Bound By Blood

by C. H. Scarlett

As I am bound to you.

  By the blood of mine,

  I call and awaken your true power within.

  I make you like me,

  You are like me.

  And summon your true nature to emerge.

  Awaken now.

  The ancients cry with joy at the sound of your name.

  The Great Mother calls you to me,

  She welcomes you home to her,

  As we both bid you to take your place here with us . . .

  Where our love can forever burn free.

  Blood of my blood,

  Soul of me,

  Take of me and your rightful place by my side.”

  To his thrill, two fangs began to push themselves from among her other teeth. Her eyes began to glow with a golden light.

  “Take from me what I give to you, Samanthŕa. Let your true nature awaken.”

  She found his neck and took it, as instinct led her. Her thoughts had left her long ago. Her rational mind disconnected itself. She did not think. He heard no thoughts from within. She moved towards the natural beating of his pulse.

  He had waited so long for this, what his body gave unto hers. The power moved, unlocking the secrets of her soul, binding her once again to his, binding her again to bonds, which had long ago been made, renewing the sacred promise of them.

  She felt his ancient blood move through her, forcing open her Awakening, as his life, her life, and all their lives together flashed before their eyes. Such secrets, such passion, such history and love had they known. The truth of what and who she was revealed itself in short flashes as she pulled away, dizzy and barely holding on due to all the power.

  She knew him. He knew she knew him. Her mind swooned, dizzy from all its spinning. Again, he felt all that she did. He had always been hers, as she had always been his. Her eyes grew hazy. They were tempted to close.

  He laid her back, caressing her hair, while speaking ancient words to guide her on the journey she must make now, on her own, against her own mind and memories. All that came before, the truth which had been hidden, would awaken, bringing forth all her identities, powers and gifts. He waved his hand over her eyes, gently kissing them closed, silencing her thoughts so that the Awakening could shape her and take its true form.

  Once a deep sleep embraced her, he withdrew from her side, only to watch her from a short distance away. He waved his hand so that the fur blankets snuggled around her, even while sensing her mind beginning to drift from him and from this place.

  “No one will take you from me now. In all these years, their presence has been but a ripple in our perfect body of water. No more, no more,” he said within her mind.

  Then he knelt on the floor and began to weep tears of blood. He was overwhelmed. All this time he’d had to be so strong and so detached. So much time was stolen from them. The agony of suffering without her had been redoubled the moment he’d returned, seeing her, finding her in the tavern and discovering that she had no memory or instinct of him-- or herself. It was madness, pure madness. It was over now. She would remember. She would remember everything.

  He called out and thanked the Great Mother for his precious treasure. He thanked her with all of his soul for giving him a soul, for giving him her.

  Then he prayed fervently, Let her mind survive this, knowing that his part in her Awakening had ended and her inner battle would now begin. Her body would change; her beast would emerge. Her memories would come at last, he hoped, and she would face her nightmares. She would struggle because she had never been prepared for what her body and mind would now face. Goddess, keep her safe. Make her survive this.

  ***

  And yet when light finally slips back into a dark and foreboding place where shadows had fought to keep it out . . . something else, of opposite nature, must also slip.

  Far, far away, in another realm so very distant, a cold, dense fog spilled out over the edge of a murky, abandoned well. A storm still rumbled over the night sky. The rain stopped, at least for now. Spring’s kiss was struggling against something frigidly unnatural, which was not part of the storm itself but something unholy. A prophecy had been triggered and invoked. Something was on the edge of the darkness, rising to heed its call, demanding its freedom, reasoning weighed against the scales of balance and what is fair.

  The well was a remnant, left from something forbidden, destroyed long, long ago. If water had ever blessed it then it would have been cursed still, for its bottomless recess opened into something much deeper. The black purging stone reflected only foulness, yet had purpose and distinction, and placed there by ruthless hands to mark the spot at which nothing should be conjured or spoken.

  Something was spoken though, now, underneath the dark hidden shadow of the moon. Words were voiced, willing and ancient, corrupt intention and desire, by something which sensed a great power stirring and attempted to unleash it, steer it, give it form.

  The fog turned into a black impenetrable substance. It scattered about like long lingering claws stretching, yawning, smearing its stench across the contaminated ground. It had no form or exact shape, only the intensity of its evilness, its rotting stench rising like vapor.

  “My Love,” a voice whispered from the darkness. A figure in a dark cloak stepped forward to reveal a face—Monéaklá.

  The torch she held suddenly lit; its dim light caused the black fog to hide itself with blurry speed. A horrid but dire scream screeched and vibrated like nails on a chalkboard.

  Monéaklá at once dropped the torch. "Forgive me, my Love!" As the dampness of the ground extinguished it, she bowed and begged for forgiveness, once the black fog had returned.

  “I need to feed,” the black fog told her. “I need flesh-- and power to assume flesh of my own, so that I may take form. I need form!”

  “It’s already been prepared, my Love,” Monéaklá promised. "I have collected victims of all nature, of all powers. You will have what you need."

  “Something feels off. Something feels wrong. My strength should be more. How am I here? How was I freed?” the black fog's tone was chilling. “The signs are wrong. The time has not come. Deeds were not done. I should be stronger. Why am I not stronger? Did you not do the things I told you of? What of the sacrifice?”

  Monéaklá stumbled a bit, nervous. “I had no choice but to call you forth now. It is not my fault your instructions could not be carried out."

  "Why? What has happened?"

  "He was freed, my Lord, my Love; it is balance. I had to use the powers of that and not of--” She kept the rest to herself. “You knew of this the night you came to me, on Beal-Tene. While those filthy Viis were scampering off, you embraced my dreams with your delicious dark promises--"

  "And instructions! I told you not to bring me forth in this way! Now look at me! I am weak! The power is all his! I have nothing! I am but a formless phantom!"

