her pocket, finding that it had returned to black. Her dimming had worn off, which now placed her in new danger. Her eyes strengthened their glow as she searched the shadows in desperation. A foul stench of death clung to the relentless breezes now. The sound of hundreds of feet pounding against the earth moved with great fury towards her. The imprint of it she could not tell, since it had no magic about it. Alarm entered her heart as well as that of the horse she’d stolen. It shied at the horrific sounds and ran into the woodland, out of control.

  She tried to duck branches as the dark of night spilled all
around her. She jerked on the reins as best she could but the horse was too spooked to heed her command. Deeper into the thickets they flew until finally the horse slammed to a stop, bucked once more at the crashing of lightning, and screamed with terror. Its rearing back knocked her into a large branch and propelled Samanthŕa's body to the ground.

  She was slammed against huge rocks. Struggling to her feet, dizzy, her wind knocked out with blurry eyes, she gasped . . . as the sounds which had frightened them into the forest were now coming towards them from all directions.

  It was so dark, an unholy darkness that caused even her nocturnal eyes to struggle. Whatever was coming dissolved the light like a disease.

  Trying to calm her breath, she stepped backwards trying not to panic. Something moved in front of the horse itself. She let her body fall, as if the dirt would somehow hide her. Holding her breath, she watched a shadowy figure rip by as fast as wind, and grab the reins of her bucking beast. She watched an arm go up and heard a blade lift from its sheath. She smelt warm blood, which seemed strangely intoxicating. The arm . . . it had been cut. Her senses became dulled . . . high.

  The wound waved over the horse as if the blood were being thrown onto it. Her keen senses heard the splash against the beast’s sweat dampened flesh, causing her head and limbs to dance with a sensation of floating. She heard a slap that jolted her awake and which sent the horse running. She dove towards the beast, or attempted to, when several more shadows fell softly from the trees. Was she hallucinating now? Had she been caught in a spiders web? Her eyes sprayed with its poison.

  She knew whatever this was, was not making the terrifying sounds thrashing towards her. But by pure instinct, she drew her dagger anyway. She forced herself to stand so that she could fight. She drew her weapon up, positioned herself in a stance, but froze as something grabbed her from behind and lifted her into the trees above. The motion and action were so swift and quick that she became dizzy. The height of the trees was more than she was used to. These were large and ancient towers, which had seen the face of TEŔAH being born. They reached high into the skies and their bases were massive, so huge that sometimes smaller creatures, only five feet or so, would build their homes inside them. Other breeds, such as Phãegens, worshipped them and held them sacred.