Copyright © 2002 by Syvia (Aka Rebecca K. Friedrick). All Rights Reserved.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the stuff from LoK. Adojan the Hylden and all of the Ancients except Janos are my brain children. If you want the full list- go to the dictionary in the back. ^_^
Authors notes: *Syvia is sitting before a computer in the white space. She turns on her LOTR soundtrack and sighs happily. Her three favorite brainchildren appear behind her.*
Zofia- Any time now.
Syvia- *turns and just looks at her*
Zofia- *sighing* The chapter is fine. Just post it.
Syvia- I don't know...
Zofia- Trust me, it's great. Just put it up.
Syvia- *begins bouncing up and down a bit in her chair* But I'm a little bit of a perfectionist and slightly neurotic...
Zofia- Sweetie, we already knew that.
Syvia- But-
Zofia- Syvie, your deadline's just been shortened, you have to upload it by tonight, so upload it.
Syvia- *groans* Alright, alright. Fine then, you're all up now, and here's what we have for this chapter. *She gets up, pulls a picnic basket out of nowhere and reaches inside* We have angst in a bottle. *she grins and tosses it to Zofia* We have a can of comfort and understanding. *she hands that to Cili* And for levity we have-
Lorant- A banana cream pie?
*Syvia smirks at him and balances the pie on one hand. Lorant suddenly realizes what the pie is for and looks at her with a horrified expression on his face.*
Lorant- No, no NO! *he runs off with Syvia in pursuit, cackling madly. Zofia and Cili dissolve into laughter.*
Chapter 5
Unity
Nosgoth ~ 1649 B. C. ~ The Living World
Lorant was heading towards his bedchamber when they struck.
Although the young Ancient was a skilled warrior, able to win a five-to-one fight, taller, and quite capable of taking on his attackers, the three had a few advantages. They had the element of surprise, more guile, a little more age, and most dangerously, were female.
"Lorant!" the three Ancients called in their sweet, finely-tuned voices. He flinched in surprise and turned for a glimpse of the three before he looked about for an escape route. He'd made a choice and turned in that direction, but a second before he could flee the fledglings, a slim arm threaded through each of his and tightened. The girls were upon him. They smiled amusedly at his worried expression. Within minutes they were sure to have him well and truly in their grasp.
His captors were three young Ancients, all born within an hour of each other. They were the daughters of three sisters, and had been raised almost as sisters themselves. Mara, Hajna, and Anci were often known as 'the Three Graces', for that was what each of their names meant. Mara, the eldest, had hair that was the color of new snow, Hajna possessed locks of spun silver, and Anci, the youngest, hair as black as the feathers of her wings. As far as looks went, that was the only difference between them.
The girls could have been triplets, sisters in terms of body as well as soul. Their faces were the same delicate pointed oval, their lips small blue bows, and their eyes pools of molten gold. As their appearances were so similar, it was assumed by many that their personalities also were. These uninformed ones learned quickly how wrong they were, for the girls' personalities were as obviously different as their voices.
Anci was a soft-spoken soprano. Her voice rose, bird-like, above those of her sisters. She was kind and gentle, and was often the first of the three to speak or act. Mara, by comparison, was a reserved alto with a clear, but not often heard, voice. Her words carried on perfect tones, not overly loud, but commanding attention. Mara possessed a sharp, blunt way of speaking, and knew with frightening exactness when to use it. Most of the time, if she spoke, it was to berate someone. Hajna was the happy medium, and held the best and worst qualities of her sisters in equal measure. This was a useful thing, as she was able to see all situations from both points of view and could calm the occasional conflicts between her sisters, or aid the sister who was in the right, to win the argument.
The three were individuals, and none who knew them could doubt it, yet they shared several common traits. The first and most evident, was a proficiency at music, specifically, singing. The other was a fierce determination to obtain what they desired. At this particular point in time, they seemed to desire something of him.
He swallowed annoyance at being detained from his bed and smiled congenially at them. "Ladies. I was just about to retire for a slight nap-"
"How good it was that we caught you, then," Anci said in her whispery voice, squeezing his right arm briefly. "You can take your rest with us." Anci and Hajna began pulling him down the corridor with Mara in the lead.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked confusedly.
"We have gathered a dozen of the fledglings in one room for a demonstration of our new powers," Hajna said excitedly.
Lorant's eyebrows flew up in alarm. They couldn't mean what he thought they meant... could they?
"Have you seen Cili or Zofia?" Hajna asked.
The Graces wanted to bring them into this too? "I was training with Vorador a short while ago and saw Zofia. I imagine she and Vorador are conversing."
"Well it is good that Vorador is occupied. These such things make him uncomfortable," Anci said, smiling up at him. Lorant awkwardly returned the smile and allowed himself to be dragged down the hall. What kind of thing was so awful that it would make Vorador uncomfortable?
