First chapter!
This is still more of a prologue, though, so if the supernatural part puts you off, be patient for a few more chapters and it'll get more wordly again ;)
The Half-Wight
The half-wight was shivering all over while he was arduously climbing the steep mountain path. Again and again his paws slipped on the smooth ice, and more than once he almost plunged to his death into the abyss to his left.
Like a hungry jaw the Black Mountain rose up beneath him, a greedy mouth ready to engulf him. Icy wind blew around his ears and snowflakes danced around his head, settling into his pelt like frosty ticks.
The half-wight hated the Black Mountain. It was always cold up here, even in summer, and the howling of the wind hurt his ears. Even more so he hated what was waiting for him at the top.
Hel.
Every time he looked into her eyes, the half-wight felt as if his soul froze, devoured by her bottomless chill. Sometimes he thought she made it cold on purpose, just to torture him.
But in all likelihood he wouldn't even get that far this time.
Failures and bastards only get to talk to the guard dog.
And in this case, the half-wight was both.
Damned Clans. Damned stone.
How was he supposed to have known that it was the wrong one? Magic stones weren't just lying around, after all. Not that Hel or Sakhaf would care much for that – after all, who cared about the opinion of a half-wight whose father hadn't been more than a mangy stray cat? Even less so when said half-wight had inherited the tom's shabby grey fur, and his ridiculous hairy tail. And those bloody paws… he slipped constantly on the smooth surface, and they didn't protect him from the cold one bit. The only part his mother had passed on to him was her face, the ugly black, shiny muzzle of the wights, with the far too big bat ears and the too small eyes.
No. The life of the half-wight was by far not an easy one. And even the fact that he had killed both his parents was only a weak comfort. Revenge was sweet, but it didn't heal the cold looks, the taunting and the disdain that accompanied him his whole life.
He was panting heavily when he finally scaled the last ledge, reaching the entrance of the cave. As expected, Hel's guard dog was sitting in front of it, snarling a warning when the half-wight climbed the plateau.
Even though the half-wight called him guard dog, he looked far more like a cat – at least until you reached his shoulders. He had the body of a mountain lion, but from his shoulders sprouted long, feathered wings. And his head was human, a face of smooth, dark skin and long black hair.
Sakhaf.
Nobody really knew where he came from, or why he had chosen to serve Hel. But they all feared him, even Balder, although he hid it well. The sphinx was not someone anybody would want to enrage.
Judging by the icy look that was thrown his way, the half-wight had done just that.
"I didn't think you'd to show up," he said in his guttural voice. "Hel's waiting for you." Almost bored he slid off the ledge on which he was perched, and vanished inside the cave, swallowed by the darkness. Hesitantly, the half-wight followed him, unsure whether this unexpected audience was a good or a bad thing.
Hel was less easily enraged than Sakhaf, but her icy cold was far worse than a hundred furious sphinxes. The half-wight knew countless stories of others that had stepped into the cave and never come back.
He left the slicing wind behind him when he stepped into the dark tunnel, but the cold stayed, even seemed to increase which each step. The half-wight shivered, and bristled his fur further. A pathetic shield against the frost.
Apparently the natural immunity against Hel's cold that mystic creatures like night wights and sphinxes possessed had been lost along with the useful blade tail when his mother had chosen a cat for her mate.
Stupid cats. Stupid cold. He cursed his fate and the world in general as the weak daylight slowly faded behind him. Only black remained, bottomless black. The wings of the sphinx gave off a weak light, just enough so the half-wight could at least see what it was he was hitting his head against. A meek comfort.
Deeper and deeper they ventured into the sheer endless labyrinth that perforated the mountain like a gigantic Swiss cheese. Sometimes the tunnel was barely wide enough for Sakhaf to wedge his massive body through; at other times it broadened into caves of enormous size, magnificent halls whose walls glowed green, yellow or blue.
