A/N: This story is going to be basically canon for Harry and Jaenelle with the inclusion of the other, until Harry's seventh year, I won't spoil it too much but he doesn't end up going on a camping trip!
Second note: as of 8/12/2014 this chapter was updated, everything was edited and a significant scene was added to the end.
The world is now made wholly of shades of grey and ghostly shapes hover over the muted once-colours. It's been like this since I killed the basilisk in the chamber.
I haven't told anyone for fear they'd think me mad. But I see it, this ghostly parody of the world; the Shattered Chalice. I don't know why I call it that but it seems fitting somehow.
I gaze out the window, watching a ghostly bird fly with broken wings.
Thump! I turn slowly, and stare. On the floor of my room is a young girl, when she looks up at me, her gaze pierces my soul. 'Witch', some deep part of mind acknowledges her and recognizes her but also challenges her. We are equals, I will not take a position of servitude to her, nor would I expect the reverse.
Cautiously I walk towards her, arms held up and slightly apart, to show that I have no weapons. But she scuttles back until she hits the wall, the closer I get the more hysterical she becomes. By the time I've swept her up and seated her on my lap on the bed, she's deep into a full blown panic attack.
"Shh, calm down," I croon as I rock her gently, stroking her hair; whispering soothing nothings into her ear. As she slowly calms she falls into an exhausted sleep and I am left to wonder. Who is she? Where did she come from? What has made her so afraid of a male 's touch? I am under no illusions as to what it was that frightened her about me. I sigh, I know I will get no answers until she wakes. I settle against the wall; reclining as comfortably as I can with her sleeping soundly on my chest, soon enough I follow her into sleep.
I start to stir as the girl in my arms shifts. My eyes drift open and I see her staring at me, I smile sleepily and tighten my arms; unconsciously making sure she is still there, checking that she isn't tremble anymore. More alert now and I realize she hasn't moved or said anything at all.
"You know, as much as I'm sure I am handsome, you don't have to stare young Queen." 'Why did I just call her Queen? I don't know. But calling her anything else seems wrong'. She laughs and it is a beautiful sound, pure and so very alive. Everything about this girl is vibrant. A splash of colour in the dull grey tones I have seen for the past months.
"Alright Mister, I'll stop staring," she says quietly.
"Harry, my name is Harry. I'm no mister."
"Oh. My name is Jaenelle, Harry."
"It is a fitting name for you, young Queen."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
"Queen? I have no idea, but it seems to fit you. Now, what has happened to make you cry so? It saddens me to see you so distraught." And strangely, it does. To see her upset, is like seeing a younger sister in pain. She looks away, burying her head in my shoulder.
"Briarwood." She says, several long minutes later and I can tell as she says it how much it hurts her to even admit that.
"Briarwood?" As I ask that she starts to cry again, words slowly filtering out through the sobs. Everything comes out about Briarwood, the uncles, Rose with her slit throat, and Marjane; eyeless, hanging from the noose, and Myrol and Rebecca the handless twins, and Dannie, poor legless Dannie.
The girl chokes out the stories of a place of twisted cruelty. Weaving visions of a place that perverts and warps the truth and duties of the human race in my mind. It makes me glad, oh so glad, that no one of this world has discovered those atrocities, I fear what would become of us if we did.
"Briarwood is the pretty poison, there is no cure for the spider that spins a tangled web, beware the golden spider." I say in a half daze. Eyes sharpening slightly, but mind still clouded I continue, "Jaenelle, be the spider that spins a tangled web. Make Briarwood the pretty poison with no cure. For Rose and Marjane, Rebecca and Myrol and for Dannie." My words sound distant, even in my own ears. I'm not sure what has prompted me to say this, almost prophetic speech. I have had neither want nor talent for the Divining Arts.
"Yesss. Briarwood will be the pretty poison. Thank you Harry. I will come back soon, but for now I must be going. It's time to spin the tangled web," she purrs with a cruel satisfaction in her eyes that promises retribution. She smiles at me one last time and vanishes.
"Innocent blood has been spilt, let the guilty pay for their crimes." I say absently, still thinking of Jaenelle, memorizing the taste of her psychic scent. Yes everything would be alright. The guilty would pay. They would pay tenfold for their crimes.
…
"Damn! I don't know if I'll ever be able to find her again, or she'll be able to find me," I say ruefully as my mind finally comes back into full clarity
Jaenelle made a blind jump into Briarwood and began to spin her tangled web. As she weaved she remembered the nice boy who had held her and let her cry then sleep in his arms. The boy who had told her to spin the tangled web. Last lines he had said as she'd left, 'Innocent blood has been spilt, let the guilty pay for their crimes.' as she worked she hummed under her breath.
"Briarwood is the pretty poison; there is no cure for Briarwood. Beware the golden spider that spins a tangled web." Over and over she chanted the words until they were whispered back at her by the very stones of Briarwood. "When innocent blood is split the guilty pay for their crimes."
When her web was spun she slept, not realizing what she had done, not realizing she had done something usually reserved for the Black Widows of the Hourglass or the inhabitants of the lost territory of Arachna.
