PROLOGUE – Intro + The Abyss
A new fanfic! This is different from the other one being run, and both will be written at the same time.
This one will be different that it is in third-person, and no characters from the present world will be present. Everything will happen in Anne Bishop's world, nothing outside of it.
All characters and places and terms are owned by Anne Bishop, except for my interference.
Tersa, the Weaver, the Liar, the Fool, has foretold the appearance of Witch to Daemon Sadi. She has also seen the Blood triangle, with its three sides and the centre. Daemon, one side of the triangle, the lover, readies his life for the love he has dreamed of. Lucivar, the brother, another side, waits for his chance to play brother to the sister he never had. Saetan, the father, the last side, keeps his promise with his last Queen to be a mentor to the daughter of his soul.
And the fourth side, the centre, the Queen, the Other. Witch, the Queen who binds all three sides, who draws the web of realms together. Witch, the innocent yet wise witch, the benevolent and violent counterpart, a spiral of power. Legends grow around the concept of Witch, what she truly is, as dreams made flesh.
But one side of the triangle is forgotten. From above, the three sides of the triangle, and the Queen. From below, the fifth side...the one to counteract the power held by Witch. The underside of the triangle. Blood, yet not blood. Witch, yet not Witch. Powerful, yet powerless. This is the fifth side of the Blood triangle, the one always forgotten with time. The ancient dragons knew of them, but with generations, this knowledge has faded till no-one in the three Realms knows about the fifth side. But once the fifth side, the Bloodless, the Lost, walk the realms, the ancient knowledge will shake, and the dragons shall remember.
This story is how the Bloodless will meet Witch, how the fifth side fits in with all four sides, and the spiral of connections which links them all together in one destiny...
The Self drifted from the Darkness, finally free to find itself a new body to inhabit, to grow, to taste the fullness of life. Fully rested from its long sleep in the Darkness, it spun out in search for a suitable flesh in which to house the Self.
Twisting itself over the Light Realm, the Self wanted to scream in rage. Not one germinating body was fit for it to enter, and all the possible fleshes have been taken. The Self didn't want to return to the darkness, and it was feeling the weariness pressing on it already. Soon, it'll have to go back to the Darkness to rest if it didn't have a body to occupy.
Suddenly, there was one. A recent one, pure of the taint the Self had noticed on some of the free bodies. A gentle, body...perfect. The Self spiralled down into the body, and attached itself to it. Slowly, the Self linked itself to the body, marking the body as its own, piece by piece. Already, it was feeling stronger as it felt itself merge with the body.
Suddenly, before the Self could link the last bit of itself, another force burrowed its way across that link, destroying it. The Self screamed in silent pain as one by one, the Other destroyed its links, occupying the body for its own. The Self probed the Other, aiming to lure it away, but it sensed the Other was too strong...too powerful in its attachment.
The Self felt it being pulled away. It felt strange. It should hate the Other that had invaded, but all it felt was sense of peace, as if it had done a good thing. Perhaps that's why the Self had personally drawn all its links away, leaving the way for Other to come through. Other hesitated, before filling in the last space, completely taking the body as its own.
The Self fell back away from the body. It should feel rage, bitter envy, any other negative feelings. All it felt was a sense of triumph, of a doing a good deed. Slowly, it sank away, finally too weary to hang on. It will come back after the Self had rested enough in the darkness...
A tug. The Self sensed the Other holding onto it, unwilling to let go. The Self struggled, sending signals that the body was the Other's. Other held on fast. It linked the Self to itself, joining a part of each, enough so that there was a connection. The Self felt the Other press in, and felt a surge of emotions. Gratitude, and a sense of friendship. The Self echoed the same emotions. For some reason, now that it was held on, it no longer sank into the Darkness.
Suddenly, the Other retreated into the body, spinning out the connection into a thin thread. Almost at the same time, the Self was sent away, flying through the abyss. The Self struggled to hold onto the connection, but it was soon swallowed in darkness, unable to think. The last it remembered was the feeling of companionship, and the friendship it held for the Other.
A beat. The Self struggled, finding it pressed in a confined space. Strange. It could feel from touch.
