Dark Sacrifice

By Stormravan

Disclaimer: The world of the Carpathians, and many of the characters used here were created by, and belong to, Christine Feehan. All non-original aspects are merely my own restless imagination at work and are no more than an amateur's tribute to a beloved series.

Author's Note: This story has been building in my head since somewhere around Dark Magic. I've always been fascinated by beginnings. (Which is a really pointless quest when you think about it, because there's always something that happened before that, and before that, and before that . . .) This is an attempt to answer, in my own head at least, the questions for a number of beginnings. Timeline-wise I would place this tale somewhere after Dark Guardian, but no later than Dark Melody.

Though I don't believe there is anything in this that will contradict set 'world rules/facts' (can't remember the word for some reason) it's possible I missed something. If so, just think of it as an alternate world or something. The story following this, if I ever get around to writing it, definitely diverges storyline. So what the hey - might as well start thinking of it as separate now.

Prolog One - The Distant Past

He was the last.

Ransom stared at the blood on his hands, feeling it's acid bite into his skin. There should be something.

A tear. A pang of grief. Something.

But as he called cleansing fires to consume the still thrashing body of the Fallen he realized that all that remained for him was a distant sense of regret. No. Not even regret. Merely the knowledge that he should . . . that there ought to be . . . something.

It wasn't right. Absently, he cauterized his wounds, burning away the poison left by sharpened nails. So great a man's passing should be not be simply another hunt, another duty performed.

But it was. His own hand had ensured that this bleak, grey reality would be all that he, all that any of the males of his race would have in the end. And a part of him wondered if it was really preferable to the demon-crazed madness it had replaced.

His task finished, Ransom took to the air, turning instinctively for home. His sister and her Chosen would be waiting for him there. It was a habit now, established long ago, when the horror and grief of their lives had been new and almost unrelenting. When the wrenching pain of being forced to hunt down males he had respected and admired his entire life as though they were beasts had been too much to bear in solitude. Later it had been cousins and playmates who had fought with a savagery beyond belief for a life now forever beyond their grasp. And still later there were the fledglings he had seen born, had taught, counseled, now turning in despair to the darkness that stalked them even as they cursed his name for the barren existence he had given them.

He had needed his sister then, for her gentleness and cheerful mischief to wash him clean. Her, and her beloved; for even in a race long accustomed to wonders their bond was a singular miracle, all the more because Lucerna would keep Magnus forever tied to the light. Here, he knew was one soul he would never have cause to hunt. But now darkness pressed hard upon him and, though her presence brought a form of peace, not even his sister could revive emotions faded far past recall.

He touched down in the garden his sister had first planted so many centuries ago. To cheer his cell, she'd claimed. He hadn't had the heart to inform her that colors had long since vanished from his world. Instead he'd breathed in the scents filling the air, complimented her choices, then carefully professed a manly ignorance of shrubbery. Her laugh had still held the power to warm him then, however dimly. Reaching out now, he touched a fingertip to a single velvet petal.

"Ransom?"

He turned, a teasing smile on his face. "I think this one needs more work, little queen. The poor thing threatens to snap under the weight of its own head. Or is it bowing out of respect for your presence?" He looked back at it as though contemplating the possibility.

"Of course." Lucerna raised her chin with a haughty air. "Even flowers are able to recognize greatness when it is so much about them. You should learn from them. A little respect and subserviency would do much to better you."

"Ah, but respect for whom? Certainly not for the fledgling who put slugs in a Jaguar Lord's bed. Or calmly informed his daughter that fruit bats were Fallen who simply had execrable skills in disguise."

"I had to do something. The little minx was making eyes at Magnus, and her father had called you a half-bred bastard. You didn't seriously expect me to let pass insults like that did you."

"Expect, no. But one might have hoped," he said with a long suffering sigh.

"Poor brother mine. Disappointment follows disappointment does it not?."

His hand slowly fell away from the bloom.

"I fear so." He hesitated, reluctant to utter words that could only bring pain. But it could not be hidden. "Tarkos has Fallen. To darkness then fire."

"No! Oh, no." Gently he gathered Lucerna into his arms. Shock and tears had her clinging to his steady frame. Here, in her, was all the grief he could not feel. "But he was strong. He was good! I could feel it. Why would he give in? We needed him. Why!"

"Despair is a patient foe, Luce, and requires only a single moment of weakness, of opportunity, to slay. Tarkos always felt things deeply, even for one of our race, and thus was his darkness so much stronger when it came. He did not speak of it because so many depended on him, but he felt it's choking grasp with every breath. These past years he has been racing to teach the fledglings all they needed. He knew, warned me, that he might wait past his strength. And when he finally Fell, it was in defense of those he taught."

A mere breath of movement, then Magnus was there, reaching for his Chosen.

"Remember who he was," Ransom said, releasing her to Magnus. "Not that which destroyed him. He is deserving of all honor."

