36 B.C., The Coast of What Will be North California
A soft breeze curled through the ancient conifers that afternoon and it shifted the leaves on the trees in a gentle rustle as it went; the leaves, in turn, whispered in their secretive tongue as their edges scratched along each other and the twigs, the branches, and the rough bark of the canopy above. Their subtle fluttering allowed the sun to come down though their green masses in small brief wavering spots of gold and bronze on the dappled forest floor, and it reminded the girl of how the surface of the lake would reflect the sunlight back up to the sky in patterns similar to, though not entirely the same as, musical notes.
She chased the dappled spots with deft tapered fingers and pricked one on a pine cone. Chuckling softly she picked it up and set it aside, where she had already collected a small pile of them and turned her attention back to the spots of colored light. They blinked back at her cheerily and again the girl thought of music.
Music, from instrument and song both, was not a new thing to her, nor were the waters, the forest, or the sun's rays shining down. The Elders and her father had taught her well in those regards despite her tender years. They had taught her everything that they deemed she needed to learn, but hardly anything that she wanted to know, the girl mused as she lay in a small hollow at the fork of one of the gloriously huge conifers; but what they had not taught she and her brother had learned on their own, exploring the lands around their small home.
Her seat was the the mulch of seasons worth of fallen needles, pine cones, and the debris cast off from the smaller shrubs; lichen and moss cushioned her rump in a padding of humus that made not only for a comfortable resting place, but also a fragrant one. She hadn't yet received the training to attune her nose to be able to identify the delicate array of scents surrounding her, but she knew some of them from previous experience. Juniper berries and the sweet soil mixed with the subtly disturbing aromatics that accompanied decomposition and the wetness of dew that never fully dried during the day as it lay hidden deep down in the layers of nature's compost.
She sniffed as the breeze passed through the trees and over her body and she frowned at what it foretold. The soft breeze was chill, and it send delightful shivers up and down her spine as it played with her hair, but the scents...they confounded her as she raised her face up to the canopy and the brief flashes of blue sky.
Beside the girl, her brother paused in his pursuit of a grumbling old fox, his face raised to the wind as well. His silver eyes widened slightly just as her eyes did, his corona of long fine hair swirling gently in time with hers. The twins shared a moment of stillness then, frozen in contemplation tinged a terrible sense of dread. For a second the whisper of the leaves sounded as loudly in their ears as the most tumultuous summer thunderstorm. The grumpy fox took this as his moment to escape the boy's relentless questioning and hid his gray-furred body in nearby hollow.
Across from them their father, still and tall beneath a redwood tree, watched this all with a dawning sense of sadness. This was the sadness of a parent who was helplessly witnessing the changes as their children grow up in the most disheartening way imagined; the beginnings of a maturity that a father could only pray would not happen so soon, if only to preserve the beautiful innocence of his children.
They could smell the changes approaching just as he could. He just hoped that that was the full extent of it.
He took a deep breath in and let it out in a long sad sigh.
"Irian-yel," he called softly, My children.
As if they were one being they turned their silver eyes towards him, but it was very clear that their thoughts were on the scents in their nostrils. The absent, if obedient, gazes disturbed him slightly. He spoke to break the trance, his speech lilting, the tongue ancient but familiar.
"Tell me what it is you sense."
Bouron answered first, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I can smell .. dirt, the hummus. The fox is down-wind from us. A bear, but he is far away. Miles, even."
Ravanna nodded her head as her twin spoke to their father, more to distract herself from the sound of his voice breaking her concentration than in agreement, but she knew he was right. But not entirely. She could sense something on the wind, but it wasn't a scent in the strictest sense. It was something more than that.
Bouron hesitated, a small frown between his brows. "There's something. . . something else there too but I am not familiar with it." He shook his pale head, sending silky strands of white hair flying in many directions. He couldn't tell what it was that plagued his senses.
Their father nodded, and some tension went out of him. Perhaps he had surmised wrong, perhaps there were a few years left after all before he had to loose his precious younglings, if at all. Bouron could sense there was something wrong, but not what. His son was safe, for now.
"Its salt. And heat." Ravanna said, dashing some of her father's hopes. She looked up towards the sky as she continued. "Its... copper and blood. But it is not here... not yet. It will be though." Her statement was met with an incredulous look from her brother and a sad nod from her father. The strangeness passed away then, as quickly as it had come leaving the three still and anxious beneath the trees; she couldn't help but shiver slightly, though she was not affected by the chillness in the air. The breeze had stopped blowing as well.
From out of the now still trees a figure came up beside their father; a Taylini woman, exceedingly fair and willowy in form, her long hair armed against the catching fingers of the branches and twigs by being twisted into a sturdy plait over her shoulder. The gray shift she wore barely made a whisper as she passed over the needles and the cones, the deep hummus cushioning the fall of her feet. Even if the ground had been cast from concrete, like the Romans were using in most of their architecture halfway across the world, and the woman had been shod in hobnailed boots, her tread would still have made no sound.