Another beat. Eyes flew open, and pale, white eyes stared out. The Self stopped struggling, revelling in the fact of sight. It stared at the redness all around it, the moving structure of flesh. It heard the grinding of bones above and below, the beat of its own heart, and the heart above. It felt the stickiness around it, tasted and sniffed the scent of blood. It gave an aura of happiness. It recognised the womb of a woman, and that meant the Self was able to walk the realms again.
Strange. The Self was able to think in languages. It was able to use all five senses in the womb. From what it gathered, it was barely conceived in the woman. Barely a pass of the moon. The mother, the Self corrected. It shouldn't be able to think properly, should still have a baby's instincts. It shouldn't be aware of its surroundings, yet the Self was, at that point, capable of all that.
Giving in, the Self reached inward, trying to withdraw from its body to think. That's when it realised something was wrong. Panicking, the Self sent out probes to detect the links that held it to the body. None. None at all. Which meant that the Self had no body, and yet was being born.
Yet that shouldn't be possible. Souls must have a place in order to grow and walk the realms. That place was the body. Yet, the Self here had no body in which it should be kept. Which meant the current form it was in was what the Self looked like. An open chalice, free to be attacked at whim without the protection of a body.
No. There must be something else...the Self turned inwards into itself, looking for the developing chalice of itself which was hidden in its mind. Finding it, it analysed the small, yet growing structure. It was definitely off. Its physical shape was the same as any other, except for the Self's unique pattern. No, it was the energy flowing around it. Instead of being maintained inside the chalice, the energy flowed around it in a spiral, flowing out, protecting it.
The Self returned to its awareness perspective. There was no point in wondering over matters yet to come. Focus on developing a body fit for the Self. If it wasn't careful, without a body, what was formed from the Self could be monstrous. It drew back, bringing images forward, and slowly, piece by piece, created the image of its body.
More beating. The surroundings lurched, swivelling red. The Self opened its eyes, ready for whatever was happening. It surveyed the surroundings, noting something was wrong. It was moving too fast, almost as if the mother was being tossed around. The Self was not afraid. The body it had shaped itself into was done, and was growing at a much faster pace than normal babies. Already, he, for the Self had recognised its gender, had already grown to the size of a baby nine passes of the moon in the womb, even though it had spent only four passes.
He looked around yet again, feeling with his smooth, small hands. Felt the beat of his mother's heart. Too fast. Going too fast. Something was happening...
A scream echoed into the womb...the woman's scream. Not a scream of pain with childbirth, but a scream of pain from torture, a scream of fear. The rocking came harder again, this time with the Self being flung slightly.
Suddenly, the entrance to the womb flared open. Something protruded in, something hard. Coming in and out at a fast pace. The Self tried to make sense of the situation, before realising the mother was being mounted unwillingly by another male. The protruding object now moving ever faster into the womb must be the male's tool.
As the Self tried to connect with the Mother, it paused. How did the Self know to do all this? It was barely grown, a four month baby. He shouldn't be barely to be think, let along use all senses, and develop a knowledge of outside happenings.
No matter. His mother was being violated. Connecting with his mother's brain, he scanned for her presence.
Tracking, he discovered her in the abyss, being driven towards her web of power. With each thrust, her Self moved towards the Rose web stretched across. The Self didn't think before leaping off, flying fast towards the mother. She screamed at the sight of him, but when he didn't do anything she looked at him, holding on as the thrusts increased.
She said something. The Self couldn't understand the words, but could understand the meaning. She needed help.
He tore into his own mind, brining his chalice into the open. Dangerous, it was, but this was his mother. He quickly divided some of the energy in his chalice, and wrapped it around his mother. Instantly, she stopped moving down, and instead, she was suddenly free. The thrusts continued, but her Self didn't move any lower. If anything, the energy surrounding her was absorbing the impact of each power being driven into her body, taking all the power into itself.
She stared at him. She said one word. A question.
When he didn't understand, she paused. She leaned over. He focused on her mouth. That was when he realised here, he was around the same height as her, even though the body he had shaped himself into was still a baby. Perhaps this was what was called the Inner Self. His Outer Self was the image he produced of himself.
