Nightfire Part One
The nights are long, full of secrets, full of passion and a fire we can never hope to understand.
Something was waking up. It had been asleep for a long time, dreaming of war and blood and killing while above it, the world whirled by in a blur of motion and colour. A long time ago, the creature that slumbered under the earth had tasted the darkness, but it was no dragon with revenge chasing through its blood like comets seeking the sun, nor a seeker of another's soul, chasing lost love. But it was alive.
And now the dreams had stopped. The voices died away and took the shadows with them, took the fire and the fury. The nightmares fled, leaving an empty space that was waiting to be filled as the creature awoke.
This is a story about the night.
oOo
The Nightfire Temple, around 8000BC
The silver knife glittered in the candlelight. It was beautiful, the hilt made in the form of a dragon with the wings as the crossbar and the elongated tail a rapier blade. Words were etched on it she couldn't read.
It was bloodstained.
Just a single smear of red, that was all, but enough to hold her still with unexpected fear. Slowly, too slowly, she looked up and met the eyes of the man standing behind the altar.
"Dirt," he said. They weren't supposed to speak during the ritual, but he had never been one for rules. "That's all."
Jallakri ap Ganra stood tall, refusing to let anyone see her doubts. She should have none, she told herself.
All around her was black. The stone walls had been slathered with pitch, as had the slender pillars that ringed the pool. Under the shadows, even the water was dark as ink, swirling as if stirred by an unseen hand. The candelabras threw off the only light, soft orange that limned the robes of the people surrounding her.
But all her fear was soothed as she looked into the face of her beloved. Kaajen mal Ifiche had the face of an emperor, slicing cheekbones and a proud mouth, and he carried it well.
He stared back, his gaze straight and strangely hard. His eyes were dark as wine in the gloom, though she knew under daylight that they were a bright, glaring blue.
"Jallakri ap Ganra."
She brought her palms to touch in front of her, conscious of the heavy gold collar that hung around her neck.
"My lord."
"Do you offer yourself to this temple?"
"I do."
She heard something like a sigh, or perhaps a growl. It raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she did not move. It had come from one of the other six. Like him, they wore the silver collar crafted in the shape of two dragons, their tails the necklace and the heads of the dragons touching below their throats in a fiery kiss.
"Will you become a vassal of this temple, giving yourself to us mind, body and soul?"
"I will."
With that utterance, something changed. She felt it, as she might a prophecy; intangible, half-real, like a dream twisting away on waking.
It was the greatest honour that could be given among her people; to be sworn to the temple that controlled the land. She would walk among the people, and they would know she held ancient secrets close to her heart. She would see their respect – and their fear.
She would be forgotten, ignored, sneered at no longer.
"Then you are ours."
Another odd echoing of words he had spoken to her.
You are mine, he had said possessively with that half-smile that always made her stomach curl in desire, running one finger over her browbone with a moth's touch. Though it had been daylight then, the sun blazing heat on them and the air simmering.
"The altar." It was one of the others who spoke and the harsh croak made her jump. There was something feverish in it, a desperation she had heard her sister shriek in her delirium when the plague had taken her this last moon.
And of course, Jal obeyed. The innocent of then stepping up, holding out her wrists as he instructed. She swallowed down fear as he picked up the knife. It would only be a little blood, she told herself firmly. And it wouldn't hurt much.
The pain was sharp and sudden.
Jal bit back her scream, but her arms trembled as blood slewed over her skin. She did not want to show weakness: not here, not to them. Perspiration trailed down her back and beaded on her forehead.
"You chose well, mal Ifiche," one said in that dissonant voice. "Strong. Young. She will do well indeed."
"We shall see," she heard Kaajen say flatly. "The others broke. She may too."
And then she couldn't think, could barely breathe because the blade came down on her wrist again and the worst of it was the sheer slowness. She endured, eyes squeezed shut, her gasps carving up the air into pieces of pain. When it stopped, her legs were quivering and watery.