Her pupil-less lavender eyes examined the two children as she rested a delicate hand on their father's shoulder, as if in commiseration, but with a lover's gentleness. In response to her touch his shoulders sagged slightly, and he reached across his chest to place his hand over hers and squeeze it. His action seemed to be full of regret. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, and even his regret could not stop him his lips from curling into a small smile of contentment for being near her. Thus was the way of the love-bonded.
She was Aurmora, the Mallay'nis of the western lands; She Who Watches, the most senior and feared of the Taylini Elders, a wielder of powers unfathomable to most thinking beings. She was certainly not a human woman.
She was the twin's mother.
Aurmora's lovely face was serene, her posture relaxed, but her eyes bore down on her daughter with the hardness of lavender-colored diamonds. The girl didn't squirm, though she wanted to; instead she raised her face and met her mother's gaze. The hard pupil-less gaze bored into her for a time and Ravanna did her best not to shift uneasily under it.
"Benaurin, did I hear correctly?" her voice was as soft as the velvet on the antlers of caribou, as sinuous as a snake, as rich as a cream confection. There were hidden things in her voice, meanings secretive and darkly frightening; it pulsed with power, with unknown things, as did her eyes. It had always been so, ever since she had reached adulthood. A Mallay'nis was cursed from her first breath with the power, though one would often become aware of it pulsing within her when puberty hit. With the twin's mother it had filled her since she could walk.
Aurmora turned her gaze from Ravanna to her husband, Benaurin.
Ravanna was not afraid of her mother, just wary, as any child would be while under the scrutiny of a Mallay'nis. She looked up at the tall woman and dipped her head in respect, unsure if Aurmora had asked that question as her mother, or as an Elder. After all, the judgment of a Mallay'nis was not the judgment of a mother. It was often far more cruel.
Bouron watched with wide silver eyes, barely breathing, at this exchange. Ravanna could hear the unspoken question in his mind, for it was also in her mind; they had always been close, not only because they had shared the womb. They often knew what the other was thinking.
It was a few long moments before their father answered, and he looked west, towards the sea, not a few miles away. "Indeed, my heart. She has caught the right of it, as you well know."
She felt compelled to speak, so Ravanna looked up and opened her mouth before her brain had thought to caution her against it. Questioning an Elder without being given leave to was a dangerous thing, even if that Elder was family. "What was it?"
Three sets of eyes snapped back towards her, but she didn't lower her gaze again. Her father opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and fell silent. Bouran made no noise save for swallowing. Their mother was silent for a time as she turned her eyes from her family and looked about them to the tall trees surrounding them; she was still as the bedrock deep beneath the dirt they stood on.
Ravanna was born a Taylini, as both her parents were. She had lived a long time already, nearly four hundred years, and still she was one of the youngest in comparison to the rest of her people, younger even to her brother by two minutes during their birthing. Her enduring white skin and hair marked her for what she was, more than human, her silver eyes a sure sign of her youth. But ingrained deeply into the marrow of her, that hard core where existed nothing but her mother's daughter, was a patience that could span ages.
She waited for her mother's response, following the lavender gaze towards the west, where the ocean swelled in the tide pools, allowing passage out to the deeper ocean for the creatures that had been trapped in the pools when the tide had dipped. The sunlight was softening, fading as it dipped further down behind the hills. In the distance was the faintest hint of a seagull's cry.
Ravanna could appreciate this beauty.
It was not long after the dusk had brought out the shrill leg-rubbing chirps of crickets that Aurmora turned from the unseen tide and looked back at her daughter. Her features were marked by strain but it was difficult to see; if it was anyone other than her mate and children witnessing her expression ti would have undoubtedly gone unnoticed.
She stepped forward silently and looked down on the child, who was barely five foot in height. Her voice was soft, as filled with sadness as Benaurim's sigh had been, and it crawled deep into Ravanna's skull and seemed to curl itself down to wrap around her heart and squeeze that organ with a terrifying firmness. "It is the Doom, my little heart. It is the Doom, and it is coming again."
A/N While I adore Karl Urban and his dark New Zealander good looks, I must admit I do not own him (*cries*), nor do I own any rights to the Doom movie, games, or books. Ravanna, the current plot (and subsequent plot twists later on not including those that occur during the Doom movie) and points of history are completely mine, however, as are the Taylini race and characters. Play nice with them if you wish, but ask my permission before you do. Please bear in mind that it may be a few chapters before you come in contact with our favorite John "Reaper" Grimm and his motley crew of Marine misfits (+1 of my own design). Feel free to review.
