Summary: A darkness is calling Sandry from her very dreams, and in those dreams she can feel the darkness urging her to give in to it. When she was younger, her friends gave her a globe of light to fill the darkness of night. But not even light can help her now, and neither can friends.
A/N: My very first TP fic. Whoo hoo! *grins* What do you think of it? I'll cherish anything you have to say, so please be the wonderful person you are and review. *smiles* Suggestions? (I know I could use some...) Critiques? (Is there something I can improve on?) Questions? (Anything you don't get?)
Chapter 1 - Fateful Dreams
A cry for help echoed in the air and the girl could feel the name tugging her at her very life thread. "Who's there?" She called out, trying not to cringe as she stepped into the dark tunnel. "Do you need help? Where are you?" She said again, shivering as the shadows enveloped her.
She called out once more, using her the magical tendrils of her mind to try to
attach herself to the person, hoping that she would be able to pull herself
along the rope. The darkness seemed to thicken and become harder to go
through, but she fought against it, hoping to reach the person.
"Please, keep talking! I can't find you!" She said,
shuddering as the darkness caressed her, inviting her to go deeper.
Closing her eyes, the girl stopped, feeling as though she couldn't move
another step. "I can't do it, I just can't do it," she
whispered to herself, boardering hysteria. But this time, the darkness
seemed to pull her along, taking her closer and closer to the voice, and to
the evil that she knew lay ahead.
"Lady Sandrilene!"
Batting thick lashes over cornflower blue eyes, the Lady Sandrilene fa Toren woke
up with a start, sitting upright immediately. Looking at her uncle's
servent she asked "Yes, Melian?"
"The Duke asked to see you straight away," she said, eyes shining
with happiness, as she started to help Sandry get out of bed so that she
could help her lady get dressed.
Eyes widening with surprise, she let Melian help her out of bed. The
small woman, with warm brown eyes and skin like the dark wood of the teliis
tree lifted up a soft blue dress, fit for a queen, or at least a princess.
Sandry shot the woman a questioning look. She normally chose to wear
broad-legged breeches for riding, so she hardly wore dresses, especially of
this craftmenship.
"A gift from the Duke of Crista," Melian said, almost slyly.
Not arguing, but still confused, Sandry was put into the dress, and found with
delight that it was made with a fabric she'd never felt before. It
was a silky fabric, but not silk. It was much to pliable to be silk.
It almost felt like cotton, though it felt too smooth to be that. Cotton
would be more scratchy, and wouldn't fall the same way. She
systematically went through all the fabrics that Lark had taught her, and
couldn't find one that matched this material.
As she thought of this, Melian's swift brown hands pulled up the girl's masses
of brown hair into a few simple but elegant twists on the top of her head. They
were surrounded by a multitude of tiny braids, and fitted with blue seed
pearls.
When the woman was done, the 16 year old girl stood, and thanked her, glancing
at the mirror near her bed. Staring back at her was a woman, with a
smile laced with confusion. Picking up the long, blue skirts, she
swished them a bit, admiring the motions in the mirror, as well as the soft
fabric in her hands.
"Come, my lady," Melian said, as she gestured to the two small lady
slippers at the foot of her bed, and then walked out of the two wooden door.
Slipping her feet halfway into the slippers, she managed to get one on, and
she walked quickly, hoping to catch up to the woman. Stumbling into her
Uncle's office while putting on her last slipper, she noticed her Uncle's
company. Stifling a blush, she did an elegant curtsey to the stranger.
"My dear, I would like you to meet Demolin fer Mahhenda. He is
the grandson of the Duke of Crista." The Duke Vedris said, inclining his
head towards the boy. What was odd was that her Uncle did not did not
smile warmly at her, as he usually did. In fact, Sandry noted with
concern that his eyelids were drooping as if he didn't get enough sleep,
and his entire posture was worn.
The boy did a stiff bow and said "My lady,"
Glancing at the boy, she noticed that everything about him was stiff, from his
starched blue cape to his perfectly straight back. He looked completely
scared of her, and Sandry hid a smile with her hand. He had pale skin,
that indicated he had never worked a day in his life, and he probably wouldn't
ever have to. It wasn't that she didn't like the boy, but she felt a
mild envy for his innocence which brimmed in his green eyes. But she
wouldn't give up her past for anything. There were too many good times.
"Lord Demolin, could you please excuse my neice and myself?" The
duke asked the blond boy.
The boy did a quick nod and bolted out the door. Thinking it was rather
odd, Sandry turned to her Uncle and looked at him expectantly.
The duke sighed. "You know of my troubles with Crista?"
