Bound By Blood

by C. H. Scarlett

  Chymeŕah knew exactly what caught her daughter’s attention and went with it. “Nothing should be kept from her?”

  “Of course not,” Daŕēus raised a jocular brow. “The old ways and their laws would judge such a thing as a crime against the Great Mother herself. After all, it is Her divine wisdom which brings one forth to serve as Her Priestess, is it not? Should she not be as wise as our Great Mother?”

  “I’m afraid we know very little of the old ways and their laws,” Samanthŕa admitted. “Such things were said to be lost with the Ancient World. I am afraid that I would offend you because I am probably nothing compared to those Priestesses.” She relaxed somewhat when she found that she could move her eyes away from his; he didn’t force his power upon her as before. She still didn’t want to look at him, though. Easy on the eyes as he was, this made him lethal. She did not like the fact that she felt tempted to look at him, either, tempted to just give in to whatever it was he wanted. Find your wits! “Where have you been?” she asked, flat out, anything to help her recollect her common sense.

  Daŕēus laughed. “There is that curiosity,” he mused.

  “Samanthŕa, give him time to at least enjoy his meal.” Chymeŕah winked.

  “There is no need." Daŕēus raised a polite hand. "If the Priestess wishes to know where I have been then so be it. It should be known.” He sat back in his chair and became comfortable. “My brothers and I were thought to be dead. We were not however, by the Goddess’s grand favor, but we were cursed to a sleep. I believe you may know it as the Sleep of the Damned?”

  Samanthŕa’s mouth nearly dropped open. “That is forbidden to be used against our kind." Her flesh shivered. "Who would do such a thing?"

  "Who would indeed . . . " Chymeŕah's tone nearly hissed.

  Samanthŕa blinked. Her mother did not speak a question. She knew. And if she knew, then Samanthŕa . . . knew. "The only one with the power to do so is…" Dĩas, she thought. It was his curse, and he was the only one with the power and knowledge of how to do it.

  “Now do we understand the friction between them?” Chymeŕah raised a cool and clever brow.

  “Yes, but I do not understand why--”

  “And you should know of these things. Again, you are Priestess.” Daŕēus was direct. “The history of your bloodline is very important. How can you best serve and fulfill your duties, if you do not understand the truth of your own kind and of yourself? If a power exists then you should know why, when it was used, and, if possible, how you may invoke or strike against it.”

  “Dĩas would disagree,” Chymeŕah brought her goblet to her lips. Taking a sip, she waved it towards Samanthŕa as if to better speak her words. “My daughter, though deserving of her title, is held back in many ways by his hands. Consider the old ways. Those of us who remember some of them, are bound by the Throne Dĩas sits upon, cursing us so that we can never speak of them. No matter my power, I lose precious memories nightly. Memories of the past . . . memories of--" Emotion deepened in the dark of her eyes. Sighing, as if tossing herself to what was even more important, "Take her Awakening, for instance. She should not have been made to fear it as she has. She hasn’t even been properly prepared. No rituals, no rites. None of them have.” She spoke of all her daughters.

  The word Awakening shattered Samanthŕa’s short-term ease. Her eyes widened and her fork dropped. Daŕēus looked at her curiously and studied her mind. She could feel him attempt to invade her and what his purpose was. Her thoughts began to spin.

  What was her mother up to?

  Was she trying to get him to force an Awakening onto her? It was true that he triggered it, or rather his blood did, but in no way did that imply he was the one destined to carry it out. So what if his eyes were the eyes that haunted her dreams? Anyone of power could master such a trick. It was obvious now as to why he haunted her dreams. She was the only bloody fool running amuck, cursed with unleashing things which were hidden, for a reason. So what if he whispered into her mind “Beloved”? Again, tricks. It was all a trick. Her mother was playing with fire, and at her expense. Chymeŕah may have been the queen of sacrificing whatever she needed to, or risking whatever she had to for a greater outcome, but Samanthŕa would risk nor give anything to this Father of the Blood. The sake and future of her sisters depended on it.