Vorador was looking at her sorrowfully. Zofia just stood, glaring. The truth compulsion ability stirred hotly through her blood, begging to be used in a more spectacular fashion. The adrenaline rush of anger fueled her power, so her power encouraged the anger to continue. "Zofie, I am so sorry," Vorador whispered. Her anger softened slightly, and pushed her magic to the back of her soul. The lack of it left her feeling drawn and tired. Vorador reached out to touch her cheek, Zofia moved smoothly out of reach and turned from him.
"I do not want your apologies, brother. Please... leave me alone."
"I cannot do that, Zofia. You are not yourself. Between this new power and," his voice dropped slightly, "Evike's passing-" The power rose again with his words, finding a new source of anger.
"I would imagine you were pleased about that," Zofia murmured acidly. "Mother barely tolerated you, after all, why would you not be glad of her death?"
Vorador's eyes narrowed in anger. He held no ill will towards Evike and Zofia knew that. "Will this conversation pass in insults or do you honestly wish to resolve your problem?"
She laughed harshly. "Problem? What problem do you speak of?" Zofia crossed her arms over her chest. "Why should you not be glad of her death? She did not treat you well. She did not treat Father or me very well either," Zofia grimaced, her glare gaining more heat. The power was rising in her, reaching out slowly. "Did she love either of us enough to live?" A knife of sorrow cut through her soul, weakening the anger for a moment. "Apparently not..." the young Ancient murmured.
"But... perhaps you are correct," Zofia continued in Vorador's stunned silence. "Perhaps I do need to talk. As you said, there are questions that I wish you would answer... we will continue this discussion. Why are you the only one of your kind? How did father gain by drinking your blood?" she murmured.
Vorador's expression instantly became guarded. "What do you mean?" he asked. She smiled ironically at his attempt to be coy. This new ability rode the course of her soul's power, unchecked because she did not know how to control it. The truth compulsion wished to be made use of, sought the most powerful emotion to maintain itself. Zofia was wholly unaware of her danger.
With her mother's knowledge had come half-buried memories. Whispered conversations that Zofia had overheard as a child and not understood. Now she did, and the anger she felt at their content was fuel for the blaze of her anger.
"You left them to die? I explained everything I had done and yet you left them all to die?" Janos said, his voice soft, but enraged.
"Our own actions we can control, and trust," another answered. "We respect your attempt at righting what you did to the human and we leave him alive... or existing because it was his sacrifice that showed us how to become fertile again. As Zofia seems normal and healthy, we deemed it safe for others to follow where you led."
"So you take their lives to give to others."
"You took a life as well. Many of us have chosen the unwanted creatures of humanity to give new life to our race. You would see those brought back in the way you brought Vorador?"
"Father berated some of the other elders for killing humans. Why would they kill at all?" Zofia murmured in a chillingly calm voice.
Vorador's expression betrayed his uneasiness. "Zofie-"
"Do not call me that," she whispered. She didn't want tenderness right now. She wanted to stay angry, to hear the answers to her questions. "There is something about you, is there not? When father changed you, something happened and the other elders began killing humans. They would not have done such a thing unless they had something to gain. So why?"
Her brother sighed, looking at the floor of the dome for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I have promised not to tell," he answered.
"What happened, Vorador?" she whispered. Zofia unleashed the new power, let it rise like a cloud of perfume from her soul, thick and cloying in its intensity. It settled upon the bronze-skinned man. She sensed her will seeping into the core of his mind, and knew how it felt to him; a pleasantly light sensation that slightly disconnected the mouth from the brain. Vorador recognized it and glared at her, still refusing to speak. Zofia's jaw clenched and her lips curled almost in a snarl. Leaving subtlety behind, she loosed the power completely, which eagerly pressed itself upon Vorador's will and mind, commanding him to reveal the information she wanted.
He sucked in a sharp breath. Surprised at the sensation, Vorador put a hand to his head, shook it briefly in an attempt to relive the dizziness he now felt. Her power made no mark upon his body, but the feeling was similar to that of a hand squeezing around the body, beneath the skin, and a whirlwind sweeping through his mind. Vorador fought it, fought her, pushing back against the compulsion to speak. His power struck out against the 'hand' that incased his will and his mind stood with the solidity of a mountain against the tornado snatching at his thoughts.
The vampire stumbled over to Zofia, who winced at the blows Vorador's will made against her power. He put one clawed hand around her upper arm, another cupped her cheek. Zofia stood rigid, holding her power, and glared into his glowing cat-like eyes.
"Stop this, Zofia. You have no control yet," he whispered, it was a plea, but for her, not himself.
The young Ancient stared angrily into Vorador's eyes. "You opened the door, brother. Do not blame me for walking into it."
Zofia saw his eyes tear in the instant before they closed. "Then do not you blame me for removing you in such a manner."