Occasionally the rushing of an underground river could be heard, and once the half-wight even saw a silvery gleam where a roaring water fall was tumbling into a dark abyss. At some places the rocks shone bright as daylight, at others even his wight eyes weren't enough to find the path. Without Sakhaf, he'd have been hopelessly lost. Lucky, then, that sphinxes had once served as guards for burial sites, and were made for a life in darkness.
It felt like they were wandering the dark tunnels for hours, and the half-wight's paws, already sore from the exhausting climb up the mountain, felt like they would fall off at any moment when the tunnel finally opened one last time, and they stepped into a silver shimmering cave.
The sphinx stepped in front of a broad ledge, and dipped his head slightly. "The bastard's here," he proclaimed scathingly, and went to lie down beneath it on the ground, his head held high, dark eyes fixed on the half-wight. Guard dog still fits, even though he has a cat's arse.
Not that the figure that now emerged from the shadow onto the ledge had need of one.
Icy cold flew over the half-wight, who was cowering in the middle of the cave, as even the air around him seemed to freeze. He let out a low whimper when the blue eyes found him, two crystal clear pools of ice. They belonged to a snow leopard, her white and grey fur dappled with ice crystals that gave off a weak, bluish light and gave der an almost unearthly glow, as if she really was made of ice.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was not a normal cat.
Hel.
Ice Baroness, Ruler of Black, Lady of the Mountain, the Cold Queen. She had many names, but none fit quite as well as those three letters. Hel, the ancient human god of the underworld. And exactly that was what she was. Hell come alive, risen up to bring down the gods, like her ancestor had once tried.
"You failed, Furskin," Hel now said, her voice high and cold. The half-wight trembled harder, pressing himself to the ground as hard as he could. "I-I am sorry, Hel...I didn't know it was the wrong one...I-" his voice broke, and only a whimper passed his muzzle.
Hel's eyes were unmoved, darker than the night. "Do you know what you have done, half-wight?" she cut through his stammered excuses with a voice made of frost. The half-wight raised his head. "D-Done?" he stammered, confused. "I –I destroyed the wrong stone. It wasn't Tyr's eye, and the connection between StarClan and mortals isn't broken."
Sakhaf moved for the first time, sneering at him with a hard laugh. "You think that's all? Did you inherit nothing but stupidity from your mud father?"
Hel ignored the guard dog. "It wasn't just some stone," she meowed coldly, her tail lashing from side to side, betraying her smouldering fury. "Tyr had two eyes. One to look into the world of gods, the other for the mortals. The one you destroyed."
The half-wight's ears twitched nervously, still not understanding. "The mortals?" he repeated slowly. "Then why was it there? Shouldn't it be in StarClan?" A mocking smile appeared on her face. "Look at that, the furbrain isn't quite as thick as I thought." She nodded. "You are not wrong. If the stones really had worked the way I expected, it should not have been there. But it turns out that Tyr was more far-sighted than I thought. The second stone was a trap. For me."
She snarled angrily, drawing her claws across the stone ground. The half-wight winced at the sound, and tried to cover his ears.
"It was a mistake to destroy that stone," Hel continued, her short burst of fury replaced once more by chilly composure. "It's not the stone that makes the connection possible. The stone is merely a container, a way to focus his powers. By destroying it, the powers are set free."
The half-wight felt a disquieting suspicion rise in him. "P-Powers?" he repeated disheartened. Sakhaf hissed, lashing his tail impatiently. "Tyr's powers, furbrain," he interrupted angrily. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"
The half-wight swallowed. "Tyr's powers? But isn't that a good thing?" he said meekly. "We are Tyr's heirs, aren't we? Shouldn't his powers help us?" The sphinx gave a derisive snort, but Hel silenced him with a flicker of her whisker. "We are his heirs, yes," she said, almost softly. "But we aren't the only ones. There are others – the descendants of the traitors that chose to side with StarClan when Tyr's true heirs fought to retain their freedom. Who helped the angry gods banish us into the depths of the Black Mountain. StarClan took their powers away as soon as the battle was won, for fear that they might once again turn their back on them. But Tyr prevented them from destroying the powers, and preserved them into stone. He sensed the time would come when they would be needed once more. When I would return. The time when the Children of the Moon would once again betray their inheritance and fight for the gods."
