Blood Sings to Blood
Chapter 06: A Brief History of the Realms
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(The night Hogwarts group first came to Kaeleer)
Kaeleer
Jaenelle had already made several decisions regarding the visitors. Decision 1: if her new First Circle Escort/Guard (also known as the currently passed out Severus Snape) was going to be able to attend his duties properly, he would have to have fast-and-thorough lessons in Protocol. Saetan was the best choice.
She'd have to think of a good way to give poor Severus the basic information he needed as fast as possible. Protocol was studied throughout the Blood's childhood, into adulthood. Severus had a lot of catching up to do. Perhaps something in the Hourglass's Craft would work…?
She'd tell them both in the morning.
For now, she needed some questions answered.
The Keep. Ebon Askavi. The Black Mountain. The Lair of Witch. The Seat of the Blood in all the Realms. Containing all of the records for all the Realms. Usually, only historians or those seeking sanctuary came to the Keep. Its dark power repelled most.
To Jaenelle Angelline, it was home. She was Witch. Dreams made flesh. A living creation spun from hundreds of thousands of dreamers from dozens of races, Blood and kindred alike. She was Witch unlike any other before her (because there had been Witches before her; other living dreams spun from dreamers). She had been a wish of the land as much as she had been a dream of the peoples. She had been in the process of dreaming for tens of thousands of years.
Jaenelle knew all this. She was the daughter of Saetan's soul, destined to love his mirror, guarded by the brother.
She was also spun from dreams of Draca and Lorn, the creators of the Blood races. The kindred, all kindred, had dreamed so very fiercely and in a purer form than the humanoid races. Which is why in her true form, Jaenelle sported soft white-blonde fur, dainty hooves, a small unicorn horn in the middle of her forehead, and the claws of a cat.
Able to wield all the Jewels upon her Birthright Ceremony, along with 13 Black Jewels. She hadn't understood, at seven years of age, just how extraordinary…how different…she was from those around her. She had been able to travel the Realms with an ease that frightened even Saetan. To her eyes, given knowledge from dozens of races for tens of thousands of years, the realms were connected in ways others couldn't see. She could see connections they didn't comprehend. She'd understood the intricate dance of Protocol from her first breath and followed the Old Ways more closely than even Saetan knew.
As she had grown older, she had learned how…freakish…her view of the realms, of Craft, of Blood, made her seem to others. The consequences of her so-called 'sick' nature being 'treated' in Briarwood had been devastating to more than one Territory in the end.
"Lady?" Draca asked quizzically. The prime Blood matriarch had been playing at being the Keep's Seneschal for time immemorial.
Jaenelle jerked her thoughts away from her own past. Now was not the time. "Draca, is…" she trailed off in her question.
The truth was that when little Haedrian's scream into the Darkness had drawn her, she had always meant to ask the Seneschal this question, but first came healing Haedrian, then dealing with Hekatah and Dorothea. Then healing herself. By the time she had been in a position to ask, it had seemed irrelevant.
Now however, the occasion again reminded her of a long-thought question. For Jaenelle had the dreams of tens of thousands in creation. Had the memories and wishes of hundreds of thousands of dreams. Yet… "Draca, has a Realm ever been…forgotten?" She couldn't think of a better word at the moment.
She felt as the dragon stiffened minutely, then gave a great heaving sigh of resignation. "More than one, Lady."
Jaenelle's eyes widened. More than one? "What…?"
Draca held up a hand to stop her. "Come. Thisss iss not a disscusssion to be had here," her sibilant voice said with a hard edge.
Usually, even Draca and Lorn deferred to Jaenelle's wisdom and edicts. In this, Jaenelle felt that this was not a topic she could move either dragon. So she fell silent and followed the Seneschal.
In a chamber deep underneath the Black Mountain was a dragon so large that, if he had so wished, he could have easily chomped on ten men with one bite. Just Lorn's head was visible in the atrium, for that was the only part of him that would fit inside the large cave antechamber of the Dark Court.