Janos stood alone, looking out of a window in the Circle's audience chamber, deep in thought. The Pillar Guardians stood in a small circle at the middle of the room. Their current topic of conversation was not one that Janos cared to discuss; Evike's recent death.
He missed her terribly, and yet her passing had somehow given him a sense of relief.
"My love?" She laid back against the cushions piled on their bed, reaching out for his hand. "I move into the next cycle of existence. Soon there shall be one less of us," she gasped in a breath, "to hunt for," she smiled slightly. Her tone was ironic, as her sense of humor had always been. "I know you shall take care of Zofia, but allow her to take care of you as well. She shall survive... you both shall... be sure that you survive together...." Janos took her hand and laid a soft kiss on her lips. Evike smiled lightly and closed her eyes. Then she slipped peacefully into death.
Perhaps they would survive, but just now the loss was debilitating. It felt as if someone had carved out a piece of his soul and left the hole behind.
"Janos?" a soft voice called. He turned slowly and met the compassionate eyes of the other Guardians. "I feel a disturbance from above..." Rendor said. The Pillar of Conflict sighed and shook his head. Janos looked at the other Guardian, confused. Who would be fighting, and what relevance did it have to him?
Angyalka, the Pillar of the Mind, stepped up to him. "It is Vorador and Zofia who battle, and their fight is not merely vocal. Nor is it a sparring match."
"What?" he murmured. He couldn't remember either of his children fighting for a reason other than to spar. And while it was not unheard of for either of them to argue, they had never done so with each other. "Why would they-"
"Wait-" Rendor said, his eyes distant. One eyebrow quirked. "Vorador has won."
"Zofia is not hurt, is she?" Ibolya asked quickly. As the Pillar of Nature, she was the Guardian closest to healing and the earth. She also was the Guardian who felt most strongly that Vorador was an affront to the natural order, and was not afraid to speak her opinion.
Rendor shrugged. "No more than Vorador," he said lightly. Suddenly he caught the look on Ibolya's face. "They shall heal," he assured her, a bit of annoyance in his tone. Rendor, as the fledglings' primary fighting instructor, knew the vampire better and had a kinder opinion of him.
Once again the Guardians brought around the topic of his vampiric son. On another day, Janos would have been annoyed. Today he was simply tired. "Who began the fight?" Janos interrupted.
"Zofia," Rendor said, gazing into the middle distance. A few of the Guardians revealed surprise at this information. Janos passed a hand over his forehead and turned towards the door. Angyalka caught his arm as he went. "Janos, be easy with her," she shook her head gently. "Zofia has come into her full power at last- it is not surprising that she would be a bit... confrontational. She pressed Vorador for answers to a few uncomfortable questions."
Janos grimaced slightly. He knew exactly what Angyalka was speaking of. The Reaver Guardian glanced around the room. "And shall I tell her the answers to those questions?" he asked, looking at the Pillar of Balance.
Sebestyen looked at him somberly for a moment. "Yes." He looked down for a moment before meeting Janos' eyes again. "She will understand our decision to keep her brethren in the dark, and she shall hold with it." There was no threat in the Balance Guardian's voice, only sure knowledge and trust in Zofia's character. Janos nodded once and made his exit.
The Circle of Nine watched as the Tenth Guardian slipped out of the audience chamber and let the door swing closed behind him.
"And so it begins," Treszka murmured. The Pillar of Death was silent for a moment. "Evike's passing was the first of many, and though time is not my area of knowledge," she nodded gracefully to Jergo, "I do not think it will be long before the rest of us join her."
Angyalka turned slightly and slipped her hand into her husband's. Jergo squeezed it briefly and looked up at his brethren. "Cili has had another vision," the Pillar of Time told them. "It is without doubt that I tell you that our course in time remains constant. In less than four hundred years, our generation shall die out, leaving the Reaver Guardian alone."
There were startled gasps and clenched hands to meet the announcement. "What of the children?" Oszkar asked. Jergo turned to the Pillar of Dimension.
"Killed," he said bluntly. "By the allies of our sworn enemies." The Pillar of Time fought to keep his voice steady amongst the horrified expressions of the other Guardians. "When our numbers grow too few, the Dark One shall send his minions into this world and finish the deed he promised to the Hylden long ago. All of our kin shall die... except, perhaps, for Zofia." Then he gave a smile that was more than half-grimace. "What demon would not claim a Wisdom Keeper for its pet?"
"How can you speak so calmly of this?" The Pillar of Energy asked, tears falling from her eyes. "You too have a daughter, Jergo," Vicuska cried. Oszkar moved close to her, brushing a hand lightly over hers. The curve of his wing came in contact with the other Guardian's, giving comfort.