Three weeks later she went to visit Harry again. Not really knowing where she was going when she jumped, she ended up in Pruul; though she didn't know it.
*Hello?* She wasn't sure where she was, but it wasn't with Harry, that's for sure
*Hello?* There was winged male standing there with his back to her. Just beyond him there was a dead man lying in a boat. The winged male's back was covered in lash wounds and there were chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles. It was plainly obvious who had killed the man in the boat.
"Hello?" The winged male startled and spun, his wings flaring menacingly. His feet falling into a fighting stance.
"What are you doing here?" he asked roughly.
"I-I don't know. I was trying to find Harry. But then I heard you calling." Jaenelle stutters slightly, mildly shocked by the large, slightly tattered wings that now filled her vision.
"You heard me?" How in Hell did she hear me, I sent the thought out on an Ebon-gray thread. I'm the only one in Terreille, and Daemon Sadi is the only Black … unless. No she couldn't be.
"I-I should be going," she said.
"No you don't." He walked forward a soft-footed hunter stalking his prey.
She bolted, darting quickly to the left and then around behind him, trying to flee to a distance safe enough to make another jump without pulling the strange man along with her.
He caught her within seconds, heedless of the noise they were no doubt creating. He wrapped a chain around her waist and lifted her off her feet, grunting when her heel connected with his knee. He ignored her struggles but when she started to shriek he clamped a hand over her mouth. She sunk her teeth in his finger and he had to bite back a howl.
"Hush. Do you want to bring the guards down here?" She probably did. He expected her to struggle even more. Instead she froze.
"You're a spitting little cat," he seemed faintly amused.
"Why did you kill him?" her voice was dark. Reminiscent of thunder, caverns and midnight skies, this was not the voice of a little girl who could not understand killing another person. This was the voice of a much older and far wiser lady. One who understood and wanted to know the reasons behind the winged man's actions.
"He was suffering."
"Couldn't you take him to a Healer?"
"Healers don't bother with slaves," he snapped "besides the rats didn't leave enough of him to heal."
He pulled her tight, as if hoping the warmth would halt her sudden shudders. "I'm sorry. That was cruel of me, a child shouldn't know of such things." When she struggled against him, he loosened his hold so she could slip through the chains. She scrambled out of reach, spinning around to study him.
"What's your name?"
"I'm called Yasi." He laughed when she wrinkled her nose. "Don't blame me, I didn't choose it."
"It's a silly name for someone like you," she admonished lightly, "What's your real name?"
He hesitated; Eyriens were one of the long-lived races. He'd had 1,700 years to gain a reputation for being vicious and violent. If she'd heard any of the stories about him. He took a deep breath, loosing it out as a sigh.
"Lucivar Yaslana." She gave no reaction but a small, shy smile of approval.
"It suits you much better than Yasi." She says, her lip curling in slight disgust at the false name he had given her.
"And what's your name, Cat?"
"Jaenelle."
"Nice enough, but I think Cat suits you just as well." He grinned and she snarls."See? … Is your family visiting Lady Zuultah."
Frowning she asked "Who?"
"Zuultah. Queen of Pruul."
"What's Pruul?"
"This is Pruul." He said waving a hand to indicate the land around them. Then swore in Eyrien as the chains rattled. "Since you're not from Pruul and you're not visiting, where are you from?" She hesitated. "I can keep a secret." He pressed, nodding toward the boat.
"I'm from Chaillot."
"Chai-" he bit back a curse. "Do you understand Eyrien?"
"No." she grinned at him. "But now I know some Eyrien words." Lucivar looked torn between laughing and strangling her.
"How did you get here?"
She frowned and fluffed her hair. "The same way I get everywhere, I jumped. Although, I was looking for Harry."
"You made a blind jump!" Lucivar said, incredulous, barely managing to stop mid curse. Such a thing actually occuring was unheard of, except in a few obscure legends which usually detailed the terrible fate of any who attempted it. It was mostly used to terrify young Blood into always following the Winds.
"Are you always this prickly?" Jaenelle questioned, leaning forward slightly.
"Most people think I'm a prick, yes."
"What's that mean?"
"Never mind." He picked up a sharp stone and drew a circle on the ground between them.
"This is the Realm of Terreille." He placed a round stone in the circle.
"This is the Black Mountain, Ebon Askavi, where the Winds meet." He drew straight lines from the round stone to the circumference of the circle.
"These are the tether lines." He drew increasingly smaller circles within the outer circle.
"These are radial lines. The Winds are like a spider web. You can travel on the tether or the radial lines, changing direction where they intersect." He sat back on his heels.
"There's a Web for each rank of the Blood Jewels. The darker the Web the more tether and radial, lines there are and the faster the Wind is. You can a ride a Web that's your rank or lighter. You can't ride a Web darker than your Jewel rank unless you traveling inside a Coach being driven by someone who can ride that Web or you're being shielded by someone who can ride that Web." He looked her straight in the eye."
"What you do is jump into the blank spaces between the tether and radial lines; something that most people cannot and will not do. Even those who wear the Ebon Grey or Black will only attempt it in an emergency."