  “My Awakening is of no one else’s concern but my own. If anything, I should be angry that you stole my dreams from my true destined Awakener and then used me to set you free."

  "Samanthŕa, what do you mean?" Chymeŕah stepped in appearing quite surprised but Samanthŕa ignored her mother and kept her focus right on him.

  "Well? Isn’t that what happened? It is because of me that you are here now, isn’t it? And maybe, just maybe my sisters played a part of it as well?” Samanthŕa’s tone was spiteful.

  “Samanthŕa, that is not —" Dezarãe tried to interrupt but failed.

  “How would you know?" Her gaze pierced her sister. "You are so ready to be Awakened that you are blind to everything else. You would not realize the truth of it or if you had been enchanted or tricked. It is their power, Dezarãe. It draws us in, moth to flame. It is addictive.” Samanthŕa saw Dezarãe’s face melt with despair, which made her feel horrible, but her tongue could not stop. She directed her attention back to Daŕēus. “I care not if you are the Father of the Blood. If you are accusing my father of committing treason then I say perhaps he had good reason. Maybe you are Evil or maybe you betrayed your own bloodline. Maybe you tried to attack my father first! Who knows why you deserved the Sleep of the Damned, but if you did, know this, I will find out; and if I have made some mistake by releasing you, I will correct it. Do not be fooled by my lack of knowing, concerning the old ways and laws, for if you Daŕēus Dracuŕa are a threat, I, by the blood in my veins, will end you. This I swear!” Just as she finished, she felt sick all over. She felt a rage inside her that she had never experienced before. She felt possessed and then embarrassed because she did not understand where it was coming from.

  “Samanthŕa, are you alright?” Chymeŕah obviously noticed her go pale. "You do not look well. Daughter . . ."

  Samanthŕa shook her head. Not only was she shamed but also she felt frightened, betrayed, and trapped. A strange energy fell over her and it was as if she had been emptied into the ocean. Something clawed at her to get up. Something nagged at her mind to run. Her body began to throb and ache as if something were assaulting her. She pushed herself away from her chair and mumbled. “I - I must excuse myself. I am not feeling well. I--"

  Before Chymeŕah could protest or the Brothers could stand, she fled the room.

  ~Chapter 9~

  Father of the Blood

  ***

  Within the blood stirs such life…

  And I swear I can see it, feel it, in the soul of his eyes.

  Oh, how I can feel his power shifting.

  Or maybe, just maybe sister, I was dreaming.

  ***

  Dawn spread its golden kiss across the darkened skies. Chymeŕah’s castle was silent. Nothing stirred except in its slumber. Samanthŕa could finally leave her chamber in peace. None would be moving about but blind, content servants and they would ignore her unless provoked.

  Normally, this was Samanthŕa's favorite time--when the Realms were unmoving and quiet, when nothing stirred or threatened harm, when she was left alone with her thoughts and deeds. Normally, during this time, she would visit the Vestibule of Scrolls, or haunt the Oracles . . . trying to trick them into speaking out a secret or vision. All of this without Dĩas knowing, of course.

  But things were not normal now, and what she needed most was sleep. She entered the stillroom, looking for something strong. Something like brandy or Vlachŕa spirits, that could possibly settle her thoughts which spun a wild web inside her distorted brain. She pondered absinthe, but she didn’t have the strength to play with the green Fãeŕé . . . not with so much going on. She needed rest, that was most important, so brandy was her best
bet. With a bit of a slumbering herb mixed within, she would be lost to dreams in no time. It would force her to sleep if she couldn’t make herself.

  Since she’d fled the Dining Hall earlier that evening, she had done nothing more than pace her chamber. She couldn’t explain the feeling which made her run. She couldn’t explain her outbursts of emotion or strange thoughts and moods. She was famous for holding her tongue or keeping her speculations secret when need be. All of that went out the window and was lost to the outer abyss of the Realms.

  Nothing had been the same since she woke up the night of Beal-Tene. Everything seemed to be going downhill. She felt that her entire universe was changing, only she was unsure of how or why.

