Blooddrayne
Chapter 2: Mor Duine
"Blooddrayne?" McGonagall asked Ginny, who was staring at them all in shock. "What are you trying to say?"
"Blooddrayne. Who or what is Blooddrayne?" Ginny repeated, more forcefully. All in the room shrugged and she sighed. It was no use. They knew as much of this 'Blooddrayne' as she, herself.
"I think you could do with some more sleep, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said as she poured a concotion in a glass and poured it down Ginny's throat, who coughed and grimaced at the filthy taste of it. She saw Madam Pomfrey shooing McGonagall and Sirius out of the Hospital Wing, and it wasn't long after that when sleep began to grip onto her.
~*~
The sun was just beginning to set when she awoke. Wisps of smoke from the smouldering herbs wafted through the Hospital Wing, the soft red glow of the setting sun basking the room in an almost mystical light. The time without time, neither day nor night, had broken. It is said that the world of the living, the realm of the dead and the spirit worlds are closer together at dusk than at any other time. It is also said to be the time when Hirin, Messenger of the Gods, collects the souls of the dead and leads them to the other side. Once again, the thundering of hooves accompanied her as her consciousness slipped away and she sank into the depths of her dark dreams.
*
When she opened her eyes again, she looked out upon a grey land. The sky was dark, full of black clouds, and the light was ashen. No sun, no moon, no stars. Time seemed to stand still in this barren place and the silence was almost deafening. This strange grey desert stretched out as far as she could see, and she slowly realised what her eyes beheld - she was in the no man's land between life and death. Her heart turned to stone and the sense of desperation was suddenly overwhelming. no hope can exist here.
The only sound to break the silence was the snort of a horse. She turned around, hoping to make out the source of the noise, hoping for a sign, a way out of this horrible nightmare. With feet as heavy as stones she made her way through the gray dust. Each step raised a cloud of dust, dust as fine as ash, dust that left the taste of ground bones on her tongue.
After what seemed to be an eternity, she came to a valley that opened like a wound in the barren plain. From the bottom of the valley she could hear murmurs and whispers, sounds like water flowing, or thousands and thousands of voices, babbling, moaning, calling. This was the Mor Duine, the River of Souls. From the beginning of time to its end, the Mor Duine flows between the worlds, carrying our souls until the end of days. Its surface shimmered like silver, its waters flowing through the dusky light until it disappeared from view. Down by the river bank she saw the source of the noise that had brought her here.
It was Hirin, Messenger of the Gods, an imposing figure atop his black steed. He had ridden his mount to the edge of the river and behind him, on the bank, she could barely make out the shadowy contours of the dead. With a barely perceptable twitch of the reigns, the gigantic horse took a step into the water, which seemed to want to drag horse and rider into its silvery depths. Yet the animal stood firm, and soon the first souls followed, climbing down into the current. Deeper and deeper they waded into the water, passing horse and rider, until they were lost in the depths of the river. As this eerie procession continued, she realised that there was no hall for the dead, no garden of delight for the chosen few, only the river, whence everything that has been taken from it returns. The Mor Duine controls our souls, holding them captive until a new time and a new life is ready for them.
Yet there were a few who stayed back from the water, hiding, fear and hate visible in their shadowed faces as they turned and crawled from their destiny. The mighty horse reared, snorted and stamped impatiently in the water, its rider pointing the way, demanding obediance to the natural order. But these fools kept crawling, fleeing from the river, refusing the deity's command, full of cowardice, until finally, Hirin gave up and rode off, up the ashen hill, full of contempt for these pitiful souls.
No sooner had the God disappeared when she saw the others. hundreds, thousands, emerging from the shadows along the river banks, where they had hidden from the Messenger and his anger. Now they came to welcome the new arrivals, and as they passed her, she saw the hopelessness in all their distorted, ethereal faces, and the boundless hate for the life that refused to welcome them back, hate for the order they refused to follow. Here, on the banks of the river, they had become outcasts, prisoners of their own fear and desires, captives for all eternity. This is the realm of the dead; here, on the banks of the Mor Duine, where they wallow in self-pity. And then they came for her; like animals they crept closer and closer, their loathing wafting toward her like a poisonous breath. Frozen with fear, she looked into their scornful faces and terror overcame her. No living creature can fathom the depth of their hate, the hate of those destined to stay in this place forever.