  "I could not wait any longer.”

  The fog began to laugh. “It matters not then how I am here. The strength from the sacrifice may just be delayed. We must hurry then. I must be the one who takes her Awakening. I need the gift of flesh before I can do what needs to be done.”

  "But you are my . . . my Awakener." Monéaklá said nothing more for a minute. Jealousy washed over her blackened heart. “And he has already found her, my Love. Nothing has gone as planned, as you promised, not even the sacrifice -- which is why you are so weak. The Theŕéans were too strong and the ones who weren’t, managed to escape. I was not able to drain him the night of Aréel’s mock renunciation of her true nature, and give his power to you, no more than she was able to keep them apart. We do not have her title, nor her power. Our plan failed. He Awakens her now. Daŕēus awakens Samanthŕa.” She took a deep breath, trembling from the cold.

  "Whaaaaaat?" It roared!

  “It doesn’t matter though,-- you have me. What is she but a nothing?” She pulled something from her pocket. “I still have it, the red rose you left by my pillow to prove that it wasn’t all a dream, the nig
ht of Beal-Tene. You see how much you mean to me?”

  “Foolish, vile, sanies, filth!”

  Before Monéaklá could look up, the fog forced itself into her mouth, ears, and eyes. The rain began to fall and thunder hammered like a collision. The noises did nothing to lessen the ghastly and startling screams. Her body fell, sunken and dry, while the fog left it like wasted kill.

  “Let that be a lesson to you. Let you know what it is I have felt all this time. I can feel you wishing to die but you will not, not yet.” It shifted and she moaned with pain. “I will claim my own sacrifice! The feeble incompetence of those who are beneath me shall not destroy me this time! Daŕēus shall not destroy me this time!”

  It moved towards the mountains, escaping into the barren darkness ahead. Everything died in its path-- the trees, the grass, and shrubs. Waters turned foul and animals fell, desiccated and lifeless, as Monéaklá had done before them. It drained the life from everything in its path, causing the fog to grow deeper, and deeper, and more solid, taking more of a shape.

  A prophecy had been invoked and an ancient anger unleashed. Balance. And now an old and forgotten thing, a very ancient and evil thing had been unleashed!

  ~

  Somewhere between worlds . . .

  Time: Somewhere in the unknown, yet very far future

  "Stop this Crone! Stop!" The young girl watching the visions displayed by the crystals, cried out. She had watched this from the very beginning, starting with the night of Beal-Tene when the Priestess had dreamed of Daŕēus and then awoke and all the pages unfolding to her Awakening and now, the evil and shapeless thing released from it. She trembled, tears in her eyes, having felt, and experienced everything they had watched. She could take no more.

  "What is it, child. What makes you stop?" The Crone balanced herself on her staff, waving a hand, causing the visions into the past to stop.

  "I am sorry. I thought I was ready but the emotions are too great. I need a moment. I need a moment to accept all I have seen for it seems so hopeless!" She pulled her cloak even tighter, falling to the floor, exhausted. "Why did I have to watch this? Why did you not tell me you were there? Why couldn't you simply tell me what happened?"

  "Of course I was there and because I was there, I must be here, showing you the way."

  "How old are you, then?"

  "Sometimes numbers become too large to keep up with." Kaléé , the Crone, sighed.

  "Then why not simply tell me what happened? Why make me feel and live as though they did?"

  "It would not have been the same. You would not have felt the connection to those who paved your future. You cannot grasp your birthright if you cannot appreciate what those who came before you sacrificed just so you could have one." The Crone moved slowly around the room. Her fingers hovered above the crystals as if she were speaking to them with her mind.

  "So these are my ancestors . . . and I . . . I am something like a Vii?"

  "Is that what you feel?"

  "I don't know what I feel! I don't even know who I am anymore! I don't even know how I came to be here! Why must I go through this, when they did not?"

  "You through this because of a promise I made, one you shall soon witness, if you continue to watch and you must continue to watch, child."

  "The Priestess made you promise?"

  "We must watch and see."

  "Why? It seems so hopeless!"

  "Why do you say that? You are here. I am here. Surely something came from all of this."

  "Because there was a curse. Daŕēus Awakened her and something . . . something horrible was released! Now more Evil has been let lose upon that world and . . . and . . . and so many destroyed . . . and--"

  "And it is not the end so one cannot say it was hopeless or not. And you and I are here . . . so something came from all of this! But how will you know if you are not brave enough to watch? How you think your little tears be more important than all that your ancestors sacrificed? Spoiled little Vii!" The Crone raised her staff causing the young one to feel so very guilty.

  "You are right. I must know what happens next. I must know what becomes of the Priestess, of her sisters, of this world TEŔAH, I may never know. I must know why you are now here, the only one, and why I am blessed enough to watch this. Why things are no longer like that, we are no longer like them . . . or are we?"

  "Are we?" Kaléé's grin stretched into something wide. "We must watch."

  "Please continue, Kaléé, Vlachŕa of the Lycãons, and let me know my birthright."

  "Those are the words, child, I wish to hear!" And the Crone waved her staff before the crystals, so that part two of the story would begin . . . .

  And so it did. And so it did.

  ~Coming Soon~

  Bound by Blood

  The Sacrifice

  II

  By

  C.H. SCARLETT

  BIO

  C.H. SCARLETT is an Author of Fantasy and Paranormal Fiction. She lives in the mountains of Virginia with her husband, three children, and many animals.

  Website : http://chscarlett.wordpress.com/

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ch.scarlett

  Email: CHScarlett1@gmail.com

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