  The oddest thing was . . . no matter how strange and unknown everything felt or seemed . . . it also seemed so familiar. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. Maybe she needed to consult the Oracles-- although she didn’t expect anything more from them than what she already knew, which was the probability of nothing weighed against a universe of more . . . nothing.

  And in her desperation, despite the friction she'd been feeling towards him, she had spent many hours trying to summons Dĩas as well, braving his anger and wrath, hoping to hear his side of things, but he was ignoring her. He never once answered her in her mind nor did he send anyone else with a message.

  So she was lost, not knowing what or who to believe. She did know that if Dĩas attacked the Father of the Blood, well . . . she shuddered to imagine his reasons or the repercussions which would come from it. That, however, raised more questions in her mind. If Dĩas had done this then why wasn’t he attacking Daŕēus now?

  Or better yet, why hadn’t Daŕēus destroyed him? He had certainly destroyed enough already if she remembered the events in the Tavern correctly. These questions and a thousand others were all the more reason for her to need something to silence her mind. She needed rest, whether her mind was willing or not.

  And to make matters worse, daytime was not her normal time to move about. Her bloodline had no fear or weakness from it; they were simply nocturnal. Those who moved about during the day were pulled and strengthened by the sun. Those like her were driven by the moon. They were children of the moon and all of its mysteries. Unlike Evil, they did not suffer from the sun’s light. It simply made them tired, as their bodies needed to shut down much like a Phãegen’s and sleep. They didn’t need as much sleep, but it was good to have some. Every living thing needed to rest its mind and thoughts at some point or another. Even when she did her normal routine of sometimes sneaking about when the rest of her bloodlines were slumbering, she paid a price. It wasn't easy remaining focused when your strength was dragging along. At times, to make things easier, she would claim powers in order to boost her awareness. But she had no will to work such magic now, not when so many unexplained and unnamable changes were stirring about and within.

  Yes, she craved sleep but she didn’t want to dream. She was as fed up with her dreams as she was with her chaotic feelings, thanks to Daŕēus.

  Samanthŕa, moving slowly, found the brandy, which was kept in a crystal container on one of the tables. The room was vague because the heavy blue curtains were drawn. A fragile fire burned in the marble hearth, high backed navy velvet chairs encircling it. Wood tables sat about in different places. Scrolls and books filled the shelves along the walls from the floor to the ceiling. Fine tapestries and art covered those walls empty of shelves, scrolls, and books. The room was also a library, and it happened to be one of her favorite places. No one's dreams could reflect change in here. Her mother promised to keep it as it was . . . . A place Samanthŕa would practically live in as a child . . . a childhood that was mostly blurred.

  Sighing, exhausted, the brandy and slumbering herbs she brought with, touched her lips. She closed her eyes, feeling its smooth warmth glide down into the emptiness of her stomach. She was hungry, since she’d fled from dinner, but she felt no real craving for food now. Earlier she’d tried to feed from the fire burning in her room. That alone had satisfied her many times before, except now it left her as vacant and famished as if she’d never tried. Her nerves were too wired to eat.

  What is happening to me? She took another deep breath and rested the crystal glass just below her chin against her neck. What was happening? Deep down, she knew.

  She would suffer the hunger, as it was a clear sign of her Awakening starting to emerge, again no thanks to Daŕēus. What other choice did she have at this point? It really fed her fury when she thought of all the nights she’d suffered the rituals and potions of Dĩas in order to prevent it. All the pain she went through, and the discomfort, only to have it all undone in a matter of minutes as soon as the high and mighty Father of the Blood opened a vein. How she would love to strangle him for that alone.

  She took another big drink of brandy, hoping to force the anger back down. The same anger had made her explode at supper.

  “It seems you and I have the same needs.” A deep voice came from behind one of the high backed chairs. Samanthŕa jerked around to see Daŕēus rise. His back remained towards her as he sat his own crystal goblet of brandy on the hearth. He stared into the fire.