The half-wigh swallowed once more. Hel's voice was now cool and full of hate and disdain, but for a change it wasn't directed at him. "And...And those powers were passed over to the Clans when I destroyed the stone?" he asked, deadly afraid of what the answer might be. "To the Children of the Moon?"
Hel shook her head. "Not passed over. Freed. The cats of the Clans – some of them, at least – have always carried them. But StarClan's curse supressed them, and barely any of it ever showed. Now, however, that curse is broken. And one after the other the Children will learn their true heritage."
An icy fist closed around his heart when the half-wight realized what he had done. He had turned the Clan cats from a bunch of fur-skinned weaklings into immensely powerful foes, foes that could even endanger Hel. The same foes that had brought about her downfall the last time.
Fleetingly, he wondered why he was even still alive.
Hel appeared to have read his thoughts, for she purred almost soothingly, her voice soft and velvety once more: "I don't blame you, Furskin. The fault is mine alone. I should have known that Tyr would not give up on his beloved Children that easily. Death has made him weak, a traitor of his own blood. But he won't stop me. No matter the powers he gives them, the Clans are still nothing more than hapless fools. They'll probably start killing each other as soon as they learn of the gifts. Fear has always been a useful ally. And as soon as we have silenced the StarClan, there won't be anybody to warn them either."
She grinned, and an excited sparkle lit up her pale blue eyes. "We need the second stone. And this time we have to steal it, not destroy." The half-wight didn't like he look she threw him at those words, not at all. He felt no desire to venture into the lowlands again, even less so after his experience with the last time. The air stank of human, and his wight ears itched horribly in the tainted surroundings.
Granted, killing the cat that had crossed his path down at the moon fall had been enjoyable. A small revenge for the wretched life his father's cat blood had given him. But in the mountains he'd been surprised by two more, and those had been a great deal tougher than the Clan cat. The half-wight had barely managed to escape with his life.
Yet he was the only one who could enter the territory of the StarClan unhindered. For as powerless as they had been against Tyr, his descendants were no match for the gods. It was only the damned cat blood in his veins that allowed the half-wight to enter their most holy site.
But Hel merely laughed when she saw the horror on his face. "Do not worry, my dear Furskin," she purred, her friendly tone undermined by the icy chill in her voice. "I won't have need of your services again." She flicked her tail, and a loud squawking rang though the cave, followed the rustling of wings. Two ravens appeared from the darkness above them, landing on her shoulder. The hungry look with which they fixed their blood red eyes on him made the half-wight twitch uncomfortably. Hel grinned at him broadly, showing her sharp fangs. "Hugin and Munin are perfectly capable of this task, I should think," she continued, voice still a soft purr. "They may not be capable of destroying it, but bringing it here should not be a problem. And the StarClan will be just as powerless against two simple ravens as they are against a half-wight."
She whispered a few words to the giant birds on her back, and the ravens rose into the air once more, flying around the half-wights head a few times before vanishing into the tunnel behind him, melting into the blackness. The half-wight stared after them for a moment, barely believing that he was getting off this lightly. "T-thank you," he stuttered, quickly rising to his paws. "I'll-" But the look in Hel's eyes froze the words in his throat.
Every friendliness had disappeared from them, leaving only a chilled hardness. The snow leopard smiled, but there was no warmth in it, and it did not reach her eyes. "I am afraid you misunderstood," she purred velvety, "I won't have need of your services again," She turned around. "Sakhaf?" The sphinx got to his paws, licking his lips. An ugly smile had appeared on his ugly human face. "It'll be my pleasure."
The eyes of the half-wight widened in shock. "But-" he stuttered, panicked, just before Sakhaf unsheathed his claws, lunging at him with spread wings. "I am sorry, Furskin. But failures and bastards are not welcome here," he heard the velvety voice say.
And then he learned why there were so few grave robbers down in the South.