Magnus folded her into his embrace, resting his cheek against her hair, offering his beloved what meager comfort he could grant.

'I left Cassana puttering in the workroom,' Magnus sent privately. 'May I leave her to your protection while I see to my mate?'

'I accept her charge.'

'My thanks. The Magi's delegate awaits you. He seems much troubled.'

'As are we all in these times, my friend. As are we all.'

"More wine?" Ransom offered.

The magi declined with a wave. Instead the youth held the empty goblet before him and stared brooding into the fire, watching as the flames fractured and danced through the glass. His gaze searched its depths, as though it held precious answers if only they could be understood. Vadias' family had long been intermediaries between the two races, their calm and easy ways soothing the occasional spark of friction. Ransom knew them well. Magi did not live so long as his own people of course and he had worked with several generations in his role as leader. Over time he had come to know the strength of the line, their honor and integrity. Had come to trust them as he trusted none other but his sister and her mate. They had spoken for much of the night of formal matters. But talk had given way to pensive quiet.

"What troubles your heart this eve, youngling?"

The magi was silent for a time, till Ransom was unsure he would answer. But, finally, he softly spoke. "The Seeress has had a vision. A vision of two futures, turning on a single factor. The survival of your race. Both are . . . dark. So terrible. But in one there is hope, a guiding light in the end, for all races. The other . . . death and madness only. Evil finally, utterly triumphant."

"A grim prospect."

"Yes." Vadias slowly set aside the goblet and turned to face Ransom. "Tell me, Ancient One, how much longer will your honor hold?"

Ransom raised a brow then gestured a negation. "My honor is no danger. Were it to break it would have done so long ago. But that is not your true question, is it."

Moving to the window he looked out on the silvered forest. His people had come to love the night, its peace and mystery. But did he? Once he'd hated it. Once it had reminded him of all they had lost. That had been long ago, before his emotions began to fade. He had found a measure of acceptance since then, for what could not be changed if nothing else. But had he ever seen the beauty his people did? He could not recall.

"I am the last, Vadias. This eve I was forced to slay the only other of my kind left who remembered what it was to walk under a gentle sun. Even my sister was born after the Burning. The memory of the people we once were grows dimmer with each generation. And what has taken its place? Distrust. Savagery. Terror. For one half, only an eternal barren existence to look forward to. For the other, endless fear and caution. The most cherished and sacred of our ways have come to be regarded with trepidation and a careful assessment of risks. We were always a warrior race, but now even our gentlest women are forced to fight and hunt. Do you know what that does to our females? They have always been the best, the most compassionate of our race. Now they train to battle those who have been friends, family. Children. Even their own Chosens. All to often they choose to follow their beloveds to the grave. With each generation the despair grows. Our numbers dwindle. Our males succumb ever more quickly to the Corrupter's curse. Our women grow ever more fearful.

"Some are able to live in denial, but I have not that luxury. We will not last much longer as a race. All too soon the Fallen will outnumber us. Eventually they will reign unchallenged. I can only pity the world when that day comes." He turned to Vadias. "I pity it, but I have no desire to see it."

"Then you have decided?" Vadias asked, his breath catching in his lungs.

"Not the time or place, but yes, I will follow path of honor and greet the sun."

"You can't!" They both spun to find little Cassana, pale but determined, standing in the doorway. "You mustn't! That's not how it's supposed to happen." Streaking across the room she threw herself in her uncle's arms. "You can't go. You can't!"

Ransom held the trembling child gently, pushing away his awareness of the throbbing blood in her veins, even as he searched his own mind. Yes, he had known she was there. She'd heard the whole dreadful conversation. And he'd known. Why hadn't he protected her? Was he even closer to the darkness than he'd believed? "Sshh, shh, little one. It's all right."

"No! You can't go. You gotta build the bridges. You gotta make it right!" She clung to him as though terrified he'd vanish that very instant. "If you go the monsters'll get us. They'll come and take Momma, and Poppa'll fight them, and they'll cut him and cut him and - and - and - I don't want him to cut Poppa. You've gotta stop him. We've gotta save him!"

"Hush. Calmly, little one. Stop who?"

"My lifemate. We've gotta save him, we gotta!"

"Your - what?!" Swiftly he contacted Magnus, relaying the situation and Cassana's words.

"Her rest has been uneasy for some time now." With a soothing touch Magnus brushed his daughter's mind - and drew back in shock. "How? It runs in our line, yet she's but a child!"

'It would seem age is no longer a bar. What has she seen?' Images flooded his mind, half formed, and filtered through a child's understanding, yet clear in their meaning. Hope. At last his people had hope. And then he stiffened as the import of the vision struck home. He stared down at his niece, half in awe, half in mounting dismay.