His scales, as small as her palm to as large as her body itself, were iridescent. As if in a single scale could dwell any Jewel's strength or rank for male or female Blood. Which was true. The Jewels of the Blood in all Realms came from Lorn's scales. Jewels were the focus and reservoir of power for the Blood. Much Craft would be impossible without them.
"Sshe assksss of the Lossst Realmsss." Draca's voice hissed loudly through the darkness, echoing slightly.
Lorn opened his large eyes, as big as Jaenelle's head, and shifted to look at both women. His psychic scent telegraphed to Witch just how sad the statement made him. *We knew this day would come, my Queen.*
Draca bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. They had both known when Haedrian had been brought to the Keep that it was inevitable.
In her movements, she had crossed the room to stand next to Lorn. A single motion placed her hand on his snout, which he nudged gently. The love of the couple was obvious, despite the millennia or their forms. Jaenelle looked closer and noted that the gesture was also conciliatory. Comforting. Her eyes shifted to Draca and it was in that moment of vulnerability that Witch could finally see the intense pain Draca had been hiding. Mother Night! How long had the dragon been holding such agony? "Draca?" she asked with more than a hint of concern.
"It isss painful to remember," the Queen of all Blood intoned. After a brief pause, she said, "If one doesss not learn from the passst, one may live long enough to ssee mistakesss reoccur."
Jaenelle blinked.
*The Keep was created in part to hold the history of all the Blood races. To learn from past mistakes.* Lorn's deep voice explained.
The Keep was created…? What a phrase! Jaenelle knew of Draca and Lorn. They had been very intense dreamers…but whatever this was, it had been kept from even her.
Saetan SaDiablo was a Guardian, one of the living dead. He had seen over fifty thousand years. Geoffrey was also a Guardian, the Keep's historian/librarian, and was so old that even he had forgotten his age. (He'd actually said that he'd lost count several times, which was a bit mind-boggling if one thought about it long enough.) Yet Draca and Lorn were even older. Older than Blood society itself. (Obviously, since the pair had founded the Blood races.)
"How long?" Witch asked, settling herself on her Dark Throne to watch the couple.
*Far beyond counting. Not even Geoffrey was alive when these events began the first time.* Lorn began his tale. Draca was silent, letting him comfort her through the memories. Her failure.
*You know the beginning of the story. The land needed caretakers. We dragons were dying out, myself and my Queen the only ones left. After weaving a tangled web, my Queen finally found a solution: dispensing our power to the lesser races. She shed her scales willingly as she flew through the sky one last time in every Realm, bestowing power upon all those that felt their touch.* Jaenelle nodded; she knew this part.
*Thus the Blood were created to be caretakers for the land.* Lorn continued. *In every Realm…of which there were five.*
Jaenelle sat a little straighter in her throne at the admission. She also heard Draca give a small moan of pain. If the cave hadn't been designed to enhance and echo even the tiniest sound, Jaenelle doubted she would have heard.
*I have often wondered if, once, there were even more. So many things in Blood and Craft come in 13. Thus only 5 Realms has always left me speculative.* The great dragon admitted thoughtfully. An absent idea long held in contemplation. *Terrielle. Kaeleer. Hell. Gian. Vhorm. Each with kindred races as well as humanoid that became Blood. Each with unique races found only within themselves. The same layout for each, layered upon each other.*
Jaenelle nodded again. To her eyes, the difference between Terrielle, Kaeleer, and Hell was as simple as one web of power on top of another. Which is how she 'jumped' so easily when she was younger and had yet to learn about the traditional method of travel. She was also one of very few capable of jumping from Terrielle to Hell anywhere. Well…she'd had the power. No longer.
*As time passed, Blood society developed with our guidance until we felt we could step back. We were confident they could continue without us. And how will a child fully develop wisdom under their parents' eyes?