"Oh."
"Come here, Cat," he said gently, placing his hands on her shoulders when she dropped in front of him. "Do you often go wandering between the winds?"
She nodded slowly. "Sometimes I find them, sometimes they call me. Like you did."
'She found them, or they called her like he did'. Mother Night! "Listen to me, Cat, children are vulnerable to many dangers."
There was a strange expression in her eyes. "Yes, I know."
"Sometimes an enemy can wear the mask of a friend until it's too late to escape."
"Yes," she whispered.
He shook her gently, making her look at him. "Terrielle is a dangerous place for little cats. Please, go home and don't go wandering anymore."
"But then I won't see you again."
Lucivar closed his eyes, a knife to the heart would be nothing compared to this. "I know. But we'll always be friends. And it's not forever, when you're grown up I'll come and find you or you'll come and find me."
"How old is grown up?"
"Let's say seventeen. I know it sounds like forever, but it's really not that long." Even Sadi himself couldn't have spun a better lie. "Do you promise not to go wandering?"
"I promise to go wandering in Terrielle."
"There is one last thing I want to teach you before you go. This will work if a man ever tries to grab you from behind." After going through the demonstration until he was satisfied that she knew what to do, Lucivar kissed her forehead and stepped back. "Get out of here, the guards will be making their rounds soon. And remember – a Queen never breaks a promise made to her Warlord Prince."
"I'll remember." She hesitated, " Lucivar? I won't look the same when I'm grown up. How will you know me?"
Lucivar smiled. "I'll know. Good bye, Cat. May the Darkness embrace you."
"You as well, Lucivar Yaslana." Jaenelle smiled and vanished.
'Was that a foolish thing to say to her?' Lucivar stared at that empty space. 'Probably.'
There was a faint whooshing noise and suddenly Jaenelle appeared before me. Drawing in a deep breath I noticed her psychic scent held a vein of deep sadness that was stronger than it had been at her last visit.
"What is wrong, young queen, what pains you? I ask, drawing her into my arms.
"He said I shouldn't visit you anymore, Harry." She murmurs softly against my chest, wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight as though she's afraid I'll disappear.
"Who told you such things, young Queen? Who let you believe it wasn't your own choice?"
"A man named Lucivar Yaslana. I met him when I was trying to jump to find you."
"Ah, now this Lucivar, shall I assume that he was quite a bit older than us?"
"Yes," she says hesitantly.
"Well then, that would explain it, young Queen. Many old folk get rather scared when the young folk do something they don't expect. They get surprised and shocked and rather flustered. And when they get flustered they tend to try and get rid of the source of their flustered-ness."
"Flustered-ness?"
"Yes, flustered-ness." I say, quite proud of my explanation. "What I'm saying is that you probably scared him. But I must agree with him on one point." I edt looked her firmly in the eye, "I don't want you getting lost again."
"But-" she protests, "Then I wouldn't be able to see you anymore." She's pouting, her eyes welling up.
"Not so," I say and I can't deny the smugness in my tone. "I was reading an Arithmancy textbook I commandeered from Hogwarts mentioned a runic spell that would allow two or more people to locate each other. There were a few other spells, but most of them only worked within a two or three mile radius or failed to locate someone behind concealment wards."
Seeing her expression I summon The Encylopaedia of Arithmantic Spells and Potions. It's a beast of a book - as long as my forearm and just as thick. Flipping the book open to the page describing locator spells I point to one on the lower left of the page.
"This one." I say and push the book into her hands. I wait anxiously as she reads over the spell, 'I hope she's willing to perform the ritual, I've only seen her twice but I feel like she is going to be one of the most important one of the most important people in my life.'
"You have what we need, right?" she says, already pulling up her sleeves, a focused look in her eyes.
With a sigh of relief I nod, rummaging around under my bed for the athame and a small pot of liquid silver I had found in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of term. Silently, I hand her the dagger, daubing my fingers with the slick silvery liquid I dab her forehead between her brows. Her throat just above the dip in her collarbone, and then a press a thumb to the back of each of her hands. As I do so, she makes a small incision in the crook of her elbow letting the blood run into a chalice crafted of pure magic, Making a pool of red that seem as though it's floating in mid-air.
I pass over the pot of liquid silver and she does the same to me as I mix our blood. When she is done I pour the rest of the silver into the chalice. Then with a quick prayer to the gods, I reach out to grasp her hand. Holding her gaze I plunged our joined hands into the chalice, chanting the old Latin words that I barely understand. Our voices rise and fall in a melodious harmony and then suddenly all is silent. Before the screaming begins, the both of us locked in place by magic far older and more powerful than anything we could have imagined.
A/N: In the second section of this chapter there is a bit of dialogue that almost copies word for word the conversation Lucivar has with Jaenelle in regards to her making Blind jumps instead of travelling the Winds in the traditional sense from the books. I really needed this part in there as an explanation of the winds and the realms and I had no idea how else to put it...Maybe when I've got more of the story written I'll have a better idea of how to include all the info without making it sound lecture-y. That section belongs to Anne Bishop, the wonderful author of the Black Jewels trilogy.