He didn't need to explain. The Duke of Crista was a horrid man, who
lusted for power and Duke Verdis wanted nothing to do with him.
"They started to close in on Emelan, and the duke had a proposal.
That a relative of mine marry his heir. That was his grandson, who will
be 17 soon." The duke glanced at her and noticed the flicker of confusion
that flashed in her bright blue eyes. Quickly, he finished "I could
not accept of course. But I have met the duke's grandson, and he is a
worthy boy. So I insisted that you meet him and decide."
Marry? Me, marry? Sandry thought. She knew there were girls'
younger then her who were married and already had children, but it seemed so
ridiculous to marry some one she didn't even know. She glanced
worriedly at her Uncle. She knew that the Duke of Crista was
raising a havok for him. He's been itching to get into Emelan, and
the mere challene of it excited the old Duke of Crista. Biting her lip
she asked "How long do I have to decide?"
"Until the next moon," the duke said kindly. Crista was
big, and getting bigger by the day with all the invading they did, and from
their constant wars bred toughened veterans. With the hordes of pirates,
natural disasters and muderers, Emelan was struggling to regain its
former glory. And Crista was there the whole time, waiting to make
its move.
As she thought, her mind drifted off and she found herself in a dark tunnel
once again. She could hear the voice calling this time. Her eyes
widened in horror as she recognized the voice. Briar? She thought,
puzzled, as she walked forward through the thick blanket of darkness.
Screaming, she found herself falling deep into a pit so completely black that
she couldn't see the walls around her. At least she hoped there were
walls.
"Sandry?" The duke said, looking at his neice with concern.
Snapping out of the daydream, the connection broke like a taut thread being
cut. "I suppose it's the shock," she said, worried about her
friend. "May I please be excused?" She asked.
"Of course, my dear," Duke Vedris said, concern still heavy in his
eyes.
"I'm fine, Uncle," she said with a small smile before she
disappeared out the door.
Dashing to her chambers, she flung open the doors and frantically undid the
lock spells on the wooden chest that sat on the table by her window.
Hurriedly opening the chest she dug in it until she spotted what she was
looking for. Holding the small circle made of thread with four lumps
spread evenly apart, she held it up for a second, feeling soft contentment.
Although to most, the thread looked plain white, to Sandry it glowed with
power, each lump a different color and representing a friend. She
fingered the green lump, the one that reminded her of lush forests and
blooming flowers. Using that to connect to her friend, she strained to
talk to him. "Brair? Are you all right?" She asked,
talking to him mind to mind.
She waited a few seconds before she heard a faint reply. "Sandry?
That you?" The street-rat-turned-mage asked. They normally
didn't talk, being that he had been on a trip for the past year with Rosethorn.
It was always a strain to communicate when they were so far away.
"Are you all right?" She repeated. He sounded fine, but that
dream was so real that she needed to make sure.
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Dandy, in fact." He said, in a tone
of confusion mixed with sarcasm. She laughed at his tone and scolded
herself for being so worrisome.
"I'm sorry for bothering you. I've just been having dreams..."
she said, trailing off.
She could practically see Briar's grin as he said "Dreams? About
me? Gee, you miss me that much? You know, for a bag-"
Abruptly he cut himself off. "Oops, got to go. Rosethorn's
calling."
See? She told herself. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine.
Leave it be. You have other things to think about. She sighed
wistfully, and letting the thread fall from her hands.
"Are you unwell, my lady?" The young man - Demolin, was what
her Uncle called him, asked. Seeing her glance at the door, he blushed
and said "The door was open, and, well, I just thought..."
"It is quite all right, my lord." She said with a weary smile.
"And I am very well, thank you."
Embarassed, he did a jerky bow and quickly darted out the room, in a flash of
black and silver. Slightly amused, she got up and went to follow this
boy, who might one day be her husband. He had a sweet charm about him
that let her forget about the worries that clouded her mind, and allowed her
to be frivolous. She found it interesting that any noble should be so
shy. With all the social functions they needed to attend, it was hard to
get a minute to yourself. Not to mention that his grandfather was quite
a charmer in his day. She'd heard many stories about him when she went
out.
***
Two swift feet scurried soundlessly through the halls, its owner's eyes
darting every which way. Mentally pushing the door open, two eyes the
color of coal lit up as it saw what it came from. The object floated into
lightly tanned hands, hands untouched by callouses. Tucking
the glowing treasure into a silk pouch, once again feet rushed off, heels
barely touching to ground.
It's mine! The person thought, eyes aglow with delight. What the
owner of those light feet held was something far more precious than gold or
riches. It was magic, undiluted and powerful. But it was something more
than magic. It was a myth that was quickly becoming a legend.
to be continued...