"Is it over?" she said in a voice that was much fainter than before. Jal opened her eyes and nearly retched at the mess. Red, too much, she saw that at once.
"Over?" A rasping laugh. "Oh no...it has barely begun."
"But..." Jal turned back to Kaajen, not knowing how her eyes pleaded. "You told me..."
"I told you rather a lot, Jallakri. If you believed even half of it, you were a fool. Too wrapped up in love and truth and beauty." His eyes were mocking and cold. "Here is your truth. You are bound to the gods."
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"Understand this," Kaajen said, leaning forward so close he could have kissed her. "You had every chance to refuse. You did not. Whatever happens now, you have made it so."
He nodded at one of the others and something hot touched her wrists. She screamed and just as rapidly, it was gone. Gasping, she looked down and saw a cross in each wrist, pale and cauterised. She realised then that Kaajen didn't care. That he never had, that she had walked into this trap just as he had wanted her to.
"The final promise," he whispered. "Then you rise again, Jallakri. And be as you were meant to."
His head bent towards hers, so she could see herself and her ashen, terrified face reflected in those eyes. She thought he would kiss her. His mouth dipped and—
He bit her neck.
And her eyes widened impossibly until they seemed to be all white, her mouth open as agony stabbed her. Teeth crunching into her flesh with enormous strength, her own shrill scream as the pain clawed at her.
Jal wrenched free, her ears ringing. Warm liquid ran down her neck. She understood instinctively that she was hurt, that she didn't have long to run. And so she ran blindly, moving as far and as fast from Kaajen as she could. Her mind spun. He was supposed to love her, but he had lied.
He caught her as easily as if she hadn't moved.
"You should never have run, 'Lakri," he said almost teasingly. The nickname sounded obscene with those empty eyes boring into her. "There really is no point. They all try to run and none of them ever get anywhere. It's such a short fall to the shadows, my darling."
Before she could even draw breath to reply, his hands clamped hard around her shoulders, holding her absolutely still. He bit her again; her head reeled while her body melted into fire and anguish.
Then came a new torture; an incredible pain, a hand wrenching out her memories and tearing her mind away from everything she knew. They were wiping her clean as a slate, making her as they wanted.
All the while, he took her blood; took and took in every way possible. Time became meaningless under his hands, his teeth, his shadow-filled eyes. Her body became a cage, a trap, the only thing that pinned her to this earth and him. She wept, and even the salt of her tears felt like a betrayal as they burned on her wounds.
Death had to be near. At least it would end...
Not for you, said Kaajen, his voice rich and scornful. Not anymore. You'll live forever, darling, and serve Nightfire - just as you wanted.
And as the bitter truth of his words struck her, a scream tore from her throat. She toppled into darkness, unutterably changed.
His laughter followed her into the void.
oOo
Ryars Valley: Now
She had been sleeping for a long time.
Now she was awake. She was cold, and it was night, but not the night she had last opened her eyes on.
Jal knew that like she knew the other basic facts about herself. Not that there were very many. She searched her mind. It was like looking into the desert. Mostly empty, but with so much hidden, so much buried.
Her name. Jallakri ap Ganra, human, female. From the Eastern Lands, but unique, alone among the dark people because of her fair, wavy hair and icy-pale green eyes, the colour of a monsoon in sunlight.
Kaajen. The thought made her heart sting. He had done something. Hurt her, though she felt no different. But whatever he had done...it was still there. Waiting. But as for the rest...nothing. Awful grey blankness.
And...she was in the dark. Fear screamed down her spine like a current, complete, horrible. Panic overrode every sensible thought she had. She was in the dark, she was still falling and she was screaming...
The moment the shriek left her throat, she realised that she wasn't. She couldn't see, but she could hear herself, that awful tight high scream that had disappeared upwards, because she was lying on the ground with the air moving over her like the brush of silk. A tunnel yawned behind her like a dark maw. There was dirt under her nails, smeared on her hands, as if she'd crawled from the depths of the earth.