"Yes," Angyalka, answered for her husband. "We too have a daughter." Her eyes blazed with anger. The Pillar of the Mind had been forced to drag her husband back from the brink of despair on more than on occasion. That he had felt it necessary to keep up a mask of detachment from his knowledge made it worse. "We too have a daughter," she repeated. "And Jergo has viewed her death," Angyalka whispered angrily, tears forming in her eyes. "As he had viewed mine. As he has viewed yours," she said, stepping forward, towards Vicuska. As he had viewed all of our deaths, several times over, in the effort of finding a way to escape them." Angyalka stood toe to toe with the Energy Guardian, her glare hot enough to melt stone, and Vicuska lowered her eyes in shame.
"There must be something that can be done," The Pillar of States said, speaking for the first time. Istvan's voice was calm, but held a desperate note of hope.
Jergo sighed and nodded. "There is an old prophesy-"
"- It was a sign from the Gods," Anci was saying. "We knew without doubt that this day would see us unify our abilities."
"Do you think we should seek out Cili?" Hajna asked her sisters. Mara shook her head without looking back at them.
"We do not have enough time. The others may fall too deeply asleep and we shan't be able to tell if the spell works at all," the eldest murmured over her shoulder.
"What spell, exactly, are you planning to attempt?" Lorant ventured.
"Ah, that, my friend, is a surprise," Anci smiled mischievously.
As they neared an arched doorway, Lorant finally decided to put his foot down, and stopped. The girls were still hanging on to Lorant's arms and lurched forward slightly when he did not move with them. "Spoil it, please," he asked sternly. "I am weary, aching and my level of anxiety has been rising steadily since we began this conversation."
Mara, who had stopped and turned back to them, gave him a look that was as stunned as the expressions on her sister's faces. She was the one to ask. "It has? Why?"
Lorant finally managed to extract his arms from the two girls. "You say you wish me to sleep with you, in front of a group of our peers, while you attempt a new power. I believe it safe to say that that scenario would cause most people anxiety."
"We never said that," Mara exclaimed, blushing.
"You most certainly did," Lorant informed her.
"We never uttered the word 'sleep'," she cried indignantly.
"That is a technicality, considering the fact that there are a precious few alternative meanings to the idea."
"We never-"
His eyebrows bent downward in annoyance. "Then what, may I ask, did you expect me to think?" he interrupted.
"Leave that argument," Hajna broke in. "Very quickly I shall explain," she said, rolling her eyes at the young warrior. "We have bid several of the other fledglings to convene in the room before us. They are currently sleeping, or are almost asleep. As the three of us believe we have finally managed the trick of using our voices to cast spells, we need a witness to prove the fact. To this end, we have employed you."
Now he was somewhat intrigued. "Me? Why me?"
Anci blushed. "You were the first person we saw," she admitted sheepishly.
Lorant laughed, taking no offense. "What do you wish to accomplish?" he asked them.
"We shall awaken the others with our song, and with it, we shall cause them to maintain that alert state," Hajna smiled.
Finally Lorant returned the smile. "Now that, I shall enjoy watching." Mara turned and easily pushed the door open. Anci pointed him to a low-backed chair and they left to stand on a raised dais at the front of the room. Lorant sank into the chair and looked around. There were around a dozen fledglings sprawled on a mound of fur blankets in the middle of the room. Some were sitting cross-legged on cushions, yawning. Neci raised a limp hand from the blanket he was using as a pillow and waved. Lorant grinned and nodded to the weapon-smith. Most of the others were sleeping peacefully; each of them were of middling power in magic.
"At last we shall be underway," Anci murmured to the Ancients. The fledglings who were still awake looked up and attempted to pay attention to the sisters as they began to sing.
"Your careful help three sisters request,
this is why they disturb your rest
The day is new,
the house is waking,
should you sleep too long,
your head will soon be aching."
Lorant grinned at the lyrics and felt his weariness catching up to him. He covered a yawn with his hand and leaned his cheek on his fist. They began the chorus again and followed with a subtly different stanza.
"Your careful help three sisters request,
this is why they disturb your rest
The day is new,
the house is waking,
should you stay asleep,
your bed will soon be shaking."
Lulled by the harmony of their voices, Lorant leaned heavily on his fist and slowly fell asleep.
Cili woke once again, this time, peacefully, but alone. The fear that closed in was caused, not by her environment, but by the memory of what she had seen. Her parents had come to calm her after she had risen screaming after regaining the memories. Her mother had seen the vision through with her, holding her tightly, and sung her to sleep after she had witnessed the entire ordeal. Now, she imagined, they were speaking of it with the rest of the circle. There was a brief and childish impulse to call upon them, which she quickly smothered. Their meeting was important, and although she might have been able to find the room by herself, in the time it would take, her parents would most likely return to her.