He frowned again. Where was all this knowledge coming from? All he could remember was that there was two parts to a main person, the body and the Self. No Inner Self or Outer Self. But...he pondered a bit. Since he had no body, the Self had probably split itself into two parts, one to protect the most vital parts. Perhaps that was why so much unknown knowledge was flowing into him.
He focused on the woman. His mother. She was slowly making that mouth movement. He repeated it over and over until he gained knowledge of it.
*Who?*
That was what she was asking. He tried to say he was her son, but his mind couldn't form the words. So instead, he moved closer, and rested a hand where her belly should have been. She stared, shocked. He nodded. Her eyes glowed with renewed love and joy, and she stepped forward to embrace.
Suddenly the thrusting stopped. The energy surrounding his mother absorbed the last of the power before flowing into the rest of the energy surrounding his chalice. He noted that there was much more movement then before, almost as if the absorbed power now joined with his own.
He and his mother stared at the chalice before it faded back into himself. Now he had to return to his own body. He looked at his mother, who was staring with awe and longing. She asked him something again.
He shook his head. He couldn't understand words, but feelings were enough. She paused, knowing that he didn't understand her. Then she made gestures. She pointed at him, then at her belly, and motioned moving about.
He understood instantly. She was asking if he was her baby, and if it was nearly time. He nodded. He smiled as she beamed, and she stroked his cheek with longing.
She backed away. She motioned again, this time making a shrugging gesture, then making movements near the entrance to her womb.
She was asking how long. He longed to tell her he could come out now, but he was afraid any injuries to her physical bodies may not be healed. He didn't know how to express numbers yet...then he realised his fingers. He could probably come out in three days. Hesitantly, he raised one hand, and produced three fingers.
She jumped overjoyed. She grabbed him, and kissed motherly on the forehead. Her gratitude towards him flowed from that contact. She released him, then made the motion of going up.
She had to leave. He nodded, and with one last look at him, she made her way out of the abyss of her mind, into her body. Just as she left, the Self felt a flicker of power deep within the abyss. He leaned over the Rose web, staring into the abyss' depths. Nothing. Strange. He could have sworn it felt so familiar...almost like the touch of connection the Self had with the Other. When he was born, he had to find the body housing the Other, to befriend, and serve, for now that he had more knowledge, he recognised the Other's caste as Queen.
He stayed there for awhile before going back into his Outer Self. As he opened his eyes and flexed his baby fingers and toes, he sensed his mother's love pouring through her body towards him. He also felt his mother's body healing. That meant that his mother must be a healer then.
He was content to wait for his mother to heal before coming out. He tucked himself into a comfortable position for both himself and his mother, and proceeded to rest till the day of exit came.
Movements again. This time natural. He roused from his slumber, and made himself into position for exit as the muscles surrounding him pushed. He aided where he could, using his hands to push himself outwards slowly when muscle came under them
He felt the opening close around his head. Almost there. He could feel his mother pushing hard, affection for her baby making her pour all her effort into this. His head popped out, to have fingers grasp at it, holding it in place. He could feel the cool hand dig into his hair, thin as it may be. Wait, maybe not as thin...it felt thick underneath his scalp.
His hands were free. His mother was not making fearful sounds. Perhaps she knew that he would come out safe, her darling boy.
Mid-waist now bare. The hands supporting him left him, and his forward half leaned forward onto a bedded table. Only the legs were still in that moist environment. While his mother pushed, he worked his outer self to breathe. Muscles knitted as he opened his mouth, and he drew a sharp breath in. He kicked when he could, making exit less painful and long for his mother.
At least he was free. With a slight pop, his legs came out, and he was wiped off slightly before being bundled into a towel. While his mother looked, one strand of his hair was removed, and taken for examination. He turned his head and stared at the long length of hair the man was holding.
Voices filled the room. Awe. Wonder. Longing. And most of all, love flowing from the one woman on the bed he felt most connected with.
He was raised up and carried over. As he passed a window, he looked at his reflection. The shape of a baby, with enough body difference to identify as male, but with a side to it which looked feminine. His hair, matted with the juices of birth, spread down to almost near his feet, but it was the whiteness of his whole body which drew him to his own reflection. His hair, his eyes, his pale skin. Only his cheek and mouth had a tinge of pink and red.