Where was she? Not in the desertlands, that was for sure. The night sky hung over her, spattered with star and lit by a thin slice of moon that dangled like a silver slipper.
Then she heard it. An almost imperceptible crunch. The sound of something trying to be silent, slinking, smooth. And there was only one thing that moved like that.
A predator.
She sat, stretching unused muscles that responded with smooth pain. She could smell it now, a heavy musky scent that was blood and hunting combined with the fresh, leafy scent of the woods. Her heart sped up, fear prickling like ice along her skin.
"Who's there?" she called, and then realised just how bad an idea that was. Now whatever it was could find her that much quicker. It would hunt her because she was new, unknown. And maybe a threat.
A low growl answered her. It seemed to come from everywhere.
She groped for a branch. There weren't any. "Who's out there?" she called again. "You might as well show yourself. I don't suppose you're planning to wait forever."
Another growl was the answer. A branch cracked behind her and Jal whipped around, her hands flying into a defensive stance. Only the trees, swaying a little in the wind and a flat patch among the grass and leaves that told her something had been lying there, watching her.
Breathe. Just breathe.
"Come out," she called shakily. "What are you so afraid of? Not me, surely?"
She listened hard. Owlsong, the wind, the sounds of something she couldn't quite identify, all faded into the background.
And then she heard it.
A patient, even touch, feet moving in a whispery, sibilant sound - saa. Far more important were the spaces between that sound. They were getting smaller.
It was moving faster.
It was coming closer.
She moved her head from side to side, trying to find it.
Saa.
Saa-saa saa-saa...
It was right behind her.
Jal spun.
And looked into two glowing eyes. They stared back, and the pupil seemed to swell, swallowing all the light and throwing an eldritch green radiance back at her until she was hypnotised by the sheer force of that stare. What she saw frightened her. The dark was in those eyes, and something else too. Something inhuman.
She didn't dare move. Below the eyes, the muzzle seemed to gape, and rows of teeth glistened. A wolf. A hunter. A slayer.
You'd better run now, something said inside her. Or there won't be any time left because it's getting closer, Jal, it's getting far too close.
She slid one foot back.
Her blood pounded loudly, drowning out the papery sound of the wolf's next step.
Jal turned and ran.
Behind her she heard a howl filled with bloodlust and hunger, scraping up into the night air.
Trees tore her legs, grass tried to twine around her feet, and the ground was uneven and difficult to run on, but run she did. And, Jal realised with sudden shock, she was actually escaping. The wolf was further and further behind. But her breath was becoming more of a gasp, her legs were starting to fill with heaviness and she knew there wasn't really anywhere left to run and after that...it would be over.
And then she burst out of the trees and onto a space. A flat, grey piece of land, though Jal couldn't decide what it was. Something not quite stone, not quite land. But she did recognise it as a path.
There was someone walking on it.
Her heart soared. She called out to him. He looked up. In the dark, his face was pale. He was only a boy - no older than her, and squinting as if he couldn't see well in the silvery moonlight. His voice was startled, low...
And she couldn't understand a word he was saying.
He stretched out a hand, offering help. His eyes were dark as wine in the night, all too human.
"No." Jal swatted away the hand, a stitich doubling her over. Sweat stung in every cut and scrape, and it was a sharp reminder of what might follow if it caught her. "You don't understand!"
The boy asked a question, his voice bemused, but calm.
"The wolves," she said with desperation, standing up again and pointing into the woods. "The grey creatures, they growl, they bite, they kill." She imitated one, snapping her teeth at him.
She saw enlightenment dawn on him. Jal didn't need to understand the short, sharp word he uttered with a bleak expression. He pointed up the road and indicated they should run.
But Jal was looking past him. It was too late for that.
Green lights drifted towards them in matched pairs, eerie as will o' the wisps. And when they stopped, she could see they were a dozen pairs of eldritch eyes, and snarls rumbled in a dozen throats. Tiny circles of light sprang from trails of saliva; the wolves had mud caked on their paws and they circled the pair, growling and snarling and snapping.
They had been surrounded.
oOo