*
With a thundering of hooves, the messenger tore her from their midst, tore her from this dream and back to the twilight of the Hospital Wing. Only the rush of the Mor Duine still sounded in her head, the murmuring, whispering of the endless river. The dream hadn't been as disturbing as the one of the night before, but it wasn't the most pleasant of all. She had better. Not stiffened with fear, but her head filled with confusion of the dream, Ginny sat up in the bed. It was dawn, a Sunday, so she sank back into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. After a while, Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office and stopped when she saw Ginny, a bead of sweating gleaming on her forehead.
"Dear, are you alright?" With a quick nod Ginny sat up. But Madam Pomfrey wasn't confinced. Quickly walking over to where the girl was lying, she touched her forehead. She yelped and pulled her hand away from Ginny's forehead, as if she had burned it. But it was exactly the opposite. "My stars.. You're as cold as ice! What happened to you?"
"Nothing, Madam. I feel absolutely fine!" Ginny said, her own hand on her forehead. She didn't feel odd, she felt great. Except for the images that were still in her head from the dream.
"No, you're going to stay here until your temperature is back to normal. You're practically 0°!"
"No honestly, Madam Pomfrey! There's nothing wro.." she trailed off as she stared at Madam Pomfrey, terrified. Well, it wasn't Madam Pomfrey anymore. It was the eyeless dead girl. With the same malicious grin as previous night, she leaned closer.
Find her, Blooddrayne, the girl giggled, showing her sharp, bloodied teeth. Find her, Akasha.
"Who's Blooddrayne? Who's Akasha?" Ginny asked as the girl began to change back into Madam Pomfrey again. Akasha Blooddrayne...
"Ginny!" With a snap of her head she looked up at the person calling her name. "What are you talking about?"
"Sirius! You're DADA teacher!" Sirius looked at her as if she was crazy and then slowly nodded. "Who's Akasha Blooddrayne?"
"Never heard of her. Why?" With a frown, Ginny's conciousness began to slip and with a last roll of her eyes, she was out.
*
A/N: I'm mean.. aren't I? Yes so.. anyway, this is longer! Isn't it? I love the way the 'dream' part came out. Mor Duine.. and Hirin plays a part in following chapters too! :o But I'm not gonna spoil it. And what the hell is that eyeless dead girl?! O.o
Caipirinha the Piranha
Chapter 2: Mor Duine
"Blooddrayne?" McGonagall asked Ginny, who was staring at them all in shock. "What are you trying to say?"
"Blooddrayne. Who or what is Blooddrayne?" Ginny repeated, more forcefully. All in the room shrugged and she sighed. It was no use. They knew as much of this 'Blooddrayne' as she, herself.
"I think you could do with some more sleep, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said as she poured a concotion in a glass and poured it down Ginny's throat, who coughed and grimaced at the filthy taste of it. She saw Madam Pomfrey shooing McGonagall and Sirius out of the Hospital Wing, and it wasn't long after that when sleep began to grip onto her.
~*~
The sun was just beginning to set when she awoke. Wisps of smoke from the smouldering herbs wafted through the Hospital Wing, the soft red glow of the setting sun basking the room in an almost mystical light. The time without time, neither day nor night, had broken. It is said that the world of the living, the realm of the dead and the spirit worlds are closer together at dusk than at any other time. It is also said to be the time when Hirin, Messenger of the Gods, collects the souls of the dead and leads them to the other side. Once again, the thundering of hooves accompanied her as her consciousness slipped away and she sank into the depths of her dark dreams.
*
When she opened her eyes again, she looked out upon a grey land. The sky was dark, full of black clouds, and the light was ashen. No sun, no moon, no stars. Time seemed to stand still in this barren place and the silence was almost deafening. This strange grey desert stretched out as far as she could see, and she slowly realised what her eyes beheld - she was in the no man's land between life and death. Her heart turned to stone and the sense of desperation was suddenly overwhelming. no hope can exist here.
The only sound to break the silence was the snort of a horse. She turned around, hoping to make out the source of the noise, hoping for a sign, a way out of this horrible nightmare. With feet as heavy as stones she made her way through the gray dust. Each step raised a cloud of dust, dust as fine as ash, dust that left the taste of ground bones on her tongue.
After what seemed to be an eternity, she came to a valley that opened like a wound in the barren plain. From the bottom of the valley she could hear murmurs and whispers, sounds like water flowing, or thousands and thousands of voices, babbling, moaning, calling. This was the Mor Duine, the River of Souls. From the beginning of time to its end, the Mor Duine flows between the worlds, carrying our souls until the end of days. Its surface shimmered like silver, its waters flowing through the dusky light until it disappeared from view. Down by the river bank she saw the source of the noise that had brought her here.