  Samanthŕa felt something uncomfortable twist inside her stomach. What was he doing here and what was he talking about? Was he referring to her hunger? Was he hungry too? Her thought screamed inside her skull-- Bloody Hadãe, there’s no way I will feed him. I’ll take my life first!

  "I have a feeling we are both the same in countless ways." His words were nearly a whisper.

  “I seriously doubt that,” she hissed, turning her back to him. There was no way she would admit to either of them having the same needs, or the same anything for that matter. And there was no way she would feed him . . . ever!

  It was common for a Vii or Strygĩ to feed another. In ancient times this was something done often and freely. Such a gift was dangerous now, though. The thought made her stomach want to revolt. She couldn’t imagine filling his appetite. He could drink her dry with one sip.

  She scolded herself again for not checking the room thoroughly before she entered it. Another voice inside her head defended her, saying she had. She had checked the entire castle before she came out of her chamber with her mind’s eye. So how could she not have sensed him here? How could her gifts fail her? Why was she even asking herself that? Nothing was as it should be since Beal-Tene. She couldn’t even control her thoughts or feelings. It was all so maddening.

  Just remember . . . she reminded herself. Avoid his eyes at all costs. If she kept her back to him then maybe she would have a chance -- unless his power began to penetrate her anyway, which was likely with one so powerful. Still, his eyes were his most useful tool. Avoid the eyes.

  “You think we are so different?" He replied. "You convince yourself of this yet here we both are, our thoughts refusing to let us rest. The ability to sleep seems to have abandoned us.”

  She felt her heart sink with relief, for now. He was speaking about sleep, not hunger-- unless this was a trick so he could pounce on her without her being forewarned. She heard him moving the logs in the fire. A brighter glow stretched across the room. She didn’t dare turn around to look.

  "Of course, one could say I have had more than my fair share of sleep as of late." Obviously, he spoke of the curse.

  “I sleep just fine. I simply wanted a book to read,” she told him proudly. No, she thought. She would not be polite. She would tell him exactly what was on her mind and bring an end to any twisted plot he and Chymeŕah might have. She slammed her glass to the table and spun around without thinking about what she’d say. Another uncontrolled outburst like the one she displayed at supper was about to spring free from her lips. “I do not trust you."

  "I realize that."

  "I know you invaded my dreams all these years, and I am not happy about that. I am sure you used me in some way to free yourself from whatever prison my father put you in since I am Priestess."

  "So you explain
ed at supper."

  "I can only pray to the Goddess that I haven’t done something which will destroy us all. If I have, I swear to you I will correct it if it means the end of me."

  "Yes, so you keep saying."

  "Then let me also say, to remind you that I am also avoiding my Awakening for good reason, and was achieving that goal until you came along. So if by claiming me you plan on forcing an Awakening upon me, know that I will take my life before you do.”

  To threaten her own life felt as though she drove a dagger through the Great Mother's heart. And for a Priestess, who took her oath even more seriously than all the rest, to say such a thing, well then he had to know she meant it. Breaking inside from the torment of such promises, she paused for breath. Her moods were ever changing and she was finding that she had absolutely no control over them what so ever.

  "I believe you." He said, gently.

  “I admit it was a shock, what your blood did to me." She found herself confessing. "I have enough common sense to know that you are not my Awakener, though, so don’t expect me to confuse you for such, like my sisters seem to be doing with your brothers."Her tone escalated again as the heat of her determination rose ever so higher. "I am not some giddy wench who is easily swayed. Even if you were, my Awakener, it still wouldn’t matter. I am not Awakening and I am not fulfilling any fantasy my mother may have concerning her daughter merging with the Father of the Blood.”

  She spun back around and faced the table again. She knew her mother could easily plot for one such as Daŕēus to Awaken her daughter, thinking that would break the curse, even if they had never spoken of it. Even if Samanthŕa assumed all this time that her mother knew nothing about that . . . that her memory of such a thing had been forgotten. But what if she did know? What if Samanthŕa had been wrong to assume that?