The young Ancient rose from her bed, wrapping a blanket carefully over her wings. Cili sat down in a backless chair, shivering slightly, remembering the dark being that had tormented her. This vision had been different from the others. Instead of existing within the vision as a disembodied entity, or viewing the event through someone else's eyes, she had been there. She, herself, had made the journey down those stairs, into the darkness, in the midst of her distraught peers. Cili had descended into the heart of evil, drawing ever nearer to a presence greater than any that existed within Nosgoth. She had done this, or rather, she would do this.
A sense of panic rose in her chest at the thought and she reached out with that part of her that sensed the life-essences of other beings. She reached out, closing her unseeing eyes, and found them; the other Ancients within Haven. Some of her people slept, others wandered the halls or worked at their crafts or leisure activities.
Cili sensed them all in a warm, seething mass of life, and felt her fear ebb. She was far from alone here, and no other sensation was better used to convince her.
Cili may not have been able to see as her peers did, but she retained the ability to sense and view other beings. Truly familiar essences she could identify, and of these, she could read emotions, levels of energy, and awareness. All Ancients possessed this ability, but none had developed it to the extent that Cili had. In a hundred years she had learned to distinguish souls, and many things about them, by detecting subtle changes in color and strength of a life-essence. The young Seer looked for one that was close enough to be carefully examined and found it; took comfort in it.
This person was one of the first she had ever been able to identify. Cili heard footsteps for a moment before a hand brushed the short locks of her hair from her forehead and a weight settled on the bed beside her.
The Guardian of Time knelt beside her, opening his arms as Cili leaned forward to embrace him. Cili clutched at her father in desperation, shaking, her face pressed to his soft tunic. He held her, and Cili sensed his hatred of the fear he was unable to take away; one where the only thing he could do was to hold her as they waited for it to pass.
"What was my vision?" she asked. "I could not understand what was happening..." she watched his life-essence ripple with apprehension. "Father-"
"Cili," he interrupted, "there is no preparing for what you face." Jergo wiped her cheek, removing a tear she had not realized she'd shed. "I could not bear to see you go through life with the knowledge I possess, even if only a small part."
"Something terrible shall happen to me in the future, father," Cili murmured. Her face grew solemn. "You and I both know this. I believe my imagination can produce many things to fill in the spaces of my life between now and the time of this vision; most of which will be far worse than the reality. Would it not be better for me to know the true future than to imagine a more horrible false one?"
He was silent for a time. "I must think on it, Cili," he whispered. "That is all that I can promise." The Seer nodded gently.
"Zofia-" Cili paused, gathering her thoughts. "She stood alone before that creature," she said, shivering slightly. "All of us, the fledglings were with her- but so frightened... and she stood before us.... How could we do that, father? Allow her to face that- that," Cili couldn't find a word for the being she'd sensed, "without our aid?"
"Fear does awful things to the mind, daughter, as well as the soul," he murmured. "It can freeze one in their tracks when they should act... can deny one the ability to think. What you faced in that vision... anyone would shrink back from such a thing."
"Not I," Cili whispered. The Seer bared her fangs unconsciously, suddenly ashamed at the way she had acted during her vision. Cili fixed her resolve, promising that the next time she was faced with that scenario, she would act like the Ancient she was; proud, strong, a warrior who had been born by warriors.
Jergo combed her hair back lightly with his talons. "Only a daughter of mine would choose to be a Seer, and not a prophet," he said. The gentle words were tinted with amusement, pride, and a small bit of sorrow. "Did I ever explain to you the difference, Cili?"
She shook her head in answer.
"A prophet speaks of the future in terms that the Gods understand, but we may only attempt to grasp. A prophet must have another person nearby when they begin to speak, for after the prophesy ends, they have no memory of the words uttered. Even if there is another who may transcribe the prophesy, such a thing is nearly incomprehensible to earthly beings. One only understands the prophesy after the event has occurred.
"A seer, by comparison, experiences the future. Every sound, smell... every sensation is there for them to take in, and they are never able to forget. The more they knowledge they gain, the more they can impart to others." His voice grew softer. "There is pain inherent in the Seer's role, because they are able to give more information to their fellows.
"And although it was destiny that chose the burden you bear- would you not have chosen the same for yourself?"
Cili nodded, smiling slightly. Had she been given a choice between a pain-free existence and being of more assistance to her people, she would have chosen to help. It was her nature to give more than she gained, and perhaps it was because of this that she was what she was. "Father," she murmured, "did you know what I would be, before I was born?"
The hand at her scalp stilled for a moment, then began to move once more. "When I looked into the Time Streams, one year before the day of your birth, I saw your mother holding a small bundle. I saw pale blue skin, tiny hands... hair as vibrant as her own, and enormous eyes looking up at her. That was the first time I saw you. I did not see your power, your destiny- only you.
"I saw my daughter, and for the first time in my life, I was impatient to meet the future." Jergo kissed her on the forehead and Cili's arms tightened around him.
"I love you, father," she murmured.
"And I, you."