*We were content to become a legend. Only interacting with the odd Blood male or female that stumbled upon us. Until we began to feel uneasy.* Lorn blinked at Jaenelle. *We didn't realize what we felt until it had gone so far that it could no longer be fixed. When the cry cut off so abruptly we knew it only in its absence.* He fell silent. His psychic scent full of regret.
"The land had been ssscreaming," Draca said.
Witch's mouth dropped open for a moment before she closed it, closed her eyes at even the idea of such an atrocity. They'd had no reference point for understanding the sensation. It made a terrible logic that made her sick to her stomach. The Blood were created to guard and protect the land. And the land had been screaming…
*We left immediately to investigate. It took several days to discover the entire events that led up to such devastation. So many days to find survivors to glean what had occurred in our absence.* Lorn sighed. *Hekatah is not the first to have high ambitions and dark enough power to manipulate herself into a position to control others, even though it is not in a Priestess's nature to control or feel the land. The first…I will not speak her name.
*She was an Ebon-gray Healer and Black Widow. She rose fast and manipulated her way into key positions. Within a single generation, she had control of the entire Realm of Vhorm.
*As those that were able fled through the Gates to the nearest Realm, Gian, so too came the taint of her ideas and machinations. However, Gian was much like Kaeleer. It held fast to the Old Ways of the Blood and refused to bow to her power.* Such a heavy weighted silence.
"There wasss war," Draca picked up the story as Lorn seemed unwilling to continue.
War between the Realms? That was what had almost happened five years ago. Jaenelle had weaved her own tangled web and saw only a single way for her loved ones to survive. Witch had willingly descended to her deepest depth of her most pure strength…and unleashed it all at once in one massive wave, cleansing all three Realms of the taint of Hekatah and Dorothea. That strike had almost cost Jaenelle her life. It had taken her a full year to recover.
She had no regrets. She would've done it again in a heartbeat to save her family.
*The killing field didn't stay in one place and it didn't stop with the Blood or the Courts. The entire land was coated with the blood of the tainted and un-tainted alike. Such devastation! In the end, there were no survivors. Or rather, no Blood survivors. When the ruling Blood of Vhorm had been wiped out, the Gian Courts tried to take over and re-teach the values they prized. The landens, fearing more oppression, began to fight them. Another war began.*
Jaenelle was just listening at this point. She was hearing a mixture of the events of recent past, but in such a terrible outcome. The landen had risen in some Terriellean Territories when the Courts had been purged by her strike of power. The majority of the remaining Blood had managed to quell the landens and regained their power. Dhemlan Terrielle and Hayll, seat of Dorothea's and Hekatah's power, had been cleansed so completely of Blood that none were left to care for the land.
*When we arrived, Vhorm was soaked in the blood of hundreds of thousands. The few that remained were scattered, having fled the field of battle. There were no Blood left. The land had been screaming and had only fallen silent when it had no more strength. That had been our initial unease. We realized too late. When we arrived, the land of Vhorm was depleted, desolate.
*Gian was better, but not by much. The land still held a few Blood. Enough to guide and protect what was left. However, they wanted nothing to do with any other Realm. No more trade or politics. They unanimously requested to be cut off completely from all other Realms.
*We agreed.* Lorn said simply. Jaenelle could sense the story was almost at an end. *We removed the knowledge of how to light the candles to open the Gates to either Gian or Vhorm. Both Realms became a legend that then faded from all memory or record. Not long afterward, we decided to build the Keep in every Realm. A stronghold of knowledge and history. A reservoir of power, should it ever again be needed.*
"Never again will we withdraw completely," Draca re-swore an age-unknown oath. Never again.
Jaenelle was silent as the story finished and she dwelt in her own thoughts. Then, "In which Realm was Haedrian born?"
*Based on how much power you used to reach him, Vhorm is most likely.*
There were more questions that came from the story, but Jaenelle thought she was done for now. She needed time to contemplate the implications of this hidden past. The air grew still, except for the slight wind created by Lorn's massive lungs, as she stared into the darkness around her, pondering what could—and should—be done.
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Cookies to who can guess the last Realm!