Then it was gone. He turned to the sight of a dishevelled haired mother wrapping her arms around him. She cried tears of joy at hugging him, and longing and love flowed.
Wiping tears, she held him at arm's length, surveying him. He also surveyed her. She was a fine-looking mother, no taints which drew him away. That was when he noticed the scratches on her body. A bruise here and there.
So she had not healed properly. Perhaps she saw him looking, for she brought him down to one of the bruises. As he stroked it, she patted his head. "No need to worry, darling. I'm fine now. And it was thanks mainly to you, my dearest son." She murmured softly so that the other people couldn't here.
He couldn't understand. But he looked into her eyes, and saw the knowledge there, and knew that she knew that he was the one who saved her from being broken. He gave a babyish smile, and she broke out. "Well, this is done. Four months, and my first new born." She kissed him. "I'll name you after our bringer of hope to our province. His name is taken now to mean something pure, filled with no evil. And you, my son," she stroked his cheek. "Have done so much for me before you were even born." She called someone over. "Let it be known that my son is to be named Diako, after the Hope-bearer."
Shock ran through the people assembled. "But Diako is a holy name! To be used like this in everyday situations, think carefully Deminte!"
She shook her head and held him closer. "I have thought a long time. This name will fit perfectly with him." She raised him up. "Diako will be my son's name!"
Silence. Before a chorus of claps sounded. Someone said, "Well, for him to be born perfect at four months, he must be blessed in some way. Diako will be recorded."
The newly named Diako was oblivious to what was being said around him, but he knew something big had happened. Perhaps he was finally given a name, and the word everyone kept saying must be his name. Diako...Diako....
"Deminte...how about paternity?"
Instant silence. Even Diako knew something was wrong. His mother had a spark of rage come through.
In a strained voice, she said, "Paternity...is not acknowledged." She held Diako closer. "The man who sired my son will not be the father."
Stunned silence. Then a sense of approval. A murmur as his mother held him closer, her longing and love mixed with a sense of grief and loss. Diako tried to soothe his mother, and reached out a hand to stroke where he could. He grabbed onto something soft and bouncy. Resilient, he grabbed harder, tugging with his baby arms.
His mother gasped. She pulled Diako away from her breast. "Not yet, dearest. You can't go grabbing other people's breasts, okay, dearie?" She smiled at Diako, some grief lost. Others laughed as the tension dropped, and normal conversation started.
Diako...Diako...He knew that was his name, because it was being repeated so many times. His mother drew him closer this time, and he huddled against her, his skin and hair starting to dry. Diako...Diako... "Diashko..."
Everyone stopped and started at Diako. He looked around and smiled. "Diashko..." He tried to say his name, but it sounded wet to his ears.
Shrieks of delight as his mother pulled him into her embrace. She smiled gleefully down. "I knew it! I knew you were something special! My son, able to speak on his first day of birth! Oh, how I love you, my special son!" She started crying again, her love overfilling so much.
Diako himself was feeling love for his mother, who obviously cared and loved him. As she cried while holding him, he huddled closer, and for the first time, started to cry. But his cry was different for the other babies'. No, his cry was one of joy, of finally being in the realm, finally able to walk with someone together who cared and loved.
As they cried together, Diako could feel something brush against his inner Self. It was the same feeling he had before, from the Other. Most likely, the Queen had felt him, and come to inquire. Now, satisfied with how it had done things, the Other moved back to its own body to begin its growth, happy that the Self to sacrifice its body will have a life of its own.
The cries rose in harmony, and the sunset fell, revealing the twilight sky to anyone who looked. So it was that Diako, the Self which sacrificed itself for a dream, was brought into a world, and the start of the fate which surrounds the connection he has with the Queen...
End of prologue. I was quite happy at how this came out. Not much waffling around. One of my shorter pieces I've written so far. (compared to my other fanfic)
Thank you for reading, and please review! I accept opinions and advice!
By the way, I need help for choosing genres for this fanfic. I'm not sure what it quite fits in. If anyone can give me advice, that would be helpful.