Zofia was lying flat on her back, wings unfolded slightly in response to a threat, and had no idea how she had gotten there. Her head was ringing and her body throbbed ever so slightly with reaction. Bronze skin appeared in her field of vision, slit-pupiled eyes stared warily down at her.
What happened? Zofia lifted a hand to her head, noticed that it was shaking. Vorador stared down at her, his gaze reproving. Vorador- he... he struck me. He had not used physical force, but the force of his soul. Zofia remembered she had been lost within her power tightening it about her brother in a thick, but barely rigid shield. One well-placed strike was all that had been needed for Vorador to shatter the spell she'd used against him. The backlash of the compulsion failing had dealt her a stunning blow. She wasn't badly hurt, but like her power, her control over her body and emotions had shattered. Zofia breathed deeply, shuddering, and placed a hand on the dome, attempting to sit up. Her arm trembled, unable to hold her weight and the young Ancient slipped back onto the dome. Of all her faculties, that which controlled her presence of mind had been dealt the most damage.
Vorador examined her, saw that his counterattack had been effective, and knelt beside her. He took Zofia's hand in his and stroked her hair back from her face, making soothing noises in the back of his throat. Vorador pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed in pain. "I am sorry," he whispered, "everything is alright... it is over...." Vorador apologized again and again, but Zofia didn't understand.
She hung on to him, weakly, whimpering at her pain and confusion. Her perceptions were like those of a child. She was hurting, her brother had hurt her, but it was over, he was repentant... she was safe now. Zofia began reaching out, her dazed mind recollecting the scattered fragments of her understanding. A shadow fell over them and Vorador drew back. Zofia looked up as another face moved into her sight, golden eyes piercing her to the soul. Janos shook his head sadly and gathered his daughter, dazed by shock, into his arms.
"I had never imagined you capable of a temper tantrum, Zofie," he murmured soothingly, rubbing her lower back. "You know better than to use a newly formed power without guidance. You know that as well as you know not to use power for you own gain." The fledgling looked up at her father in shock. Zofia realized exactly what she had done and a sick wave of shame rolled over her. Then Zofia also remembered how close her power had come to consuming her and began shaking violently. The young Ancient looked over at her brother, tears of guilt collecting in her eyes.
"Vorador," she whispered, tentatively reaching out for him. A clawed hand took hers without hesitation.
"You are as often a victim of poor judgment as the rest of us, little sister."
She squeezed his hand. "I am sorry..." she continued in that tiny voice. Pinkish tears stained her cheeks as he came closer and Zofia was enfolded on both sides by the comfort of a loving embrace.
"I forgive you," he replied. There was a soft chuckle. "I know how badly your judgment must have been affected to have thought you could best me in a contest of wills."
She smiled slightly, then wiped the expression from her face. Zofia looked up at Janos.
"Father, I-"
"The fault is mine," he sighed, touching her cheek. "I was not expecting this to happen so quickly... and your mother-"
Zofia's expression grew horrified and she looked at Vorador, "The things I said to you, and about her-"
"The matter is done, Zofie," he said, shaking his head slightly.
"No, I- I was angry and I said-"
"What?" Janos asked, cupping her face in his palms, his voice infinitely gentle.
Zofia forced words beyond the knot in her throat, "I said-" she swallowed thickly, "that Vorador was glad of mother's death because she had been unkind to him." Zofia closed her eyes, afraid to see anger in her father's gaze. Her voice shook as she continued, "I said that she died because she did not love us enough to live- I-"
"You were angry," Vorador said, excusing her.
"But I-"
"Zofie," Janos murmured. "Zofia, look at me." Her eyes glowed softly, shining with tears. "There is no fault in your anger, or being angry with her. The only fault is in letting it consume you." He searched her eyes for a moment. "I think you learned that today."
"I love her so much, I just-"
"I know that, and so does she," he smiled sadly. "We are allowed to be enraged at someone and still love them. Was that what caused the argument?" Janos asked, his gaze moving from Zofia to Vorador.
The vampire gave a roguish grin. "In part, yes, but I shall leave you to discuss the other cause. I wish to have a rematch once you have had actual training, Zofie," he said, winking at his adopted sister. Zofia smiled again, the guilty look had been lessened, but was still there. "I shall go then," Vorador murmured, "...the sun has almost risen..." he said, almost as an afterthought. He kissed Zofia's cheek and bowed briefly to Janos before turning and swinging himself over the edge of the dome.
"I imagined he left so I would not ask any other questions," Zofia murmured. Finally able to stand unaided, she pulled back to look directly at her father.
"He felt no need to stay. Zofia, you know you may ask me anything-"
"I had no wish to make you uncomfortable," she interrupted. "And mother," her breath caught for a moment, "mother discouraged most questions surrounding Vorador's origins."
"Ask me now," Janos said, his face solemn.
