An Old Soul
Author: Kaia Mariacle
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: R
Summary: AU; Two old souls meet for the first time in centuries. Will they manage to overcome past regrets, or will their shared memories tear them apart once more?
Author's Notes: This is a story I've been trying to write for years. Sadly, the prologue is the only part finished so far, and I can't seem to continue forward. I'm hoping that posting it will inspire my muses, and if not, well...any suggestions you'd like to make will be greatly appreciated.
Dedication: Sarah Michelle Gellar and Peter Wingfield, because they both rock so much in these roles.
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~Prologue~
Once, in a land so desolate that even the ground wept, there rode four men.
Four horsemen.
Pestilence. Famine. War. Death.
Four brothers.
Mortal legend tells that these four men raped and pillaged. Murdered thousands, tens of thousands in their rain of terror. Four immortal beings, bent on destroying the world.
But mortal legends often change over time. Little details fall to the wayside, and the true story is lost.
Because once, in a land so desolate that even the ground wept, there rode four men.
And one woman.
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The sky opened up, and rain tumbled onto the sidewalk.
It cast a dark glow over the land, and lit up two figures moving in a deadly dance across the wet ground.
They lunged and parried, each backing off, and thrusting forward. This repetition continued until the slighter of the two saw an opening in her opponent's defense, and took it.
He feel to the ground, winded, blood gushing from a deep wound in his stomach.
The woman stared down at him, almost hesitating.
Then, shaking her head, she lifted her sword high, and moved down in a deadly slice. Lighting began flashing through the sky as a the headless body fell onto the ground.
She victor dropped her hand, sword sinking into the ground, and her head propelled backwards as she fell to her knees.
The lighting flashed, shimmering a strange blue.
The woman screamed soundlessly as it slammed into her, crackling. Her body jolted, moving to and fro as she attempted to take her first Quickening in over three hundred years.
As the storm finally crashed to the halt, the woman stared out into the dark void of the night.
The Bronze Age
Her village burned brightly behind her. Flames licking at the sky, the loud shrieks of men, women, children echoing in her ears.
She could still hear her false mother's whisper, "Amarante." Screaming, screaming at her. Calling her a demon. A lie.
Could hear herself crying back, pleading with her family. Her husband. He'd spit, cursing her name. Blaming her for his dead seed. Blaming her for the plague that had cast all their people to death.
Blaming her for every bane that had sieged them.
They'd killed her, thrown her body into the desert.
It was there where she slowly lost herself, until nothing but vengeance filled her mind.
Without horse, without drink, without food, she crawled back. The hot sun darkening her skin, blistering, and then peeling away, healing over. Every day, she died.
Thirst, famine, exhaustion.
All killed her.
All created her.
How many days passed, she did knew not. All she knew was the grit of the sand beneath her stomach, the burning rays of the sun above. And the deathly whistle of the wind surrounding her.
And then one day her lucked changed, as she came upon a campfire. A party of soldiers sat round it, laughing, drinking. Their weapons strewn carelessly on the ground.
Wasted away as she was, it did not deter her from her task.
Late, one night, after watching for days, she crept into the camp, and stole the weapon of a young soldier.
Then slid it into his throat, and slipped back into the night.
When dawn broke, she watched as the men awoke. Smiled when they saw the body of the boy, and hid when they searched for the killer.
Each night after, she slid into the camp, and killed.
And each morning she watched, smiled as they grew suspicious of one another. As brother turned to brother in distrust.
And then one day, after many had been killed, she watched as they broke.
Blood spurted into the air, swords clashed, and back's met with knives until all but one lay dead on the ground.
A priest who wept openly at the loss of his people.
Who cried out in horror when he saw her striding towards him, waif-like, golden hair swirling round her, blue eyes so dark they rivaled even the blackest night.
She eyed him, licking blood off her hand. Her eyes drank in his dark, silken hair. His strong hands.
"You will teach me."
He stared at her in horror.
She smiled, and raised her stolen sword. Laughing as he gasped, turned away, cried out when she lifted the tip to trail across his neck. Turning him back.
"You will teach me."
Sweat slid down his brown, as the sword caressed his chest, slicing his cloak open, baring his chest.
He gasped at the hot steel, stared into her dark, dark eyes.
And shuddered at what he saw.
She moved closer, and lay a hand on his chest. "You will teach me how to love." She whispered.
"Lo...o...ve?"
Her laugh traveled down his spine, and her soft breath across his lips.
"What is your name?" She whispered, slipping off his robes. Pushing him to the ground with the tip of the sword.
He shook his head wildly, frantically whispering for someone to save him from this demon.
Amarante snarled at the word, and pushed the sword into his arm, drawing blood. Crouching atop him, she leaned down, and ran her tongue across his cheek.
Tasting innocence.
"What is your name?" She repeated, tongue grazing his chin. "Tell me now, priest. Tell me the name of the one who will teach me how to love again." She stared down into his frightened eyes. "The one who will help me find my vengeance."
He whimpered as her hand grasped his nether regions. Caressing, stroking, twisiting.
"Tell me." She whispered, her hands traveling across his resistant flesh. Laughing as a groan escaped his mouth.
"Kro.....Kron...os."
flashback end
Was this the life of an immortal, she wondered. To not just see the moment, but be in it, feel everything you once felt.
Thousands of years, thousands of death, and the one memory that always came after a quickening was of her first innocent.
Her first regret.
She sighed, and picked up her sword.
It was covered in the blood of the headhunter. Slick with his life. Wiping it off on her coat, she shook her head.
He had shocked her. Calling her by her true name, and taunting her with his sword. He'd been young, seven hundred or so, and he'd been driven by the need to take the mythical Amarante's quickening.
She'd had no choice but to take his head.
Sighing again, she looked down at her watch, and cursed the foolish immortal who'd interrupted her night.
Joe had said to meet him at eight o'clock, he'd sounded desperate. Had said something about a crazed immortal on the loose, after his friend's head. And how much he needed her expertise on such things.
It was ten now, and she hoped his friend still had a head. A thought struck her, and she looked back at the headless corpse, smiling
Maybe she'd already taken care of the situation.
TBC...