It was Hirin, Messenger of the Gods, an imposing figure atop his black steed. He had ridden his mount to the edge of the river and behind him, on the bank, she could barely make out the shadowy contours of the dead. With a barely perceptable twitch of the reigns, the gigantic horse took a step into the water, which seemed to want to drag horse and rider into its silvery depths. Yet the animal stood firm, and soon the first souls followed, climbing down into the current. Deeper and deeper they waded into the water, passing horse and rider, until they were lost in the depths of the river. As this eerie procession continued, she realised that there was no hall for the dead, no garden of delight for the chosen few, only the river, whence everything that has been taken from it returns. The Mor Duine controls our souls, holding them captive until a new time and a new life is ready for them.
Yet there were a few who stayed back from the water, hiding, fear and hate visible in their shadowed faces as they turned and crawled from their destiny. The mighty horse reared, snorted and stamped impatiently in the water, its rider pointing the way, demanding obediance to the natural order. But these fools kept crawling, fleeing from the river, refusing the deity's command, full of cowardice, until finally, Hirin gave up and rode off, up the ashen hill, full of contempt for these pitiful souls.
No sooner had the God disappeared when she saw the others. hundreds, thousands, emerging from the shadows along the river banks, where they had hidden from the Messenger and his anger. Now they came to welcome the new arrivals, and as they passed her, she saw the hopelessness in all their distorted, ethereal faces, and the boundless hate for the life that refused to welcome them back, hate for the order they refused to follow. Here, on the banks of the river, they had become outcasts, prisoners of their own fear and desires, captives for all eternity. This is the realm of the dead; here, on the banks of the Mor Duine, where they wallow in self-pity. And then they came for her; like animals they crept closer and closer, their loathing wafting toward her like a poisonous breath. Frozen with fear, she looked into their scornful faces and terror overcame her. No living creature can fathom the depth of their hate, the hate of those destined to stay in this place forever.
*
With a thundering of hooves, the messenger tore her from their midst, tore her from this dream and back to the twilight of the Hospital Wing. Only the rush of the Mor Duine still sounded in her head, the murmuring, whispering of the endless river. The dream hadn't been as disturbing as the one of the night before, but it wasn't the most pleasant of all. She had better. Not stiffened with fear, but her head filled with confusion of the dream, Ginny sat up in the bed. It was dawn, a Sunday, so she sank back into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. After a while, Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office and stopped when she saw Ginny, a bead of sweating gleaming on her forehead.
"Dear, are you alright?" With a quick nod Ginny sat up. But Madam Pomfrey wasn't confinced. Quickly walking over to where the girl was lying, she touched her forehead. She yelped and pulled her hand away from Ginny's forehead, as if she had burned it. But it was exactly the opposite. "My stars.. You're as cold as ice! What happened to you?"
"Nothing, Madam. I feel absolutely fine!" Ginny said, her own hand on her forehead. She didn't feel odd, she felt great. Except for the images that were still in her head from the dream.
"No, you're going to stay here until your temperature is back to normal. You're practically 0°!"
"No honestly, Madam Pomfrey! There's nothing wro.." she trailed off as she stared at Madam Pomfrey, terrified. Well, it wasn't Madam Pomfrey anymore. It was the eyeless dead girl. With the same malicious grin as previous night, she leaned closer.
Find her, Blooddrayne, the girl giggled, showing her sharp, bloodied teeth. Find her, Akasha.
"Who's Blooddrayne? Who's Akasha?" Ginny asked as the girl began to change back into Madam Pomfrey again. Akasha Blooddrayne...
"Ginny!" With a snap of her head she looked up at the person calling her name. "What are you talking about?"
"Sirius! You're DADA teacher!" Sirius looked at her as if she was crazy and then slowly nodded. "Who's Akasha Blooddrayne?"
"Never heard of her. Why?" With a frown, Ginny's conciousness began to slip and with a last roll of her eyes, she was out.
*
A/N: I'm mean.. aren't I? Yes so.. anyway, this is longer! Isn't it? I love the way the 'dream' part came out. Mor Duine.. and Hirin plays a part in following chapters too! :o But I'm not gonna spoil it. And what the hell is that eyeless dead girl?! O.o
Caipirinha the Piranha