Zofia closed her eyes briefly before meeting her father's gaze. "Why did you grow angry with the elders when I was young? Why did they choose to kill humans, and what did those things have to do with me? What does Vorador's change have to do with me?"
Janos sighed, his eyes holding a depthless sorrow that Zofia was unsure she'd ever seen before. "You know that our bloodthirst is a curse put upon us by our ancient enemy- the Hylden," he said. Zofia nodded once and he continued. "Have you ever wondered why they put such a curse upon us?"
Zofia looked confused. The question seemed simple enough. "Killing is not in our nature," she answered. "At the end of the Great War, we did not even kill our sworn enemies; we bound them in another dimension. What better revenge than to force us to kill for our own survival?"
Janos was shaking his head gently at her, his eyes closed. "That is not the most devastating aspect of the curse, for while we could live by feeding on the blood of animals, there was one thing that only the blood of another intelligent being could give us." He placed on hand on Zofia's shoulder, caressed his daughter's cheek with the other. "What things must a species do to survive?"
"Do?" she repeated, thinking. "They must obtain food, shelter, and they must reproduce," she murmured, looking for confirmation that the answer was correct. The sorrowful look was back. It was then that she understood. Zofia's mouth opened slowly. "You changed Vorador... and not even a year later I was born. The other elders killed, knowing it was the only way for them to-" she stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Tears pooled in her eyes once again as she realized the horrible truth. Zofia struggled to regain control of her emotions. She looked at her feet and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "The other fledglings live only because others have died. The elders knew exactly what they were doing." Zofia looked back up at her father. "How could they choose to do such a thing?"
"You would have to ask them," Janos murmured, shaking his head slightly. His hands rested lightly on his daughter's shoulders. Zofia covered his hands with her own.
"Vorador's death was an accident."
Janos let out a small laugh. "Many of the elders would say the same about his 'birth.'"
Zofia's return grin was wry. "His was not the only one."
Janos pulled her close. "Hardly," he said. "You were a wonderful side-effect. One we had given up hope of ever seeing."
Her body shuddered against his with a slight, choking laugh. "In a way, I caused the deaths of forty-nine humans, father. Is that something of which I should be proud?"
His arms tightened around Zofia's shoulders. "Do not ever blame yourself for the choices of others, Zofia. You already take too much blame for your own mistakes. If anyone is owed the blame for Vorador's state of being, I am. The other elders who are now parents made their own decisions, as all beings do." He paused, spoke again when he received no reply. "Do you understand?" he asked, softening his voice. Zofia nodded slightly against his chest. Janos sighed.
"When did you plan on telling us?" she murmured. "After the first Binding Ceremony, when the couple began to wonder why they were unable to conceive?"
"We wanted to keep you free of this burden for as long a time as we could." Janos, said. He stroked her hair lightly, kept his hand at the back of her head when Zofia pulled away from him. "It will be a difficult thing to bear this knowledge alone," he murmured, waiting to see if she understood.
She did. "I am a Wisdom Keeper, father," Zofia smiled. "I always bear knowledge alone." Janos' heart swelled with pride. He kissed his daughter's forehead and hugged her again. A tear slid from Zofia's eye, soaking into Janos' vest. The Reaver Guardian comforted his daughter as she wept for her lost childhood.
Lorant woke to an angry feminine voice and a sound slap to his shoulder. He grunted in response to the hit and looked up at Mara. "What?"
"You fell asleep!" she cried indignantly.
"And the others remained asleep," Hajna sighed.
"Well, we know now that we were wrong. We have not turned the trick after all," Anci murmured.
Lorant's gaze traveled over their dejected faces and he spoke. "...Perhaps if you were to sing loudly... or quicken the song?"
Mara glared at him. "What would that prove except that we could keep an audience awake with our voices alone? We sang softly and at a slower pace because we wished to prove only our powers were keeping everyone awake."
"I am only attempting to help-" Lorant began defensively.
"If I may pose a suggestion?" a voice said from the door. The Graces turned and Lorant leaned over the side of his chair. Angyalka, Guardian of the Mind, strode unhurriedly forward, smiling at the fledglings.
"Lady," Anci murmured respectfully, "what brings you-"
"I sensed your discontent, children," she said, coming to a stop before them. "This ability to transmit a spell through song is possible within you because of the three talents you share," she said kindly. "Mara searches for the minds you wish to influence, Hajna lulls them into a suggestive state, and Anci sends the message." Angyalka clasped her hands lightly before her. "Therefore, instead of beginning as one, Mara should sing alone until she makes the connection, whereupon Hajna should join in, and when you both feel comfortable, Anci will complete the spell."
Mara's eyes widened. "Alone?" she asked. The word emerged from her mouth with no more volume than a mouse's squeak.
Angyalka smiled. "Only to begin. Although you must start by yourself, it is when your sisters join you that the magic takes hold. Trust in yourself. Sing clearly, distinctly, and do not be afraid of your audience." The Pillar of the Mind took in the sight of the sleeping fledglings with a wry grin on her face. "They do not look so dangerous just now... do they?"
