A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen
Page 38
True chaos erupted.
He was knocked out.
B
Mahena was ensconced in a cloud of darkness, of pain and cruelty and singing wind. Tendrils of shadows leapt at her, caressing her skin, veiling her body in nuances of viridian. She’d expected to wake-up in the place of void, the woman of light taunting her to find her memories. Instead, she was in a cocoon of doom, her pendant burning against her chest.
A low, demented laugh echoed in the obscurity.
The hair on her neck rose at once; a slick of sweat rolled down her back. Then the pain ripped at her—vicious, transcending, alive. She felt her body twisting against her will, and a dull roar climbing the walls of her throat. Mahena’s scream tore through the air like a great shard of glass, shattering her soul. The agony slammed into her with the strength of a thousand men, choking the air out of her lungs and throwing her into a sick, oblivious and perverted agony.
And it hit her again. And again, and again.
She opened her mouth to breathe, to pause the torture severing every thread of sanity in her mind.
The shadows surged inside.
And a song echoed through her, enveloping her distress like the despicable caress of a master puppeteer. There was no shielding from it, and Mahena yielded to the unbearable pain.
In peace you open your soul
And in pain you meet mine.
See who I am, feel who I am,
May my being become transparent to yours
So no part of me remains hidden to your knowledge.
Die with me today, Dance together tomorrow.
In peace you abandon your heart,
And meet mine to be reborn as one.
Afterword
Dear Reader,
Congratulations, you made to the end! Thank you so much for embarking on this journey with me. I have still not fully realised this dream and project has finally become a reality.
The idea behind Fanhalen came from my utter inability to finish a story when I was younger. Another plot, another character, another story would pop in my head and I would forget all about the last. It took me so long to be able to regroup all the synopses and bits of texts and personalities and it has finally (or rather is finally) happened!
A Curse of Blood and Power is only the first series to be set in Fanhalen, and I have many projects in the same world in production. Some with characters that have already been mentioned in this first book.
If you feel curious about what goes on behind the scenes, sign-up to my newsletter or add me on IG. There is always a special giveaway, game, or exclusive content going around!
Much love in the meantime,
Viviene Noel
Acknowledgement
Thank you to:
To my mum, who is always there.
Danikka, my amazing editor who got me out of my comfort zone and helped turn this original idea into the story it is today.
My beta readers: Fiona, Caitlan and Victoria. Thank you for picking up on all the details I missed and providing the feedback you did!
To Fran, who encapsulated my vision so effortlessly to deliver the amazing cover and formatting.
And finally, to my family and friends, who always cheered and supported me, even if they couldn’t care less about fantasy (shows the love there).
Viviene Noel
I am a Liège-based fantasy author (in tiny Belgium if you feel like looking it up), who spent the majority of her adult life in London and gallivanting around the world. My love for travelling has only been beaten by my passion for writing and all things fantasy and is a great source of inspiration.
I have a profound love for diversity and multiculturality. I come from two very different backgrounds–my dad is Belgian and my mum is North-Ossetian, and you could hardly find more opposite in terms of education, culture, traditions–hence why I feel drawn to creating and developing new worlds, with as many differences as I can think of. I feel very lucky to have been brought up with both as it has given me the open-mindedness to understand and adapt to various ways of thinking and behaving. And I want that, among other things, to transpire in my stories. The idea behind ‘The Fanhalen Chronicles’ is to create a rich, complex universe, with a variety of storylines and characters from all backgrounds of life. I want to offer the chance to as many readers as possible to identify with one of my characters.
In my spare time, when that happens, you can find me reading or watching anything with a sci-fi/fantasy twist, playing sports (mostly punching and kicking things) and collecting daggers–yes, I love them more than I do most humans.
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Kingdom of Valàander, Capital of Vassalis.
Nepherym Vasselian, princess of the kingdom of Valàander, pushed herself upright, dragging her numb fingers along the silken sheets of a bed. Red dots danced in front of her eyes, swirling the lancing pain around in her head—she blinked to chase them away. Regaining control of her sight, she swiped the room she’d been dragged to, immediately recognising the colours of her bedchamber and the delicate smell of lilac perfuming the interior. She flexed her fingers, stretched her arms and her neck, then looked up.
Before her stood the castle physician, a concerned look across his face.
The young princess asked, ‘What happened? My memories…they play evil tricks on my mind.’
‘You experienced a severe panic attack followed by an epilepsy crisis.’ The old man bypassed the bed and sat delicately in the chair next to it. ‘Your Majesty, when was the last time you had sleep?’
Nepherym massaged her temples at the outrageous concept—the world had fallen apart, sleep was the last of her priorities. But even when she tried, the nightmares held her too closely, too painfully. Her head pulsed, a loud hammering noise. When it had become unbearable, she had searched all the medicinal scripts in the citadel to find a tonic to help her stay awake longer.
At her silence, the physician frowned. ‘You were given a tonic that put you to sleep for two days.’
Two days?! She shook her head. Such a strange dream she’d had… But the sensation was different to the ones she previously experienced; unexpected people showed at the castle gates, with someone that stirred up all she tried to bury deep down. And then…
Rosàr snickered at the back of her mind, dragging its claws along the forgetful parts of her memories. Thedemon had reacted to them.
Nepherym shook her head, the throbbing unbearable. She massaged her temples again, but as she did so, the properties of the tonic the doctor had made her drink plunged her into the abyss.
It was darkness, and pain, and sorrow, and guilt—a swirling tunnel of the dark bellies of the worlds. And it sent her back to that last day.
The demon soldiers knocking down the gates to the sacred city, the clouds of screams and terror numbing her beloved citizens.
The laughs. The laughs of the creatures claiming what they’d been denied for so long.
Her parents’ faces.
Her cold, imperial mother, hiding every parchment she held so dear in her many secret stashes, until she got too far out and an arrow found its mark in her neck. Her father, who defended the library until a sword sliced him in half.
Then her sister’s.
Nava. Nava who’d always been so perfect, so strong, so loving, and all those things that shouldn’t be combined. Nava who had left space for no one around her, who had fulfilled the duties she hated without flinching. Nava who she’d envied so deeply for being so selfless. Nava who had been cut open and fed on trying to protect her and what she
ought to be.
The endless screams had become leaping tendrils of melodies that seeped through her every bone, twisting her reality—racking poisoned claws along her soul.
Then her brother’s. Her soul bonded. His hand leaving hers as he headed towards the bridge, the last smile he addressed her.
Their faces disappeared in a cloud of darkness as Rosàr spread his wings around her mind, feather after feather caressing her deepest pain. The giant crow cast golden eyes upon her own, driving an echoing laugh to her suffering.
The demon sent images of the torture her brother went through at the clutches of the Shadows, a kaleidoscope of shades of red and black, of atrocities so profound she lost her breath even in that dream.
Then there was a woman she didn’t know kneeling atop her unconscious brother, her hands hovering above him. She cut her palm, then her brother’s, and as she clasped their hands together, as she bent forward to whisper in his ear, a pendant fell from her shirt.
She had seen that pendant before, amidst clouds and fogs and books.
Her brother’s eyes flew open, stared right at her ghostly form—there was nothing of the boy she knew in there.
But was it even a dream?
Nepherym screamed so loudly the whole castle shook.