Dawn approached. Ransom rested his arms on the balustrade, watching the sky color and brighten. His skin prickled in the early light, though it would be some hours yet before he was forced to go to ground. Or not. He had thought his decision set some months ago. Had been waiting only for the arrangements for another to step into his place. And now . . .

Now he must decide once more, with the risks on each side raised immeasurably. And the decision must be made this morn. Finally. Irrevocably. If he chose to live, there could be no looking back, no regrets. Not a single moment of vacillation.

How easily other races spoke of death, of the loss of one's life as the ultimate sacrifice. But death was a paltry, near meaningless gift in many ways. A return to the Creator's light, however excruciating or tortured the transition, was no ill fate, for on that path lay the end of sorrows, of pain, of grief. An eternal perfect peace.

Not so the loss of one's soul.

And that was what he faced. He had no illusions on that score. The weight of time already wearied him, grinding him down with ceaseless friction. Yet the time he had lived would be but an eye blink compared to what he would see if he took up the gauntlet once more. True there had been a vague sense of rest near the end of the vision. But only after long, empty years. Century upon century of struggle against loneliness, against desolation, against the evil inside him. He would wait past any chance of greeting the sun. The claws of the predator would be sunk too deep inside him for any chance such of easy end. His honor was strong, an integral part of his being. But could it survive the near endless journey his task set for him? If it did not, if his soul were lost . . . he would unleash a demon as had never been seen, with powers unmatched by any now living.

And yet, if Ransom did not take up the task, he was at best condemning his race to extinction. At worst, he was condemning the world to exactly the fate Vadias had described. Death and madness. A reign of eternal evil.

"Are you well, brother?" Lucerna asked softly from behind him. He was silent as she paced forward. She came to a stop at the rail, less than a foot away, and gripped it loosely. Absently, he called up cloud cover to shade them, leaving the horizon clear. Around them came the sounds of the sunlight realm waking, responding to the slowly lightening sky, the gentle rays of a loving daystar.

"I have never before thought myself a coward, Luce."

There was a short, stunned silence.

"You are not." She spoke flatly. She tightened her grip on the rail. "There are faults enough to lay at your door, but that has never, will never, be one of them."

"Won't it? What else can it be called when a male sees the possible salvation of his people and yet desires to selfishly turn aside? What is that, if not cowardice?"

"The instinct for self preservation."

"The two are not so very far removed. Sometimes by no more than a very thin thread."

"But they are separate. The gap may be thin, but it is infinitely deep. And there is as much chance of you crossing it as there is of stopping the advance of the starry heavens." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "There is no shame in the honest recognition of risk. Only in letting it overwhelm you. It was you who taught me that."

Ransom looked at her hand for a long moment, then sighed, covering it with his own, and turned back to the dawning sky. "What am I to do, little queen? Both choices are perilous. Not simply for me, but for all. If I should turn . . . By then I doubt there would be any strong enough to slay me. It is an unacceptable risk. And yet, how can I deny our people hope?"

Lucerna, stepped closer, her arms coming up to hold him from behind. She rested her forehead on his back. "I think, I must be the selfish one. I do not want to lose you. But neither can I bear your pain."

He grasped her arm at his waist and squeezed it gently. "I feel it not."

"But I do," she whispered. Of course. Her empathic abilities would allow her to sense what he could not. He should have realized. But then, perhaps he had not wished to. Emotional pain was, ultimately, a private, intimate, experience. To realize his own had been forced upon his cherished sister, when he himself was helpless to sense, let alone prevent it, was a bitter thing. Harder still was the realizing the pain he must have unknowingly inflicted with his decision to greet the sun. She must have remained silent in respect for his privacy, but she would have known.

"I can urge neither course," she finally said. "My heart will not allow it. Is there no other way? No other that may take up the task?"

And there lay the hard truth, the only possible decision. For the answer was no. There was no other. His abilities, his heritage, was unique, unreplicable. It had been so since the Cataclysm.

Sensing his response, Lucerna tightened her hold, as though trying to take his pain into herself.

"I suppose all we can do is trust in the Creator and hold to this chance he has given us," she said.

'If he did not die in the Burning along with everyone else,' he thought, but did not speak the words aloud. He would never share that particular sentiment with her, had hidden it deep within his mind for all their long lives. She'd had so little to comfort her, he could not deny her any further shred of hope. "I will be well, little queen. Your Chosen and daughter await you to take their rest. It is best you go to them."

She hesitated, her arms unwilling to loose their grasp. He squeezed her arm gently. "I will greet you on the eve. You have my word."

She nodded, though sorrow shadowed her eyes. Releasing him, she quietly exited the balcony, knowing he would wish a moment of privacy. For a long time he simply gazed out at the dawn, till his eyes began to tear and weep. Then, with a deep breath, Ransom squared his shoulders and turned his back forever on the rising sun.

Note: fixed a few details, nothing major. Still getting the hang of this.