Cili wandered down the hall, one hand held before her, following the sound of music and the sense of her mother's presence. She noticed a warm presence, one that, after the vision, was now very familiar, approach. A hand slipped into hers.
"Cili," Zofia murmured, her voice gentle, friendly. "Why do you walk alone?" The other Ancient had always treated her as a younger sister, disliked the idea of the Seer being without a guide.
Cili smiled. "The more I practice walking alone, the closer I come to being self-sufficient. Some day in the future, I shall walk as all the fledglings do, and those who do not know me shall be unaware of my lack in sight." The young Ancient examined Zofia and noticed some unresolved sorrow within her friend. "Are you well?" Cili asked. The other's essence brightened slightly, as if Zofia were attempting to put on a joyful face for Cili's benefit. The Seer was not fooled.
"I am better than I was yesterday," Zofia murmured.
"Are you certain-?" Cili murmured.
Zofia let out a shaking laugh. "Do you know... I think I have wept more in these last two days than I have in the last century?" Before Cili could respond, Zofia cleared her throat and changed topics, "I heard the Graces singing and became curious." Cili felt a slight pull on her hand and moved forward with Zofia. A breath of air passed her face as a pair of doors opened and the trio of voices grew in volume.
Suddenly Cili felt more alert, more energetic. Her spirit lifted within her and she smiled without knowing why. "What is happening?" she asked Zofia.
"There are a dozen fledglings in the room..."
Cili felt a change in Zofia's concentration and knew her friend was using magic. Without warning, Zofia's life-essence became even warmer, more joyous, and greatly amused. "The Graces are casting magic through song. The fledglings are all waking up; Neci, Lorant, Aurelia, Katakin, Izsak, the Graces are waking them from their slumber."
Angyalka began speaking, clearly audible over the trio's song. "Endowed with the power of the Pillars that protect our land, and by the Circle that protects those Pillars- I rename Mara, Hajna and Anci," she said. "Having achieved the full potential of which their power is capable, and requiring only more proficiency in their art, the Three Graces are now the Sirens." There was the sound of cheering and applause from the other fledglings. Cili's attention turned to the three young Ancients standing at the front of the room. Their souls sang in harmony with their voices, and Cili smiled at their joy.
Angyalka caught sight of her and Zofia, standing near the door, and a voice echoed within her mind. :By the same power,: her mother said, :I rename Zofia Audron.: Cili felt the hand holding hers grow tense. The Seer wondered bewilderedly why her mother was speaking to the both of them. :Having received the gift of her mother's wisdom, the Reaver Guardian's Daughter is now the Wisdom Keeper.:
Cili felt a flash of recognition at the title and squeezed Zofia's hand. However, standing in the room, a song of joy and revival surrounding them, the Ancients' Seer had no fear. Cili felt Zofia's attention turn to her. There they stood, the eldest and youngest of the fledglings, and Cili smiled.
"Let the future come," she whispered, "for we do not face it alone." Zofia stilled in surprise, and Cili caught her in a sudden embrace. "You shall not be alone, sister," Cili whispered. "I promise."
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Syvia- Part of that chapter was caused by my own anger at someone I love. You can rage, you can scream, but in the end, it makes no difference if someone is set on the path they've chosen. You're angry, and you have the right to be angry, but it doesn't solve anything. *Zofie and Cili hug her. She sighs.* You just have to go on with your life, and take joy from the time they're still with you, or from the people who are still with you.
*Lorant walks in with bananas and whipped cream on his face. His expression is indignant.*
Syvia- *she catches sight of him and laughs* You have to remember to smile, and laugh, every chance you get.
Lorant- I'm the comic relief, aren't I?
Cili- Did it take you this long to figure that out? *she grins*
Lorant- *rolls his eyes* Where to next?
Syvia- Well, we're taking a slight detour from 500 B.C. in the next chapter.
Zofia- How slight?
Syvia- Uh... at least 900 years, and possibly more? *she grins sheepishly*
Lorant- *slaps his forehead, which squishes* Oy!
Syvia- Yep, and it's going to take a while.
Zofia- What do you mean?
Syvia- This- *she turns to the readers* Take a good look at these three- *she smiles, indicating the three Ancients.* because the next time you see them, they're going to be a bit older. ^_^ *they grin, embarrassed* But for now, they're all going to get into the notepad- *she grins and holds it out*
Cili- The notepad?
Syvia- I'm going out-of-town and you're all coming with me! *she grins. The Ancients look at each other and shrug. The jump into the notepad, shouting excitedly. Syvia turns to the readers and grins.* When I get back, it'll be with another chapter. Leave me some nice reviews to read, won't you? ^_^ See ya later! *she turns around and disappears*